Title: The Beginning of Sorrows
Author: Philiater
Category: Post colonization. AU.  
Spoilers:  This takes place sometime early in season 9. 
There is no William, and never was in this version. Also
I'm not letting CC kill off some of the characters.  That
was just cruel on his part.
Rating: PG13 I think      
My fanfic can be found at--
http://www.geocities.com/philiater1/
Feedback:philiater1@yahoo.com.          
Beta thanks as always to Keleka.  This is for her and
CathGerm who've been asking for a long story.

'And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye
be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass,
but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against
nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be
famines and pestilences, and earthquakes, in diverse
places. All these are the beginning of sorrows.' Matt. 24:4-
8.
****************************


I looked at the huddled form at my feet, shivering from
cold and dressed like a scarecrow in filthy rags.  There
was blood dried and caked on his skin and clothes. His face
was hidden by a scarf and dirt so thick, I couldn't tell
how old he was. He'd been brought in by Childers and dumped
unceremoniously in the snow outside my door.

"You found him where?"

"Out on the south perimeter fence."  Childers was a big
man of few words, and fewer friends.  He had a fierce
reputation, but was always uncharacteristically gentle in
my presence.

"ON the fence?"

"Yeah."  He adopted a 'fraidy cat' stance; hands up like
claws clinging to a wall. "Set off the alarm and I found
him frozen like that."

"Can you tell where he's hurt?"  I wasn't able to locate
anything obvious, but couldn't examine him properly out
here while he was curled in a fetal position.  "Help me get
him inside."

Childers bent over and hauled him up like a sack of
potatoes.  "Don't trouble yourself, Dr. Scully.  He don't
weigh nothin'."

The man groaned weakly as Childers brought him into the
chilly infirmary.  I saw that one of his arms was bent at a
sickening angle, and swung without any resistance. My
breath puffed out in frosted clouds and I lit the small
stove that attempted to warm the place. Childers placed him
gingerly on a steel table.

The man was another in endless parade of pathetic humans
who managed to make it to the outpost.  Most that did were
half dead and starving like this man.  I was the only
doctor for hundreds of miles and they were generally
brought to me first.  Childers was a thoughtful man.  He
never brought me anyone he considered an overt threat or
who wasn't in desperate need of medical care. Of all the
guards in the compound I trusted him the most.

"What the hell?" I heard Childers's startled voice behind
me.  When I turned he was holding up a detached arm. His
face was horrified.  "I-I think I pulled it off."

Moving quickly, I retrieved the arm and felt a solid mass
underneath.  "It's artificial Childers."  He looked
grateful.  I, on the other hand felt my hair stand on end. 
It couldn't be----.

I walked quickly over to the chipped porcelain sink and
ran water until most of the rust and chill was out.  Water
here never got hot enough to use for anything unless you
heated it on a stove first.  Bathing, showering, washing
dishes were all done with tepid water in the best of
circumstances. I soaked several clean cloths in the sink
with diluted soap.

"Help me turn him over."

Childers turned the man's bent torso until his back was
flat on the table, and I straightened his legs as much as
possible.  We began the grim task of removing his soiled
clothing.  Like most who came here, this man had been
living for days in the layers of malodorous rags that
covered his body.  They were so dirty and smelly, it was
impossible to tell what color they had been originally.
Sweat, dirt, and blood made removal slow and painstaking.

I retrieved a cloth and gingerly washed his face.  It took
several soakings to remove the grimy scarf covering his
mouth and nose.  As I worked, I thought of my days as a
pathologist.  I'd autopsied corpses in better condition
than this man.  Becoming a 'real' doctor here at the
compound had been a harrowing experience. I hadn't done
hardcore ward medicine since rounds in medical school.  I
worked by the seat of my pants and poured through old
medical books in the decrepit military library to refresh
my memory. Like everything else in this new world, I took
it a day at a time.

Under my ministrations, the man's face began to appear.
Through his thick beard I could see that his features were
sharp, Slavic, and beautiful.  By the time I lifted the
eyelids and saw a flash of emerald, I knew who he was.  

"Krycek," I said softly.

"You know this guy?"

I nodded mutely.  I felt a jumble of emotions at the
revelation: anger, pain, fear, and oddly hope.  If he had
made it this far maybe---.

"Let's finish this," I said abruptly. I could feel
Childers's eyes follow me. He was curious, but his innate
politeness kept him from asking more.

We worked in silence, removing rags and dirt.  Krycek's
body told a long tale of suffering and pain.  It was
riddled with scars, deep bruises, and fresh wounds.  There
seemed to be no place on his skin left untouched by some
type of injury.  Starvation had left his flesh stretched
and hollow. He shivered almost continuously, and made only
occasional moans.  Whatever he was now, the Krycek I knew
was not here.

Childers held him while I cleaned and dressed his wounds. 
Supplies were scarce, so I treated only the most obvious
places.  The upper arm stump was a mass of red welts that
threatened to become abscesses. If it went much longer, the
infection would spread to his blood. I risked that he
wasn't allergic and gave him a penicillin injection. Even
Childers grimaced when I had to debride the wound.  Taking
off the dead tissue would allow for better healing and
lessen the infection.  Krycek barely made a sound.

We moved him to a cot with clean sheets and warm wool
blankets.  His chance for recovery was slim even if he had
been in good shape. It would take a great deal of vigilance
on my part and some grace if he was to improve.

Childers's shadow fell across us.  "You think I should
tell the boss about him?"

He was obligated to inform his superiors about any new
arrivals to the compound.  By asking, Childers was politely
letting me know what he had to do.  I also realized that he
was really asking if he should include my knowledge of who
the new arrival was in his report.

I nodded wearily.  "Thank you for your help.  You should
go and get something to eat."

"What about you doc?"

"I'll get something later."  I was too distracted to think
about eating, and was still fussing with his bandages.

"You sure?"  Childers was playing mother hen. He seemed to
be worried about leaving me alone with Krycek. 

