Subject: Failsafe (2/2)

Failsafe. 6/12.

Disclaimer and intro still haven't changed.
Comments/flames/howls of protest to:
fsucg@csv.warwick.ac.uk Caroline.

FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 30th July. 10.13am.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner sighed impatiently as he
listened to his secretary tell him, once again, that neither
Mulder or Scully had been into the office, and neither were
responding to calls made to their own phones. He dismissed
the woman curtly, pulling his chair closer to his desk and
taking out his reading glasses. Skinner's experiences, both at
the Bureau and whilst in Vietnam had taught him never to
scoff at his own intuition. Right now, that intuition was
telling him that something was very wrong. As far as he was
aware, no expenses had been requested by the two agents,
they were working on a homicide case based in D.C.

A man named Bryce had contacted the Bureau when he had
been unable to reach Scully. It was the first time that Skinner
had been told of their assignment. Bryce had been surprised,
hadn't Mulder said that Skinner had given him the case? It
was at about that time that Skinner began to smell a rat, a
large and distinctly nicotine scented rat. Bryce had admitted
to asking for Scully's help. Skinner concluded that someone
had set Mulder up as a failsafe, in the event that Scully had
refused to co-operate, Mulder's innate curiosity would have
been unable to resist.

So where the hell were they now?

Records from the car pool indicated that a car had been
provided the previous afternoon, that was the last time they
had been seen. Skinner collected his jacket and left his
office.

"If you hear from Agents Mulder or Scully, I want to know
immediately."

The woman recognised that tone.

"Yes sir."

10.32am.

Skinner opened the door slowly, he felt like a snoop. This
office was not his territory. Things went on in here that he
had never, and would never be privy to. This, and the
nagging worry, conspired to make him extremely uneasy.
The two desks bore the hallmarks of two contrasting
personalities. One neat and the other strewn with just about
every conceivable piece of junk. It was to the latter desk that
Skinner turned his attention. Digging through the discarded
take out cartons, he began to sift through the files stacked,
precariously, to one side. He had no idea what he was
looking for. None of the files seemed to have any correlating
details to the case that Bryce had described. To all intents
and purposes, the only cases occupying Mulder had
concerned a sighting of a large neanderthal in Auburn, MA
and an overgrown lizard terrorizing citizens in a New York
suburb.

Skinner wiped the perspiration from his eyes, cursing the air
conditioning and making a mental note to ensure that it got
repaired. He was about to cross to Scully's desk when his cell
phone rang.

"Skinner. Thank you. Have a car ready for me in five
minutes. Yes, I will be going in person."

1.10pm.

The process was an agonizingly slow one. The pulleys
attached to the car were stretched to their limit as it was
gradually dragged from its watery grave. Skinner cleared his
throat, looking at the car finally swaying freely in the air.
<Not like this, not like this.> The crane swung around
before lowering the vehicle to the ground. Skinner felt as if
his feet were trapped in the mud below his shoes, a muscle
twitched nervously in his jaw as the rescue services
swarmed towards the car. He heard the crunch of metal, a
ripping sound, jarring his already frayed nerves, as one of
the doors was wrenched open. Skinner lifted his head
expecting to see a sad shake of the head from the man
emerging from the car. What greeted him was a puzzled
frown, a shrug of the shoulders . "There's no one in here."

Galvanized into motion, Skinner walked hurriedly towards
the man. "Check the trunk."

More wrenching sounds.

"Nothing. It's empty."

"We got something here." Skinner moved around to the
driver's side, blindly following the voice. The small
gathering of men parted to allow him access . Although the
car had been submerged for some time, the current of the
water was slight, it had not managed to erode the stains of
blood from the steering wheel. Skinner established from the
position of the seat that Mulder had been driving. A glint of
metal from under the seat caught his eye and he bent to
retrieve it, holding it precariously with a pen. "Standard FBI
issue, think that belonged to one of your agents sir?"
Mulder's gun felt heavy in his hand as Skinner answered
with an affirmative nod . "Seal off the entire area. I want it
going over inch by inch, you don't find anything, you go over
it again. Same with the car. Keep me informed of any
progress."

Skinner did not wait for anyone to contradict his orders. He
made his way back to his car, heading back to Washington.
Scully's apartment was the closest.

2.25pm.

Mulder watched his partner struggle to catch her breath, her
asthmatic wheezes magnified a hundred times by the blunt
echo of the basement. If she was frightened, she was doing a
damn good job of hiding it.

"It's just the cold Mulder, don't worry."

Mulder was not convinced. The near-freezing temperature,
the blood loss and shock had weakened her considerably. He
rested the back of his hand on her forehead; she was too
warm. Leaving her side reluctantly, he soaked the bottom of
his T-shirt with water, cupping some in his hands to bring
back to her. Scully sipped the water gratefully, feeling it cool
her throat, easing the irritation there. With a creative bit of
manouevring, Mulder bathed her face with his shirt. Scully
quietly allowed him to administer to her, well aware that if
Mulder believed he was helping, he would not have time to
think what the consequences of a full blown case of
pnuemonia would be. Scully leaned back heavily against the
wall, trying not to make her breath sounds too conspicuous.
Lethargy was working its way into her muscles, her cheeks
burned and her thoughts were muddled. <Fight it Dana,
don't give in>

"Mulder...?"

He turned sharply.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm so tired."

He wondered if she remembered him using those words, the
gentle gesture she had closed his eyes with <"You should
sleep">. The fear rose within him.

"Scully, stay awake. You hear me? You can't sleep right
now." Mulder shook her shoulder, made sure she was
listening to him. "Talk to me."

"About what?" Her voice sounded stronger.

"I don't know. Favourite film, what you were like at school,
first boyfriend..."

Even in the dark, Scully could see him wiggle his eyebrows
at her . "OK. I get the idea, but anything I say, stays in this
room." Scully blushed at the inanity of her last comment, she
heard a desperate snort of laughter from Mulder as he drew
his arm around her.

"Yes Ma'am."

Mulder's apartment. Washington, D.C. 5.02pm.

Skinner approached the door of number 42, the skeleton key
from the landlord dangling loosely in his hand. Margaret
Scully's words were still ringing in his ears. After a fruitless
search of Scully's apartment, Skinner had played back the
messages stored on her answering machine. There had been
two from her mother. Skinner had called her, hearing the
weary acceptance in the woman's voice as she listened, once
again, to someone telling her that her daughter was missing.
Only this time, it was both of them; her daughter and the
man she loved as a son.

Skinner picked up the pile of assorted newspapers and flyers
gathered in front of Mulder's door. He smirked at a copy of
"The Lone Gunman", the cover of which was graced by a
non-too flattering portrait of Clinton being abducted from a
corn circle. Placing the pile to one side, Skinner pushed
open the door.

The apartment was gloomy and deathly quiet. The
luminescent fish tank, devoid of all fish, threw an eerie blue
glow from the side of the couch. Unnerved slightly, Skinner
pressed on the light switch, exhaling softly as he looked
around at the room. Tables and chairs were up-ended, papers
were scattered like ticker-tape across the floor. Whoever had
been there, had known exactly what they were looking for.
Stepping cautiously through the debris, Skinner reached
Mulder's computer, listening to the soft hum of the modem
as he launched a doomed attempt to access the agent's e-
mail. Skinner failed the three guesses at the password,
floundering for another access route and being politely, but
firmly denied. Frustrated, he turned to leave. Throwing a
parting glance around the room, he saw the red light on the
answering machine demanding his attention.

"Mulder." The voice was unfamiliar to Skinner, formal, but
at the same time, jokingly so. "Thanks for the TLG
subscription, better late than never right? Frohike wanted to
know if Scully had reconsidered, says she won't find better
bedtime reading. Are you still on for the conference a week
Saturday? Let us know when you get back."

Skinner's gut tightened. <"Let us know when you get
back."> Who the hell were these guys? Replaying his actions
mentally, his gaze strayed to the door. Striding over with
renewed purpose, he threw it open and rifled through the
newspapers until he found the magazine. <"Thanks for the
TLG subscription."> He snatched up the magazine,
thumbing through it, searching for a clue as to the writers'
whereabouts. It was after a couple of pages that Skinner
realised he was persuing possibly *the* most paranoid piece
of literature ever published. Tracing these men to their
headquarters was not going to be an easy task. Skinner was
not familiar with the specific details of Mulder and Scully's
case, but an unfailing gut instinct told him he was running
out of time.

Failsafe. 7/12.

See part one if you are really into the intro and disclaimer
thing. Comments/ Flames and Red Speedos welcome at:
fsucg@csv.warwick.ac.uk Warning, this part contains scenes
that some people may find disturbing, and they happen
pretty much straight away so cover your eyes...

5.45pm.

"Dad thought Jack was too old for me, that only made me all
the more determined to date him."

Mulder chuckled softly, imagining the battle of wills that
Scully and her father must have been regularly engaged in.

