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Subject: Corpse 6/9
Date: 28 Jun 1995

Corpse 17/?

Beware, if violence and profanity bother you this story has most likely
already offended you and will continue to do so. My favorite form of
email is death threats.

Usual disclaimers. Boy, I get tired of writing these things. Blah blah.
Scully and Mulder and the X-Files property of Chris Carter and
Ten-Thirteen. Used, of course, without permission but also without profit
and, hopefully, without offense. Emma, her town, her story and all that
property of the Goo. No using without my permission! I don't get money,
so I hope to get email.

And bit thanks to Rodent, Amp, Sean and Linda. Tremendous help there,
guys. Greg - It's an Alupenth inhaler. And the other one's CPAP. So
there.

Goo
___________________

I'd brushed my teeth until my gums were bleeding when Jerry finally came
and tried to pull me out of there. I rinsed my mouth and face again, and
let him tug me back over to my bed, let him push me back.

"I'd forgotten just how much I hate you sometimes, Jerry." My voice
sounded hollow in my own ears. I looked up to find him watching me with
what was probably real, warm concern in his eyes, sipping what smelled
like mocha espresso from an insulated cup. I swallowed hard, and wondered
what it took to make him stop looking perfect. The stains on his suit and
the sleazy thing he'd just done certainly weren't enough.

He sighed and put his coffee down, came over to sit next to me and try to
wrap an arm around me. I shook him off.

"Careful, you're going to wrinkle your suit."

"Somebody has to help dry-cleaners send their kids to college . . ."

"Very funny. Almost as funny as that stunt you just pulled. What did you
think you were doing in there? Couldn't you leave him alone? At least
until he wasn't drugged out of his mind, or in shock or whatever the hell
that just was?"

"Emma, at the risk of making you feel worse, I'm not the one who just
pushed Spooky's buttons."

"Don't call him that." I couldn't hear his gasping and sobbing anymore,
but I hadn't heard the door slam either. They must have drugged the
living shit out of him. We'd have heard it if it was any worse than
that. At least now he'd sleep for a while. God, I hoped he'd feel better
when he woke up. I'd felt bad enough letting him and Scully walk into
that house. I didn't need to feel guilty over this kind of shit.

Jerry took a deep breath, held it for a moment, let it out and went to get
his coffee. I couldn't read his face, but I'd seen him pull this kind of
thing for years, stalling while he wrote his next bit of script.

"Emma, I want you to listen to me very carefully here, and I don't want
you to interrupt me. You can talk all you want when I'm done. You want
to ream my ass, you can do it then, but I need to explain some things to
you. Now, if you cannot do that, I'll leave and come back later. Can you
shut up and listen to me?" He watched me closely, not judging, letting me
come to my own decision. I finally nodded.

"Okay. First, my job is to find out the truth behind situations, decide
how to phrase it for the best interests of 1) the public," he held up a
finger, "and, 2) the subject. I do not aim to gouge some poor bastard,
but I need to know what is happening. That doesn't mean I'm going to
write a piece tomorrow, telling the world how Fox Mulder fell apart all
over the place, although I wouldn't put that past some of my colleagues.
Believe it or not, what I know of the guy makes me think I'd rather have
him in the FBI, trying to keep 'em honest. If he has problems, though, I
want to know about them. It does matter, Emma. It really, really does.
If this is like Oklahoma or Louisiana, it's going to affect the case
against Kane and may come up in evidence hearings. That's only the tip of
the iceberg."

He sipped his coffee again. "If he's really gone over the edge, then
somebody needs to know that, too. Mulder has. . . repercussions in places
you didn't need to know about. I didn't know about them until you put me
on his trail. But you'd better believe that someone like me better be
keeping an eye on him, and for more than his fashion crimes." He was
fishing for a laugh, trying to crack whatever look he thought he saw in my
eyes. And I just kept hearing Mulder falling apart, hearing Scully trying
to calm him down, get help, and hearing myself asking those damn questions
Kane had used to shove him into a corner in a burning house.

Jerry was talking again. "Emma, I'm not going to write about this." He
leaned forward and put a hand on my foot, trying to reach me. "I'm not a
monster. I'm not going to strip this man in public." I bit my tongue.
Jerry had stripped people before, starting with their wardrobes and ending
with their peccadillos in office. But. . . I'd known him to let people
off the hook, too, if he thought they weren't going to be able to DO
anything anymore, if he thought they were harmless, or useful. Over the
years he'd helped destroy a couple of political candidates, but he'd also
shielded his share of people whose worst crime was to be human and
fallible. So did he see my feds as useful and worthy? Or as a weak spot
to be exploited?

"I like the guy, Emma." Jerry's voice was soft, now. Earnest. I'd known
him for years, seen him fake emotions all over the place, but somehow I
believed him right then. "I haven't met him before, only read about him,
but he's done some amazing things. If he's made the enemies I think he's
made, then he'll need all the friends he can get, and I don't want to see
him trashed."

I couldn't let him go on. "If you like him, Jerry, then why did you stand
there and watch him go to pieces? We did not need to see that. We could
have just left . . ." Why had I let him keep me there? God, I hadn't.
Not really, I'd wanted to know. I'd not understood and I still didn't.
I'd tried to smooth things over and find something out and I couldn't
blame Jerry for all that. It just was not his fault. It was mine. God.
I swallowed and looked away from him. My eyes hurt, and I could feel the
cough in my chest and the pain in my scorched throat. The coughs pulled
me up double, and Jerry was suddenly sitting next to me, arm tight around
me, until the I could finally stop coughing and gasp in enough air to
unwind from my curl.

"God, Emma. Here." He must have been worried, he gave me the rest of his
coffee. That's like asking a junior partner to give volunteer time. I
finally gave him a tentative smile. Jerry had been helping me all along.
He'd done far too much for me to really think he might not care about more
than the story.

He settled back, watching me closely. I sipped his coffee, running back
through what had happened and finally recognizing that I'd just have to
watch Jerry, make sure he stayed on a leash. Jerry was just not reliable
on his own when something interesting was happening. He was watching me
still, worried. I smiled at him, finished the cup. "Okay Jerry. All
right. Tell me what happened. I know you have it all down. You probably
don't even need your notes. So you tell me."

"I'll make a deal, Emma. I know you didn't tell Scully everything. I
don't think you had time." He glanced at the door and had the good grace
to look regretful. "I'll tell you what I know. You tell me what happened
to you. And," he smiled, "once we have it on paper we'll see if Scully
forgives you if we give her the whole mess." I looked up at him,
startled.

"You can't really have thought I missed that. Come on, how stupid do you
think I am? You are not the soul of subtlety, Emma. And there very well
may be something in there that helps." His voice had fallen at that last,
quiet. And he might be right, I hoped so.

He sat back, gathered himself a moment, then started.

"The house was trapped. It was rigged to burn, slow and steady, and leave
nothing behind. If it burned too fast it would fall in on itself and
snuff the flames, so the stuff up stairs was slow and hot, like thermite.
Only in the basement would there be flashburning, and that not enough to
burn itself out. When you went back in, it had just taken hold for real.
The air that moved up the stairs carried smoke and fumes, and let the fire
race for the ceiling and start to make the partitions burn. "

"Scully said you went back in, and it took about ten more minutes for the
rescue crews to get there. Sound carries a long way out there, over flat
land at night. Frank Carson was . . . bad. Bleeding and in shock. You
don't want to know what Kane did to him." Jerry swallowed, looking a
little green, and I was more than willing to believe him. "When the
rescue crew broke in, they found you in the back of the basement. The
partitions of the rooms were crumbling in the front two rooms. The fire
had begun in the upper floors and the crews didn't really think they'd
find you alive down there. You were unconcious, Kane was awake but
suffering third degree burns on his legs."

"They didn't know what to make of Fox Mulder when they brought him out.
The way he was curled up, they were busy looking for stab wounds or
injuries, and he had enough blood on him for that. They found lots of
slashes, a few burns, but nothing that explained total withdrawal to
them." Jerry had gotten up and was pacing. "I looked back at the other
two times when you called me, and this sounded like the same thing. He
goes totally non-responsive, just curls up and goes away, all the lights
on and he's on sabbatical in the twilight zone. And he was like that
until they tried to get his clothes off to check for injuries, when he
totally freaked, just like the other times. Total screaming, irrational
panic. By the time they'd listen to Scully, believe she wasn't too far in
shock herself to function, he was already gone and they had six guys
trying to hold him down. They sedated the living shit out of him and got
him in here."

Jerry was looking out the window, collecting himself again. Even Jerry
rattled for some things. "They thought about putting him up in the psych
ward, but the respiratory damage from the fire was priority. I talked to
the ward nurses. They tried to keep Scully in her room and quiet." He
smiled. "Hospitals have this thing about patients staying where they're
put. But she's been in his room unless somebody dragged her out by main
force, like the D.A. this morning. Which, I would guess, is how you got
past her."

"Good guess." I'd been holding my breath, listening to Jerry, and had
never heard steps or anything else and Scully's voice nearly put me
through the ceiling. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, and
didn't look happy with either one of us.

"I take it Agent Mulder's sedated?" Jerry's voice was soft and neutral,
not appeasing, but definitely trying not to offend any further.

He didn't succeed. "Yes, he's sedated. Quite thoroughly. And shot full
of steroids for that asthma attack, which would probably not have happened
if you two hadn't decided to play games." Her voice gritted with her
anger. "Emma, I do appreciate you going in to help him, but if you come
down there again I will personally put you in traction. And Mr. Riggins
can have the room next door. The two of you damn near fucking killed him
in there. He's already on the Alupenth for it, and they're watching for
permanent damage. Neurological damage, Emma, and permanent respiratory
damage. And you fucking tip him into a damned asthma attack . . ." She
took a deep, long breath, like you take when you're counting to ten and
trying to keep from blowing up. I couldn't blame her. I'd come to the
same conclusion myself. Maybe I looked as bad as I felt, because she
finally shook her head, and let go of that anger when she breathed out.
"Emma, you could have done permanent damage in there. Mulder was in that
smoke a lot longer than you, and if he stays calm he'll probably be all
right. But with that kind of asthma attack, all bets are off. You may
have really just fucked him over once and for all." She looked away from
me. Her jaw was working and she looked ill.