"Yes.  I'll be fine."

He turned and lumbered toward the door.  Before leaving he
paused.  "You're a good person, Dr. Scully."

My head snapped up, but Childers was already gone.  He was
a strange man.  I wondered whether he knew more than he was
telling me.

***************************************

It was mid-morning before I felt comfortable enough to
leave Krycek.  My quarters consisted of a room, bed, and
desk in back of the infirmary.  It was small, but
serviceable, and a far cry from my cozy apartment back in
D.C.  The bathroom had a toilet and non-functioning shower.
I generally heated pots of water and 'bathed' in a large
galvanized tub I'd located after moving in.

I desperately needed a bath now.  Handling Krycek's soiled
body and clothing had left an unpleasant residue on my skin
and clothes. After dragging several pots of heated water to
the tub, I disrobed and stood in the middle. With a ratty
washcloth and stony bar of soap, I washed my tired body.

I tried not to remember the 'before' times.  On most days
I kept myself too busy to dwell on them, and let sleep
drive the unbidden thoughts from my mind at the end of the
day. But Krycek's arrival had uncovered images and feelings
I thought I'd exorcised long ago.

I'd last seen him nearly four years earlier during a
terrorist bust.  He was--

"Scully!"  A booming voice interrupted my reverie. 
"Scully, what the hell do you think you're doing-"

He stopped short at the door.  I'd just managed to pick up
a towel to cover myself when he came barging in.  I'd been
only partially successful.

"I-I-sorry, Scully"  he stammered as he hastily retreated.

I smiled to myself.  Skinner was a natural leader and the
most fearless man I knew, but he quaked at the sight of a
woman's partially nude body.  Correction.  My partially
nude body.  His attraction to me was something I
consciously ignored. Giving into that attraction had almost
destroyed us both.

I dressed quickly.  There were several women at the
compound who wouldn't mind having Skinner interrupt their
baths.  One, in particular, wouldn't mind at all.  She was
actively campaigning to have him interrupt her.  But he
didn't want Monica Reyes, at least not now.  If  I waited
long enough, he might turn to her. It was an eventuality I
knew she was hoping for, and something I refused to think
about.

After making sure I was appropriately attired, I stepped
out into the ward.  I found Skinner staring down at
Krycek's unconscious body.  The expression on his face was
a mixture of hatred and rage.  His large hands were balled
into tight fists at his side. I thought he might actually
attack Krycek in his bed.

"Sir?"  I tried to make my voice strong and authoritative.
He might be the leader of this compound, but he was
invading my territory now.

He turned at the sound of my voice.  For once, the
expression on his face didn't soften when he spoke to me. 
"What the hell is HE doing here?"

"Childers brought him here this morning."

"I know that.  Why did you help him?"  Skinner's past with
Krycek was nearly as ugly as mine.   The nanocytes had been
a constant reminder to him that Krycek could end his life
on a whim.

"Because I didn't know it was Krycek when he got here."

"A one-armed man comes to your door and you don't at least
suspect it's Krycek?"

I could feel his anger infecting me.  I had to hold my
emotions in check.  One of us had to anyway. I ushered him
outside and away from the source of our contention.

"Of course I suspected.  What did you want me to do? 
Should I refuse to treat all one-armed men on the off-
chance they're Krycek?"

"You don't have to keep giving him medical care," Skinner
said with a deadly quiet authority.  It never occurred to
me that he might order me to stop treatment.

"Do you expect me to just stand by now and let him die?" 
I was incredulous. 

"Yes."

"Yes??"

"Yes."

What he was asking me to do went against everything I was
taught and believed in. I hated Krycek as much as he did;
had as much right to hate him, but I had duty to him now.
If he wanted Krycek dead, I was not going to allow Skinner
to be a non-participant in his death.

I walked into my room and retrieved my FBI issue gun from
under the bed.  I kept it cleaned, oiled and unused. With
more courage than I felt, I held out the gun.

"You're going to have to shoot him."

"What?"  His eyes narrowed as he tried to understand the
game I was playing.

"I'm not going to just let him lie in bed until he dies. 
You're going to have to shoot him or me.  If you shoot me,
you'll have to watch him die.  If you shoot him then you'll
get your way.  It's your choice."

Skinner wasn't about to shoot me, but I could see him
struggle with the idea of shooting Krycek.  If he did that,
an old nemesis would be dead at last, and he could count
one less enemy in the world.  But he'd also lose any
respect I'd ever had for him, and possibly the respect of
the camp. By now, several people had gathered close by to
watch us argue.

"If you think shooting an unarmed, sick, and defenseless
man would make you safer then do it."  I shoved the gun
toward him again and stood back.

Skinner looked at me and then briefly at the gathering
crowd.  To my horror he took the gun and went inside.  I
never thought he'd call my bluff. Never.

For a moment I wasn't sure what to do-go inside and try to
stop him, or stay put and trust he's bluffing?  I chose the
former and hoped I wasn't going to be the intended target.

I found Skinner standing at the end of the bed with the
gun raised.  His breathing was labored and I waited with
raw nerves.  Please don't do this, I begged silently. 

 Invasion and war had made Skinner a different man.  He
was edgier, shorter tempered, and more likely to act than
think.  It was behavior he'd learned in Vietnam and it had
helped him survive a grueling period in his young life.  I
could only believe that time and experience would temper
that behavior now.

With a sudden shout he threw the gun away and I saw his
shoulders slump in defeat. With more relief than I should
have felt, I went to him and touched the hand that had
tossed the gun away.  He flinched as if in pain, but didn't
let go.  I raised the palm to my face and rested it against
my cheek.

For several seconds neither of us moved.  The sensation of
his roughened skin on mine brought back old memories of his
gentle touch.  The contact was thrilling, agonizing, and
forbidden.  I was grateful he'd chosen me instead of
himself, and it would be so easy to get lost in that touch
again. I kissed the center of his hand, and he groaned in-
pleasure or pain?  I couldn't be sure.