"At least he cared enough to want to interfere, Scully." He
felt her nod in agreement. In a little over three hours, Scully
had opened up a side of herself to him that Mulder had
rarely had the privilege to see. They had spoken casually
about their personal lives before, but never with this amount
of intensity or detail. She was tiring now, he could hear it in
her voice, and the bouts of coughing were becoming more
frequent. Mulder wondered how they could both remain so
calm. But were they calm, or resigned? The constant ordeals
that they had both been forced to endure through their work
on the X-Files, had not only sapped their strength, but also
their ability to take anything for granted. As they sat,
huddled together in their cold prison, Mulder acknowledged
that maybe, if they were honest, they had both been
expecting something like this to happen.

Scully felt her partner shiver, gooseflesh rising on his bare
arms. She didn't know what he had just been thinking about
<Maybe that's not such a bad thing> and before she could
ask him, she heard the keys rattling in the lock. The light
sliced through the basement.

"Oh God. " Mulder felt the bile rising in the back of his
throat. Scully kept her hand on his arm, a restraint and a
comfort.

"How we all doing?"

Scully could feel her knees weaken, the light sensation that
accompanies sheer elation or outright terror. She forced
herself to look at Logan but could not formulate a reply.

"Oh, Agent Scully, you don't look so good."

<She looks a damn sight better than you though> Mulder
squinted closely at Logan's face. It seemed to be decaying by
the second. Part of the flesh had already been eaten away,
leaving a mess of red and green traces across his visage. The
lips were peeling and his teeth were coming loose from his
gums. The sight was not a pleasant one.

"Let's have you over here, shall we?"

He bent towards Scully and pulled her up to stand beside
him. Mulder remained motionless, not wanting to provoke a
further attack. Scully swayed unsteadily, willing herself not
to faint. Logan half dragged her over to a table, leaning to
fasten a bulb into a small angle-head lamp. Scully saw a
hook on the wall, saw the blood on the floor and bolted.
Jerking herself away from Logan's grasp, she pushed at him.
He was caught by surprise and fell awkwardly to the ground.
Struggling blindly, Scully tried to run back to Mulder, who
was sitting open mouthed with shock. With a quick shake of
his head, Mulder scrambled to his feet. He could see Logan
picking himself up, could see Scully, panic stark in her eyes.
She wasn't going to make it.

To Mulder, it seemed to happen in slow motion.

He watched as Logan hit Scully from behind, sending her to
the floor, cursing under his breath. With an effort, Mulder
snapped out of his stupor and launched himself at the man.
Logan turned from Scully and braced himself for Mulder's
onslaught. Sidestepping neatly, he drove a double fist into
Mulder's back, driving him onto all fours, a kick in the chest
effectively quashing the rebellion.

"Now, where were we?"

Panting slightly, Logan caught hold of Scully's chains and
linked them over the hook in the wall. She slumped forward
on her knees, resting her head on the clammy concrete.
Waiting. She sensed Logan move away from her, realised
that he was going back towards Mulder. There was a silent
pause before the sound of dull thuds filled the basement,
Scully heard her partner groan quietly. Hot tears streamed
down her cheeks as she listened, helpless to do anything but
wait for her turn.

To Scully, it seemed like hours. Her arms, fastened above
her head, went numb. She could hear herself repeating a
plea to Logan to stop hurting her partner, a plea that
remained unanswered.

Then the pounding stopped.

The sound of Logan panting from exhertion filled her
senses, there was no sound from Mulder. She could not see
Logan standing with his hands on his hips, trying to catch
his breath. She could not see the satisfied grin as he looked
at Mulder, but she knew it was there . "Agent Scully, looks
like we get to spend some time alone." He was moving
towards her, his steps measured, almost jaunty. He stepped
into her line of vision. A thick, green slime glistened on his
forehead, a bizarre mainfestation of perspiration. Scully
raised her eyes to meet his, a look of disgust that made her
lips thin and her eyes blaze.

"You bastard."

For all Scully knew, this thing had just killed her partner;
her best friend. She was not going to give him the pleasure
of seeing she was afraid, or that her heart was breaking.

With a smile, he moved from her sight, rustling in a box,
mumbling to himself. He appeared again, a small tray of
surgical instruments in one hand, a clipboard in the other.
Scully was too dumbfounded to be scared, this was like every
bad B-Movie Mulder had ever made her sit through. Logan
flipped through the pages attached to the board.

"Makes for pretty interesting reading this. But I don't
suppose you'll ever find out what's in here. Was it three
months you were missing for?"

Scully willed herself not to react <he's lying, he's lying>, but
her little inner voice sounded hollow. "I was asked to do a
spot of extra research for my colleagues. They thought it
would be easier this way, less attention drawn to them, you
see. So, let's get started, shouldn't take too long."

He put the file to one side and knelt down beside her. Scully
felt her arms tremble, her breath wheezed from her lips. In a
swift movement, Logan ripped the back of Scully's blouse,
sniggering derisively as he saw Mulder's makeshift
dressings. A thin blade tore the shreds of cloth from around
her torso, leaving her back exposed. She felt the cool tip of
the blade against her skin, her breath escaped in a barely
smothered moan as the metal pierced her flesh and drew a
line through it. As the scalpel was withdrawn, Scully fainted.

"Agent Scully? Agent Scully?!"

There was no pain, only an overwhelming tiredness and a
feeling that, however momentarily, she was safe.

"Can you hear me?"

She recognised the voice but her dry lips would not reply.
She nodded. It took an effort to lift her head from the
ground, but she managed it. Squinting into the glare that
surrounded the figure, her dull thoughts concluded that she
had last had this dubious pleasure on the floor of her
kitchen.

"I know you're angry Agent Scully."

<That's an understatement>

"I know that. We're sorry for getting you into all this. We
had no idea Logan was working for someone else's agenda."

Scully was finding it difficult to distinguish between speech
and thought.

<Do you know who he is working for?>

"We cannot survive here long enough to find out."

<Then why are you here now?> Even Scully's thoughts
sounded defeated. <Can you help us? Is Mulder alive?> It
had slipped through before she was able to stop it, she was
not sure she would be able to cope with the answer.

"He was alive when Logan finished with him."

Scully screamed suddenly, her entire body convulsed as it
was wracked with an unbearable pain. The figure in front of
her faded than gradually strengthened . <What's happening
to me?> The pain was abating slowly. Her fists clenched
and relaxed.

"You almost regained consciousness. Stay with me Agent
Scully, Dana. You have to hold on. We are doing our best to
take Logan. The decay you saw, we are making that happen,
but we can only do it a piece at a time. We thought you
would be able to manage, then we could reclaim him in our
own time, but none of us knew the true abilities of the
callousness of what we were trying to fight.

<Do you think you can help us?>

The creature leaned down to her, placed a hand on the crown
of her head. A warmth infused Scully's body, a promise of
safety. Scully slipped back into the dreamless sleep, the
words of the creature replaying themselves in her mind.
<"You have to hold on.">

FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 30th July. 7.15pm.

He had always hated this office. As a junior agent in the
Bureau, he had spent countless hours behind this desk,
reading through case files in the inadequate light. Now, it
was a place where he felt secure, sure that he could not be
listened in on, or observed. Skinner had based his team here,
a small team of agents he had worked with through some of
his toughest assignments, and whom he trusted implicitly.
There were usually five agents who fulfilled that criteria,
today that number was down to three. The office was
cramped, designed to accomodate one man not four. The
barely contained frustration seeping into the atmosphere was
not helping. No detail of Mulder's assignment could be
located, no results from any of Scully's forensic work. A man
by the name of Stave had disappeared completely, Alan
Bryce and family had been placed in protective custody. The
originators of "The Lone Gunman" remained elusive,
waiting for them to contact Mulder seemed to be the only
way that they were ever going to be traced and Skinner knew
that they did not have the time to waste hoping for that to
happen. The absolute silence, Skinner had insisted the case
be surrounded by, was limiting the resources that they could
access, hindering work that needed to be accomplished
quickly.

"Sir, we might have something here."

Skinner made his way towards the two men hunched over a
copy of "The Lone Gunman". Special Agent Anthony
Charles handed the magazine to his superior and passed him
a magnifying glass.

"Down in the bottom, left hand corner of the page. It looks
like some sort of coded contact number."

Skinner whistled softly between his teeth. The number was
barely perceptible to the naked eye, visible only to people
who knew what they were looking for. It was not a phone
number, well, not immediately so.

"Get this down to the code breakers. No, call Ally at the
department, tell her to get down here with whatever
equipment she will need."

He did not need to say any more than that. Charles made the
phone call, divulged the barest of details and reported that
Ally Davis was on her way. Skinner flipped open his cellular
phone.

"I need to speak to Doctor David Walker. Yes, that's right.
Well, could you page him as soon as he finishes in surgery.
Tell him Walter needs to speak to him urgently. Yes, thank
you."