"Scully, I am sorry. I didn't realize what would happen . . ." She
looked back at me, letting the anger fade to worry and exhaustion. I
guess she forgave me after a fashion. She settled in my guest chair,
rubbing her face with her good hand like she was trying to wash away the
exhaustion. When she looked up again, her eyes were focused and she had
herself under tight control. I knew it was tight because she actually
sounded pleasant when she spoke to Jerry again, although her knuckles were
pale where her hand gripped the arm of the chair.

"Mr. Riggins, I think you have enough pain and suffering to make a good
story, and I'm sure Emma will talk with you later. Why don't you go eat
some hospital food."

"I didn't know you hated me *that* much. But I'm a friend of Emma's. I
think I'll wait right here as long as she doesn't mind." I thought for a
second she was going to help his dentist make some quick money, but she
got herself under control and looked over at me.

"All right. You are going to need to talk to the D.A. And I want you to
talk to me, now. I need to know everything that went on in that
basement." She glared past me at Jerry in a final attempt to get him to
leave. I wasn't about to get caught in the middle, so I went to get a
glass of water from the bathroom, feeling my skin creep like I was dodging
a bullet. When I had my glass and had settled on my bed, both of them
seemed willing to settle in opposite corners of the room, although Scully
still shot toxic glares, which Jerry let bounce off his teflon. Just as
well, I couldn't see being able to really budge either one of them.

"What did Kane say, Emma?" Scully sat back, letting her head fall back
against the wall behind the chair, but I could see the gleam of her eyes
beneath her lashes.

I took a deep breath and started, letting the scene play in my mind again,
trying to stay calm and far away from it as though it were a movie. "They
were yelling at each other before I ever got there, Scully. I have no
idea what Kane was saying then, it wasn't really all that clear.
Mulder, well, when I got there he didn't have his gun, and his hand was
hurt. Again. And Kane was between him and the door. Whatever they'd
been talking about, whatever had happened, Mulder was already starting to
panic I think. Kane had him back in that corner, and he couldn't get out
past the fire. He tried to talk with him at first, tried to talk him into
leaving the house before it was too late. But he kept repeating himself,
and when Kane started telling him he'd burn, he really started to, well,
kind of fall apart. Kane told him he'd burn for what he'd done.

"Kane . . .This is hard, Scully. He didn't make a lot of sense to me, and
I was so scared." I took a couple hard breaths, pulled my robe tight
around me. Scully was leaning forward in her chair, elbow grounded on her
knee and hand, thumb under her chin. Her hurt arm was held tight to her
side, where the bandages wouldn't bind. It probably hurt her burned
shoulder to move that much, but she had other things on her mind now.

"Kane talked about his sister. He accused Mulder of having murdered her
and dumping her body in the bay, or hiding it somewhere, except he kept
saying she wasn't Mulder's sister, too. He talked about her and about his
own father and brother and everyone like they weren't who they were, like
they weren't even human. He kept saying they were bad ones, and not real,
and that he had to find the real ones and so did Mulder. But that Mulder
had stopped looking." I got up and got another glass of water out of the
bathroom, relieved to be able to step away from her. I was trying to
remember words and nothing else, and trying to make sense of words that
only a madman could understand. When I settled back on my bed she hadn't
moved.

"Scully, he kept saying that Mulder had lied about Samantha being
kidnapped. It sounded like he was saying Fox had been kidnapped by
someone who told him what to do but that he forgot, or lied, or wouldn't
do it. I guess, maybe, maybe he was saying that aliens took Mulder.
Because he said it was the same ones who took Kane, himself, and it didn't
sound like he was talking about people. It sounds pretty crazy, I know .
. ." Hell, I'd seen what I was sure were aliens and Kane's words sounded
crazy to me. I looked up at Scully, expecting total skepticism.

But she was watching me, working through it, and shook her head very
slowly. "No, I mean, it sounds strange. But it makes a kind of sense.
What else did he say?" Her voice had a hoarse, painful note to it, like
her throat had gone tight on her. She had wrapped her good arm over her
belly now, hand gripping the cloth of her shirt, and was watching me with
a fixed, intent look. The hand of her burned arm was balled into a tiny,
strained fist. I think her hands had been shaking before.

Jerry rustled behind me, but she didn't have any attention to spare for
him now. She watched me and waited. "I don't know what else to tell you,
Scully. Kane kept telling him he'd murdered his sister, but he'd killed
the wrong one. And Mulder was trying to tell him . . . I don't know,
that he'd help him find his father and brother, that was at first. Then
it was like he couldn't even think beyond where he was and what Kane was
saying. When Kane started screaming that Mulder'd murdered Samantha. . .
" I was sure Scully flinched. Her face had gone pale, and she'd shut her
eyes. I thought the lashes looked darker, like they were wet. "Kane was
screaming that Mulder was lying, that he'd killed Samantha, and that he'd
betrayed whoever 'they' were, and that he'd burn for it.

And Mulder really fell apart then. I mean, Kane had him back in the
corner, and it was burning and the ceiling was on fire, and it was coming
back towards them and Kane kept driving Mulder into the fire. Every time
he tried to get past him out of that corner, Kane'd slash at him and cut
him, and force him back further. And Mulder just came apart at the
seams. He started screaming back at Kane, begging to get out of there,
but neither of them were making any sense by then. And the whole wall was
burning. That corner was full of fire, and Mulder couldn't get out of
it." Scully had dropped her head, let her hair hide her face, body curled
around some nameless feeling. I don't think she was crying, but she
didn't want us to see her face. Jerry held very, very still. I think he
was finally feeling ill. I had thought I was going to fall apart again,
but I just felt numb and exhausted now.

"The fire finally started to drop from the ceiling, Scully. And Kane was
screaming that Mulder was a liar, and I don't really recall what Mulder
was saying, only that he was screaming back and it didn't make a lot of
sense. He just, I don't know, rushed Kane. I don't think he got
stabbed. I think he took Kane a little by surprise. But the bastard got
hold of him and tried to shove him into the fire, where it was really bad,
and, well . . ." Oh god. Take big, deep breaths, get a sip of your
water. "And I really didn't think about it then. I just ran and got a
can from the room bahind me, a paint can. It was heavy and I remember how
it sloshed." I sniffled. "Isn't that stupid? I remember how it sloshed,
and the wire was hurting my hand, but I swung it and hit Kane with it a
couple of times, and he dropped Fox, and that's when he cut me." I let my
hand trace the bandages over the gash across my ribs. He'd cut against
the ribs. The knife had bounced. I remembered feeling it bounce. Knew
if he'd cut with the ribs, likely he would have sliced open my lung.

"And I was so mad. He'd cut me and I was so furious to even be there,
that he'd done all this . . . I hit him again, and he fell over Mulder,
and the wall fell on him, on his legs, and he was burning. I could smell
him burning. It was with all the smoke and the other smells." I
swallowed, my voice choked in my throat, trying to get it under control
before I gagged. Jerry had moved up and was touching my shoulder again,
my friend, Jerry, not the reporter Jerry. At least, I wanted to think so.

Scully was still bent over her arms, hair around her face, rocking just
the slightest little bit. I'd seen what her partner meant to her, how
hard it was to let anyone else go after him, even when she knew she
couldn't do the job. This had to be torture, wondering what she could
have done that I didn't. I finally got my stomach to settle, got the
memory to go back to the place in my brain where the nightmares live. Let
my voice go flat and just read out the facts of the rest of it.

"Kane had got hold of Mulder's ankle and he tried to pull himself out of
the fire. Mulder was kicking him and he was using Fox's leg like a rope,
hand over hand, until he could grab the lapels of Fox's coat. I had
grabbed Fox and was trying to pull him away, but with Kane hanging on to
his legs he was too heavy and I couldn't. Kane pulled himself out by
grabbing Mulder, and then me. He nearly pulled Mulder back into the fire
right then, but Fox finally just curled up into a ball. That's when Kane
really got hold of me, and then there was cool air, and then the fire fell
in on us. It all went black then. I don't remember what happened after
that." I stopped, just stopped. What else could I say? Jerry had told
me what we were like when they carried us out, but I didn't remember it.

I glanced back at him now. His face was pale and greenish under his olive
color, and his eyes looked bright. I wanted to ask him if he understood
now, or wanted to hit him because he hadn't understood before. He looked
away, and I heard Scully get up out of the chair.

"Thank you, Emma. You've told me what I needed to know. I . . . I'll
come by later and tell you how he's doing." Her voice was tight and flat,
and I think she needed to keep it that way. If she was anything like me,
she wanted to burst into tears and cry herself out. That's how I sounded
when I couldn't let myself go. I moved from under Jerry's hand, caught
her at the door.

"Scully, I'm really, really sorry. I wouldn't have hurt him. I wish I'd
known. I didn't know." Her eyes looked too bright, and her pale face
made the circles stand out. Even her lips were pale, now.

"I know. I just, I think you should stay away until he's feeling better.
I'll tell you how he's doing." She tightened her mouth, got a harder hold
of herself. "You're going to have to talk to the D.A. It may help to
write all this down." Another sharp, painful glare at Jerry. "And the
press have been trying to get up here for interviews, for ratings, before
the story gets *old*." You could hear the venom in it. "The hospital
won't let them near here, for insurance or security or whatever other
reasons they might have. If they did *I'd* call and get guards to keep
off them ward. None of us needs those vultures now. You maybe should
know about them. If you get coffee downstairs they'll probably try to mob
you." She didn't even need to glare at Jerry. That was about as subtle
as the Nagasaki bomb. I let her leave and settled on my bed, and felt
sick.

Jerry stood at the window. For once he didn't take any notes.

_________________

cont

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 18/?
Date: 29 Jun 1995 03:34:37 GMT

Corpse 18/?