Without warning, he pulled his hand away and brushed past
me.

"He's your responsibility now," he said over his shoulder.  

The whole building shook from the force he used to slam
the door shut.  I shivered from the cold in his voice and
turned to look at Krycek.

"What have I done?" I asked. 

 Krycek had no response.

***********************************


My work day was light.  Very few people wanted to brave my
presence after witnessing my fight with Skinner.  Skinner's
moods generally reflected mine, and his mood must be ugly
indeed to warrant the scanty number of people I saw.

It was just as well.  Krycek was requiring most of my
attention and energy anyway.

About two o'clock Monica arrived to help out, and I was
grateful.  Before she came along I'd been through an
endless number of 'helpers' in the past.  Most couldn't
stand the long hours, grueling work, or the fact that I
expected them to work as hard as I did.  Monica didn't
mind. She'd been my patient long before she was my helper.

She'd come in with a large group from the North that
Skinner and his men liberated from the alien colonists.  I
hadn't seen her in months, and she'd been in nearly as bad
a shape as Krycek was now. She was a fighter though, and
daily visits from Skinner seemed to make her recovery even
swifter.

Childers told me later that some of the men wanted to
leave her behind, but Skinner wouldn't even consider it.
Skinner also apparently carried her a good part of the way
himself when their lone truck broke down. With so much
gallantry showered on her, how could she not fall in love
with him?

"Hey," she said pleasantly and handed me a sandwich. "I
didn't see you at breakfast or dinner so I thought you
might be hungry."

"Thank you. I am." I bit greedily into the thin bread.

"Is there anything I can do?"  She looked pointedly at
Krycek.  Of course she would have heard about his
appearance and my subsequent argument.  Gossip in the camp
spread faster than any disease I'd ever treated.

"Can you change the dressing on his left arm and make sure
his IV is running?"

"Of course."

I watched her work with cool efficiency.  She'd never met
Krycek in the 'before' time and it was strange to see them
side by side now.  I felt a shiver crawl up my spine at the
realization, almost like a premonition of something bad
about to happen.

She turned just then and caught my expression.  I swung my
head away quickly and returned to the paperwork on my desk.
Her eyes stayed on me a little longer than necessary, and I
knew she was intensely curious about Krycek.

"He's an old enemy," I said without looking up.

"Skinner's?"

"And mine, yes."

Silence asked the question she wouldn't.  Why are you
helping him? I didn't answer because I wasn't sure myself.
It was more complicated than simple doctor-patient duty. 
Krycek symbolized so many things for me: evil, surprise,
pathos, and a life wasted in pursuit of broken dreams. A
part of me wanted him to get better so I could question
him.  I wanted him to answer all the questions I'd never
been able to ask.

Was he really there when Louis Cardinale killed Missy? 
Why did he help Duane Barry kidnap me?  He'd had the
perfect chance to kill Skinner on two separate occasions,
but hadn't followed through.  Why? Did he feel anything at
all for the terrible things he'd done to us?  I knew I
would never receive a straight answer. Some perverse part
of me wanted to hear it anyway.  Make him better, make him
talk, and then make him suffer. Wouldn't Skinner be proud
of that?

"Dana." Monica's voice interrupted the crooked path my
mind had strayed down.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked what else you wanted me to do."

I walked over to the bed.  The bandage was clean and
expertly wrapped.  "Good job.  I'll make a doctor out of
you yet."

Monica laughed, and I warmed to the sound.  "I'll leave
that to you, thanks."

I watched as she reached to touch his long, dark hair.  It
curled around her fingers, and the ends were almost the
same reddish color as his beard. She seemed to be analyzing
him, trying to see what it was in Krycek that had caused so
much unease.

"He could use a shave and haircut." 

"Yes," I said absently. She had a knack for humanizing the
people I tended to see as a collection of injuries and
diseases.  I just tried to save their lives; Monica wanted
to make them live.

"I could do that if you'd like."

I almost said no. It made me queasy to think of Krycek
becoming human under Monica's care.  It would make it
harder for me to hate him, to be objective about him. But
the excess hair would be difficult to keep clean, and a
chore to deal with in the long run.  I just nodded and sat
back down at the desk.  

She started with his head, clipping the hair very short
like a military cut.  The beard was snipped, and then
shaved with a straight razor I'd found in a drawer, and
used for wound preparation.

"What do you think?"  When I looked up she was standing
back and admiring her handiwork.

It was a startling sight to behold.  The Krycek I'd seen
at the terrorist raid was now lying in my infirmary.  The
look made him appear younger, more vulnerable, and
eminently more dangerous.

I was about to answer when Krycek opened his eyes.  He
stared upward toward the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to
our presence.

"What's his first name?"

"Alex."

Monica leaned forward and spoke softly.  "Alex can you
hear me?  My name is Monica. You're in a hospital.  You're
safe now."

He didn't answer, but started to groan and thrash around. 
Reaching across the bed with his right hand, he began
tearing at the bandages on his stump. A series of harsh
Russian words came out of his mouth. I retrieved some of my
precious supply of IV pain killer and injected enough to
make him sleep again.

"Did-did he lose it here?"  Monica's voice trembled
slightly.

"No.  It's a long story.  He lost it in Russia. Why don't
you go to dinner?"

"Coming with me?"  She always asked, and I always refused.

"No.  I need to watch him."

"Is there anything you need?"

Yes, I thought, I needed more medical supplies, I needed a
proper bath, and I needed Skinner.  Out loud I said, "No,
but thank you."

She left and I suddenly felt very lonely.

I fell asleep bent over my desk.  Krycek had woken
repeatedly and thrashed around more, making it necessary to
tie down his arm and legs.  It was too hard getting up
every time he yelled, so I settled for a cot in the ward. I
kept it warmer out here in any case. 