A sharp rap on the glass panel of the door greeted Skinner as
he placed the phone back into his pocket.

"Come in."

Charles rushed to help the slight woman as she staggered in
through the door with a large, electronic laptop.

"Somebody want to fill me in on what the hell is going
on...?" She caught Skinner's eye. "Sir."

7.27pm.

It was no specific pain that forced Mulder back to lucidity,
every part of his body registered an identical, throbbing
ache. The energy necessary to raise his head eluded him, it
had taken him all of his strength just to open his eyes. He
was lying on his side, facing the wall, still curled up into the
foetal ball that had failed to protect him from Logan's
beating. He was beginning to isolate the parts of him that
hurt the most. His face was a dull mess, touching it gently,
he ascertained a considerable amount of swelling, his fingers
came away sticky with blood. He could feel his ribs on his
left side grating together, the small of his back complained
every time he moved.

"Scully?" His voice was ragged, his mouth dry and bloody.
"Scully?" Steeling himself for the effort, he dragged himself
up to a sitting position, leaning against the wall for balance.
Through swollen eyes, he scanned the basement, his gaze
resting on a small, dark mass on the opposite side. <How the
hell did she get over there?> A second concussion was not
aiding Mulder's memory, but small fragments of information
filtered through to piece the events together. The sight of
Scully being dragged away from him, the sound of a scream
shattering the unconscious state Logan had left him in.
Terror masked the injuries that had kept Mulder stationary.
Standing slowly, he wavered before staggering over to his
partner.

"Scully?"

His voice cracked then deserted him, giving way to a quiet
rage and tears that pushed their way along his battered
cheeks. She was still chained to the wall, her body hanging
limply, the hook in the wall the only thing keeping her up.
Her blouse hung in tatters from her shoulders, framing a
criss-cross pattern of wounds in her back. Mulder's legs gave
way beneath him, he knelt unsteadily by her side. She was
still breathing, a raspy, irregular wheeze. Mulder was afraid
to touch her, afraid that she would give up her tenuous hold
on life if he did. The cuts were identical to the ones he had
seen in previous victims, a range of depth and size.
Regaining his composure, Mulder took hold of Scully's
bonds and unhooked them, as he cradled her to the floor, a
sharp smell stung his eyes . "No. Please God."

Mulder had encountered a similar smell twice before, once
in the attic of a doctor's house and more recently, in the
Artic. He turned Scully onto her side, despite the lack of
illumination, he could see a faint tinge to two of the deepest
wounds. The blood around the outside of them had already
begun to thicken, Mulder knew that her heart would fail as
the chemical passed into her bloodstream. A devastating
feeling of futility washed over him, there was nothing that he
could do for her. He shivered fiercely, tried to pull the
remnants of Scully's blouse over her to keep her warm, then
stopped himself. The temperature in the basement might be
the only thing that she had working to her advantage. They
were both freezing, maybe it was cold enough for the virus to
be inhibited. Not knowing if he was doing the right thing,
Mulder turned Scully onto her back, leaning her down onto
the cold floor, concluding that an infection from the dirt
there was the lesser of two evils. He winced on her behalf as
he settled her, resting her head in his lap, almost relieved
that she was still unconscious. Closing his eyes wearily, he
stroked his hand through her hair, the sound of her laboured
breathing dictating his rhythm.

Failsafe. 8/12.

Disclaimer and intro still the same, see part one if you're
really into that kind of thing. Comments/flames/sunflower
seeds welcome at: fsucg@csv.warwick. ac.uk Please don't
flame me over the phone numbers in this section, I'm a Brit
and I've never phoned anyone in D.C :) Caroline.

FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 7.52pm.

The code breaking program had been in operation for about
fifteen minutes before the agents began to see any signs of
progress. The data was being processed through an elaborate
set of diagnostic devices, each working to decipher the
pattern of the numbers used and establish their significance.
Under Skinner's instructions, Agents Charles and Anderson
were organising a quick response unit, each man approved
by Skinner and prepared to move out at the shortest notice.
Skinner hovered over the shoulder of Ally Davis, not making
sure that she was doing her job properly, just trying to
reassure himself that progress was being made.

"OK. So far we have area code 0807. That puts them quite
close by."

"Figures. How long do you think the rest will take?"

Davis shook her head, feeling responsible for every second of
the delay. "The first part came up pretty quickly, the rest of
the number has been scrambled using a different code. It
could be minutes...could be days." "Just do your best."

The chirp of Skinner's cell phone interrupted Davis'
response. "Skinner...David...It's not been long enough in my
opinion, well, on a professional basis anyway. Yes, I need
your help, do you think you could come over to the Bureau?
I'll have one of my men meet you...It is an emergency,
yes...No, no, you don't need to bring anything. I'll be able to
tell you more when you arrive. And, David?...Thank you."

Agent McFee was already on his feet. At a confirmation
from Skinner, he left the room to wait for Dr.Walker.

"It's coming through!"

Ally Davis was barely able to stifle a yell of delight. Skinner
strode over to the desk.

"We have access to the code, the numbers should be finalised
in about a minute."

Skinner let out his breath slowly, making the final
alterations to the tracing equipment by the phone."

"Here it is...0807 42 08 05."

Skinner dialled the number as Davis relayed it, holding his
breath as the dial tone skipped around before, finally, a
ringing could be heard. The recording device began to tape
the call. Skinner raised his eyebrows as a pre-recorded
message began to play . "Congratulations! You have
successfully broken this month's code, a free years
subscription to TLG is now yours. Leave your name and
address after the tone and your first issue will be on its way
soon."

A cold sweat broke out on Skinner's forehead. Would they be
able to trace this? He decided to gamble.

"This is the Assistant Director of the FBI. If anyone is
receiving this call, I need to speak with you urgently."

The silence was deafening.

"I don't need to meet with you, this is a call for your
assistance. Agents Mulder and Scully have gone missing.
you may be the only people who know where they are."

The tape recorder continued its slow revolutions, a panel
display blinked vacantly; no trace possible. Skinner looked at
Davis, she avoided his eyes, studied the desk top instead.
Skinner was at a loss.

"*They need your help*"

There was a sharp click at the end of the line, an exhalation
of breath. "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

The relief in the room was palpable, Davis sat down quickly,
her legs shaking. Skinner gestured for her to watch the
recorder, when he spoke his voice was controlled, full of
authority again.

"I cannot prove that to you. A copy of your magazine was
discovered at Mulder's apartment, a message that you left
implied that you knew where they had been sent. They have
been missing for over twenty four hours. I have reason to
believe that their involvement in their case ws not
accidental, but all traces of exactly what the case entailed
have been eradicated."

Skinner heard a faint swearing in the background, the voice
at the receiver changed.

"Agent Mulder asked us to locate a man suspected of a series
of murders. He did not offer any other details. We didn't ask.
The man was identified as Paul Logan. Last known address
33 Gateslock Road, Baltimore. As far as we are aware they
left for that address immediately."

Despite the fact that the message was being recorded,
Skinner scribbled the information down. "Thank you.
When we find them, no doubt Mulder will be in touch." "Yes
sir, you tell him to bring the lovely Agent Scully along
aswell." Skinner's eyebrows almost arched off his forehead

"And, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful." The line went dead.

Davis was already on the phone, notifying the convoy of
men, telling McFee to get his "butt back down here" as soon
as Doctor Walker arrived. Skinner took hold of his jacket,
checked the clip in his gun.

"Let's go."

8.22pm.

Scully had been drifting in and out of consciousness for
some time. The burning sensation blazing across her back
was not exactly tempting her to make the effort to wake up.
Mulder watched as her eyes opened again, blinking hazily up
at him.

"You're a mess, Mulder."

She sounded drugged, he hoped that was how she was
feeling. He placed his hand on her shoulder and she shivered
at his cold touch.

"What did he do? My back...He had a knife." She watched
his face again as if that alone would drive the images away.
"Mulder, I saw her again."

"Scully, you need to rest."

Mulder *had* heard what she had said, he had also seen the
state of mind that she was in, there was no way that he
would raise her hopes by encouraging her to trust what could
have been little more than a delusion.

"She said that they were trying to help us, that they were
taking him a piece at a time."

She was attempting to sit up, her conjested lungs desperately
needing her to.

Mulder's hold on her shoulder kept her firmly on the floor.

"I'm cold." Her voice was small, it took all of Mulder's will-
power not to gather her into his arms. He could not look at
her face.

"Scully, he injected you."

Her eyes widened, realisation dawning on her.

"The colder you are, the more time..." He choked off the
sentence. Scully seemed more in control than her partner
was. She bit down on her lip to mask the pain shooting
through her body.

"They're trying to help us, Mulder."

He desperately wanted to believe that was true.

FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 8.25pm.