And now, back to our previously scheduled program -

Okay. Obligatory disclaimer time, bow down and thanks to Chris Carter and
Ten-Thirteen for such nifty characters as Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and
stuff like the X-Files. Used without permission, but also without profit
and I had a whole lotta fun writing this! I love email, especially those
threats. Current hot threats are the guy who's explained spinal tap
techniques, and the couple threatening to let their rottweilers drool me
to death. Heh!

Special thanks to Rodent for editing, Amperage for psych advice, LindaJ
and Mo for medical advice and cool machines, and Sean for all around
reviews on the hoof.
Goo
______________________________
I wasn't sure which was worse, having my own nightmares, or listening to
Mulder's. Oh, his door was closed, had been since lights out, but those
doors aren't sound proof and when you're lying in the dark, all alone in
the quiet, you hear things. You hear sobs, and voices, distress and
comfort. You hear fear.

Had he killed his sister? Jerry said they'd never found a trace of her.
She'd vanished into thin air. Could a twelve year old boy murder an eight
year old, hide her body, come back and lapse into catatonia with never a
sign of what had happened?

After Scully left, Jerry had stayed a long, long time. He'd made me go
over it again and again and again, but never took a note. Never loaded a
tape. It was like when the cops made me go over Kane's attack on me, but
it still hurt even hours later. Just not as bad, not as terrible.
Something I could tell without puking, without rocking. And finally I
asked him more about Mulder, asked for some of what he knew. He was
keeping secrets, he always had. But he told me about Sam, and the way
she'd disappeared. The police did look into Fox, but his feet had been
clean, no prints around his house, no construction nearby, no marks on the
packed sand or witnesses or anything that could have pointed to the boy.
Jerry didn't think he'd ever realized. By the time Fox was up and
functioning the police had decided he could not have done it unless he'd
planned it long in advance, and no one thought twelve year old Fox Mulder
capable of cold-blooded, premeditated murder.

No one but Kane. Jerry said Mulder didn't know what had happened to his
sister, that he'd remembered her abduction only under hypnotic regression
therapy. No one had ever been abducted by the lights outside our town,
and all our missing time was pretty well accounted for by Jim Beam or Jose
Cuervo, so I found it all hard to swallow. Jerry finally just fell back
on Mulder's own investigations, on the strange things he'd run across and
his contention that no other explanation fit the facts. I could tell
Jerry was willing to give Mulder the benefit of the doubt on this one.
The first time Jer had seen our lights he'd been visiting us and had
driven out and there they'd been. I gathered he'd spent the night in his
car, too stunned to drive back, and I saw the same kind of amazed
acceptance now, while he talked about the X-Files. Whatever he'd learned,
it was enough to convince him that Mulder wasn't crazy, no matter what
else he was. At least, I hoped he still wasn't crazy.

Jerry had finally left, and I'd eaten my dinner and watched shows I
couldn't remember. I fell asleep at lights out, but didn't stay that
way. The flames were waiting for me in the night, and Kane's voice
hissing poison, and Scully running into the fire after her partner. And I
was trying to stop it all. When I saw the two of them go up in flames I
woke, sweating and shaking. And now I was lying here. I didn't notice it
at first, but gradually started hearing noises past the faint clatter of
the nurse's station and beeps from monitors in some of the rooms. I heard
other screams, other nightmares. Most of them died away quickly. One
voice went on, sinking to sobs, finally going quiet. And it took a long,
long time to go back to sleep.

_______________________

They kept me busy the next day. The head of psychiatry dropped by after
breakfast. He'd already been to see the feds and was touching all the
bases. I was surprised that such a busy doctor would come to see me,
until it occurred to me that in a place that could only charitably be
called a city, this was the most exciting thing in ages. This even beat
interviews with trailer trash after Buck's Trailer Heaven got hit by a
tornado.

It was really refreshingly pleasant to talk with him. He didn't go asking
if I was trying to 'resolve frustrated maternal urges,' aroused by Fox
Mulder or Dana Scully or any other stupid Cosmo pop psych. After having
my mom calling every day and dropping by and using her women's mags
masters in psych this guy was a relief. We talked about what had
happened, about Kane breaking into my house, and what I thought of Scully,
of Mulder. And we talked about the fire. He told me I had done the right
things, done the very best I could. He said he couldn't have done so
well, was really amazed by what I'd done. We'd be talking again, at least
that's what he said.

I was glad I'd spoken with him, because I really needed every bit of peace
of mind I could get when the federal prosecutor came to interview me, and
had the FBI local office person, whatever they call him, along. I got
dressed, thankful Mom had brought me clothes, because these people made me
feel very nervous. We spent hours going over the same stuff, over and
over. Thank god I'd done this with Jerry and Scully the day before. Not
that these people were ever mean or hostile or rude. They were just
clinical and they asked for details I hadn't realized I'd seen. I'd never
been on the other side of this table. Even though I had a good idea what
to expect, it was exhausting and stressful.

By the time they cut me loose I just went back to my room and crashed.
Slept clear to dinner. After the last couple days that was just as well.
My back itched and stung and hurt, but it was healing cleanly. The
doctors were pleased. They said I'd have only a few faint scars, and that
I was truly lucky. And after dinner Scully came down and visited.

"Hi, I heard you got grilled today."

"Yeah, I hope Jerry didn't come by and play pit bull of the public good
while I wasn't here to muzzle him."

Scully stared at me, then laughed. It started as a little whicker that
whistled in her nose, but rapidly grew into wracking hilarity that
actually had me worried for her. I ran and got my old standby, the water
glass, and wondered if I needed a nurse, but it sounded like just a really
deep, relieved, belly laugh. She finally slowed down and took the water,
wiping tears off her face and panting for air.

"Oh god, oh Emma. Thanks, but I can deal with Jerry. It's you with your
big mouth that's the problem." She snurfled and gulped her water down,
and looked up at me. I could see my expression almost set her off again,
but she got hold of it this time. "I'm sorry Emma, but it's true. You
have this gift for saying exactly the wrong thing. Jerry knows what he's
doing, and I can see it coming, but you . . . You mean well and you're
smart enough, and you get started and all of a sudden, !BOOM!, you drop
this bomb that I couldn't see coming and all hell breaks loose." She
leaned over and grabbed a tissue from the box by my bed, blew her nose.

"Ahhh, I don't know quite, er . . ." I did know. I wanted to yell at her
or go cry or whatever, but she wasn't done yet.

"Listen Emma, you really have a gift. Not just the other day . . .you
were tired and I could see you didn't mean to hurt Mulder, that you were
horrified. But do you remember at the breakfast table, and the computer
and, well, just about once a day minimum. You drop a buzz bomb. I bet
it's great in discovery hearings. If that instinct for hot spots is
always in gear you must really be hell on wheels at finding things your
opponent wants to hide, but Mulder and I aren't used to that. He'd
probably make you an X-File. Paranormal ability to totally say whatever
will get to somebody." She finished the water, and grinned at me to take
the sting out of it. I didn't see quite so much hilarity in it, but she
may have had a point.

"Thank you, Agent Scully. So nice to know you trust me to put my foot in
my mouth."

"I'm sorry Emma. It's just when you said that about Jerry, and he's not a
risk. I don't like having him around. I'd be lying if I said I did. But
he comes with you, and you've helped out so much, and, well, Mulder likes
you. Hell, I like you, but I'm afraid to let you in a room with him right
now. I'd have to write a list of forbidden topics, and somehow I'm sure
you could find a new one."

Okay, I was a big girl. So Scully was going to sit there and insult me.
Lawyers are used to that sort of thing. "How is Mulder? I heard him last
night again."

She sobered fast, but she didn't have that terrible, locked up tension
about her anymore and that was good. Maybe if it did her that much good,
I could afford to take a few nasty shots.

"Well, he's back out of the sedatives again. And he's responding to us,
to me definitely, and he's pretty much lucid, just really, really tired."
She gave me a suspicious look, "and I don't want this direct on the
pipeline to Rigg and whatever rag he's going to string this debacle to."

I could have tried to defend Jerry's honor, she might, might, have
believed me, but I didn't necessarily have a lot more faith in it than she
did. I settled for the girl scout's oath and a promise on my passing bar
exam.

"I was really worried, Scully. I *am* really worried. The fire was so
awful, and yesterday . . ." Scully must have seen I meant it. She sighed
and nodded.

"Yeah, it's pretty scary. We've been through some really bad stuff
together," a jaundiced eye, "which I'm certain you know a little about.
But he's tough. He gets over these things."

I hesitated, then plunged in. "Jerry told me about Louisiana and Oklahoma
you know." A nod. "Were they this bad?"

"Worse in a lot of ways. Don't worry Emma. He'll be fine. I may even
let you go visit without gagging you in a day or two, he's that good."
She grinned at me, handed back my glass and got up to go.

"Scully." She paused at the door. "Thanks. I mean, for coming down
tonight, and, well . . ." She nodded to me.

"Good night, Emma."

_____________________

Special Agent Fox Mulder might well have had nightmares that night, but I
was a little too busy to pay attention. I'd been feeling lousy all day,
but that seemed natural after nearly being murdered by a deranged killer.
The nurses took my usual whining with good humor, and brought me chocolate
pudding instead of the dreaded pineapple upside down mystery stuff they
were serving that night. I was scheduled to be released in the morning,
and they were feeling pretty benevolent.

I sat back and tried to enjoy my last evening inside, bathed in the
faintly violet light of the fluorescents over my bed. I knew they used
fluorescents because they were cheap, but it was beginning to seem that
they were just intended to put the sick, dead and healthy on an equal
footing, since everyone looked ghastly under them. Tomorrow I'd be going
back to sunlight, and table lamps, and normal life that didn't have FBI
agents or killers or bodies strewn around. Back to home, and work, and
leases for strip malls. The idea of returning to normality should have
thrilled me, but instead I felt abandoned, and ill.