Sometime around four a.m., I gave up trying to sleep, and
decided to tackle the files I was organizing.  Several of
the refugees that came here had been suffering from a
variety of strange illnesses.  They ranged from burns on
the skin, to the inability to eat certain foods.  It spoke
strongly of the possibility that the aliens were
experimenting on humans, but no one could ever remember
what happened to them.

Skinner thought they were trying a form of biological
warfare.  That was a good possibility, but I also suspected
they were trying to 'integrate' human and alien DNA.  I'd
met too many women whose ova had been stolen, like mine, to
dismiss the possibility easily.  

I kept a record of what I'd been seeing and trying to put
the data into some coherent order. Despite categorizing and
subcategorizing, I couldn't make any sense of the symptoms,
diseases, and injuries that paraded through my infirmary. 
It was frustrating not being able to understand what they
were doing to us.  It nagged at me that the aliens were
preparing for something big, and we needed to know what
that was in order to defeat it.

I woke to the sounds of the camp moving around outside my
door.  Krycek was sleeping peacefully at last, and I
reluctantly picked my head up off the desk.  To my
surprise, someone had come in and placed a wool blanket
around my shoulders.  I didn't have to speculate who it had
been.  I just wished that Skinner had woken me when he came
in.  We needed to speak about Krycek before our
relationship was permanently damaged. 

***********************************

Krycek improved over the next few days.  He stopped
thrashing around, but continued to dream/hallucinate in
both English and Russian. Some of the English was garbled,
but the part I could decipher had to do with the Smoking
Man, and accusations of betrayal. Information linking the
alien experimentation to humans didn't slip through as I'd
hoped.

Skinner stayed away, and the few times I'd glimpsed him
across the compound or in the cafeteria he studiously kept
his eyes from mine.  On the fifth day of this treatment,
I'd had enough.

"Monica, could you hold down the fort for a few minutes?"

She looked up with surprise.  I never left her in charge
in the afternoon.  I never left the infirmary at all in the
afternoon.  Skinner knew that too.  It would be the perfect
time to ambush him.

"Sure, Dana."

I pulled my coat on, smoothed my hair, and strode out into
the daylight. I could feel curious eyes follow me.  I chose
to cross the front courtyard; the least direct, but most
public of approaches to his office.  No reason to slink in
the back door like a guilty woman.

The young sentry outside his door stood on my arrival.  A
look of panic crossed his face when he saw the
determination in mine.

"Dr. Scully, he's not to be disturbed by anyone.  Direct
orders."

In a move that would have made Mulder proud, I brushed
past him and his automatic weapon.  "Thank you, Mr. Warren,
but I know he's expecting me."

My hand was on the door knob and the door was already
partially open before he moved forward to block my progress.

In a voice designed to show Skinner that he was a tough
little guard he said, "Dr. Scully, I said he was not to be
disturbed."

I looked past Warren through the crack in the door.
Skinner was glaring up sharply to see who would dare try to
invade his sanctuary against orders. I had a sudden feeling
of nostalgia, of previous times I'd assaulted his refuge at
the Hoover. He should have known it was me.  

"Thank you Mr. Warren, you can let her pass."  Skinner was
using his 'I'm most displeased with you' voice.  It was not
going to work this time, and really it never had.

He and his second in command stood when I entered, paying
homage to military politeness.  I never knew whether they
stood because I was a woman, or in deference to me as an
equal.  I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Sir.   Mr. Klein."

"Dr. Scully."  So formal.

Klein was softer.  "Good to see you, Dr. Scully."

"Thank you, Mr. Klein."  I gave him a rare smile.  I liked
Klein immensely.  He was one of those rare people who could
lead without crushing those beneath him. He was a true
diplomat, but he could never lead the entire camp.  Only
one man could.

"Sir, may I speak with you?"

"As you can see I'm busy-"

"We were just finishing.  I need to check on something at
the motor pool in any case. Good day, sir.  Dr. Scully." 
Klein's southern voice lilted softly as he moved out the
door and closed it. I almost laughed.  The 'motor pool'
consisted of a two temperamental jeeps and a sad truck. 

When I turned around, Skinner's scowl had deepened if at
all possible. He nodded his head for me to sit.

There was an uncomfortable pause.  Now that I was here, I
was at a loss for words.  I usually avoided Skinner's
office.  He had it set up in a nearly identical fashion to
the one at the Hoover building.  The major difference, of
course, was this old furniture that looked as if it'd come
from a bad military garage sale. There was also only one
chair in front of his desk, just one more reminder of
Mulder's absence.  It made me sad to be here.

Skinner cleared his throat, and shuffled papers, waiting
patiently for me to begin.

"Why are you avoiding me?" I went to the heart of the
matter.

Without looking up, he said, "I think you know why."

"So you're punishing me? You're going to avoid me, try to
make me feel like a criminal for doing what I think is
right?"

"I'm not punishing you.  I don't agree with what you're
doing."  His eyes cut through me.

"It feels like a punishment," I said softly. "I-I miss you."

I don't think he anticipated that.  It seemed we were both
behaving in unexpected ways.

"He's not Mulder."

"What?"  Now it was my turn to be shocked.

"Curing Krycek won't bring Mulder back."

I could feel blind rage surge through me.  How dare he
make that comparison?

"I do not think that treating Krycek will bring Mulder
back.  I don't think he's going to come back.  Not after
what we did."

Skinner was up and around the desk in a flash. He grabbed
my shoulders in a painful grip and hauled me to my feet.
"And what is it exactly that we did?  We made love.  I
loved you, I still do.  I can't help that Mulder decided to
come out of hiding and find us on that day.  I can't help
that he saw in bed together.  I can't help that he left
again without talking with you about it first."

He sighed deeply and rested his chin on my head. "I'm
sorry, Scully.  I'm sorry for everything, and I know you're
sorry too. But being sorry and keeping me at arm's length
won't bring him back."

