Title: Revelations IV: Fire and Hail (1/2) Author: Linda Phillips (rn500@ozline.net) Rating: R for violence Classification: S / R / A Keywords: MSR Spoilers: Oh, just the whole MythArc thing Summary: A post-invasion tale. The fourth story in the 'Revelations' series. Completed on: 2/22/99 Archiving: Gossamer - yes. All others please ask. (I'll say yes, I promise!) Disclaimer: The X-Files and it's characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. No infringement intended. ____________________________________________ She swam in the warmth with the tentative motions that come of newness and exploring. And yet, even her most unsteady movements were nearly graceful with the resistance of the water. Her eyes remained serenely closed to the world; she didn't trouble herself with the unrest going on around her. Why should she? All that she needed was here - food, water, and the beating of a heart for comfort. It was here that her life began, just like all that had come before her. It was here that she first made her presence undeniably, palpably known. It was here that her mother covered with her hands, already protective as she first felt the life within, no butterfly now. It was here that the tears fell, like soft rain on fertile ground, as her mother wished that someone far away could feel the earth move too. _______________________________________________ "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "If you could know how it was going to turn out, would you want to?" Mulder turned to the woman sitting next to him, looking into a face that was so young and earnest. He thought for a moment before saying anything. "Well, I can't really answer that, Grace, because I don't think our future is pre-determined. I prefer to believe that we control our own fates, you know? It wouldn't help to know what the future would bring, because at any moment the smallet decision could change everything." "Like the chaos theory," she said, looking away and squinting thoughtfully. Mulder shrugged and smiled. She looked at him again. "But - if you *could* know, somehow... " He sighed as he considered her question, wanting to answer her as honestly as he could. There *was* a time, of course, when he would have given anything to know what was in store - because knowing the future would finally answer his questions of the past. But that was Before - a lot of things. Scully, for one. Since she had come into his life so many years ago, he'd slowly and unknowingly developed something that he thought was long lost to him - a sense of hope. Now, he clung to it desperately. It was his ticket home. "No," he said finally. "I don't think I would want to know." Grace nodded and tugged at a wisp of hair escaping from the elastic band that held it up off her neck. He smiled at her and ruffled the top her head with his palm. When their group had first set out on this journey a few weeks ago, she had hesitantly asked him if he was *the* Fox Mulder. When he had replied sarcastically - that depends, what do you want him for? - Grace's face had fallen and she lowered her head as she turned away. He'd felt like such a shmuck. He had sought her out after that, engaging in small talk, trying to make up for being an asshole. He discovered that she had followed his work for several years and - wonder of wonders - said she looked up to him. She often trailed after him, asking questions, posing theoretical dilemmas, and seemed to hang on his every word as he answered. How could he not like her? She reminded him of a little sister. "Why not?" she asked. He chuckled. "You ask a lot of questions, you know that?" She covered her face with her hands for a moment, then peeked through the fingers. "Sorry." "Go to bed, Grace. It's late and we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow." She stood and stretched. "Yeah, you're right. 'Night, Mulder." He smiled again at the simple pleasanry. "Goodnight." Then he watched her for a moment as she walked away He should get some sleep himself, he knew, but his mind was humming like a live wire tonight. In two days they would make their first drop - along with about twenty other teams spread out across the country. Everything was going as planned and the trial runs had been seamless. But - the real thing would be an entirely different matter. Nerves became frayed, fear kicked in, people made mistakes. There couldn't be any mistakes, not on this. The wind picked up and he pulled his coat closer around him. From where he sat he could see the outline of the distant mountains in the moonlight, and couldn't help but be awed at their beauty. Mine, he thought, as a force of anger surged through him. This is *my* home! And despite his promises, despite her silent pleas, he knew he would fight until his last breath to get it back. ________________________________________________ Most of the time she knew that she had made the right decision. Almost always. Then there were moments like this. Her hand stroked lightly over her belly, it's slightly rounded shape still a secret to the outside world. She was never less than astonished at the feel of it - even slept with her hands