"David, good to see you again." The handshake between the
two men was warm. Dr. David Walker had been Skinner's
physician for years. He regarded the tall man in front of him
quizzically. Walter Skinner had always been a composed
man, his natural expression appearing stern to the stranger.
Walker noted the obvious lines of fatigue on his face, an
unfathomable weight seemed to be bearing down upon
shoulders that usually held the appearance of being able to
endure the greatest of pressures. Skinner's cordial greeting
belied a man relieved to recruit another ally.

"So, are you going to tell me what is going on?"

Walker kept his tone light, allowing Skinner to take all the
time he needed. Skinner nodded, grateful to be able to
advance the proceedings and grateful for his friend's
consideration. He gave Walker an efficient synopsis of what
was known of the case. Alan Bryce had discovered his office
torn to pieces by unknown intruders, but his anecdotal
evidence was the only knowledge Skinner had of the
investigation.

"I need you to assemble a team of medics, and whatever
equipment that may be necessary. Agent Charles and Agent
McFee will accompany you to provide the authorisation."

Walker looked at his friend with an expression of shocked
comprehension. "you really think that they are still alive?"

Skinner finished fastening his jacket around his bullet proof
vest. "We have to believe that David."

9.32pm.

They were waiting for a miracle now.

>From outside the basement, scattered sounds could be
distinguished. Boxes being dragged, papers being torn to
shreds. At one point, Mulder distinctly heard a second voice
in conversation with Logan. He was preparing to leave,
covering his tracks and handing over the 'research'. The faint
smell of burning inflitrated the basement and Mulder fought
to overcome an age old phobia, one that he had never
managed to completely subdue. Scully stirred restlessly, her
lips moving but making no noise. Mulder leaned down
towards her, his back screaming in protest and being
ignored.

"Mulder..." Her voice was no more than a whisper. "I can't
breathe...have to sit up."

She was in a no-win situation.

"OK, but only for a minute."

Trying not to cause either of them any further pain, Mulder
helped Scully to sit up. Her face was a deathly pale, a blue
tinge to her lips was just visible. She coughed, a hoarse,
wracking cough that left her limp with exhaustion. Scully
lay down again of her own volition, leaning her head on
Mulder's thigh with a grimace of determination that Mulder
had seen many times before but never so immutable.

Seconds later, Mulder felt her body convulse. It was only a
slight twitching of her limbs at first, but the spasms soon
became more general and pronounced. With a vague
recollection of medical training, Mulder turned her onto her
side, making sure she could not choke. The seizure subsided
as quickly as it had begun, but not before Mulder noticed the
green blisters surrounding the two deeper wounds on her
back. He did not recognise this stage of the virus, but
realistically it could only signify the progression of the
infection.

Shuddering, Mulder placed her onto her back. There was a
trickle of blood on her chin, she had bitten through her lip
during the attack.

"I'm just going to clean you up a bit, Scully."

Talking to her as he wiped her mouth allowed Mulder to
look into her vacant eyes without falling to pieces. His self-
assurance was short-lived. Her eyes stared at him, but they
were devoid of Scully's vibrant personality. Unable to bear it
any longer, he closed them, the finality of the gesture
making him nauseous. He picked up her right hand in his, a
faint warmth was still there, reminding him that she ws also
running a temperature. Mulder was too tired to be angry, too
scared to feel futility. He could hear himself humming a tune
that his mother had used to comfort her children after
nightmares. The sound filled his ears, muffling the rasp of
Scully's breathing and the knawing aches in his every limb.
A quiet peace seemed to infuse the basement, a precious
serenity that Mulder had rarely experienced since early
childhood. Overcome by the need to rest, Mulder shifted
himself until he was curled around Scully, her head on his
arm, his chains providing a belt of security for her.

"Y'know Scully, after this concrete, I don't think ever Futons
are going to hold the same attraction."

He did not receive an answer.

In a matter of seconds, the sound of two people breathing
and a steady dripping of water were the only noises in the
dark.

Failsafe. 9/12.

Hi to anyone who has ventured this far. Disclaimer and intro
are unchanged from the first part. Comments/flames/howls
of derision to: fscug@csv.warwick. ac.uk Caroline.

9.43pm.

Skinner looked over his shoulder again, craning his neck
around to check whether anyone was following their car.

"Sir, you're going to put a crick in your neck if you're not
careful." Anthony Charles was driving. "There's no one
behind us." He was right, the small country road that they
were hurtling along was deserted apart from four rental cars
and a van, inconspicuously travelling approximately five
minutes behind each other. Skinner was in the lead car, the
van containing the medical equipment and technicians was
bringing up the rear. The convoy would re-establish itself at
Gateslock Road, something that would involve a
considerable amount of nail chewing for Skinner as he
waited for the trailing cars to catch up. Skinner glanced
down at the file on his knee, the same information that had
been faxed through to Mulder; Logan's criminal record. The
man's fixed stare had the same effect on Skinner that it had
had on his two agents, but at least he knew who he was
looking for now. Skinner had successfully shut his mind off
from the other details that Bryce had been able to give him,
he had not needed to see the evidence of these crimes to
imagine the results. To maintain a rational perspective on
the operation, Skinner refused to consider what Mulder and
Scully may have been put through. "Walter?" David
Walker's voice cut into Skinner's reverie.

"Go ahead David."

"I just got word through from Bethesda. I have a team on
stand-by there, no questions asked."

"How the hell did you manage that?" David may have been
based at the Naval hospital in Bethesda, but that was still a
considerable accomplishment. "Friend owed me a favour, he,
luckily, had a friend who owed him one too." Skinner sensed
the grin in the man's voice.

"Well, I think we deserved a break." Skinner paused, hoping
he was not thinking too far ahead, or too optimistically.
"That's quite a trek though." "Walter, let's cross that bridge
when we come to it." The doctor's tone was more guarded.

"Agreed. Over."

Skinner checked his watch as the connection went dead.
They were making good time. His stomach fluttered with
anticipation, a bizarre combination of adrenalin and
trepidation that had dominated his time in Vietnam. This
was a different kind of combat, a different kind of strategy,
but as he sat, weapon nestled in the palm of his hand, he
wondered whether the enemy had changed.

10.12pm.

Mulder was jerked awake by a crashing outside the basement
door. A thin, high pitched scream reverberated through the
air and the door was thrown open, slamming back against
the wall. Logan stoood framed by the back light, a silhouette
with a shifting outline. Mulder did not have the energy to
raise his head far off the floor. He could barely see Logan;
the tangle of Scully's hair surrounding his face forming a
barrier between the two men. Mulder leaned down close to
his partner. She was barely breathing, tiny exhalations of air
brushed his cheek and she remained unconscious, something
that Mulder had never thought he would be grateful for.
Logan walked quickly down the stairs towards them, his
progress seemed graceless, clumsy

Biting hard on his lip, Mulder sat up, but not with the best
will in the world could he stand. Scully lay in front of him,
still as death. Logan reached them, stood over Scully. For a
second a mock smile of sympathy passed over his ruined
face.

"I just got word from one of my associates. Apparently a
rescue mission is being staged, and my colleague is worried
that I will have left some evidence behind. Namely, you."

Mulder saw a faint glow behind Logan, an ebb of light that
abruptly disappeared, making the darkness all the more
formidable. For the first time, Logan seemed less sure of
himself.

"It also appears that I won't be around for too long now."
The glow caught his eye again, a strange murmuring sound
rattled across the room. Logan took a deep breath, his feet
moving closer to Scully's prone body. "Guess we should get
it over with."

The murmuring was increasing in volume. Logan was
becoming more and more agitated. Mulder watched, hardly
daring to breathe, not wanting to hope for what he thought
might be about to happen.

A cool breeze swept across Mulder's face making him shiver.
Logan swirled around, turning his back on his captives,
trying to locate the source of his torment.

"I'M NOT..." His words were ripped from his throat in a
throttled cry, his defiance not being given the opportunity to
articulate itself. With a roar of agony, Logan moved back
towards Scully, only to find Mulder bracing himself for the
onslaught, crouching in front of his partner. Logan laughed,
scorning what he saw to be a pitifully heroic effort, it did not
deter him for a second.

Mulder was feeling anything but heroic. He was half doubled
over in pain, a cold sweat beaded his forehead, blinding him
as it trickled into his eyes. Logan kicked out at him, catching
Mulder in the shoulder, forcing him off balance . "Is that
what you want G-Man? For me to kill you first? Maybe then
your girlfriend will last till help gets here, is that the plan?"

That was the plan.

Mulder laid both hands in front of himself, trying to muster
up some semblance of strength. He winced suddenly at the
brightness of the glare coming from behind Logan. The
disembodied voices raised themselves into a tumult,
pounding Mulder's ears, hammering the air from his lungs.
Logan wailed, a primal cry of desperation as his body was
torn by the force of his origins.