I was suddenly enfolded in his arms, my face pressed to
his chest.  I was too shocked to fight him.  I never
suspected he knew, never suspected he thought I was still
actively waiting for Mulder; I hadn't mentioned him in
months.

I felt tears come to my eyes.  I did love Skinner.  I
loved Mulder too.  Somehow I hadn't thought I could move
forward with Skinner until I could see Mulder again and
explain things.  Explain that his absence had created a
hollow place in my heart.   That Skinner had saved me,
taken care of me, and brought me here to safety.  That he
helped fill the void that Mulder had left behind.  Giving
in and loving Skinner would mean closing the door on my
former partner, a door I hadn't wanted to shut.  Until now.

I was about to say so, when loud knocking sounded through
the door.

"What?"  Skinner's angry voice rumbled against my ear. He
let go abruptly when the door suddenly opened behind me.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's important."  It was Childers. 
Only Childers was foolish enough, or brave enough to risk
Skinner's wrath.  "Dr. Scully is needed right away in the
infirmary."

Skinner frowned again.  I was going to have to leave him
for Krycek.

"I'm coming-" I began.

"Sir," Childers said hurriedly, "I think you should come
too. Miss Monica says to tell you Doggett is here." 


**********************************************

<continued in part 2>

The Beginning of Sorrows Part II  
Disclaimers, ratings, and spoilers in part I

***********************************************

Psalm 91:4  He shall cover thee with His feathers, and
under his wings you shall take refuge. 
"But unto you that fear My name shall the Sun of
righteousness arise, with healing in His wings---" (Mal.
4:2). 
************************************************

My patient turned out to be Monica, not John.  Skinner and
I had hurried across the compound, almost unable to believe
Doggett was here and alive. 

When I'd questioned her on his whereabouts, the only thing
Monica had ever said was that she'd seen him die when she
was captured by the aliens. She steadfastly refused to give
any details, literally shutting down at the mention of his
name.  I'd assumed he'd been killed in front of her and the
shock of seeing it had left a permanent mental scar.
But a man looking exactly like John Doggett, dressed in
fatigues, and very much alive, smiled when Skinner and I
came in. 

"John,"  Skinner said with obvious pleasure.

"Sir."  Doggett's creased face smoothed into a grin.

They shook hands like long lost friends. He suddenly
turned and hugged me tight, lifting me off my feet.  None
of us had ever behaved like this to one another in the
'before' time. I thought how strange it was that separation
and adversity could make emotions so much stronger,
sharper, that they were magnified ten fold.  I was glad, so
very glad to see him again.

"Agent Scully, as I live and breathe."

I smiled up at him when he set me down at last. "We
thought you were dead. Monica-," and then it occurred to me
I hadn't seen her. Glancing over to the ward I saw her
lying on one of the beds.

"What happened?"  I rushed over and picked up her hand,
feeling a rapid, thready pulse.

"Fainted dead away when she saw me. Well, she screamed my
name a couple dozens times before doin' it."

"She thought you were dead.  Why?"  I heard suspicion in
Skinner's voice. Surely he didn't think John wasn't human?
We had dogs at every post that could sniff out a clone or
super soldier at twenty yards distance. He would have had
to pass this particular inspection before coming into camp.

"I don't know."  Doggett's face looked genuinely
bewildered.  I touched his arm.

"What happened to separate the two of you?"

John's forehead bunched into characteristic lines.  "It's
a long story.  Why don't I tell you over dinner? I haven't
had anything decent to eat in weeks."

**************************************


Skinner brought us food to eat at the infirmary.  I didn't
want to leave Monica, fearing she might wake while we were
gone.  She'd need help and reassurance when she came back
from the dark place she'd retreated to.

John told a harrowing story of fleeing from Washington
after invasion with Monica in tow.  Like many other
refugees, they were ill prepared for flight and had no idea
in which direction to run. 

"We decided to go south, which turned out to be exactly
the wrong thing to do," he said ruefully. "We were captured
within a couple of weeks by super soldiers.  They already
had camps set up all over the place. We saw humans herded
into buildings and then burned to death." He paused at the
memory.  I could only imagine what horror such a sight
could induce.

"They tried to separate us in the woods.  When I wouldn't
'cooperate' I got the business end of a club to the head."
He absently stroked an ugly scar on the side of his face.
"They must have thought I was dead.  Next thing I knew I
was at the bottom of a pile of bodies.  I managed to dig my
way out and slipped into the woods before they burned them
up with some live ones. I worked my way back so I could get
Monica, but they were gone.  The whole place was just
deserted."  His voiced cracked with emotion.

Suddenly he looked at us with haunted eyes.  "You have to
believe me. I tried to find her.  I looked everywhere for
weeks, but I was always too late. I finally met up with a
group of resistance soldiers and have been with them ever
since."

Skinner and I acknowledged him silently.  Our story hadn't
been much different, but we'd managed to elude the patrols
before coming this far north.

I touched his hand.  "John," I began gently, "I think
Monica might have seen you taken with the others.  I also
think she witnessed the building being burned and thought
you were in it.  She's spoken to me of smelling smoke and
hearing people scream in her sleep."

"Oh, shit," John said with anguish.  "How'd she make it
here?"

Skinner told a brief story of finding her during a raid. 
He left out the part of his bringing her against all odds
of survival, and also carrying her along the way. I'd make
sure John learned the whole truth at a later time.

Skinner's eyes narrowed.  "Why would the aliens burn some
humans and keep others alive?" he asked.

Doggett shook his head. "My group's been trying to figure
that out for a long time.  We've heard stories of
experiments, but nobody can get close enough to figure out
what they're doin.'"

"At first I thought it might be germ warfare, but why not
just use something old fashioned like small pox or
anthrax?"  I asked.

"From what I've seen," John said, "I think they're as
vulnerable to disease as we are.  They unleash that stuff
and they're dead too."  

