FOX'S DEN II: ROSES HAVE THORNS
by Deb Prewitt thalia@goodnet.com

Nov 1996

Summary: Sequel to Fox's Den. Mulder has been kidnapped and finds
himself in an unusual predicament.

Classification/Rating: SRA, PG

Spoilers/Warnings: One Breath spoilers. Hints and thoughts of
MSR, but nothing concrete...yet. <evil grin>

Archivists/Newsgroups: I give permission for 'Fox's Den II: Roses
Have Thorns' to be posted on the archives and newsgroups as long
as my name, e-mail addy and intro remain intact.

Disclaimer: OK, now everybody say it with me: I don't own Fox
Mulder, Dana Scully, Melissa Scully or X. Chris Carter, 1013 &
FOX own them (those lucky stiffs). I'm just borrowing them for a
few pages. Please, FOX, just let me have my fun. Don't be such a
corporate party pooper!

All other characters you don't recognize just floated into my
head one day, so I guess that means they're mine.

Author's Notes: This story is the long-awaited (I hope) sequel to
Fox's Den. You really don't need to have read Fox's Den to enjoy
this one, but I highly recommend it -- they make such a nice
couple. <grin> Gratuitous thanks to all of you who sent me e-mail
on Fox's Den and convinced me to make a sequel. This one's for
y'all.

As always, huge thanks to my beta readers, KL and Charli, for
helping me dig through the weeds in this one.

Feedback...please, send me feedback! Send all comments,
questions, suggestions or musings to <thalia@goodnet.com>.

And now, may I present to you...

FOX'S DEN II: ROSES HAVE THORNS (1/2)
by Deb Prewitt

Roses.

The sweet smell flooded his nostrils. He inhaled again, taking a
long, languishing breath, allowing the rose scent to permeate his
nose, his brain, his body.

He wasn't much of a 'flower' man; he rarely received or gave
flowers. But roses held a special place in Fox Mulder's heart. He
loved them not for their flawless beauty or majestic stature or
their silky-soft petals. He loved roses because their sweet,
delicate fragrance reminded him of someone. A _special_ someone.

He slowly opened his eyes, and found nothing but blurry visions
dancing before him. Forcefully blinking his eyes, he finally
managed to focus them for a few seconds, his sight falling upon a
bundle of long-stemmed roses. He could tell by the shade of the
velvety petals that they were red. A single rubber band bound the
roses together near the bottom of their stems. He smiled, then
gave in to the darkness.

*Where the hell am I,* Mulder thought to himself when he finally
came to again. His head was swimming with pain, but he managed to
open his eyes and keep them in focus. He could tell that he was
lying on his side, his hands tightly bound with tape in front of
his body. His legs were bound at the ankles, the tape wrapped
around the bottom of his jeans. Over his mouth was another piece
of tape, and the taste of the adhesive was making him nauseous.

Slowly, he surveyed his surroundings with his eyes, careful not
to move his head too much. He soon found that his surroundings
were...flowers. Mostly roses, but also daisies, tulips,
carnations, mums and several others whose names he couldn't
remember. Everywhere he looked, he found flowers.

Lots and lots of flowers.

He started to pull himself up into a sitting position and
immediately knew that it was a mistake. He felt a strong wave of
dizziness take over his body, and then saw nothing but a sea of
black.

He slowly rose to consciousness a minute later, or maybe it was
an hour. He inhaled deeply again, the sweet fragrance of the
roses bringing him mental images of her ivory skin, her deep blue
eyes, her small angular nose, her fiery red hair, her petite
shapely body. The roses surrounding him, their scent wafting
around his head, reminded him of Dana Scully. He smiled, his eyes
and mind still cloudy and unfocused.

Mulder had noticed it on her bathroom counter during one of their
paperwork all-nighters. A rose-scented perfume, handsomely
displayed in a delicate smoky-white bottle labeled 'Tea Rose,'
along with the name of a nearby bath shop. He had never realized
that she wore perfume; he had just assumed that she smelled that
way naturally. A pretty stupid thing to assume, now that he
thought about it, but he truly thought that the fresh, feather-
light scent that secretly weaved its way to his nose every time
she walked by him was just...Scully.