shielding the life within. This *is* a miracle... isn't it? Scully asked herself for the millionth time. Or am I absolutely out of my mind? In the face of this truth, her scientific mind lost all objectivity. It wasn't simply an accident - an errant egg that had somehow escaped the assault on her body. It couldn't be. She had to believe in miracles now, or there was no way she could live with herself for what she was doing. She turned to her side on the lumpy mattress that now seemed much too wide. It was late and she had the early shift in the morning, but her eyes remained wide open and bright in the darkness. She still didn't dare to reflect on the thoughts that any woman would have in a normal situation; boy or girl, hair color, will it look like me? There wer too many things that could yet go wrong. But, she uncertainly reminded herself, it could go right. It could all go remarkably right. She pressed her palms to her eyelids, shutting out the unwelcome visions that lately seemed to be always in the periphery. It could, dammit! It could. _____________________________________________ It had happened. It had actually fucking happened. He was still in shock. The drop three days ago had gone like clockwork. Then the *truly* difficult part began - waiting. Finally, after days that seemed like weeks, they'd gotten word. They were dying. The bastards were dying off. Their little human soldiers had scattered. And if it was happening here, it was happening in other parts of the country too. It would be a while, if ever, before they would know how many of their groups had successfully taken out a colony, but some of them *had* to have made it. It was the beginning of the end - for Them. The mood at the camp was not jubilant, however. They were all grimly aware of how much work lay ahead, and that their lives were in more danger than ever before. But hope burned in them now, he could feel it. They had stepped up the number of guards around the camp, and Mulder was walking his share of the perimeter for the second night in a row. It was almost numbingly peaceful out here, only the sounds of hushed voices and owl calls to keep his mind from wandering where it wanted to. He was feeling drained and weary, and was having a tough time staying alert. He stretched and yawned, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Gun quickly drawn, he pointed it at the form crouched in the grass. "Who's there?" A pale face looked up at him and he recognized those wide eyes, which were not looking so innocent tonight. "Grace?" She made no response, just turned her head away. His weapon dropped to his side as he moved toward her. "Grace, what's wrong?" She was sitting on the ground, huddled against the outside of the suply tent with her head in her hands. "Go away, Mulder." He crouched down when he neared her. "Grace?" He reached a hand out and touched her on the shoulder. She startled and slapped his hand away. "I said go away!" She looked at him, and in the shadows from the moon Mulder saw her face streaked with dirty tears. Half hidden in front of her was a small brown bottle. "You're drunk!" Mulder said in wonder. "Where the hell did you *get* that?" "I was saving it, if it's any of your business," she said with a defiant tilt of her head. "For a big day. I guess this qualifies." He stood up, shaking his head. "We had good news today, Grace. I don't understand....?" "Mulder, just leave me alone." He reached a hand out, just short of touching her. She looked at it, then up to his face, and he watched as her bravado crumbled at her feet. She tentatively took the hand he offered, then he felt her grip tighten as she stood and flung herself against him. Her arms went around him and he gingerly patted her back as she sobbed. After a few minutes her crying quieted to scattered hiccups, and he pushed her away just enough to look at her. "What is it?" he asked gently. She pulled away from him and wiped at her face. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, exhaled. When her eyes opened she took the top off of the bottle and swallowed down what was left, as if she had to bolster her courage before looking at him again. "I'm okay. Sorry." She took a step away, stumbled, caught herself. "Yeah..." Mulder said. "I can see that." He moved toward her again and slipped an arm across her shoulders for support. "Well, if you don't want to talk about it, why don't you get some sleep, hmm? I'll take you to your tent..." "No! I want..." She turned to face him, and he felt pierced by the sadness in her eyes. Her hand went to his chest and she spread the fingers open wide across his heart, watching him. Suddenly he understood, and he grabbed her wrist tightly. "Hold on, Grace..." "M'lder..." her voice slurred, this could be our last day on earth, don't you understand that?" He pulled her hand away. "I'm married, Grace." "She's *there*, Mulder." Her voice lowered to a seductive whisper and she leaned toward him. "You're here. You might never see her again." "That's enough! Jesus, Grace, I never thought..." He shook his head in bewilderment. "I'll chalk this up to stress and booze - now go to bed." He stepped back but she followed him, closing in on him again. "You can pretend I'm her... I don't care..." Her voice trembled as her eyes filled again. "I don't want to be alone!" Mulder put his hands squarely on her shoulders and shook her gently. "Stop this! There is no way - " "I'm not good enough - is that it?" He took a deep breath and steadied himself, then peered into her eyes. "Listen to me. You are plenty good enough, Grace. But it wouldn't matter if you were a Pulitzer Prize winning Miss America, okay? I love my wife, and I *am* going to get home to her! Do you understand?" Grace stepped back, shook off his grip. Her eyelids closed a moment, and she straightened her back. When she looked at him again, it was with a with a sorrowful gaze. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I really am." He sighed. "Let's just forget this happened, okay?" "Yeah," she said, turning away. "Yeah, sure." And she walked away unsteadily into the darkness. He swiped his hand across his brow in frustration. What had he missed here? She seemed like a nice kid, and he'd been pleasant to her. It was nothing more than that. He honestly couldn't think of a single incident where anything he'd said or done could have been misconstrued. They didn't need bullshit like this getting in the way of things out here. A dubious chuckle escaped him at the mere thought of it. Sleeping with another woman. He couldn't imagine it. He knew that Grace was aware he was married - he'd mentioned Scully to her several times. But in this surreal existence, away from everything they knew and cared for, he realized that things took on a different level of mportance. He couldn't really be angry at her. After all, she was right - they didn't know from one day to the next what would happen, it was only natural to look for comfort from the madness of it. She just didn't know about what he and Scully had - how could she? Actually, he felt pretty sorry for Grace tonight. ______________________________________________ "Pastor Kendall?" The balding man looked up from his meal and squinted at Scully, then he smiled with delight. "Dr. Scully! How nice to see you! Please - sit down." He moved to his left, scooting the plate along with him, and Scully joined him at the makeshift picnic table. "Please call me Dana." His eyes were soft and kind, and they squeezed nearly shut when he smiled. "All right, if you'll call me William." She nodded, then sat for a moment looking at her hands on the table. She sighed quietly with relief when the pastor took the initiative. "How have you been, Dana?" "Oh - fine, I'm fine. Um, as you may have noticed, I'm going to have a baby." "Ahhh. Well, you look wonderful, and even if I had noticed I never comment on that sort of thing until the mother-to-be tells me herself." He chuckled. "I've gotten myself in trouble a few times when I've mistaken too many good meals for a little blessing on the way!" Scully smiled, suddenly completely relaxed. She'd barely known this man when she had asked him to marry her and Mulder. He was the only clergyman in the camp, so it wasn't as if she'd had a lot of choices. He had been so kind to them, and seemed happy to perform the ceremony. He spent a lot of time at the hospital, praying with the patients and ministering to them, and she would smile at him as they passed in the hallway. But she made no effort to get to the church services that he conducted on Sundays. As a matter of fact, she hadn't been to any services at all since she had left home so many months ago. Oh, she prayed. Frequently. But somehow it had seemed absurd to try to infuse this life with something so... *reveret* as a church service. It would validate this existence, making it more real than she was willing to allow. But... she missed it. She missed the feeling of being surrounded by people who were reaching out to a higher power. She missed being able to open herself to someone who had no personal claim on her other than the good of her soul. She missed a calm voice when her head was swimming in a sea of doubt. Like now. The pastor watched her for a moment, then pushed his nearly empty plate away. "Dana - it's such a beautiful day - would you care to go for a walk with me?" Gratefully, she nodded. They walked in silence for a while before either of them spoke again. "Pastor - um, William, - I've been... well, I'm not sure how to say this..." "I'll bet you wonder sometimes how I keep my faith out here, in the middle of all this," he said. She stopped and looked at him. "Well, yes, I guess I do wonder that." He held out his arm and she took it as they started to walk again. "Dana, I have moments when I get angry. I get angry at God, and I blame him for what's happening. And then I see another sunset, and a newly blooming flower," he gestured to her abdomen with a grin, "and occasionally a newly blooming baby, and I'm reminded that we are not the first to suffer this way. And we will not be the last. No matter how hard we humans try to screw it up, life will go on. I truly believe that." He turned to her. "God has a plan for us, Dana. We may not like the way He carries it out, but He