Skinner nodded in agreement. "On raiding parties we've
seen their bodies with the same strange wounds as some of
the humans have had." 

Skinner hadn't brought back the alien bodies for fear of
spreading disease in the encampment.  He'd also steadfastly
refused to allow me along for the same reason.  His
rationale had been that I was the only doctor, but I knew
it went deeper than that.

Fatigue covered Doggett like a blanket, and I realized
we'd talked into the night.

"You look tired," I said with sympathy. "Why don't you
bunk down for the night? I have to stay here with Monica
and our other---'guest'."  I didn't see any reason to tell
him about Krycek yet.

"No. I'm stayin' here. I want to be with her when she
wakes up."

I knew by the stubborn tone of Doggett's voice I'd get
nowhere with him. I smiled at his dedication.

I looked up then and caught Skinner with nearly the same
expression as mine.  Something passed between us in that
glance, a spark of acknowledgement with a deeper current
underneath.  I felt the urge to kiss him, and more. The
same was reflected in his deep brown eyes. I blinked, and
the moment passed.

"Scully?"  Doggett hadn't missed the exchange.

"Sorry.  I'll make up a bed for you."

****************************************************

Monica woke up sometime in the middle of the night. I'd
heard a high-pitched sound like a scream, waking me from
sleep.  Heart pounding with alarm, I sat up to the sound of
soft voices.  Quickly pulling on a robe I padded swiftly to
the ward door.

Under the harsh fluorescent light of Monica's bed I saw
Doggett holding her in a tender embrace.  He stroked her
hair, murmuring softly into her trembling ear.  She seemed
to calm with the sound of his gravelly voice and gentle
touch. She was all right, or Doggett would have come for
me. It was sweet moment, and I was obviously intruding.

Before retreating, I glanced back over at Krycek as a
reflex. To my surprise he was awake.  His green eyes were
open, glittering in the dark, and looking into mine.  I saw
awareness there instead of the lifeless staring he'd been
displaying. He seemed to be evaluating me, testing the
amount of malice in my face upon discovering his alert
condition. I kept my face in a neutral mask, displaying
neither warmth, nor anger.

We stared at each other for a long time, neither of us
moving. John and Monica were blissfully unaware of us, lost
in their own private drama. After a few moments, Krycek
closed his eyes and the muscles of his face relaxed into
sleep. 

Back in bed I trembled not only from cold, but with fear
too.  I'd been dreading this moment all week.  The question
of what to do with Krycek once he was well had plagued me.  

Skinner had been right to think Krycek was a danger to us.
Just because I'd saved his life didn't mean he'd be
grateful or even civil to us.  It was too much like the
parable of the woman and the snake.

I couldn't remember who first told it to me, probably a
teacher from childhood.  I'd heard the same tale repeated
over the years; usually involving similar circumstances but
different animals.

The story told of a woman finding a snake gravely injured
at the side of the road.  She took pity on it, and brought
it home with her as a charitable act.  She fed it, bandaged
its wounds, and sang songs to comfort it.  The snake grew
stronger everyday until it was well enough to slither
around the room.  One day the woman bent down to pet it,
and the snake struck her.  Sinking its poison-filled fangs
deep into her hand, the woman cried out in pain.  As she
lay dying on the floor of her house she asked it why it had
done this to her.  "I fed you, took you into my house, and
saved your life."  The snake answered her.  "You knew I was
a snake when you rescued me.  Why are you surprised when I
act on my true nature?"

Was Krycek like that snake?  Skinner was convinced his
true nature was deceptive and evil.  I wasn't as sure.  His
prior actions spoke of a man with conflicting loyalties. 
At times working with CGB Spender against us, other times
showing a jagged mercy.  I know he worked with Louis
Cardinal and part of me suspected he was involved with my
sister's death.  But he'd spared Skinner's life when he
could have ended it.

The rest of the night I tossed and turned as sleep eluded
me.  The moral issues surrounding Krycek were too big, too
uncertain to see clearly.  I'd have to tell Skinner in the
morning, and we'd decide together.  The fragile bond
between us was too new to be tested in this way. I'd have
to trust Skinner, and he'd have to trust me too.


***************************************************


I rose early in the morning, long before the rest of the
camp began stirring to wakefulness. I made weak coffee from
over-used beans on a Bunsen burner, and dug out the rest of
my carefully hoarded sugar.  I'd decided long ago that
coffee without sugar was barbaric, and if there ever came a
time when I couldn't have it, then civilization was truly
at an end.

So far I always found enough, or Skinner would bring me
what he could.  It was such a little thing, but it made me
enormously happy. It was always the little things that
saved you, or broke you in the end.

Out in the ward I found John asleep at Monica's bedside;
his head resting in the crook of her neck, and one arm
across her waist. She was lying on her side and curled as
close to him as possible. Her bed was too small for both of
them, so they'd improvised.  Something told me Monica was
going to be moving out of her shared quarters and into
something a little more private.

Krycek was sound asleep, and I decided it was a good time
to change his bandage.  I padded around gathering supplies
as quietly as possible.  His wounds were healing better
than I'd expected, and he was well on his way to a full
recovery.

The stump was my biggest worry. Initially I'd been afraid
he'd have to lose more of it, and therefore the ability to
use his prosthesis.  But today it appeared to be healing
nicely.  I was hoping to see if he could get out of bed and
start moving around.  The longer he lay in bed, the greater
his chances of having muscles atrophy and freeze. Monica
was a wonder at massage therapy.  Maybe she could do
something with him.

My wool gathering was interrupted by a hand grasping my
arm.  Krycek was awake, and had reached across to touch me.

At first I was too surprised to move and waited for him to
let go.  Instead, his hand trailed up my arm across my neck
to brush my cheek.  His eyes held mine the entire time,
probing, registering my reaction to his touch. There was
uncertainty flickering beneath the black lashes as if he
doubted I was real; a ghost he'd conjured up in a dream.
His smooth palm came to rest on my face and his thumb
pressed into the hollow under my eye. This was dangerous,
and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

His hand was suddenly jerked away.  I looked up to see
Skinner's rage-filled face; his bear-like hand encircling
Krycek's wrist in a crushing hold.  Krycek moaned in pain,
and Skinner dropped his arm like it was a hot poker.