Abandoned I don't know about, but somewhere in the middle of the night I
awoke, curled around coughs that rattled my lungs in my chest, and a fever
that had soaked the rough, hospital sheets under my cheek. Chills shook
me, even with blankets pulled up around my shoulders, and the burns on my
back pulsed in time to the pain in my head. If Mulder was screaming down
the hall, it was just one more misery to add to the catalogue. I didn't
want to move, moving would let colder air under my blankets, so I just lay
there and wished I was unconscious. I guess a nurse heard me coughing,
because after forever the lights went on and someone was reaching over my
back to feel my forehead.

And all kinds of hell broke loose after that, from my point of view. Her
feet took off and then someone was rolling me onto my back. Needle sticks
in my arms, swabs down my throat, and I was listening to my teacher asking
what I did on my summer vacation. Okay, teach, listen to this . . .

People were talking over my head, and it clashed oddly with my teacher's
voice, but I couldn't see my teacher there. And suddenly my teacher was
gone, but Kane was there and I started screaming at them to take him away,
but my voice was hoarse again because I'd been crying, and I started to
cough and my lungs had burned up and it was so hot, so hot. I kicked off
the covers before they could start to burn and begged them to find Mulder
or Scully before the building burned, and was Frank Carson still down
there? And did they get Tommy Dalbert out? I was afraid Tommy was dead,
and sometimes I knew he was dead, and sometimes somebody else was dead.

When daylight came it hurt my eyes, and I had made them close the
curtains. They'd given me something that made the coughs calmer, made me
sleepy, like Mulder. I giggled and sweated and they gave me things with
names I couldn't pronounce. They kept talking to me, tried to tell me
about staf-il-o-kokkus o-ree-us or something or other, and make me take
the drugs they had. I took the pills and they gave me the shots, but I
had to explain I'd been to law school, not medical school, and I couldn't
remember about staff-cocked-up oreos or whatever. And then they let me
sleep for a while.

Sometimes Jerry was there, and once Mom was there. And then Scully was
there, and I think Mulder was with her. He sounded sleepy and tired, but
he was using whole sentences so he must have been better. I kept trying
to tell him how sorry I was and how bad I felt, but I really wanted to
tell him this was all his fault, and I certainly hoped he felt guilty
about me being sick. And maybe I did tell him and maybe I didn't, but he
didn't talk to me after that. I shouldn't have said those things, because
Kane did talk to me, and if Mulder wasn't talking to me anymore Kane
wouldn't have a reason not to kill me. I told Scully that but she said I
shouldn't worry, that I was safe and needed to get well. And she and
Jerry were talking now, so I guess Jerry had flirted his way out of
trouble again, but he was asking her about the staff-cocked-up stuff and I
wanted to follow it, but couldn't. It must have made good copy, because
he listened without interrupting.

And I tried to tell them about things, about how my house wasn't mine
anymore. The strangers didn't listen, but Jerry did. I didn't tell Mom.
She'd never understand. But when Scully was there once I told her . . .
It was her fault, after all, hers and Mulder's. I told them about the
night they'd come to my house, and how it wasn't mine after that. I
wanted to know what she'd done with it, but she said she didn't know. And
Mulder came back, and I asked him, but he didn't know. And sometimes I
slept and sometimes I didn't, and sometimes I knew that not everything I'd
seen was real, though I couldn't have told you which was which.

Pneumonia. Two days later, and I was puking and shitting like mad from
whatever deeply nasty antibiotic they were mainlining into me. It took
that long for me to be able to follow what the doctors said past the pain
in my head, and my lungs, and my back. They talked about resistant
bacteria and stuff like Legionnaire's disease. Something about muppets
and Jim Henson, but I was so tired, I didn't want to keep track of it. It
all sounded like an X-File to me, and I wanted to go ask Mulder if the
government was experimenting on us, or aliens had invented this stuff.
Scully dropped by that afternoon, and this time I knew it really was her.
She said we'd invented this one ourselves, and aliens had nothing to do
with it. I wasn't really comforted by that thought, though I was happier
when she said her partner was feeling better, and had asked about me. She
didn't say whether he had nightmares though, and she still looked tired.

_________________

The sun glowed in the little hairs on Jerry's arms, and struck rusty red
highlights off his hair, where he sat on the window ledge. His head was
bent, fingers flipping through the mail he'd brought, sorting my letters
from his.

"Sorry about this, Emma. They got all mixed up in my briefcase."

"It's not a problem, Jerry. Did Ed McMahon write me yet?" He looked up
and smiled, although I doubted he could really see me. My half of the
room was in soft violet shadows despite reflections from the blinding
light that spilled over him.

"You sound a lot better today." He hopped down, leather soles squeaking
on linoleum. When he stepped out of the light he paused, blinked,
probably couldn't see anything but spots.

I grinned, though I knew he couldn't see it. "You're such a liar,
Riggins. I still sound like a frog." Mail, days and days worth. Jerry
went back to his perch in the sun, reading his own mail, cheerfully
explaining how he'd wrecked my reputation.

"You know your neighbor is really curious."

"Yeah?"

"She wondered what you were possibly doing with two good looking men
hanging around." I could hear the vain grin in his voice. "And why you
didn't introduce her to Agent Mulder or to me. She did thank you for
letting her meet some nice firemen, however."

"Whuh?" I looked up at him, totally baffled. I had to squint to see him.

"Yeah, when your smoke alarm went off. Seems you tried to destroy a loaf
of garlic bread while you and the fibbies went off on hair-raising
adventures. I bet James Bond never left the oven on when he went off to
save England."

"Oh god, that's right." I recalled putting the bread in the oven, years
and years, eons ago. Just before Kane walked out of my basement.

"No, he just ordered carry-out." Christ, I nearly jumped out of my skin,
and I don't think Jerry was much better. We both nearly dislocated our
necks, snapping around to look at the door, where Fox Mulder was checking
both ways just before he stepped in and found the chair hardest to see
from the hall. "You order in pizza. It's got enough preservatives to
keep it edible while you're out of town, but it's low maintenance."

I swallowed. It was about the most I could manage. He fidgeted until he
found a passable position in the chair, then studied both of us back.

"Where's your keeper, Spooky? I thought Scully or one of the nurses was
with you all the time." From the tone of Jerry's voice, I got the feeling
he'd tried to get in to see Mulder in the last few days, and hadn't been
well received. However that might have been, Fox gave him this
kind of sardonic grin.

"I jumped the fence. They're going to want me to spend twenty minutes
puffing their peace pipe, and eat enough pills to choke Timothy Leary. I
figured this would be the last place they'd look for me."

"You may be right." Jerry had come back into the shade, and was watching
him very, very closely. Mulder leaned back and crossed his arms, looking
more at ease than anyone I'd ever seen in a hospital who wasn't a doctor.
Jerry finally grinned, and turned to fish in his briefcase. "After I met
your partner, I picked up a couple things for the two of you. Ah, yes."
He came up with two wrapped packages, took them over to my other visitor.

Mulder looked like he was trying to decide between curiosity and
trepidation, but he took them. Hefted the thicker one and looked at
Jerry.

"_The Hot Zone_. It seemed appropriate for Dr. Scully."

Mulder snorted and started shredding the wrapping off his thin, flat box.
Came up with a conspicuously tasteful tie, and what looked like a
monograph on buying neckwear. For a moment I thought he'd gone into
another asthma attack, but finally decided he was laughing more than he
was choking. "I'm not sure which of these Scully will thank you for
more. I know she wants to get a collar and a bell for Emma."

I pulled myself up against my pillows, and wished my hair was clean.
Jerry settled cross legged on the foot of my bed, while Mulder stretched
his legs out and looked expectantly up at us. "Go on, you're trying to
decide how to ask questions without having me go break your mirror, aren't
you?"

"You have a sick sense of humor. That was not funny at all. You nearly
scared me shitless." Mulder just grinned at me, manic as hell. I figured
being out from under direct supervision after all those days probably felt
like a jail break to him. He had to work to catch his breath every time
he started laughing, and his color was way too pale, but his eyes were
clear and it was good to see him with some kind of expression on his face
again.

"Are you sure you're okay? I mean, you looked pretty bad last time the
two of us saw you . . ." Jerry was leaning forward, and he wore that
concerned expression I knew he'd practiced in the mirror for years until
he got it just, exactly, precisely right. From the look on his face, Fox
wasn't any more convinced by it than I was. "I'd hate for you to have
trouble. I can help you get back to your room."

"That's all right, Mr. Riggins. . . "

"Jerry."

"Mr. Riggins. When I want to go back I'll go back. For now I'll just
stay, unless you have some objection?" He looked at both of us. My main
objection was that I was pretty sure Scully would murder me when she
finally found him, but I had a feeling that would not persuade him.
Jerry, of course, was delighted to have such a scrumptious opportunity.

"So, um. . . " God, talking to him was going to be like walking in a mine
field. "You heard I burned a loaf of bread?" Brilliant, Emma. Mine
field? Well, maybe I could bore him back down to his own room. I really
had no desire to have Fox Mulder go out of his head in my room, and seize
up or whatever it was he'd done. I caught myself watching his hands for
those tremors he'd had when I'd visited him. No sign of them, but now
that I was really looking at him his eyes were a little too bright, and he
still had trouble getting air. I could hear him faintly, just a little
gasp every so often. It made my pulse lurch each time I heard it.

"So, what's this peace pipe thing?" I congratulated myself on finding a
safe topic that wasn't on the level of children's television. Mulder
pulled a face that would have been at home on a kid.

"Alupenth. They get me in there and make me suck Alupenth down for twenty
minutes, and then sit there watching me and waiting for me to get high as
a kite. What do they have you on, Emma?" He levered himself back onto
his feet to grab my charts, glanced through them like someone entirely too
familiar with hospitals for his own good. Jerry watched him fascinated.
I think he was waiting for him to start raving.

"They're not giving you any of the good stuff," Mulder wheezed. He
flipped the chart shut with a annoyed-sounding clatter and dropped it in
the little basket on the foot of my bed. A quick scan out the door to
make sure the nurses weren't on his trail yet, then he settled back into
his chair. "They had me on something called Theophalin until yesterday."

"Yeah? Why not now?" Jerry's intrigued question cut me off. Comparing
meds might have been Mulder's notion of small talk, but I hadn't been in a
hospital since I was eight. The names of drugs and numbers and all were
making me really glad I'd gone to law school instead, and I wished the two
of them would shut up about this stuff.