Scully. She would be searching for him. He needed to wake up, to
shake the fog from his head and get back to her, to let her know
he was alive, but his body wasn't allowing him to do that.
Whatever they had given him, it was doing the trick. He kept
floating half-in, half-out of consciousness, never knowing if his
next thought was just seconds after, or hours after, the last
one.

He felt his facial muscles tighten into a frown. He knew Scully
would be out of her mind with worry. He knew what it was like to
be in her place, frantically looking everywhere for that one
definitive clue. He had gone through three months of that hell
while she was gone, and the helplessness he felt was so strong at
times that he thought he would drown in its strong waves.

When she was finally returned, his anger had reached its boiling
point. Mulder wanted revenge, nothing but sweet revenge against
the bastards who had done this to her. He remembered that his
mind was so full of rage and he had almost allowed himself to
sink to their level, briefly forgetting about the fragile,
comatose body of his partner helplessly perched on the fine line
between life and death.

The one voice of reason there to keep him grounded wasn't the one
he expected to hear. Scully's sister, Melissa, for all of her New
Age rantings and holistic beliefs, was the one voice to bring him
back from his private angry version of Hell:

<< "Listen, I don't have to be psychic to see that you are in a
_very_ dark place. Much darker than where my sister is. Willingly
walking deeper into darkness cannot help her at all. Only the
light can..."

Mulder raised his hand, slashing it about in the air between
them. "Oh, _enough_ of the harmonic convergence crap, OK? You're
not _saying_ anything to me!"

"Why don't you just drop your cynicism and your paranoia...and
your defeat," Melissa said, her voice low and biting. "You know,
just because it's positive and good doesn't make it silly or
trite. Why is it easier for you to run around trying to get even
than just expressing to her how you feel? I expect more from you.
_Dana_ expects more." She moved to leave, but paused and turned
her head back toward Mulder. "Even if it doesn't bring her
back...at least she'll know. And so will you." >>

He had been so surprised by Melissa's words, and they had touched
him so deeply, that he snapped out of his rage. There were so
many things he wanted to tell Scully, so many things he felt for
her, but had kept locked inside, never allowing those feelings to
surface. He wanted to tell her exactly what she meant to him,
that she was the most important person in his life and that she
was the woman he loved. In the end, however, those words never
came. Instead, he focused on bringing Dana Scully back, the
strength of his beliefs far more powerful than any words.

He only wished now that he could force his mind to focus long
enough to figure out where he was and why he was bound and
gagged, surrounded by hundreds of fresh-cut flowers. He opened
his eyes again and his gaze landed this time on a bundle of mums.
He focused on the yellow flowers, taking deep, controlled breaths
while trying to clear his mind of everything but staying
conscious.

His body was jarred sharply, and he was vaguely aware of the
sound of squealing brakes. The sudden stop snapped him back to
reality and caused him to roll onto his back. He moaned when his
shoulder hit the metal below him. The pain searing through his
shoulder was so intense that tiny silver flecks flashed before
his eyes and threatened to send him back to unconsciousness.
Forcing his mind and breath to remain calm, he fought the severe
waves of nausea and dizziness, and to his surprise, stayed awake.

As the ache in his shoulder began to subside, he had figured out
that he was in a car. No, in a van. He felt another wave of
dizziness threaten his head and he groaned. *How the hell did I
get myself into this one?*

He remembered getting a phone call about an abduction in the D.C.
area. The call had come from someone he knew, and the caller
asked for a secret meeting. He met with the mysterious X in a
unfrequented park on the other side of the city. X simply handed
Mulder a package. No cryptic words, no vague innuendoes, none of
the things Mulder had come to expect from the darkly intense man.
X had just handed him a package, then turned his back and walked
away.