"Touch her again and you die."

Skinner looked at me as if I'd betrayed him somehow.  As
if Krycek's touch was something I had wanted or asked for.
He spun on his heel and headed out the door, dismissing me
and Krycek both.

I ran after him, angry he'd assumed I would betray him
with Krycek.

"Skinner," I called, but he kept walking. I had to think
of something to stop him, to make him listen.  "I need you."

He stopped and turned around, but the anger still danced
on his face.  He stopped within a millimeter of my face and
held it in his hands.  He crushed me to him, his mouth
harsh against my lips; a kiss designed to punish me, mark me.

He pulled back.  "It's not enough anymore."

I was let go as abruptly as I was seized, and he strode
away again.  I was left standing in the bitter cold, a hand
to my abused mouth. I was deeply afraid I'd already lost him.

*********************************************


Skinner went on a three- day reconnaissance mission before
I could see him again.  Klein was left behind at the office
to oversee things, and expressed his regrets that I'd
missed Skinner.

"I know it's not my place, but are you and he having a
disagreement?"  Klein, ever the gentleman couldn't come
right out and ask if we were fighting.

"Something like that.  I'm worried it's a bit more than a
disagreement. More like a contest of wills."

He smiled. "All relationships revolve around power.  The
trick is to know when to hold your ground and when to give
in."

"Yes, but how do you know when to do one over the other?"

He sat back and put on what I called his diplomatic face. 
He adopted it whenever he had to give bad news, but didn't
want to make you suffer too much. He was somehow able to
convey the message that it hurt him as much to tell you a
thing as you were to hear it.  A polite upbringing by his
grandmother in Savannah Georgia was what he said made him
so good at it.

"Dr. Scully, I don't know much, but I know that man loves
you to distraction.  If you gave him the least
encouragement, he'd cross the earth for you."

"I can't get him to cross the compound much less the earth."

"Something tells me you know how to make that happen
better then he does. If you look in your heart, you'll know
what to do."

"What about you Mr. Klein?  Have you ever loved anyone
enough to cross the earth?"

His face fell for a moment, a dark shadow passing briefly
over his handsome face. I was instantly sorry I'd mentioned
it.

"I was married once," he said softly, "but she died at a
young age. I've never known anything as good again. And if
you forgive me for saying so, if you let Skinner go,
neither will you."

I was taken aback.  Klein was not usually so forthcoming,
and I knew he was right.

"Will you help me? Will you help me get Skinner to cross
the earth?"

His face scrunched into a grin.  "Dr. Scully nothing would
give me more pleasure."

********************************************************


I began to feel truly ridiculous as I sat in Skinner's
small room.  It was lit with candles, and a dinner made
from all the supplies I could scavenge sat cooling on his
roughen table.  An old parachute had been hung from the
ceiling by Monica to give an air of 'magic' to the Spartan
quarters. I was wearing a low-cut dress someone had dragged
out of a storage bin.  It was much too big and ill-fitting,
even with careful altering.  Monica said I looked
beautiful, and I only acquiesced to wearing it when Doggett
and Klein agreed with her.

"You don't think it makes me look like a prostitute?" I
asked checking the front.

Monica giggled.  "No, and neither will Skinner."

I bit my lip.  "I don't know it's so---RED."

"Dana I don't think he's going to care what color it is. 
It's not going to stay on for long anyway is it?"  She
laughed again at my appalled expression.

"Just because you're in love doesn't mean the whole world
is too,' I said.  She and John had moved in together as I'd
predicted.  They'd been inseparable ever since.

"Dana, you need to relax and just let this happen."

So I sat there in the semi-darkness, freezing in the
skimpy dress.  Klein said Skinner had radioed he would be
back at 21:00.  He'd light a lantern on the gate as a
signal, then I'd light the candles in the room and sit in
my designated spot under the parachute.  Skinner was
nothing if not punctual, and I saw the lantern's glow soon
after he was due home.

My heart pounded in my ears when I heard his heavy boots
on the stairs.  His footsteps were slow and labored as if
he were bone tired, carrying the weight of the world on his
shoulders.

I stood when he opened the door. Mud spattered fatigues
and boots filled the doorway and my vision.  He frowned
initially, not understanding why there were lights on in
the room.  I saw his hand fumble with a kerosene lamp
before he saw me.

I smiled weakly. "Welcome home, Skinner."

He didn't move, didn't speak, made no sound at all.  He
stood frozen in the doorway taking in the dinner,
parachute, and dress.  The longer he stood there, the more
absurd I felt. Maybe Klein had been wrong.  Skinner wasn't
going to cross the room to me.

"Scully?" Uncertainty and fatigue rasped in his voice.  I
held out my arms.

And like some terrible midnight movie on a VHF channel
with violins playing in the background, he crossed the room
and crushed me to him; my silk dress covered with mud and
Skinner.  It was heaven.

We forgot about dinner, Krycek, and the war. Skinner was
as tender as I remembered when he made love to me again. 
Monica was right.  The dress lasted sixty seconds.

****************************************

"I should have showered first."  Skinner's deep voice
rumbled beneath my ear.

"No, I like you sweaty. Besides I didn't want anything
cooling off."  We both laughed at the silliness we could
finally indulge in. He was in my arms again and I never
wanted to let go.

"Your dress is ruined."

I sat up and eyed him.  "What color was it?"

"What?"

"You heard me.  What color was the dress?"  The blank look
on his face told me enough. Instead of being angry, it made
me laugh even harder and he laughed with me.  So much for
trying to impress him.
 