It was too difficult for Mulder to remain upright. Curling
himself onto the concrete, he drew Scully close to him,
buried her head in his chest in an attempt to shield her from
the tempest. A soft voice reached the periphery of Mulder's
hearing, an assurance of security, a promise of protection
and finally, silent gratitude. He could feel himself slipping
away, a great gulf opening up between himself and harsh
reality. Despite his stubborn resistance, Mulder lost
consciousness.

He did not hear Logan's final howl as his body was ripped
apart, the dazzling display of light and sound washed
harmlessly over the two agents. The remnants of Logan's
body were efficiently gathered by invisible hands, justice
would later demand their reconstruction, but that was the
concern of a separate existence.

A sad caress touched the two sleepers, a final apology and a
farewell.

Gateslock Road. Outskirts of Baltimore. 10.18pm.

The shock wave of light and the lamenting cacophony that
accompanied it, submerged the deserted street into a
miniature maelstrom. The chaos provided a spectacular
welcome for Assistant Director Skinner and the two open-
mouthed agents travelling with him.

"What the hell was that?"

Agent Charles was a man of few words. He stopped the car a
discreet distance from number thirty three, gaping at the
rubble-strewn street, briefly illuminated by an impossibly
bright light.

As the wind died down, Skinner opened the car door.

"Sir, we should wait for our back-up."

The statement was a mandatory warning from Charles.
Skinner glanced at the younger agent, nodded in
acknowledgement and checked his weapon. "We don't go in
there right now and there might not be any need for back-
up."

The street was cooler now, a biting breeze nipped at the
faces of the three men forcing a shiver from Charles. An
efficient moment of silence elapsed as the men organised
themselves into an assault formation and, walked stealthily
towards the house.

"Looks empty."

Charles' voice was hushed, his flashlight played over the
lock on the front door and revealed it to be broken. On a
count of three, he pushed the door gently, standing to one
side, allowing Skinner to enter. Their movements were fluid
and unrushed, a steady sweep of the house revealed recent
habitation and an obviously hurried departure. Skinner stood
in the kitchen of apartment two and kicked at a pile of ash,
small black flakes leapt into the air and dispersed across the
floor. Skinner brushed his hand along the counter top,
removing it quickly when he felt the heat there. He turned
as Charles and Anderson came through the apartment.

"Anything?"

"Nothing seems to have been affected upstairs. Whatever the
disturbance was, it looks like it was confined to this floor."
Charles watched as Skinner prowled around the room.

"We're missing something."

Charles did not voice his misgivings, his doubt over the
reliability of the Lone Gunmen, his suspicion that they may
have been sent on a wild goose chase. Instead he scoured the
apartment, searching for hidden compartments, rooms they
may have overlooked . Skinner was in the bedroom when he
heard it. The faintest of noises, a slight rattle of metal and a
distant voice.

"Charles! Anderson! Get in here." Skinner was moving
towards the sound, holding his hand up to prevent the agents
from speaking. They stood transfixed, straining to identify
the direction of the noise and only succeeding in amplifying
the pounding of their own hearts.

Skinner looked at the floor, there was no trap door, but the
sound was coming from beneath him.

"Dammit, where are they?"

He began to walk around the room, running his hands over
the walls, feeling for any discrepancies in the design.
Following his example, Charles and Anderson did likewise,
tapping gently, applying pressure to the dank covering.

"Holy shit."

ting noise filled the room as Anderson removed a large piece
of panelling from the wall. A chill swept over the three men
bringing with it a sickly smell of decay.

Skinner checked his watch, the second car should have been
arriving any minute.

"Anderson, wait for the next car, get them in here A.S.A.P.
Keep radio contact." He looked down into the gaping
darkness. "If that's possible."

Anderson left Skinner and Charles with no small relief. He
did not know what was down there, what could cause that
kind of smell and he was not at all sure that he wished to
find out.

10.25pm.

Skinner went first, carefully descending the slimy staircase.
His eyes widening as he reached the bottom, he waited for
Charles to join him. They were in a room, a large, cavernous
room where various tables and benches had been arranged
into some sort of laboratory. Most of the equipment was
destroyed, glass splinters made the floor shimmer and
crunch underfoot, the stench was unbearable and the noises
were closer. A man's voice. Skinner recognised it now, he
had heard it so many times before, raised in anger or
frustration, quiet with grief. Mulder. A metal door beckoned
the two men, it was slightly ajar and it was filtering Mulder's
voice through to them.

Breaking into a run, Skinner reached the door and, gun
steady, waited for Charles to open it fully. The cautious
approach was swiftly abandoned as Skinner realised Mulder
was sobbing.

"Agent Mulder?!"

Skinner shone his torch around the basement, resting it on a
dark shadow on the far side. A face that Skinner barely knew
raised itself into the beam.

"My God."

Mulder blinked, shielding his eyes from the glare,
uncomprehending. "Help her."

His voice seemed to come from miles away as Skinner
followed the direction of Mulder's plea and saw the small
bundle on the floor.

"Go! I'll get the medics in."

Skinner heard Charles leave as he ran down the steps
towards the two agents. The sound of Charles' fading
footsteps was replaced by that of Mulder desperately trying
to rouse his partner. Skinner knelt by her side, she did not
seem to be breathing. With a gentle but firm hold, he
removed Mulder's hands from her shoulders. Her body was
ice cold as Skinner placed his fingers on her neck searching
for a pulse.

"Mulder...What happened?"

There was a faint throb of movement beneath his fingertips.
He searched Mulder's eyes, slowly absorbing the bruises and
lacerations on his face, the discolouration of his chest and
the shackles around his wrists. Skinner took his jacket off
and placed it around the younger man's shoulders. "You're
going to be alright. Can you tell me what happened to
Scully?" It was pretty evident what had happened to her. The
thin lace bra did not disguise the angry lacerations across her
torso, and her arm was distended crookedly around the
restraints. Skinner saw a small cut running towards her back
and, with a mounting feeling of dread, he turned her onto
her side.

"Son of a bitch."

He heard a muted sob escape from Mulder's throat. The flesh
on Scully's back was swollen and blistered, a gruesome
collage of wounds that emitted a faint and indistinguishable
smell.

"Keep her cold, she has to be cold." Mulder was trying to
place her down on the floor again. His hands were shaking
with the effort to remain alert. "Don't let them warm her."
He leaned back against the wall, holding her hand tightly.

"Mulder, listen to me." Skinner was keeping a hand on
Scully's pulse, preparing to move if she stopped breathing.
"Stay with me just a little while longer OK? I need to know
what he gave her." No response. "What did he give her
Agent Mulder?"

"Artic...I don't remember the name."

That was enough for Skinner. Mulder's long recuperation
following his trek across the ice had caused a near
breakdown for Scully, as she endeavoured to keep him at his
desk and away from active duty. The virus he had been
exposed to had been buried in medical files somewhere, but
Scully had been able to offer a detailed account of its effects
and even had a copy of his blood tests that she had smuggled
from the hospital. Couple this with Bryce's information and
Skinner had a good idea what they were facing. Mulder
was aware of Skinner's questions, but he could not assimilate
his presence into any kind of logical conclusion. He was
shivering so hard and he just wanted to leave now, to lay
down his head and sleep. He heard footsteps approaching;
voices calling out to Skinner, and his superior's urgent reply.
Men ran down the steps towards them, arms full of
equipment, torches blazing. Despite the fact that each man
was a hardened professional, they were all shocked by the
sight that confronted them. Mulder heard the horrified
comments and exclamations, the delay they caused seemed
to last forever, but only a couple of seconds actually elapsed
before the men moved forward to help.

David Walker had been thorough in his briefing of his
medical team. A quick consultation with Skinner confirmed
what they were dealing with. Walker gently lifted Scully
onto a cooling blanket before examining her. His proficient
hands carefully probing and assessing her injuries. "Pulse is
thready...oh shit..."

The thin wail of the heart moniter sliced through the nerves
of everyone in the room. Mulder pushed the medics away
from him, watching as Walker pounded on his partner's
chest as a second man fed her breaths through a face mask.

"One and two and three and four. Breathe. One and two and
three and four. Breathe."

The litany seemed to continue for an age before a faint bleep
on the moniter signalled Scully's willingness to fight.

As he watched her take a small gasp of air, Mulder began to
tremble, his entire body convulsing with relief. He distantly
felt a steadying hold on his shoulder, then the sharp feel of a
needle in the back of his hand, a flood of warmth through
his body followed by blackness.

Failsafe. 10/12.

Disclaimer and intro still haven't changed and they are still
rather dull. Comments/flames/little iddy biddy nitpicks
welcome at: fsucg@csv.warwick.ac. uk Don't blame Stef if
you hate this, she is just doing the posting thang...:)
Caroline.

11.18pm.

It was the unremitting rumble of the van's tyres and a cool
whispering of gas that woke Mulder. He gathered his
bearings slowly, moving his head groggily to try and see
more. He was lying on a low gurney and he felt sick .
"Agent Mulder, can you hear me?"