"Tachycardia. They keep dropping stuff into you hoping it'll help, until
they poison you and then they start eliminating crap one med at a time."

"Look, Mulder. These doctors go to medical school and everything. I'm
sure they know more than we do about all this." Jerry and Mulder both
looked at me like I'd just said Santa Clause existed. "I'm sorry, but I
don't want to hear about what you think of your medicine, or my medicine.
I just want to get well and get out of here." He nodded at that. I could
see he was bored, and hated being stuck in County General.

"Yeah, I tried to check out this morning, but Scully threatened me. They
want me in here a few more days." I groaned in sympathy.

"Me too. They keep telling me 'you really scared us dear, nasty
pneumonia, dear, can't let you go home just yet.'" I sighed. With my
gummy chest I couldn't even do the annoying-nurse voices right. But
Mulder was grinning, while Jer watched us like we'd *both* gone round the
bend.

"Yeah, and then they come in for that five a.m. blood work, 'just sting a
minute, dear.' Sting, my ass, they had to dig around to get the vein, and
telling me it's just like a mosquito bite." He was displaying an arm full
of bandages. He pointed out a patch of skin with a really ugly bruise,
shaking his head in disgust. I showed him my war wounds, and we compared
vicious nurse stories. He claimed they threatened to sit on him to get
him to keep wearing that mask, and take stuff that made the room spin on
him. I told him all about my staff-cocked-up and he laughed and wheezed
and choked until Jerry started looking alarmed again. Finally he settled
back in the chair, and just looked wiped out.

"Yeah. If I never see another hospital it won't be too soon." His eyes
were drifting shut, but he fought himself back awake. Glared at us for no
real reason I could make out and tossed me one of the land mines I'd been
dancing around. "You two have some kind of notes on what happened with.
. . with Kane. I know you do. Don't try to lie about it."

Jerry's 'who, me?' expression was as believable as a campaign speech, and
I must have just looked horrified because that's certainly how I felt.
The blood was chilling in my veins as I imagined him going into
respiratory arrest *right here* and Scully's face.

"C'mon, Emma. I'm bored! They won't let me off the floor for anything
but a few tests. No one will tell me anything. Scully won't let me get
near my notes, and I hate daytime TV. They don't even have ESPN in this
dump. I'm going to be humming the Barney song if I don't get something to
work with, soon." He sounded personally offended.

"I'd go down and talk to Kane, but the ward bosses stopped me before I got
to the elevator and threatened to sedate me. Let me have your notes,
c'mon." He shifted focus to Jerry. "I bet what you've got is pretty
good. I've read some of your columns." Jerry looked nervous. I don't
think the idea of Mulder knowing much about him appealed to him. "All I
want is a copy of your notes, Riggins." He smiled widely. "And I protect
my sources."

"I don't know about that, Agent Mulder. I mean, you are under doctor's
orders, and, um . . ." God, he even had Jerry off balance, now. I hadn't
thought anyone could do that. Mulder was leaning forward, elbows on
knees, trying not to wheeze at all and watching Jerry the way a mongoose
watches a cobra. I got to play Rikki Tikki Tavi, and would have been much
happier right then without either pest in my room.

"You think I'm going to flake if I read your notes, Rigg? Give me more
credit. You aren't THAT good a writer."

"Ah, your partner . . ."

"Already thinks you're scum, so you don't have a lot to lose. Not to
mention I have no intention of sharing this with her at this point."
Jerry fidgeted.

"I just can't do that, Mr. Mulder." Mister? God, Jerry must be flustered
if he had to play title games to get any advantage.

"Agent or Doctor. PhD, Oxford, as I'm sure you know. I'm not going to do
anything awful with those notes, Rigg. I just want to look over the
closest thing they'll let me have to this guy's testimony. Look, I'll
even say 'please.' They need to know how he's wired to put together their
best case, but no one will let me near the guy or anything from interviews
with him. Please, Rigg?" He wasn't begging, but he certainly was being
more polite about asking than I was used to in my brief acquaintance with
him.

And a nurse must have heard him. Because suddenly a shadow darkened my
door, and the biggest floor nurse was standing there, his arms crossed,
glaring at all of us.

"Do you come peacefully, Agent Mulder, or do we have to send in the SWAT
team?" He had the thick neck and shoulders I usually associated with high
school steroid use. He definitely looked like Fox Mulder wouldn't be any
kind of challenge. He got a scowl back from his victim.
"Agent Mulder, you really don't want me calling in Dr. Scully, do you?"

Fox sighed, held his wrists out with exaggerated resignation. "Cuff me
now, Tony. I'll come peacefully," he wheezed. Tony smiled and helped him
out of the chair, escorting him out.

"Whew. I felt the wind from that bullet." Jerry sounded relieved.

_________________
Cont.

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 19/?
Date: 30 Jun 1995 03:04:23 GMT

Corpse 19/?

Usual disclaimers here, guys. Repeat along with the Goo - Scully and
Mulder and The X-Files all property of Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen and
Fox, used here without permission or profit. Emma and Jerry and the town
and most everyone in the hospital are creations of and property of
Livengoo. You want to use them, you have to get my permission.

I love email, especially death threats. What will you do if I go on
vacation for a week? Do the Miskatonic town tour up here in
Massachusetts?
Goo
________________________________

It took a while, but the bullet hit later that afternoon. After Jerry
left I watched the news, and saw bad pictures of myself from my yearbook,
and not-so-bad pictures of the fibbies from some press conference. Even
after almost a week, we were much, much more interesting to the viewing
public than the drunk driver who had plowed into a convenience store. I
drifted off during the sports report.

It wasn't a peaceful sleep. I kept dreaming that I was in my room,
feverish and too weak to move, while Jerry was trying to interview Fox
Mulder, who was going into full respiratory arrest. Jerry kept telling
him to just catch his breath before he tried to answer the question. And
then Scully was there, snarling at me and asking me what the hell I
thought I'd been doing to let Mulder sit there and talk with me and
Jerry. It sounded funny, because she kept talking about me in the third
person.

When a male voice started telling her to keep her voice down, however, a
sense of real alarm finished off that particular dream. I might have
tried to fake my way through, but she caught me with my eyes open when she
stormed in. Tony was more than a foot taller, miles wider, and way
outclassed as he followed in her wake.

"Courtland, I thought you were going to stay out of our hair." Scully was
fuming. I took one look and decided she was too angry to really think it
through, and too tired to be patient.

"Scully," I winced at the whine in my own voice, "I didn't do it. We
tried to get him to go home. He wouldn't! He said he was bored. I
wasn't encouraging him." To practice law, you have to pass this exam of
ethics. The first thing you learn to take this test, is that any time you
find another lawyer doing something unethical your highest and best action
is to rat on him. I fully intended to apply the same lesson to Fox
Mulder.

"You could have called Tony. He skipped all his afternoon medications and
god knows what Rigg gave him."

"Nothing. He didn't give him anything, no notes,no information. Scully,
he was asking and we didn't tell him anything." I was starting to wheeze
a little myself, answering her. Special Agent Dana Scully, with her lips
in a pale line of anger and her free hand on her hip made the most
intimidating judges I'd ever met look like amateurs.

"Mulder needs to be resting. He's not the best patient in the world.
Having you hiding him is not going to help." The only way it could have
been worse is if she'd been wearing a suit. I supposed the arm let her
get away with jeans and a flannel shirt for interviews with the D.A. and
whoever.

"I didn't want to hide him!"

Tony stepped forward, tried to get her out. She just gave him a patented
"doctor glare" and he quailed. "You see Tony, here? II have to be away
again,tomorrow." Lord, I was right. She was spending nights here to make
sure he behaved. If he was that bad how the hell did she expect ME to
deal with him? "If Mulder comes back down and tries to hide tomorrow, you
tell Tony." Tony swallowed and met my eyes. The crossfire I could
foresee between Scully and Mulder had me sweating, too.

She glared at both of us. I think my wheezes finally got through to her,
because she visibly got herself under control. I felt some sympathy for
both her and Mulder. I wouldn't have wanted to ride herd on him. Little
wonder she was so frayed she was acting like this. "When do they let you
go home, Emma?"

"They aren't saying." I had a feeling I sounded a bit like her partner.
"They say they're worried about the pneumonia coming back."

A long, long sigh. Scully's thoughts were easy to read right then. Fox
was bored, and Fox hated hospitals. "He'll be back tomorrow, Scully. You
know he will. He's not going to stay down there and watch Geraldo in
peace."

"I know. I do know." She grinned ruefully. "I can't much get him to toe
the line, either. All right, Emma. It's not a shooting offense, but when
he shows up, please, promise me, you won't give him anything about the
case, or tell him what you told me. Tell him about your leases, or about
shopping centers or something."

"Right." I grinned finally. "He gets chapter and verse on easements and
future interests. And you don't murder me because he thinks this is a fox
hole?"

"Deal." She shook her head, smiled, left me and Tony there, counting our
blessings.

_____________________
My blessings didn't include a full night's sleep. My door was open so the
nurses could glance in to check on me periodically. It wasn't any
problem. I liked the cool light from the hallways, and the soothing sound
of voices that never whispered from shadows. If anyone had asked, I'd
have said I wasn't scared of the dark, but it was still nice to have the
door open.

At least, it was nice until about three in the morning, when a piercing
scream rattled everyone on the burn ward out of their dreams. Even
muffled by the heavy doors on these rooms, it was enough to pull me awake,
sweating and shaking. Just as well there weren't many of us. More
screams, spiking high and loud, and dying away to a long, sobbing echo of
half spoken words and fears, and not stopping for anything.

I was on my feet before I really thought about it, heart pounding, peeking
out my door and watching nurses who weren't surprised by this anymore pull
together sedatives and head for Agent Mulder's room. I could hear
Scully's voice, trying to get through, telling him he was safe, but he
wasn't calming down tonight the way he had the night before. I couldn't
help it. I was down the hall before I woke up all the way, looking around
the corner at Fox, wrapped around a pillow, trying to get a clear breath
and sobbing, babbling something about Sam, about blood on his hands and
killing bastards, and about Scully.