Mulder knew he had been playing with fire by keeping X as his
informant. But they both knew the rules: X would feed him some
little tidbit and it was up to Mulder to take the bait and figure
out the rest. The relationship was shaky at best, and Mulder
really didn't trust X anymore than he trusted Cancer Man. He
should have seen it coming, but for some reason, he never
expected this kind of lowlife double cross from his informant.
For some reason, X had broken the rules.

As Mulder walked toward his car, which was parked a half-mile
away, he opened the package, which contained two photos and a
double-spaced typed page. As he read the page, his eyes grew
wider and his breath grew more shallow. Finally, he had his
proof. He immediately called Scully, deciding against telling her
over the phone. He wanted to see her reaction in person. They had
decided to meet at the diner. He had reached the car as he was
hanging up with Scully. Putting the key in the door, he unlocked
the car and reached for the handle. That was the last thing he
remembered.

Mulder's eyes flew open. *Oh, God. Scully.* If they were
following him, were they also listening in on his phone
conversation?

He took a deep cleansing breath, and slowly let it out. No, she
was OK. He hadn't mentioned the name or location of the diner.
The partners had designated that as a 'safe-house', meeting there
whenever they felt their regular haunts weren't secure.

*She's alright, she's safe,* Mulder thought optimistically, but
the words brought him little comfort.

Feeling the fog beginning to lift from his mind, he slowly
attempted to sit up. He managed to make it to his knees when he
felt the van abruptly skid to a halt and he went careening head-
first into a bundle of roses. He winced as thorns bit into his
face and throat, and desperately fought off the murky cloud that
loomed over his head.

Hearing two doors slam shut, one right after the other, Mulder
moved back to a sitting position, ignoring the blast of pain from
his battered shoulder and head. He heard two muffled male voices,
then laughter slowly trailing off. All was silent for a few
seconds, then he heard something he recognized. Two short
'dings', then the sound of a car motor.

*A gas station,* Mulder silently deduced. *A chance to escape.*
Bringing his bound hands to his forehead, he pressed his head
against his wrists, focusing his mind on what to do. He figured
that this was the only stop his captors would make before
reaching their final destination. He prayed that they were stupid
enough to make this a long stop, complete with a bathroom break,
a trip to the convenience store and filling the gas tank. He had
to make his move now.

**Continued in part 2**

FOX'S DEN II: ROSES HAVE THORNS (2/2)
by Deb Prewitt

--see disclaimer in part 1--

Feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through his body, Mulder
decided his game plan. *First order of business is to get this
damn tape off,* he silently told himself. He closed his eyes,
knowing the only way he was going to be able to get the tape off
was to rip it off in one quick swipe. He just hoped he could do
it without passing out.

Tentatively raising his hands to his face, he grasped one corner
of the tape covering his mouth. *OK, one...two...three.* He
yanked the tape with such force that he almost toppled over.

*Shitshitshitshitshit!!* he mentally yelled, the pain so intense
that tears were running down his face and his bound hands flew to
his burning mouth, applying pressure to his chafed lips. He
moaned quietly, but refused to scream. Pulling his hands away, he
saw the droplets of blood on his skin, knowing that the blood had
come from his lips. *Well, it's not like I'm using my lips right
now,* he thought sarcastically. The corners of his mouth curled
up into a devilish grin as he thought about what he could use his
lips for later, most of which involved his beautiful red-headed
partner.

Taking a few seconds to clear his mind, he moved his wrists to
his mouth and began gnawing on the tape, trying to get one of the
ends to tear. After almost a minute of his teeth grinding into
the adhesive, he knew that the tape was not going to give. He had
to find something to get a tear started.

His hazel eyes scanned the area surrounding him. The windows in
the back of the van were covered with butcher paper, but a small
amount of light flowed in around the edges, casting enough light
for him to find that there was nothing he could use to cut the
tape.