Mulder nodded, groaning as his head pounded. He reached
up to the mask covering his nose and mouth, pulling it down
around his neck. "Where's Scully?"

It was little more than a croak, but it was enough to make
David Walker stop trying to put the oxygen mask back onto
his patient. Shifting slightly to the side, he gestured to
Mulder. Mulder turned his head painfully, trying to pay
attention to what he was being told.

"We had to intubate her before we could move her. It was
difficult but we finally managed to stabilise her." Difficult
was a slight understatement, Walker shuddered as he
remembered trying to force a tube down a throat swollen by
an unknown infection.

"Will she make it?"

Walker was sitting too close to Mulder to be able to feed him
any false hopes.

"She's holding her own at the moment, but she is very ill.
We're keeping her body temp low and that seems to be
delaying any further progression of the virus. If we can get
her to the hospital and onto dialysis, she'll have a fair chance
of pulling through."

Mulder watched the respirator feeding air into Scully's
lungs, hearing the whistle as it passed back out. Skinner was
by her side, holding two IV bags and her hand. "You need to
rest Agent Mulder. We should be at the hospital in about two
hours. Are you warm enough?"

Mulder nodded again and closed his eyes. He felt another
blanket being placed over him and the gas brushing his face
again, before the rocking of the van lulled him back to sleep.

Skinner waited until Mulder's breathing indicated that he ws
asleep. "David?"

His question was ably pre-empted by his friend.

"I told him the truth Walter. If she makes it to the hospital
then she has a chance. We don't really know what the hell
we're dealing with though, and she's in bad shape already.
How she survived this long, with these injuries..."

David shook his head, he did not want to think about that,
concerned himself instead with checking the vital signs of
his two patients. Still stable. "Scott?"

The driver of the van cocked his head slightly.

"Yeh doc?"

"Get on to Bethesda. Tell Doctor Hillyard to have a double
isolation unit prepared, with dialysis facilities on stand-by."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. David smiled.

"Just in case."

Bethesda Naval Hospital. Maryland. 31st July. 1.22am.

The doors to the high containment unit swung open to admit
the two hand-held gurneys. Medical personnel immediately
swarmed around, shouting instructions and details, taking
charge of equipment, guiding the team into an examination
facility.

Skinner stood abandoned, he had no place in there, would
only be in the way, but that did not help make him feel any
the less useless. The unit was a glaring white, making him
squint after the hours of torch light. He wondered how it
would affect Mulder and Scully when they woke up, not even
considering that that might never be an issue. There was
nowhere to sit, the unit was separate from the main hospital,
away from prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Skinner
finally squatted in the corridor, a minute amount of the
tension draining from his limbs; they had got this far, they
had a chance. Feeling in his pocket, he removed his phone
and a small black book. Flipping through the pages he found
"S", he paused only for a moment before dialling Margaret
Scully.

Bethesda Naval Hospital. 4.36am.

"Walter?"

Skinner rose stiffly to his feet as he heard David Walker's
voice echo through the septic corridor.

"How are they?" His initial fears were allayed slightly by his
friend's expression.

"They're both stable and in isolation, that'll help limit the
number of people permitted access to them. You can go
through if you want, it'll be easier for me to explain there."

Skinner followed Walker down to the intensive care room
where he was outfitted in surgical scrubs and a face mask
before entering. His brow creased in sympathy as he looked
at the damage inflicted on two of his most valued agents .
"We have Agent Scully on dialysis and we are monitering
her temperature according to her response to this. She had a
nasty break to her arm, getting those chains off was a bloody
nightmare, but we managed it without causing her any
further damage. We irrigated the knife wounds before
stitching them, hopefully she won't have too many scars."

The mass of machines surrounding Scully made her look
tiny. They had tried to elevate her to take the pressure off her
back and she seemed suspended in an unnatural pose. David
watched Skinner's face carefully, he knew how protective he
was of this couple, and how deeply he admired them. He
lowered his voice, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

"We'll keep her on the respirator until we have the
pnuemonia under control and she is strong enough to
manage on her own. She's held on this long, I can't see her
quitting on you now." He laughed quietly. "She wouldn't
dare."

Skinner's smile did not reach his eyes.

"What about Mulder?"

Walker was injecting a further sedative into Mulder's IV.

"This should keep him out for a while. Whoever that bastard
was, he really knew how to hurt people without actually
killing them." He closed the port on the IV and placed the
syringe onto a tray. "We had to put a chest drain in, his lung
collapsed soon after we got him in here, there's always a
danger of that with broken ribs and your man here has five.
He has a severe concussion and bruising that, hopefully will
not cause any internal haemorrhaging. He's going to have
one hell of a headache though. Add to that, dehydration and
hypothermia and you have an extremely lucky man." David
shrugged uncomfortably. "Relatively speaking."

He looked at Skinner, not sure if he was even hearing him.
"Do you want to stay for a while?"

Skinner gratefully pulled a chair up between the two beds,
sinking into it and resting his head back.

"What a mess."

David finished adjusting the dialysis machine . "I'll let the
guard know that you're staying. Don't piss my nurses off
though, if you're nice, they might even get you a cup of
coffee."

This time Skinner did manage a smile . "Thanks David. For
everything."

David gave a loose salute.

"I think we're finally even Skipper."

Skinner reiterated the gesture, his smile broadening at the
use of a nickname he had not heard for a long time. Shifting
awkwardly in the unyielding plastic chair, he began his
vigil.

Isolation Room 7. Bethesda Naval Hospital. 31st July.
5.12am.

Skinner knew that voice. He turned his head towards the
door, saw the faint outline of a petite, dark haired woman
standing outside the scrub room. There was a man beside
her, his hand on her arm preventing her access.

"It's alright David."

Skinner's commanding tone startled them both, neither had
heard him approach.

"This is Margaret Scully. Dana's mother."

David looked sheepish, but the condition her daughter was
in he was not at fault for missing the family resemblance.

"Where are they? " Her tired eyes sought Skinner's for an
answer.

Skinner looked over his shoulder, then back at the woman in
front of him. Afraid that his composure would fail him, he
looked to his friend for guidance.

"I think Doctor Walker should tell you a few things before
you go in and see them."

5.30am.

The two men stayed at the door of the isolation room,
respectfully allowing Margaret Scully to be with her
daughter without their interference. Despite the warnings
from David Walker, nothing could have prepared her for
what she was confronted by.

"Oh, God, Dana.."

She walked slowly over to her daughter, took her hand from
beneath the cooling blanket and held it tightly, trying
desperately to infuse it with warmth. The tears ran
unchecked down her cheeks as Skinner pulled a chair over
for her. He did not know what to do. For all he knew
Margaret held him responsible, not just for this, but for
everything her family had been put through recently. He
realised that his fears were unfounded when Margaret turned
to face him, he saw no recrimination in her eyes, only an
intense sorrow. Skinner tentatively put his arm around her,
uncertain whether he was doing the right thing and not
really caring. He held her close as David explained the
treatment and prognosis for both agents. He was finally able
to offer a more hopeful prediction. Scully was responding
slowly to the dialysis and they were gradually increasing her
body temperature, it would be a lengthy procedure but she
was making steady progress. David turned to the nurse
sitting at the desk in the corner of the room.

"Can we see if there are a couple of comfortable chairs
anywhere?" Skinner shook his head.

"I have to get back to the Bureau, give them some sort of an
explanation. Is there anyone else you would like to call?" His
question was addressed to Margaret.

"No thank you. I'll...I'll be fine."

"If you need anything, anything at all, use this number." He
scribbled down his personal cell phone number and handed
it to her.

David walked with him to the door.

"I'll call if there are changes. Good luck."

Skinner pulled his face mask down revealing a sly grin. "I'm
gonna need it."

9.30am.

That bleeping noise was driving him crazy. An incessant
little chirping noise that was not alleviating his headache.
The worst thing was, there were two of them, working in
tandem to reinforce his misery. He must have groaned,
because a soft female voice told him that he was safe and not
to try and move. The voice was familiar.

"Scully?"

"Close Fox, but not quite."

<Mrs Scully> He opened his eyes, peering through a drug
induced fog, to see Margaret Scully's hazel eyes smiling
down at him. He blinked sleepily, trying to clear his
thoughts. The irritating noise was coming from EKG
moniters, so he was in a hospital, and there were two
separate moniters...

"Scully?"

His throat felt like it had a clamp set around it. When he
tried to push himself upright, nothing would co-operate.

"Fox. Stay still."

"Where is she?"

In an identical gesture to a previous one that David Walker
had made hours ago in a cramped van, Margaret Scully
moved to one side and allowed Mulder to see his partner.

He stared at her numbly, watched the lights on the machines
winking, animating her pale complexion with their hypnotic
flashes.