will not forsake us. He's always there, in the good times and the bad. Especially the bad." She looked down as she felt her eyes filling. "This baby..." she began, but bit down on her lip to stop the tremors in her voice. He waited. After a moment she took a deep breath and started again. "This baby was never supposed to be. I never would have willingly gotten pregnant under the circumstances." She raised her damp eyes to meet his gentle ones. There was no condemnation in them, no judgment. "Am I being selfish?" she aske in a whisper. "What kind of a mother would bring a child into this world?" His voice was benevolent as he stopped and touched her cheek. "How do you know that this child was not meant to be, Dana? How do you know that this child won't someday change history? There are no guarantees in this life, my dear. There is only hope. And without hope we *will* perish." He brushed a tear from her cheek as she nodded silently. "We mortals don't know what will happen, Dana. But courage means going on despite not knowing, don't you think?" She looked off into the distance, her gaze settling on nothing any other eyes could see. "Sometimes I don't feel very courageous, Pastor William," she said quietly. He tilted his head until he caught her eye, then glanced upward. "Maybe *He* can help you with that." Scully smiled a little. "Maybe." The pastor offered his arm once more. "Shall we finish our walk, my dear?" She slipped her arm through his. "Yes," she said softly. They faced forward again and stepped through the warm grass, slowly, one foot after the other. She nodded to herself as she spoke again, her voice a little stronger this time. "Yes." ____________________________________________ He dreamed of their wedding that night, and the look on her face as she gazed up at him. A smile passed over his sleeping face, and he murmured something. Then he felt the explosion, and the pain seared through his head like a hot knife. He moaned as he rolled to his side, and the hard toe of the boot came again, meeting his ribs with a crack. He felt his arms being tugged at, and he was lifted by them on either side and dragged out of the tent. He blinked repeatedly in the darkness, trying to clear the colored sparks from his vision and regain control over his bruised body. He began to struggle, but the more he did the tighter the grip on his arms became. He could make out the faces beside him, but he recognized no one. Not far in the distance he heard cries, and as they became louder he started to fight anew. Anothe blow to the ribs, and he became silent and docile and as he fought for breath. They came to a lit clearing, the cries in front of him now. Under the watchful eyes of about a dozen armed soldiers, his partners from the camp were being stuffed into the back of an old delivery truck. He was quickly shoved forward and told with the business end of a gun to get in. Painfully, he climbed up and wedged himself in one of the few remaining empty spaces. "Mulder," someone whispered. He turned to see Wayne daubing blood from his eyebrow. His eyes were wide and terrified. Mulder motioned for him to stay quiet, then turned his attention back to the group outside. There were more of his comrades being led to the truck, but there obviously was not going to be enough room for them all. His breath caught as he saw Grace walking toward them, her head down, a tall burly man behind her. She came to within twenty feet of the truck, stopped, looked up. The tall man approached her from the rear, and his hand rose... ... coming to rest on Grace's shoulder. He was smiling at her. She glanced at him, then back at the truck. Mulder watched the man's mouth move, trying to make out his words. Something about a 'good job'. Her eyes met Mulder's, her gaze hard and unapologetic. Then the door came down over the back of the truck, plunging them into blackness. There were at least six or seven of his people left behind, with not one more inch of space left inside the truck. Those inside were smashed together, barely able to breathe. He heard the engine start, felt the truck shift into gear. As they pulled away there were screams outside, then gunshots, then silence. _________________________________________________ End 1/2 From rn500@ozline.net Tue Apr 20 19:35:12 1999 Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 23:27:27 -0500 From: Linda Phillips Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW:"Revelations IV: Fire and Hail" (2/2) Revelations IV: Fire and Hail (2/2) by Linda Phillips see part one for disclaimers, etc __________________________________________________ "Riders on the storm bum-buh-buh-buh-bum riders on the storm bum-buh-buh-buh-bum into this house we're born into this world we're thrown like a dog without a bone an actor out alone..." He stopped singing. 