A light stinging started to spread through his cheeks and down
his neck where the rose thorns had scratched him. He started to
paw at his neck, flecks of dried blood embedding under his
fingernails. *Damn thorns,* he thought. *Those are sharp
little....*

His eyes widened and he moved to a bundle of roses. He pulled the
rubber band from the bundle and grasped one rose by the base of
its stem. Sitting with his elbows on his knees, he placed the
rose in between his shoes and clamped his feet together. He
quickly ripped leaves from the upper portion of the stem to
reveal the older, thicker thorns. Positioning his taped wrists
over a thatch of thorns, he pushed down, wincing as he felt the
thorns pierce the tape and hit his skin. Delicately moving his
hands back and forth, he worked a hole in the tape on one end.

Mulder's body immediately tensed as he heard keys jingling near
the back of the van. He heard banging, then the sound of metal
scraping metal. Working faster, he broke through the end. Tossing
the rose aside, he grabbed an end of the tape in his teeth and
pulled his mouth down while moving his wrists up.

Just as he had broken all the way through the tape on his wrists,
his ears picked up more clanging, then the pinging sound of
liquid hitting metal. *Shit,* he thought, realizing that time was
running out. Biting his lower lip, Mulder yanked at the tape,
taking most of the hair from his wrists with it and bringing more
tears to his eyes.

Trying not to dwell on the pain, he grabbed another rose and
pierced a hole in the tape binding his ankles. As he worked, he
listened to the 'plop' sound the gas made, its pitch rising
higher and higher as the liquid filled the tank. However, having
both hands free, he made faster work of the ankle bindings, then
quickly inched the tape off of the rough fabric of his jeans.

As he wadded up the tape into a ball, he heard the gas nozzle
being removed from the tank, then heard the same muffled voices.
He could only make out the words 'last stop' and 'the lab'.

The word 'lab' mentally jarred him. He closed his eyes, his mind
flashing with pictures of being in a bright room, his body
connected to wires and tubes, people with surgical masks covering
their faces hovering over him, taking fluids from his body and
injecting him with unknown solutions. Snapping his eyes open, he
looked down at his arms to find needle marks on the inside of
both elbows. *What the hell did they do to me?*

Mulder heard the rattling of keys again, so he slowly, fluidly,
crept toward the back of the van. He heard one door open, then
another. Both closed simultaneously. Perched next to the back
door, Mulder waited.

Hearing the engine begin to turn over, Mulder grasped the handle
and pulled down, silently praying that the door was unlocked. He
let out a sigh of relief as he felt the door give, and he jumped
out of the van, immediately dropping to a crouch. He saw the van
lurch as it was put into gear and he roughly tapped the back door
shut, the latch catching and keeping the door in place. Looking
down, he glanced at the license plate, the numbers etching
themselves in his brain.

As the van pulled away, Mulder ran in his crouched position to a
nearby gas pump. He watched the van until it left his line of
sight. Grateful that it was nighttime and that the gas station
islands were all unoccupied, Mulder sat against one of the pumps,
rubbing his sore mouth and wrists. Now that the adrenaline rush
was wearing off, the dull ache in his shoulder was more
pronounced and the pain was making him dizzy.

He forcefully shook his head from side to side, his palms firmly
planted on either temple. He had to put the pain out of his mind.
He had to concentrate on how to get back to D.C., or more
importantly, on how to get back to Scully.

Taking a deep breath, and using the gas pump to steady himself,
Mulder rose from the ground and headed for the cashier. As he
walked, he tried to think of what he was going to say to the guy
in the tiny metal booth. All his tired brain could come up with
was: 'Hi, I'm an FBI agent who was kidnapped but just escaped. I
was wondering if you could tell me where the hell I am.'

*Yeah, that'll work,* he snickered to himself.

Reaching the booth, he tapped on the window to get the cashier's
attention. A clean-cut , twenty-something man raised his blonde
head and uttered a terse, "Need somethin'?"

Mulder cleared his throat, placing his hands on the metal counter
for support. "Uh, yeah. Uh, I'm a little lost here. Could you
tell me how far it is to D.C.?"