"What did the doctors say?"

Margaret stroked his hair gently, trying to assuage some of
his anxiety. "She's holding on Fox. They're doing all they
can." There was nothing else she could tell him, except to
repeat the words that must have been used a thousand times
in hospitals, elusive words that were not quite promises and
never offered a guarantee.

Mulder licked his dry lips, he was having difficulty
focussing. A nurse checked his vital signs and told him
Doctor Walker would be there to see him soon.

All Mulder wanted to do was forget. Every part of his body
ached, it hurt to breathe and he was terrified of closing his
eyes again. Unwelcome tears welled up and trickled down
his cheeks. Margaret Scully thought her heart would break,
as she watched the man she considered to be one of her own
children whimper inconsolably. She wiped his face clean,
not knowing how else to comfort him because she could in
no way imagine what they had endured. He cried for a long
time, an outpouring of fear and frustration that left him
exhausted. Margaret held him until she felt him quieten,
surrendering to a sleep that was far from tranquil.

----------end part ten----------

Failsafe. 11/12.

Disclaimer and intro still the same.
Comments/flames/caffeine to: fsucg@csv.warwick.ac.uk
Caroline.

Bethesda Naval Hospital. High Containment Unit. 1st
August. 2.15pm.

It was raining. The heatwave had finally been driven away
by a ferocious storm and the air was clear of humidity for the
first time in weeks. Skinner shrugged off his long overcoat
in the corridor of the unit, tucking it under his arm as he
retraced a now familiar path to room 7. He had somehow
found the time to visit three times since he had first left for
Washington yesterday morning <Was it really only
yesterday?>. A lot of people had suddenly become extremely
interested in his activities. Shadowy men lurking in obscure
corners, and unmarked cars following his every move,
ensured that Skinner never travelled without a companion,
one who was preferably armed to the teeth and not afraid to
lose his temper.

He had not been summoned to give an official report, of
what was still only a rumoured incident. Skinner knew that
certain parties at the Bureau were familiar with every single
detail, and were keeping a close eye on the progress of
Mulder and Scully. The only information that had been
released to the public spoke of a case that had resulted in the
"regrettable hospitalisation" of two agents. There was
nothing more than Skinner could do, anecdotal evidence was
never going to be enough for a prosecution and who the hell
would they prosecute anyway? Skinner's own, personal
choice would be the nameless, smoking man who had been
conspicuous by his absence for the past couple of days.
Perhaps his superiors were punishing him for his failure, if
this was the case it would probably be the only justice he
would ever know.

Skinner's musings were interrupted as he reached the scrub
room. The danger of infection now abated, he bypassed the
gowns and tapped lightly on the glass door. Margaret Scully
smiled as he entered, gratefully accepting the bag of clothes
he offered.

"Did you have any trouble finding them?"

"Not at all, your neighbour was very helpful. As for the other
two, I doubt that Mulder has ever owned a pair of pyjamas, I
brought him some sweats. Dana had a nightshirt by her
bed."

He was uncomfortable discussing her daughter's personal
effects. The trip to her apartment had been a fleeting one,
time enough to throw some toiletries into a bag and leave.

"There's some sandwiches in there somewhere, hospital
catering leaves a lot to be desired."

Margaret Scully smiled her thanks.

"Any change?"

Her eyes reflected the hope in his.

"Fox has been awake on and off, they keep sedating him and
he's been having the worst nightmares." She stroked the
back of her daughter's hand lightly. "Doctor Walker said
she's doing as well as he expected." A gentle touch to her
forehead. "I'm not used to seeing her this quiet."

Skinner could not help but laugh in agreement.

"Neither am I."

They sat side by side. He tried to reassure her that her
daughter would be safe should she return to work, and he
hated himself for making hollow promises, certain that he
could not convince her if he remained unconvinced himself.

4.20pm.

It had taken a long time, but when Mulder opened his eyes,
his thoughts were as lucid as his vision. His attempts to sit
up, brought Margaret and the nurse to his side, Skinner
having departed for Washington only a few minutes earlier.
Taking note of the determined expression on his face, the
two women helped to prop him up against the pillows. He
peered optimistically over at Scully.

"Come on partner, time to wake up." The steady hiss of the
respirator was the only response. He shrugged painfully.
"She never was one to take orders."

Margaret squeezed his hand.

"She'll do it in her own time Fox."

The nurse, who introduced herself as Kerry, helped Mulder
to take a few sips of water and ordered him not to talk too
much.

"I want to get up."

"What?!"

Kerry was a senior nurse and she had handled her fair share
of awkward patients, this was just plain insanity. <It's the
drugs, try and be reasonable, maybe he'll go back to sleep.>

"I have to get up."

"Fox, you can't, you'll hurt yourself."

"You don't understand. I need to be there when she wakes
up, I can't leave her on her own now."

There was something in his voice that sent a chill through
Margaret's blood. The enforced separation that the hospital
beds dictated was tearing him apart, and not for the first
time, Margaret wondered what hell this man and her
daughter had survived.

Kerry sensed the desperation aswell. His stubborn gaze
burned into her and she sighed a martyr's sigh.

"I'm not getting my ass kicked for this. I have a witness, this
is your fault."

Mulder nodded vigorously, more than willing to take the
blame. After a couple of minutes, a male orderly entered the
room pushing a large, padded wheelchair and shaking his
head at what he had been summoned to help with. Mulder
heard snatches of a heated consultation between the man and
Kerry.

"Yes, I *know* he should stay in bed."

"If he passes out, you can catch him."

"If we don't help him, he'll do it himself." That was the
turning point, they made their way over to Mulder and began
to untangle the wires and tubes that enmeshed him.

About half way through the process, Mulder began to wish
he had kept his mouth shut. Sweat chilled his body as he was
lifted from the bed to the chair. He shifted into a position
that allowed him to breathe without wanting to faint and
gratefully received the warm flannel Kerry bathed his face
with.

"You ready to steer this thing?"

Mulder hoped she was joking and gripped the arm rests as
he was pushed over to Scully's bedside. Once the
accompanying paraphernalia had been safely stowed Mulder
was finally able to take hold of Scully's hand. His own hand
trembled as his fingers closed around hers but he steadfastly
refused to cry. He never heard Kerry's soft sob, or the words
of comfort offered to her by Margaret Scully. His senses were
filled by the sight of his best friend struggling to win this
final stage of the battle. He held her hand tightly.

"Don't you leave me Dana Scully."

Failsafe. 12/12.

Guess what? I still haven't changed the disclaimer or the
intro. And I'm not likely to, seeing as the end is nigh. Hope
there are some people who stuck around for it. As always,
comments/flames and whatever else you see fit to send,
welcome at: fsucg@csv.warwick.ac.uk A million thanks to
Stef for posting this, don't blame her if you hate it :) ADBB,
Caroline.

2nd August.

The grass was cool under her bare feet, the tiny beads of dew
playing over her toes as she ran after the auburn haired girl
in front of her.

"Missy come on, slow down."

The older girl turned and grinned widely.

"You never could keep up, sis."

Dana took the hand that was offered to her, her own small
hand grasping that of her sister's with a fierce strength. She
remembered this summer, this chase across the field, the way
the sun had made Melissa's hair seem as red as her own.
Hand in hand they sat by the side of the stream, watching it
weave its own path through the grass, the lazy meandering
making the two children sleepy. Melissa was making a daisy
chain, stringing the flowers together and murmuring
something about being able to talk to the pixies if you wore it
under a full moon. Dana giggled as she listened, she was
only nine, but even *she* knew there were no pixies.
Melissa finished the necklace and placed it around Dana's
neck. The sun caught the yellow centre of the flowers and
they gleamed as bright as gold. Dana watched the dancing
light, it reminded her of something.

"I have to go now, Dana."

Melissa's voice seemed different, more refined somehow, as
she rose to her feet. Dana looked up at her, noticing for the
first time a small boy standing just behind her sister.

"Missy, do you know him?"

Dana could hear the boy crying, his sniffles cutting through
the summer air to tug at her heart. Melissa pulled her
younger sister to her feet, leaning down close to whisper in
her ear.

"He wants his friend to go with him, that's why he's crying."

With a child's simplicity, Dana nodded her head . "Ohhhhh,
right." She gazed up at her sister, Melissa was taller, older
now and she kissed Dana tenderly on her forehead.

"He'll look after you, I have to go."

"Missy wait! Don't leave me here, please." Dana could feel
her eyes burning with tears as she watched Melissa begin to
walk away, pointing to the boy. "I love you, Dana. Please
don't follow me, not this time. Please." Dana stared
mesmerized, her face crumpling with grief and sudden fear
as she held the flowers around her throat and wept. She did
not hear the soft approach of the boy, but she felt him gently
slip his hand into hers. His touch was warm and soothing
and her sobbing quietly subsided. Lifting her free hand, she
wiped her face, sniffling and leaving streaks of dirt across
her cheeks.