Carol, one of the graveyard shift nurses, was pumping something into him,
telling Scully she wished he still had an IV in. Scully wasn't listening
to her, she had her right arm wrapped around his shoulders and kept
telling him she was there, that she understood. I swallowed, and felt
sweat drip down my sides. I had some bad dreams, but nothing like this.
I knew from before that he had nightmares, but I thought they'd go away
now that Kane was in custody.

Scully looked up, caught me out of the corner of her eye. The tired, sad
look she wore told me this was nothing new. I shivered, and it might have
been the cold tiles under my bare feet, but I doubted it. It took what
seemed like a terribly long time, but he finally quieted. I padded back
to my room, and sat and shivered. I tried to remember what my house
looked like, tried to remember the little office where my coffee cup sat
on a blotter full of my doodles. I spent a long time, and when I finally
gave up all I had was a vague outline that could have belonged to a total
stranger.

And the nights kept getting longer and longer.

_____________________

"Go away, Mulder."

"Scully got to you. I knew this would happen."

"You're paranoid."

"I'm bored."

"You're supposed to be in your room, taking whatever vile chemical they
want you to ingest." I got the feeling none of this was having much
effect. I was suffering the severe temptation to get myself off the hook
by calling Tony and just having Mulder forcibly returned to his room and
his peace pipe, or whatever other things they felt like treating him
with.

"Scully put you up to this." He was sprawled in my chair again, wearing a
robe that hid the bandages on his arms. He looked revoltingly good, for a
man in the hospital with near-terminal smoke inhalation. Actually, he
just looked revoltingly good. I still sounded hoarse and phlegmy. His
raspy tenor was back to it's normal state. I felt grubby. He looked like
a model for a hospital ad. I wanted to strangle him. Where was Jerry
when I really needed him?

"Didn't we go through all this, yesterday, Mulder? I'm not supposed to
tell you anything you want to hear, and you're supposed to go away and
quit getting me into trouble." I pulled my sheets up under my chin and
wondered why the circles under his eyes weren't more pronounced. He'd
kept me up half the night, listening to him screaming down the hall.
They'd closed the doors, but I could still hear him.

"Look, why do you want to know what Kane said? He's in custody. They have
evidence of at least two murders and one attempted murder on him.
Scully's doing the mop-up work. All you really have to do is get well and
go home."

He sighed. "Attempted murder of a federal agent would be a nice charge to
hit him with. And easy to prove, with both of us testifying. Besides the
fact that his attorney is going to try the insanity defense for the serial
killings, but it probably won't work with. . . " He licked his lips, let
it trail off.

"The insanity defense? That old trick? Like Rocket J. Squirrel says,
that never works."

"This time it might. Usually, when your defendant says he didn't kill
humans, he dissected alien fakes while trying to find the real humans,
because a different species told him to do just that, the judge figures
he's not the model of mental acuity. But when he tried to kill me, I
don't think it was inside the structure of his delusion."

"I don't know, Mulder. All that about you killing your sister and being a
liar sounded pretty del. . . lusion. . . " I felt the words kind of go
limp and drop on the floor between us as I realized what I was telling
him. He had this tight, painful look around the eyes, and I could see the
muscles in his jaw jump. He was breathing just a little fast, and might
have been having a little trouble, but he didn't look ready to curl up and
die or anything. I gulped and hoped I hadn't just blown it.

"Okay, Emma. That's a start. Now what do you remember beyond that?
Wasn't he screaming about his father? And his brother?" Fox's face was
pale. I wondered how much of this he really remembered and how much he
was faking.

"Mulder, I really don't think you want to hear all this. And I don't
think Scully wants. . ."

"You don't think Scully wants you telling me." He leaned forward in the
chair, watching me. I kind of squirmed and wished Tony would come get
him. I'd meant to call Tony the minute Mulder had slunk in, but somehow I
just couldn't turn him over to the authorities.

"No. I don't. You've been having nightmares and screaming about the
fire, and that you're still looking for Sam. If Kane thinks you betrayed
the little green men, that's his problem. You really don't need to get
back into his head now that . . ." Wait a minute. Mulder was breathing
in those nasty little pants I'd started to recognize as a smoke victim
who's upset. He might be trying to fake calm, but he looked like he was
getting wound up again.

I tried to play back what I'd just said to him, but I really hadn't been
paying attention. I'd been watching the hall and hoping for rescue. He
was bad enough at the best of times, but with my own medication making me
woozy, he was really dangerous. His eyes were dilated, and I could see
him trying to slow his breathing down, take deeper breaths.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Mulder. I think you need to go back
to your room." I reached over to slap the call button and send him on
home, but he grabbed my wrist before I could hit it. The bandages on his
hand felt rough, and I could see stitches running under them. "Is that
where Kane cut you?" Oh god, kick my tonsils with the foot that was
already down there. I looked up at him, hoping he wouldn't be as pale as
I expected. He was paler, and his hand tightened almost convulsively on
mine. I could see just a little spot of red on the bandage, and guessed
he'd just pulled a stitch.

"Emma," he had to pause, catch a breath, "tell me. Or let me read the
notes, but I need to know what he said. . ." He didn't seem to notice the
hand. A warm, dripping feeling rolled over my fingers and I really didn't
want to look. I really wanted to call Tony, but Mulder wasn't letting go
of my hand.

"Please, Mulder. Let it drop. Why do you think you need to know?" His
eyes were wide, and dark. This close, I could see a ring of brown shot
with green around the big, black pupils. Could see the faint marks of the
little burns healing on his face and neck, smell the scent of him, and of
whatever they were dosing him with.

"Why aren't you telling me? What do you think will happen?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I. . . .I need to know WHY he killed them."

"Because he's crazy. Because his dad beat him and he killed his little
brother and his dad and he's . . ." Oh god, that really did it. Mulder
let go of my wrist when he had to brace himself against my bed. His hand
was all red now, and left these smudges on my sheets. I slammed my hand
over my call button as I heard him start gasping for air, and felt my own
panic making it hard to breathe, too. Oh Jesus, I wanted Jerry and Scully
and Mom and it was taking forever and where was Tony?

Mulder was braced and he reached over and grabbed my shoulder, pulled me
closer so I could hear him. "He said he killed his brother? *pant* He
said that? Just like he said I killed Sam?" Where the hell was this
coming from? What was he asking me? I nodded, fast and out of breath,
and he shut his eyes, and then a nurse was there. She wrapped an arm
around him, trying to hold him up. I think his knees were going out from
under him. I was trying to sob air in, and I could see he was even worse
than me. She was yelling for Tony, and then he was there, and the two of
them got Mulder out between them, and hauled him back down the hall. I
could hear his gasps from all the way down the hall.

I could hear things happening, hear the chuffing wheeze of that machine,
and someone was yelling for some kind of medicine with a name I couldn't
remember hearing before. Someone was standing by my bed, too, with this
inhaler thing. Puffs and puffs of nasty tasting medicine. Gradually I
realized I was breathing again, air was there again. And I listened to
the commotion down the hall, and a couple of the other patients cursing
Agent Mulder for the fuss, and I just wanted to cry.

When Jerry finally showed up I told him it was too late to help me. He
looked at the bloody smudges on my bed. I was going to have smudges of
Fox Mulder's blood all over my life by the time this was over. And it was
never coming out. Jerry held me tight and let me cry and cry. He tried
to tell me this would all be over soon, and I could go back to my life. I
knew better.

My old life was still waiting for me, I knew that. But I couldn't ever go
back to it. It wouldn't fit me any more, like a nice suit from college,
I'd outgrown it. It was nice, and safe, and known. And I could never go
back to it again.
_________________________

=====================================================================
======

From: livengoo@tiac.net
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Corpse 20/?
Date: 1 Jul 1995 04:41:37 GMT

Corpse 20/?
Fair warning - violence and profanity and that kind of stuff. Go away it
that's going to trouble you, I really hate causing unlooked-for distress.

Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and the X-Files property of Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen and Fox, used by yours truly without permission. I don't
profit, I like email. I'm livengoo, and Emma Courtland, her town, and
everyone else in it are my creations and property, as is the story I'm
telling. Ready for some more Mulderangst?
Goo
_________________________

Scully was hacked. I could see it. I thought I'd seen her mad before,
but now she was past screaming or cursing or ordering. I don't think she
was even mad at me, it was this huge, formless, rage at everything that
kept this case from going smoothly, everything that kept her partner from
resting, from getting better. In this case, she finally vented it at the
D.A.

"If that idiot had listened to me. If that dickless wonder had just paid
attention, had gotten off his pedestal and come down here. If his ego
weren't the biggest thing about him. . ." And she was only just warming
up. I knew she was down here, pacing and ranting in this low growl,
because Mulder was out cold from the medication and they wanted him to
sleep. She needed an audience, so Jerry and I were elected. I suppose it
was another sign of her worry and rage that she'd barely even insulted Jer
this evening. She was saving her fury for the officials who insisted she
go to their offices every day to help them with their case.

They'd dragged Mulder back to his room and done a batch of noisy stuff
that had involved nurses and doctors rushing around. No doubt Mulder got
pin-cushioned some more. I was a little too busy sucking down medications
myself to pay close attention. Someone must have paged Scully, because
her voice was ringing in the hall less than half an hour after everything
went to hell.

And sometime a couple of hours after that she'd shown up in my room. She
had smudges of Mulder-blood on her, too. On her arm and her face. She'd
washed off what she could in my bathroom and come back in to drop, limply,
in my chair. The sun had set and her hair looked dull in the
fluorescents. The tired, worried lines under her eyes and at the corners
of her mouth were back, a lot darker than they'd been the day before.

"I thought we had it worked out, Emma. I thought you knew what you
couldn't say to him, understood that he needs to be a lot stronger before
he hears all this." Her voice was quiet, too disheartened to be loud or
angry.