Looking through the glass of his booth, the man -- whose shirt
proclaimed him to be 'Mark' -- eyed Mulder with suspicion, seeing
the cuts around his face and neck, along with what looked like
burns around his wrists and mouth. "Well, D.C.'s not too far.
About 45 miles."

Mulder frowned, then nodded faintly to the man. He turned toward
the convenience store part of the station, eyeing a pay phone
just outside the store's entrance. He slowly walked toward the
phone, stopping a few times to shake the woozy feeling from his
head.

Once he reached the pay phone, Mulder started digging in his
pockets for change. Finding nothing, his hand went to his back
pocket for his wallet and ID, but he came up empty.

*Why does this not surprise me.* He sighed and picked up the
receiver. He dialed Scully's apartment collect, but was met with
her answering machine message. He tried her cell phone, letting
it ring a dozen times before giving up.

He was in the process of dialing Skinner's office when out of the
corner of his eye, he saw a white van cruising around the corner.
The van was going very slow, almost as if the occupants were
looking for something. Or someone.

Mulder slammed the receiver down and quickly entered the
convenience store. Partially hiding behind a rack of magazines,
he watched the van pull into the gas station. A lanky, fair-
haired man jumped out of the passenger side and jogged toward the
cashier's booth.

Looking to his right, Mulder saw an entrance to the station's
garage. Seeing that the convenience store clerk was busy with a
customer, Mulder moved to the door, opening it slowly, and
stepped through.

Light spilled into the dark garage by way of the small windows in
the three garage doors. Mulder carefully stepped around spare
tires and broken hoses that littered the floor while trying not
to slip on the oil puddles.

Finding another door, Mulder pushed through, finding himself in a
field behind the garage. To his left were two tow trucks, one
with its headlights on and engine running. Mulder, running as
fast as he dared, headed toward the truck, then ducked, his knees
and hands hitting the ground hard when he saw a dark figure
suddenly appear behind the wheel.

*Guy must have been bent down in the seat,* he thought as he
grabbed for his shoulder, the pain so intense that it threatened
to send him back to unconsciousness. Slowly, with his body
hunched over, Mulder made his way toward the back of the truck.
He crawled into a narrow space between the towing mechanism and
the side of the truck bed, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief
as he felt the truck jerk forward. The dark field became a
distant memory as the truck pulled away and onto the smooth
asphalt of the highway.

------------------------------

Mulder jerked awake, startled out of his foggy slumber by the
sound of the tow truck chains rattling and lowering. His eyes
fell upon a dark blue sedan parked behind the truck, its hazard
lights threatening to hypnotize him with their steady flashing.

*I fell asleep. Shit.* He ventured a look up in the back window
of the truck, keeping his head low. The balding driver had his
hand up to his face. Mulder could hear mumblings and static.

*The guy must be checking in, he's talking on the radio,* Mulder
thought as he slinked his lanky form down the small space he had
squeezed himself into, and he hopped off the end of the truck.

Still in a crouched position, he listened as the driver's door
opened and closed. Mulder, his weight resting on his hands and
the balls of his feet, scrambled toward the passenger side of the
disabled car, then to the back end.

Sitting on the hard asphalt, his long arms wrapped around his
knees, Mulder stayed in that exact spot for the fifteen minutes
it took the tow truck driver to hitch up the car and drive away.

Letting out the breath he had been holding for what seemed an
eternity, Mulder stretched his sore legs and arms, then stood. He
turned his body toward the faintly-lit skyline of a city, a mass
of clouds hovering low over the skyscrapers. This stretch of road
looked very familiar to him, and after a few moments, his clouded
brain finally allowed him to realize that he was only about ten
miles from his apartment.

*Ten miles, that's a breeze. I can walk that in my sleep,* he
thought, a pained smile washing across his sore lips. He needed
to get back and find out why he was taken and what was done to
him. He needed to get back and let Scully know that he was alive.

*Scully.*

Mulder methodically placed one foot in front of the other, his
battered body concentrating on moving him down the dark stretch
of asphalt, his tired mind concentrating on the unfinished
business waiting for him at the end of the long road.

THE END....or is it?