'An actor out alone'? That didn't sound right. He wondered if he'd been singing the wrong words all these years. He pulled his knees up close against his chest and tapped the rhythm on them with his fingers, cuffs jangling. Where was he? Oh yeah... "...riders on the storm... There's a killer on the road his brain is squirmin' like a toad..." Wonder what old Jim was on when he wrote that one? he thought. Whatever it was, he wished he had some right now. They'd be coming soon, he knew. "... his brain is squirmin' like a toad take a long holiday let your children play if you give this man a ride something family will die killer on the road..." Okay, he knew it wasn't '*something* family', but the right word wouldn't come to him at this moment. "... killer on the road yeah..." This was his favorite part... "girl, ya gotta love your man girl, ya gotta love your man take him by the hand make him understand the world on you depends our life will never end ya gotta love your man..." Oh, yeah. Loved The Doors. Loved 'em. The epitome of 60's genius gone down the drain. What was that other song of theirs that he really liked? "Ya know the day destroys the night..." Yeah, that was it. "... night divides the day try to run, try to hide break on through to the other side..." The door opened. Shit. The gun was trained on his face. "C'mon, Mulder." ___________________________________________ The hard contours of the chair were becoming familiar to him. "Once again, Agent Mulder... We need to know where the virus is being stored." The man paced in front of him, and Mulder kept his eyes on the large mole on the side of the man's neck as he walked. "And, once again, I will tell you that I don't know," Mulder rplied evenly. "It was not information that was shared with me." Turn - mole. Walk, walk, walk, walk. Turn - no mole. Walk, walk, walk, walk. Mole Man nodded his head slightly, clasped his hands behind his back. "You're being very difficult, Agent Mulder. Very difficult. We don't have time for that." He looked up and nodded at the large man standing behind Mulder. Mulder clenched his teeth as the electric prod touched his naked back. He grimaced and flinched as the current zinged through his nerves. He knew it would get worse. "Agent Mulder, we know all about you. You want us to believe that you - *you* - were not privy to inside information about the operation." Mole Man stopped walking and stared down at him. "Please. Make it easy on yourself." Mulder closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "I told you, I was a grunt. Nothing more. We've been through this how many times?" He opened his eyes. "I don't have the information you want." "Really." Mole Man nodded at the big lug again. Right shoulder this time, held there, like a thousand knife points being stuck in him. He cried out without realizing it. Mulder's questioner crouched in front of him, feigning concern. "Do you want to die?" Mulder stared at him, breathing hard. "You're gonna kill me anyway." "You don't know that. There will be a place for you in this new world, Agent Mulder - a place of honor and respect. But you need to accept the inevitable." Mulder remained silent, but his glare spoke volumes. With a sigh, Mole Man stood up and waved his hand at Big Lug. The knives came again, in the center of his spine, and Mulder bit his lip until he tasted the coppery tang of his own blood. "UhhhAAHHHH!" he roared, and the knives were pulled away again, leaving him weak and disgusted with himself. "Son of a bitch! I don't know! I don't know!" Again. His mouth opened in a wordless howl, muscles failing him, mind reduced to a single neuron screaming with pain. He fell from the chair and curled up on the cold floor, unable to stop the sobs that shok him. From a distant place he heard Mole Man speak again. "Get him out of here." _______________________________________________ Sleep was proving difficult today. It had been a long night shift, and as she walked toward her room after the sun came up she could hardly wait to feel that lumpy old mattress beneath her. But she tossed and turned for at least an hour before her body began to relax. She was just beginning to doze off when she heard the knock on her door. She rose slowly, her growing belly beginning to make it a bit more challenging to move around. When she opened the door, she smiled. "Pastor William! What - " Her words trailed off as she saw the look on his face, and her body turned to ice. "Dana," he said gently, "may I speak to you for a moment?" He reached for her hand. "Dana..." "No!" She jerked her hand away as if she'd touched fire. "No! No!" Turning away from him, she clutched at the material over her heart, twisting it. Her chest was tight - it hurt to breathe. Pastor William stepped in and closed the door behind him. She vaguely felt his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the bed, sitting her down. He sat next to her, took her hand. She stared straight ahead and would not look at him. "Dana..." Still, so still, she said nothing. "It's not what you think, Dana." "What is it?" she whispered. "He's been captured." She looked at him. "Then it's worse." "Most of their group was taken, they think. They're out looking for them already." The baby kicked. She breathed. "Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked. She shook her head slowly. "No." She wanted him out, right now. "I want to be alone." He nodded and smiled grimly. "I'll check on you later, Dana. And