The boy smiled, his hazel eyes kind, but sad.

"Come on."

His voice barely reached her, it seemed to come from a great
distance, but she knew she was responding. Shyly, he
touched her necklace, his finger stroked the central flower
and her eyes met his curiously. He watched her patiently as
her breathing calmed. She felt protected, his hand a
cherished bond of security and she sqeezed it gratefully.

Isolation Room 7. Bethesda Naval Hospital. 2nd August.
8.08am.

It was only a twitch at first. A small movement of her fingers
within his. A movement so slight, it could easily have been
dismissed as an involuntary spasm. But for the man sitting
next to her, the crushing wave of hope that flooded through
him in response, was paralysing. His throat constricted, his
lips suddenly refused to function. All he could do was watch
her face, searching for some indication that she really was
coming back to him. He felt her hand move again, a delicate
tickling of her fingers against the ones that surrounded them.
This time, he swallowed heavily, forced himself to provide
the encouragement that she needed. The words croaked out,
he could barely hear them himself.

"You're safe, Scully, just open your eyes for me." It was like
coaxing a child to come out of a hiding place. "No one's
going to hurt you. I know you can do this."

Mulder saw her eyes flutter and his heart seemed to take
permanent residence in his throat. He looked around,
terrified in case she should need help, but Margaret Scully
had been taken to a spare room for a decent nights sleep, and
the nurse had left to prepare their medication. A desperate
prayer was in the process of forming itself beneath his
breath, when she coughed weakly and opened her eyes.

Mulder stared at her, convinced this was not actually
happening, then her eyes fixed on his and he knew that she
was seeing him, really seeing him. He blinked as a shy smile
spread across his face.

"Welcome back, partner."

The respirator precluded any response on her part, her lips
moving ineffectually around the tube.

"Take it easy, don't try and talk."

He could feel his voice growing heavy with emotion and he
willed himself not to break down in front of her. She was
slowly taking in her surroundings, but her gaze continuously
returned to rest on Mulder. He vaguely heard the nurse
return to the room, her call on the telephone a distant
intrusion. Scully moved her hand to her throat, touched the
cross that rested there, then took hold of Mulder's hand
again. The soft noise that choked from her, released
something inside of Mulder, he held her hand to his cheek
and let his tears wash over it.

Isolation Room 7. 3rd August. 9.20am.

"Is that a bit more comfortable."

Scully nodded thankfully, despite the removal of the
respirator it still hurt too much to speak. Her mother kissed
her softly on the forehead. "I'm just going to call your
brother, sweetheart."

Mulder sat quietly, watching as the medical staff turned
Scully onto her side, steadying her with pillows to allow the
wounds on her back to heal. He had told her the snatches of
information that he could actually recollect, that question
had been the first thing that she had scribbled down after
waking. The second had been a "Go back to bed" order, that
her partner had conveniently ignored. She was too groggy to
argue with him, and he knew that she was unwilling to let
him out of her sight, something that worked to both of their
advantage.

Mulder winced in sympathy as Scully tried to take a sip of
water, he remembered how much that hurt. She licked her
lips, gulping to catch her breath.

"Mul..." She looked surprised by the scratchy whisper her
voice had been reduced to.

Mulder leaned down close to her, brushed the damp hair
from her forehead in a gesture that become so familiar.

"Take your time, Scully, it gets easier."

She swallowed and tried again, concentrating on feeling the
words form, determined to persevere despite the discomfort.

"Th...Thank you."

Mulder looked away, could not meet the intensity of her
gaze. "For what? For helping to get you into this mess in the
first place?"

His voice was a rough mumble as he studied the ID bracelet
around her wrist. He did not know what he felt guilty about.
The case had been an elaborate trap from the outset, but it
was her entire involvement with the X-Files that he held
himself accountable for, and she had lost so much as a result.
Scully reached up with her hand, touched his chin lightly,
raising his eyes to look into hers.

"No, Mulder. Thank you for helping guide me back." It took
a lot to make Fox Mulder blush, but the unmistakeable pink
flush that spread across his cheeks delighted his partner. She
grinned sleepily. "That's a good colour for you, Mulder."

He squeezed her hand as she drifted back to sleep.

"I had the strength of your beliefs."

On the edge of a dream, Dana Scully smiled.

Fox Mulder. Journal Entry 213. 5th August.

I finally managed to get three hours of non-drug induced
sleep last night, something of a record. Skinner came in for a
couple of hours today. There has been no sign of Logan and
he believes, as I do, that further continuation of a search
would be futile. My memory of the time Scully and I spent as
prisoners is still elliptical, but my conviction that Logan was
a manifestation of an alien race remains firm. Scully is
generally too tired to argue with me and we have not spoken
in detail about the events of the last week. I know she is
suffering from nightmares, she tries to hide the fact, but
when you wake up screaming every night there isn't much
you can deny. I hear her typing sometimes, early in the
morning, tapping the keys with her one, free hand. She is
probably keeping her own record. It does help to write things
down, but I hope there will come a time when we are both
able to talk about what happened. I wonder how much more
we will be able to take, whether we will ever be assured of
safety. I would rather give up the X-Files than see Scully put
through something like this again, but I also know that she
would kill me if she ever found that out. Frohike called in
earlier, I owe those guys a beer, well, lots of beer. Scully
gave in and offered to subscribe to TLG, I blame it on the
medication myself, but it was good to see her smile.

Dana Scully Journal entry: 7th August, 6.17am.

I woke Mulder up again, he calls out to make sure that I am
alright then pretends to go back to sleep. He was sitting by
my bed yesterday, waiting for me to wake up. When I did,
we talked for hours about what had happened, what we
remembered. For me, everything after the first knife attack is
hazy, but snatches of what happened during that time return
through my nightmares. Talking to Mulder helped. Putting
abstract images into words makes them less frightening and
this is the latest I have slept since they stopped sedating me.

Mulder is able to hobble around now. Thank God mom
managed to get him a change of clothes, they don't make
hospital gowns in his size which seems to suit the nurses just
fine. I had my final dialysis session last night, glad to see the
back of the cooling blanket aswell. Somehow I just couldn't
face the ice cream mom smuggled in here, much to Mulder's
delight. I can see the effort it is taking for him to resist being
over-protective towards me, but that particular instinct works
both ways. I usually have to bite my tongue to stop myself
quizzing the nurses about every aspect of his treatment. I
guess this is something we both need to work on. I can hear
his breathing from here, it sounds like he really did go back
to sleep this time. I can close my eyes and listen to that and
feel safe. Not that I'd ever tell him of course, but it's not like
he doesn't already know.

X-File 1118 2X08.

Despite extensive searches by a team of Federal Agents, the
man known only as Paul Logan, has eluded capture. No
evidence of the reported crimes could be salvaged from the
house at 33 Gateslock Road where Agents Mulder and Scully
were held captive, their individual testimonies would most
likely be declared invalid due to the severity of the injuries
they sustained. The autopsy results and scientific data were
never recovered following their theft from FBI Headquarters
and Georgetown University. The families of the alleged
victims have refused repeated requests to exhume the bodies
for further examination, therefore making the likelihood of
building a viable case, next to impossible. Alan Bryce and
his family have been relocated under the FBI's Witness
Protection Program, the whereabouts of Simon Stave
remains unknown.

Agent Mulder was discharged from Bethesda Naval Hospital
on the 16th August. Agent Scully continues to make a
gradual recovery from the virus she was exposed to. It is my
hope that the study of this virus will clarify some of the
aspects of this case that currently defy reason.

As of August 18th, the status of X-File 1118 2X08, is
unsolved.

Officer of Record: W.S. Skinner.

Walter Skinner saved the report with no small amount of
frustration <How the hell do you two stay sane, doing this
week in, week out?> But he knew they would continue to
search. Continuing to defy an unseen enemy, intent on
chiselling away at their resolve and their committment.
Skinner took a deep breath, his spirits lifted enormously by
the lack of pollution in his office. He turned a small card
over in his hands, the message inside simple: "Thank you for
not giving up on us."

Bending it slightly in the middle, Skinner slipped the card
into the back of his FBI identification wallet.

<Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity>

It seemed appropriate somehow.

As he pulled his jacket on and prepared to drive to
Maryland, Skinner wondered if he had crossed that fine line
one too many times. But as he looked back at his office, the
intimidating desk and the somber portraits were dwarfed by
the flag of the country he served, and he knew that he was
willing to live with his decisions regarding this case for as
long as they would let him.

----------Fin----------

And that, is just about that :) If there is anyone who dared to
read this far, I'd love to hear from you:
fsucg@csv.warwick.ac.uk Thanks again to Stef for doing the
posting honours, and to all my friends who have put up with
me whining for hours while I've typed all this into the e-
mail! (Sorry about the lack of mail Pat!) ADBB, Caroline.