"Scully, I told him to go away. I really tried to get rid of him. The
pills make me so sleepy, and he was asking questions. I slipped. I told
him things I didn't want to, and then he grabbed me, and wouldn't let go.
He wouldn't let me call for help. . ." She studied me, took in the
smudges on my sheets, and on my shoulder, where he'd grabbed me. I hadn't
even noticed that one until Jerry saw it and thought he'd hurt me. Hard
to convince him that most of the blood splattered on my life was Fox
Mulder's.

Scully must finally have decided that I was outclassed by Mulder. She
still had all that anger, all that worry. She'd finally had to direct it
somewhere, and had raged at the fools who couldn't do their own work, or
leave their offices. Who had kept her from being here to deal with it
when her partner decided he needed to know exactly the things that
couldn't help but scare him the most. So now she was pacing, and raging.
Jerry had taken a corner in the shadows, where she might forget about
him. I wasn't so lucky, and I just watched her, and tried to think of how
to ask the things I needed to know.

When she finally wound down into an exhausted spate of obscene references
to the DA and the field officer and their parentage and proclivities I
gave her a minute more. She settled into her chair and asked me to tell
her again, and I did. She was working through his thought processes. I
could see her trying to follow whatever trail Mulder was on, trying to
understand what he needed to know so badly.

"Scully, what's he after?" She looked up at me. I think she was
half-startled to remember that I could ask questions as well as answer
them by now. "I think he was trying to get the details of what Kane was
saying about his brother, and about Sam. He said he needed to understand
why Kane killed them." I gulped. The look in her eyes gave me chills.
"Why does he need that so badly, he'd even try to go down and see Kane?"
The startled expression on her face told me no one had mentioned Mulder's
aborted attempt to get to the elevators yesterday. Maybe they thought he
was just trying to piss them off.

"He tried to get down to the secure wards? He told you that?"

"Yes. He said he wanted to go see Kane, and no one would let him near the
elevators." She nodded at that, putting another piece together, and
finally sighed.

"I think he's trying to get back into Kane's head."

"Yeah, well, I DID work that much out." I got a glare for that, and
probably deserved it. "Scully, why does he need to do that? It's not
like you still need to play those games to take him to trial."

She shook her head and looked away. Jerry was so still, and she was so
tired. It's the only way I could understand what she told me next. "I
think he needs to understand why Kane is the way he is, so Mulder can
understand why he's not the way Kane is."

And she took herself, and her faraway sad eyes, and went off to sit, and
no doubt watch her partner sleep the sleep of the damned.

_____________________

Most of the hall got a full night's sleep for a change. They must have
drugged the living shit out of Mulder to keep him unconscious all night.
When I woke at two-thirty, sweating and shaking and looking for the flames
I knew were around my bed, it was quiet. Still. No screams, no whimpers,
nothing but my own panicky breathing in my ears. Somehow, knowing why it
was so quiet, I would have preferred the screams.

__________________

The morning was sunny, my hair was clean, and I was wearing bright, clean,
cheery rose-colored scrubs. I'd gotten them from Dr. Lindsey in exchange
for advice about tax breaks on her house. New dressings, lungs sounding
much better, I almost felt human! So I got my wallet and decided on a
field trip to the lobby for _real_ coffee, instead of the swill that came
with breakfast.

I checked to see if the fibbies wanted any, since Mulder couldn't leave
the floor and Scully was usually busy. The floor nurse said she'd already
left for her daily ordeal downtown, and his door was closed. I hoped that
he had finally slipped into a natural sleep and left him undisturbed.

The elevator down wasn't too crowded, so we all had plenty of room to
watch the floor display and pretend we couldn't see each other. The lobby
was mildly busy. These weren't really visiting hours, but well-dressed
people with business here kept it from feeling empty. Lots of expensive
shoes clicked or squeaked on polished marble down here. Coffee and
croissants instead of oatmeal, the buzz of conversation instead of monitor
beeps. . . yeah. It was nice to get off the eighth floor.

I bought my cup of cappucino and settled down by some ferns to watch
people wearing suits instead of little gowns. People who moved
comfortably, and who didn't have bandages. Especially guys. My, it was
nice to see guys in the clothes I was comfortable with from my own
profession.

Two stubby little men with briefcases got onto the elevator. A slightly
beefy, but still-attractive forty-something waited for a bouquet at a
stall. Some guy left the stairwell and walked over to the coffee booth.
Tall, thin, no rings. And familiar. . . . I sat forward and licked milk
foam and cinnamon off my lip, trying to decide who he reminded me of.

And nearly dropped half a cup of cappucino in my lap when Fox Mulder
turned away with his cup and headed back into the depths of the hospital.
I'd only caught his profile, but no way would I mistake that face. He
hadn't seen me at all, hidden in the middle of the bustle. What the hell
was he up to? He wasn't even supposed to be off the floor at all!

I wanted to ignore him, let Scully and Tony and the cops track him down,
but my curiosity was itching at me. Maybe my guilt itched a little, too.
I watched him vanish down the hall and tried to pretend I wasn't dying to
know what he was up to. Then I dumped my cup and took off after him.

Back here, away from the showy stuff, the lights were that nasty
purple-fluorescent and the floors were plain linoleum tile. There were
black skid marks on all the walls at about hip height, where gurney
bumpers had struck. Fox was up ahead of me, practicing a technique I was
quite familiar with. Pretend you belong and no one will challenge you.
The drawback is you can't look around a lot, because then you're acting
differently. He never had a hope of spotting me so long as he looked
convincing.

One stop to talk to a guard, and he changed direction. We were moving
through wings of the hospital and I had no sense of direction left. We
kept taking these turns that doubled back as they moved into buildings
constructed at different periods. But I didn't need to find my way, all I
needed to do was follow Mulder, and that was easy enough. Where most of
the guys looked like they spent too much time sitting in front of
computers, Mulder was very recognizable, as much from the rear as he had
been in profile.

There was a sign posted on the wall up ahead, and he paused at it, then
turned down a hall. I followed, hanging back a little in case he'd slowed
up for some reason. Secure Ward. That's what the sign said. The words
were jogging a memory, a sense of vague alarm. Secure Ward. And Mulder.
And. . . oh shit. I must have been stupified by the morning drugs, Secure
Ward and Mulder and Kane. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I didn't hang back
now, I hauled it down that hall.

And got lost. Ward, I thought. One little line of rooms like the burn
ward. Not this big suite of stuff. I ducked into a room where this man
was sitting, in leg chains, and cuffs, and a little paper sheet. He
stared at me, and tried to cover up, asking if I was the doctor. Whatever
he had, it left a nasty rash, but I got out before I could worry more
about it. Down the hall and turn a corner, and there were rooms, and the
guys in the beds - and they were all guys in here - had restraints on
them. All of them. Not bad, just a leg chain or something, but enough to
make me really nervous. And the staff were looking at me funny, and
guards kept trying to crane and see a badge on my chest that wasn't
there.

A big, big guy wearing a badge and a gun finally pulled me over, and asked
what I was doing there. He sounded like he thought I was reporter or
something.

"Listen, I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's not supposed to be down
here, but he's. . . " I sort of stopped as I looked in his face and
realized just how stupid this was sounding. "Officer, I'm sorry for how
this sounds. I know it sounds idiotic." God, I wanted to just shout at
him and ask him where Mulder was, tell him to call Scully, whatever.

"Look, please, did an Agent Fox Mulder just come in here and ask for Peter
Kane?" Suspicious look. Now I knew what they meant when they said
"beetle-browed." He reached for my arm. "Wait, wait." I didn't back
away, I didn't want to alarm this guy. "Please, just call up to the
eighth floor, ask for any nurse at all. Tony's up there, Carol, Pamela or
Rhoda, any of them."

"And ask what?"

I gritted my teeth. "Ask them if Fox Mulder is there. He's an FBI
agent. Please, he's a patient here, please. Just call." He looked at
me. I swallowed, ready to launch into my best begging bahavior, and
finally he came to some kind of decision. "Why am I asking about the Fox
Mulder character?" He was reaching for a phone, thank god.

"Because Kane tried to kill him, and he's not supposed to come in contact
with him."

The cop looked up at me. Patterson, that was what his badge said. "Is
this Mulder a threat to Kane?" He really looked concerned now. Visions of
news crews and lawsuits must have danced in his head.

"No, but if Mulder talks to him Kane may be a threat to Mulder. Will you
just call, please? Tell them I'm down here. They need to call Scully. .
. " I was getting past what he could manage, and I could see he still had
a hard time believing anything I was telling him. I caught myself
listening hard for wheezes and gasps around me, and getting jumpy when I
didn't hear anything. The phone must have been ringing, he was tapping
his finger at five second intervals.

*tap*tap*tap*tap* "Hello, this is Officer Gene Patterson, down in
Secure. We have a young woman down here who's insisting I call up to you
guys. . . No, I didn't get her name, sorry. . . should I call psych?. . .
she's asking about an Agent Mulder. . . yes, I'll hold." The look he gave
me said he'd like to read me my rights. I only just kept myself from
pacing. He straightened. Somebody must have come back on the phone.
Suddenly, he was frowning, covered the speaker and looked up to me.

"What's your name?" I reached over and grabbed the phone.

"Hello, this is Emma. . . "

"Emma, this is Tony. Mulder's not in his room. Where are you and is he
with you?" Tony sounded like there'd be hell to pay, but I knew I
wouldn't be paying it.

"No! NO! NO! Tony, I saw him come down here and followed him. . . Look,
can I tell you later? Tell this guy to help me find him and come down for
him and call Scully 'cause I think he's gonna get really, really upset and
yesterday will just be a practice run if he's in talking to Kane!" How
Tony followed any of it, I don't know, but he must have.

"On my way. Put Patterson back on." Patterson nodded twice, hung up.
"Come with me." All business now, and telling another cop to send a "Tony
Alvarini" back when he showed. Down more halls, ugly, plain halls with no
pictures and old paint. My palms were sweating. These were smaller
rooms, not the rows that had been in the other hall. No TV, why was I
seeing that? Where was Mulder? There was a lump in my throat, and I was
working to not think of what Scully was going to say.