I'll let you know right away if I hear anything." She heard the door close as he left. So. It had happened. Her nightmare come true. One of them, anyway. She lay back on the bed, arm across her eyes. The light was suddenly so very bright. Her other hand slowly stroked over her abdomen, rying to slow the movements inside. "Shhh," she whispered as the tears started. "Shhh. It'll be okay. Oh, God..." She muted the sobs with a hand over her mouth, but try as she might, she could not stop. _______________________________________________ He wasn't sure how long he'd been here. He figured that it must be somewhere around three weeks, but without any windows there was no telling how many sunsets had come and gone since his arrival. He'd started to make marks on the wall each time food was brought to him, but then the interrogation began. Sometimes he wouldn't awaken until there were two or three trays already left for him. He sat up, a moan escaping as he did. His ribs hurt, his head ached, and he was pretty sure his collarbone was broken. He would meet his end here, he was becoming convinced of that. When They tired of questioning him, and finally came to realize that he had no information for Them, he'd be dead. It might be today, or tomorrow, or weeks from now. But he wouldn't give up. It was the least he could do for her. He pulled the tray on the floor toward him and picked up the bowl on it. It was some kind of watery soup with a little meat in it. He tried not to smell it as he swallowed it down quickly, chewing the tough meat as much as he could then forcing himself to swallow that too. A slice of bread, more than a few days old but edible. And he still had half a jug of water left. Okay. Life was good. As he chewed the hard bread he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting his thoughts wander. His mother used to make bread when he was a kid. Oh, man, he use to love the smell of bread baking, and his mouth watered a little as he thought of it now. He use to eat a whole loaf by himself when he could get away with it, butter dripping off each piece. Where was she now? He had tried to find her, to warn her. But she was gone by the time he arrived, and she had left no note - nothing. He'd searched for days with no clues as to where she'd gone. She had packed ery little - the contents of the house were left standing as if she had just stepped out to get a newspaper. Samantha's eyes followed him from pictures on the walls, tables, mantle - mocking him for once again being too late. Too late. "Mom," he whispered in a broken voice. Maybe she had found Sam and they were together now. Maybe. He wondered if they were thinking about him. ______________________________________________ At the sound of the door opening he held his breath, but didn't move. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them. He would not let them see his fear. It was Big Lug Number Three. But instead of yanking Mulder to his feet, this time he walked up and stopped a few feet in front of him. Mulder looked up. "I can't go out with you tonight, guy, my hair's a mess." Number Three stared at him. Finally he said, "I was sent with a message." "Yeah?" "Yeah." Big Lug pulled a black stick out from behind him, and before Mulder knew what was happening it came down at an angle against his right temple. With a groan Mulder fell to his side on the floor. Big Lug leaned down and spat on Mulder's hair. "You're a dead man, Mulder." Mulder heard the door lock shut as he left. ______________________________________________ How long had it been? A couple of hours? Not that it really mattered. It was all over now. The door opened and shut quickly, but he didn't turn his head to see who it was - didn't even open his eyes. It hurt too much. Just let it be done quickly, he thought. I'm so sorry, Scully. "Mulder..." A hushed whisper, a familiar voice. He didn't move. "Mulder!" A prod on the shoulder. He opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness. Thin slices of murky light leaked in around the door, and he squinted to make out the figure that crouched above him. "It's Grace," she whispered. "Get up!" His vision was blurry. Wait - he closed his right eye, turned his head just a little. His left eye was clear, and there she was. "What the hell do you want?" he murmured. Get up, Godammit! I'm gonna get you out of here." She was fumbling with his handcuffs, and he felt them spring free. He closed his eyes again and laughed. He couldn't help it. "Yeah, okay. Just kill me now and get it over with, will you? At least leave me a little dignity." Her hand took his chin in a strong grip and turned his face to her. "Listen to me, Mulder. You want a chance to live? This is it. You get out now or you die!" A chance to live. The words bore through the dull haze in his mind, sparking some awareness. What were his other options? Lie here like a pig waiting to be led to slaughter? He struggled to sit up, holding a hand over the tender swelling on his right temple. Every heartbeat pounded at his head painfully. He looked her in the eyes. "If you're taking me to Them, you can forget it," he said. "I'll make