Patterson barrelled down a hall to the left, stopping at a door. Like the
rest of the doors here, it was bolted. I could hear a voice from the
other side, one I'd been hearing whispering from the dark corners for
days. The guard at the end of the hall looked up from a weight-lifting
magazine, watching us quizzically.

"What's the problem, sir? Agent Mulder hasn't called. They been quiet. .
. " He sounded worried. Patterson glanced at him, sorting through keys
by feel.

"Not your problem, Ted. They got a problem they want the fibbie out to
see." I almost wanted to laugh. I guess Patterson couldn't think of a
way to explain what was happening fast enough. I knew how it felt.

He was fumbling with his key ring, and I wanted to snatch it from him and
start trying keys. I stood there, shifting from foot to foot, and feeling
that cold, leaden sense of helpless anxiety. Tony wasn't here yet. God,
what was going on? Patterson finally sorted out the key he wanted, opened
the door. I wanted to race right in, but the dolt just stood there,
blocking my view, keeping me back.

I couldn't see Mulder, but I could sure as hell hear him. Low, choking
voice, asking questions too softly to make out. The sound of convulsive
pulls for a breath, between questions or statements that sounded horribly
calm and level. And Kane's light, relaxed, almost sleepy replies. I
shoved at Patterson's back and he finally stepped to one side, hand
carefully settled on his sidearm.

Kane was flat on his back, legs bandaged and immobile. An IV drip on the
far side of his bed ran into his arm. Mulder was sitting in the single
visitor's chair, pulled up on the far side, close to the side of Kane's
bed. His face was terribly pale. He never even glanced at us. I'm not
sure he knew we were there. All his concentration was on the man in the
bed.

"You know, they told me about you." Kane's tone was light, bantering. I
figured there was morphine in the drip, and he wasn't feeling much pain.
The head of the bed was elevated, and he watched the agent almost as
intently as Fox was watching him. "And when I got into the UFO groups,
well. You got a real underground following there. Not so many people,
not many at all, but the ones who do know about you know a lot." Kane
smiled at him. Patterson, next to me, watched, baffled. He was looking
for mayhem, and didn't realize that was just what he was seeing.

"So you learned about me through MUFON." For some reason that made Fox
relax. I wouldn't have felt so good at the idea of this circle of
strangers knowing that much about me.

"And NICAP. But I really didn't need them all that much. I knew there
were others like me, and I'd seen you on TV before. I knew you'd come
after me eventually. You'd have to."

"Other people came after you."

"But they weren't hunters, not like you and me. They think everyone's
real." Kane's voice was so comfortable, calm. The cop next to me was
relaxing, even as my stomach was twisting itself into tighter and tighter
knots. I wanted to tell him to do something, stop this, but the words
snarled in my throat and I knew Patterson wouldn't understand what I was
seeing. Mulder had stared at Kane long and hard, but I didn't begin to
hope he'd finally leave, and I was right.

"I'm not like you. I don't hunt people for sport. I only hunt the
hunters." Too calm, too controlled. I could see his shoulders trembling
with the effort it took not to try to seize a breath, the effort of
holding his voice that steady.

Kane's face showed sudden anger, fear. "You don't hunt anymore. You lied
to them. You stopped hunting the one person you have a duty to hunt."

"Samantha." Not a question. A shared truth. "I've never stopped looking."

"You've stopped hunting. They told you what to do, and we'll all pay
because of you."

"We?"

"You think I'm the only one, little brother? You think you and I are all
alone? You don't hide your lies that easy, Fox." Kane was leaning up on
his elbows now, fixed on Mulder's face, eyes intent. "You can try to lie,
and you'll get away with it for a while, but they know you're there. We
know about you. You hunted twice, little Fox. But you keep stopping.
You betray them, they going to put you back in the fire, forge you all
over from scratch." Kane smiled at him. Mulder's throat worked
convulsively.

"When did you know your father wasn't real?" When? What about how?

"I knew when they told me, just like you knew last year that your sister
wasn't real. See, you can kill the bad ones. Why you fighting it? Why
do that to yourself, Fox?" Kane's soft, coaxing voice, laughing and
coaxing.

"But when?"

Kane looked at him fixedly. He finally sighed. "I knew after we went to
Roswell, and they talked to me but not to daddy. And not to Jay."

"You killed your little brother."

"No, Fox. I killed the bad one. I been trying to find my little brother,
trying to find Jay. Like you need to do for your Samantha. You killed
her bad one when you were little, too." He leaned forward, confiding.
"Kids can tell these things, Fox. The kids know. You and I knew. I
still know. Did you forget, Fox? Or are you just a liar and a traitor?
You let me help you remember, Fox, I'll help you."

A flicker of movement drew my eyes to Mulder's hands. He was reflexively
clutching at the sheets on the edge where they dropped to the side of the
bed. Clutch and release, and I knew there'd be red staining those
bandages again in a moment. I wanted Patterson to just stomp over and
grab him, pull him out to wait for Tony. The big oaf was relaxed next to
me, giving me these condescending looks that good as said out loud I'd
overreacted. God, he was blind. And I was mute. I didn't have the words
to make him understand what was happening here. Maybe it was my face at
last, maybe he'd just had enough, but Patterson finally started to do his
job again.

"Agent Mulder?" His voice was oddly quiet. Mulder finally looked up from
Kane. "I think you'd better come on out of here, sir." Small town
respect for the feds, even when the feds were half out of their minds.
Damn it, Patterson, just haul him out of here! Mulder's eyes were flat,
his pupils looked much larger than they should. I could see a muscle
jumping along his jaw, could see his throat work as he swallowed, trying
to get a clear, deep breath, and just getting this whistling little gasp
instead. But he held very, very still, and refocused on Kane.

"They contacted you when you were, what? Five?" I could barely hear
Mulder. He'd leaned in so Kane could hear him, and the murderer watched
him with steady eyes.

Kane nodded. "Something like that. When did they contact you?" There
were steps behind me. Tony crowded me in the door.

"Agent Mulder, Mr. Mulder," he sounded out of breath. He had a small kit
in his hands, and a guard who must have led him back here. "Mr. Mulder, I
think you need to leave now." Tony stepped past me, towards the foot of
the bed. Mulder ignored him. Kane glared at him.

"Give me your hand, Fox." Kane's voice was a whipcrack in that quiet
room, freezing us all. And Mulder, the damn fool, held his hand out and
let Kane grab his wrist. I could see Kane's tendons, the muscles, see
Mulder flinch at the contact. Kane pulled his wrist, pulled Mulder up
onto his feet, braced against the side rail and leaning in. And focused
the whole time, hypnotic. Mulder just let him pull, went with it as Kane
shifted his grip. Two hands twisting Fox's one, pulling it up under
Kane's jaw.

"Right there, little brother. They put them right there." Kane pulled
again, brought Mulder's fingertips along the bridge of his nose. "And
here." Tony was staring, fascinated. I don't know whether he was afraid
to break it up, or too enthralled to move. Patterson's gun had been out
from the instant Kane had got hold of the federal agent, but pointed at
the floor. I could feel the cold wall at my back, light switch digging
into my shoulder blade. And could feel Kane's fingers on my skin again,
see the tight grip he had on Mulder's hand, the smudges on Kane's fingers,
his face, like the smudges on my own sheets.

And Kane suddenly let go of Mulder's hand. Flashing movement and his
fingers were on Fox's throat, digging under his chin, holding tight. The
other hand was wrapped around the back of Fox's neck, holding him still.
I could see Mulder trying to break away from it, see bloody hands trying
to pry Kane's off of him, then dropping away. Kane had him totally locked
in place, hand tight under his jaw, around his throat.

No sound, not even gasps for air, nothing. Kane was digging under
Mulder's jaw, looking for something, and Patterson was moving, reaching.
Tony had locked his hand around Kane's, trying to get him to let go, but
the banded muscles ridged in the man's arms. "Let go of me, Patterson.
Let go nurse-boy. I break his neck if you don't let go. Little brother
be fine. . . if you let go." That low, growling voice of nightmares,
voice of killers.

Through the ringing of fear in my ears I could hear Patterson yelling at
Kane to let go. Mulder's eyes were shut. He wasn't fighting, and I don't
know if he was even standing on his own. He sure as hell wasn't
breathing. Patterson and Tony together got Kane's hands off him, and Tony
yanked him out of range. Mulder had gone totally boneless and Tony had
him on the floor a moment later, had his kit out. I could barely see his
back by the foot of the bed, couldn't see Mulder at all, couldn't move.

Patterson was immobilizing Kane, yelling at him, had restraints ready and
was strapping the bastard down. Kane was just laughing, head arched
back. He craned past Patterson, fixed on me.

"Lawyer-girl! Lawyer Emma. You tell little brother there, him and me are
gonna talk again. You tell him he wants to check his X-rays real close.
We got people in common, him and me." He was laughing up at Patterson,
now. "Tell him, Emma. Tell him to remember what we talked about! And
we'll have a good, long talk next time. No visitors allowed!"

Doctors were pushing in. The guard must have called them. The guy who'd
brought Tony was in the hall. The room was too small for all the people.
Somebody was shooting something into Kane's IV, trying to talk past his
loud, shrill laughter. A doctor was on the floor next to Tony, and now I
could finally hear Mulder trying to breathe, hear him flailing I think.
The doctor was saying something about tubes, about ICU, yelling for some
drug. I heard him say something to Tony about paralysis, god, and the
room felt so far away. The sounds were hollow, ringing. Then somebody
was pulling me into the hall, pushing my head between my knees and
stroking my hair. There was a lot of noise, a gurney going by, feet.
Kane's door slammed behind me, and locked.

It was finally quiet. Only the hall guard stood there, shaken and pale,
and a nurse I'd never seen. She helped me to my feet, gave me a cup of
water. Sally. That was what her name tag said. Sally tried to talk to
me, but I kept calling her Scully by accident, kept apologizing, and she
finally helped me back up to eight, and my own room, and they gave me
something that made me very, very sleepy, and everyone went away.
_______________

cont.