sure we both die before we get there." She reached out her hand. "Just get the hell up, Mulder. C'mon! And be quiet!" He stood up on his own as the room tilted and pitched. He wobbled a little, then righted himself. Grace put her hands on his arms and squeezed tight. "C'mon, Mulder, get a grip!" she whispered. "Can you see?" "Yeah..." He shook her hands off. "I can make it." Grace dug a key from her pocket and opened the door a bit, peering out through the crack. Apparently satisfied, she took his hand and pulled him out into the hallway. In the dim artificial light he saw rows of doorways like the one he'd just walked through. What was this place? A lab? A lockup of some kind? Maybe both... "Hurry up!" she hissed. He followed close behind her until they reached the exit at the end of the hall. She quietly pulled the door open and stepped over the bloody body that lay in their path. He did the same. She motioned him to another door, and they walked through it into complete darkness. Grace flicked on a flashlight and they weaved through a maze of anonymous boxes and barrels. Another door, but when she opened this one he felt the rush of fresh air. Flashlight off, thy scurried in the darkness, over a driveway and into a patch of trees. Grace crouched down and motioned for Mulder to do the same. "Keep down," she whispered, "and follow me." They pushed through the brush, tangled roots tripping him and spiny branches slapping him in the face as he followed her. They emerged in a small clearing, where a beat up sedan waited. Without a word, Grace pushed him into the back seat and closed the door. She got in the front beside a dark haired man who started the car. She turned to Mulder. "Lay down." He did, and felt the car pull forward slowly, dipping through ruts in the ground. Branches and leaves struck the windows, then cleared as they turned left. The ride became smooth, and through the windows he could see the sky now. The moon was bright and full, stars everywhere. He closed his eyes and let himself be lulled by the hum of the motor. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, and right now it didn't seem to matter. _______________________________________________ When he opened his eyes again he was sweating from the heat of the sun. He lifted his head just enough to see Grace still in the front seat, the dark haired man still driving. Grace turned and looked at him for a moment, silent, her eyes betraying nothing. Mulder sank back into the seat and curled up on his side, arm bent beneath his head. They traveled for most of the day in silence. He slept off and on, and when he was awake she made him eat and drink despite his feeble protests. From outside of himself, he knew he was slipping away. His head felt bloated, heavy. The vision in his right eye was like looking through a thick block of glass. He wanted no food, no water, just the sweet comfort that sleep gave him. It would be so easy to give up, so simple - just sleep... He knew it, and he tried to think of Scully, of the possibility of seeing her again, of feeling her warmth against him one more time. He felt her eyes watching him. Hang on, he told himself. Just hang on. When darkness cae again they stopped for a few hours of rest, and he settled without question onto a blanket on the ground. Grace spread out a blanket a few feet from him and lay down, while their driver stretched out in the back seat. After a time, Mulder turned his head to see Grace watching him. "Why?" he asked. She just rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky, hands behind her head. "Grace..." "Go to sleep, Mulder." "Tell me why." She closed her eyes. After a few moments, he thought that she'd gone to sleep herself. "I had a husband," she said finally. "A little boy..." He waited silently. "Sometimes you just don't have any choices, Mulder." She sighed and turned her back to him. "Now go to sleep." ________________________________________________ Before dawn they were back on the road. At turns he felt a little stronger, then without warning he would sink into himself and close his eyes, too weak to care what was happening. Around noon they stopped at a house where a pickup truck waited. Grace got out of the car and opened Mulder's door. "C'mon, Mulder. Time to change cars." He climbed out. His head was pounding again, and he shielded his eyes against the sunlight. He felt Grace's hand on his back as she directed him toward the truck, she called through the open window, "Mulder, this is Sam. Sam, Mulder." Mulder squinted as he peered in. A slight black man was inside."Hey," the man said, holding up his hand in greeting. Mulder nodded wordlessly as he slid into the cab. The door slammed behind him, and Mulder turned back in confusion. "Aren't you coming?" Grace leaned against the door and shook her head. Instantly, he knew. "You're going back, aren't you." "I've got things to settle, Mulder." "They'll kill you, Grace." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter now." Without thinking he slipped his hand through the window and grabbed hers. "Grace - let it go. Come with me." She shook her head again and pulled her hand away. "No, Mulder - no. Get back to Dr. Scully. Sam knows howto get you there." She stepped back and slapped her palm against the door of the truck. With that, Sam started the engine and put it into gear. "Grace - wait..." he called out. "Goodbye, Mulder." She raised her hand as they pulled away. He turned and watched her through the back window until she disappeared in the dust. ________________________________________________ "There - turn there." His heart picked up speed as the outline of the hospital rose into view. Was she still here? Please, God... They pulled up near the front steps and stopped. Mulder stepped out of the truck and turned back to Sam. "Thank you." Sam smiled. "Good luck, man." Then he revved the engine and drove away. Mulder slowly made his way up the steps and pulled the door open, but he saw no one. He moved past empty rooms, peering into each one, listening for voices. As he turned the corner into another hallway, a familiar one reached his ears. "Julie?" he called. She stuck her head out of a room and stared at him for a moment. Her eyes widened as she came out into the hallway. "Oh, my God - Mulder?" He edged toward her, one hand on the wall for balance. "Yeah... yeah... where's Scully?" "She's - I don't know -" His face must have registered panic at her words, for she quickly took both his hands in hers. "No - no, Mulder, she's here. It's okay - she's here. I just don't know where she is right this minute. Here -" She led him to a chair and nudged him into it. "Sit down, Mulder. I'll find her." She kept one eye on him as she went to a desk and pushed a button. He saw her lips move. "Dana, come to wing three right away," he heard over his head. "Dana to wing three." Julie came back and leaned down over him, her concerned eyes scanning his face. "Jesus, Mulder, what'd they do to you?" He just looked at her. He wanted Scully. He wanted to feel her arms around him, lay his head against her breast and let her breathe life into him. He was tired. So, so tired. Where was she? "Here, drink this." Julie touced a cup to his lips, but he turned his head. He didn't want it. He wanted Scully. If he could just feel her hands on him, listen to her heartbeat, it would be okay. Everything would be okay. He heard a crash and Julie moved aside. There she was, standing in the hallway with her fingertips trembling against the mouth that would revive him. He reached for her, but she was too far away. "Scully - " he tried to call out, but his voice was less than a whisper. She made a small sound and came to him, and as she did his eyes left her face and looked with wonder at the newness of her. His hands went to it, touching, disbelieving, and he lay his head against her swollen belly. He felt his face crumple and his breath catch painfully as his arms went around her. It couldn't be... yet, he felt the life there beneath his cheek, as if it were reaching for him. Her hands pulled him tightly to her, her voice floating above him, and he sensed the soothing words she made. He wanted to tell her it was alright, he was home now, he would never leave again. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her a million things. But all he could do was cry. ______________________________________________ Julie helped her take him to their room, brought what they needed. Scully stood in the shower with Mulder as she washed him gently, dried him, then lay him back against the smooth sheets. She changed into dry clothes, started an I.V. in his arm, and for three days never left his side. She gave him medication, fed him, helped him to the bathroom. When she was tired she lay down next to him and held him against her, and he would sigh and curl into her embrace. He said very little. Mostly, he slept. It was during one of these times as she napped next to him that she felt his hand on hers, lightly stroking her fingers. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, really seeing her for the first time since he'd come back days before. She smiled. "Scully..." he whispered. "I'm here, Mulder." "You're gonna hav a baby." She chuckled softly. "It looks that way." His forehead creased in concern. "Why didn't you tell me?" She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them. "Too many reasons, Mulder. Stupid ones and good ones." He shook his head slightly, his hair rustling against the pillow. "I would've stayed. I *should* have stayed." She touched his cheek, moved forward to kiss him. "It doesn't matter now," she whispered as her lips touched his forehead. "You're here." "I won't leave you again." "I know," she said. She pulled him to her, and he came willingly, nuzzling warm against her. Suddenly her tender breasts ached for him, and she opened her shirt. His beard scuffed against the delicate skin there as he sought what she needed to provide. He suckled gently, carefully, as she stroked her fingers through his hair over and over and her eyes stung with tears. In time he slept again, as did she, connected by the invisible bond of his breath against her skin. ____________________________________________ End... for now Comments to Linda at rn500@ozline.net