I thought how handsome he was when he laughed, his face
free of worry and those severe glasses.  A sharp hitch in
my chest stopped my laughter, and tears welled up in my eyes.

Skinner was instantly up too and touched my face. 
"Scully? Is something wrong?"

 I looked deep in his eyes and the sharpness grew
stronger. "I love you, Skinner.  Really love you."  

He folded me close and repeated my words back to me.  "I
love you, too."

The next morning Skinner's walkie-talkie intruded into our
peaceful sleep.

"Sir.  You need to come down to the gate."  Childers
again.  The last time he interrupted us Doggett was here. 
Who would be at the door this time?

Skinner retrieved the hateful thing and came back to bed. 
I tried distracting him with kisses, but Childers was
persistent.

"Sir, are you there?"

"This better be good, Childers." In the background I could
hear barking dogs and a confusion of noisy people. 
Suddenly a voice from the past could be clearly understood
through the bedlam.

"Hey! You better get down here and get these Nazi dogs off
us. How do I know *they* aren't clones, huh?"

I looked at Skinner.  "Frohike?"

"Yeah, and tell them to keep their hands off the
computers."  Langly.
 
"Could you help us, sir?"  Byers.

The Lone Gunmen had decided to pay us a visit.

***************************************************

<continued in part 3>

The Beginning of Sorrows Part III
Headers, disclaimers, etc. in Part I
*************************************************


Small rant: Killing off the Gunmen is like killing the dog
or cat because you're moving and can't take them with you. 
Just cruel Mr. CC.

Ps 127:2 - It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up
late, to eat the bread of sorrows.

*************************************************

The camp became a bedlam with admission of the Gunmen. 
Doggett, Monica, Skinner, and the Gunmen were all trying to
speak at once. I ushered them into the infirmary for a
thorough going-over.  Byers in particular didn't look well.
His beard which had been so neat and trimmed before, was
shaggy and unkempt. His soft brown eyes were glassy, but he
smiled sweetly at the concern on my face. 

"You're so thin," I said, painfully, looking at his
threadbare clothing.

"Not much to eat in the woods."

The only clothing I had on was the red dress, and one of
Skinner's thick shirts thrown on hastily for a coat.
Without thinking, I took it off and pulled it around
Byers's trembling frame.

Frohike didn't miss the implications of my wearing a low-
cut rumpled dress and something of Skinner's over it so
early in the morning. Skinner's uniform was a mishmash of
wrinkled fatigues. I saw now that his shirt was inside out.

Frohike sidled up to me with a lascivious grin. "She's
still hot, huh, Skinner?"

Skinner pulled himself up to his full height and glared
down at the little man.  "Yes."

We all laughed together.  It was like old times again.
Then Langly inadvertently ruined it.

"Hey, where's Mulder?"

The room became deathly quiet.  I couldn't meet Skinner's
eyes.  I knew he'd be hurt. The magic of last night had
been free of guilt, anger or fear.  And free of thoughts
about Mulder.  Until now.

"He's up in Minnesota."

Seven shocked faces turned to see Krycek sitting up in
bed.  In the confusion, I'd forgotten all about him.  I'd
deliberately withheld the information from Skinner that he
was awake and talking. I'd been so afraid of ruining our
night.  Skinner's scowl at the revelation told me I'd been
right.

"Who invited HIM to the party?"  Frohike's sarcastic voice
cut through the silence.

"Scully did." Krycek sounded pleased.

The Gunmen turned in unison and gave me a look of hurt and
condemnation.  Mulder had been their friend long before I
had been.  I was sheltering his sworn enemy and sleeping 
with Skinner.  Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I retreated
to my room at the back.

"I-I need to get dressed."

Once I got the door closed and locked, I found myself
shaking uncontrollably and crying.  Too much had happened
in the last twenty four hours and the thought that Mulder
was alive and nearby almost did me in.  It was as if the
Gunmen were the physical manifestation of all the guilt I'd
been carrying around.

After dressing, I sat on my bed for a long time, not
moving.  They'd expect me to come out sooner or later and I
wondered who they'd send in to get me.  A soft knock at the
door was about to answer that question.

"Scully?  It's John Byers. May I come in?"  

No fair, I thought.  John was my favorite Gunman and I had
a soft spot for him.  Mulder used to tease that I had a
crush on him, but that wasn't it at all. Byers seemed to
know when I was hurt and I found his presence comforting.
But he never seemed to expect anything from me.  Mulder and
Skinner wanted my soul.

I walked over to the door and let him in.  The infirmary
was quiet.  Even Krycek was gone.  I sat on the bed unable
to meet Byers's sad eyes. He said nothing at all, waiting
for me to fracture the brittle silence.  I began to cry
again in earnest.

I felt the bed sink down next to me with his slight
weight.  I put my head on his shoulder, and he began to pat
my hair with slow and careful strokes.

"I miss him so much," I blubbered.  "I made him go away. 
It's my fault.  All my fault. If he comes back now, he'll
always hate me."

Byers held me sweetly and let me tell him the whole story.
Of Skinner saving me, Mulder leaving, of my falling deeply
in love with Skinner. I told him how Krycek had come to my
door, and that he was already my patient before I realized
who he was. I told of my deep fear Krycek would turn on us
now.

"It's all my fault."  The weight of guilt I'd been
carrying felt like a noose around my neck.

"I think you need to forgive yourself."

I leaned back and looked at Byers.  His face was sincere.

"For what?"

"For being human.  For doing what you had to do during an
impossible time in your life.  
I don't think Mulder could ever hate you.  He'd be angry,
yes, but hate, no."

I wanted to believe him.  I desperately needed his
permission to feel normal about this abnormal situation,
and he was giving it.

"You're a superior human being, Byers."  I kissed his
cheek and he blushed furiously.

"They're waiting for us in Skinner's office."  He stood
for me to follow him.

I wiped my face and put on a coat.  I hoped he was right. 
If we had the chance to find Mulder, we had to.  I had to.

***********************************************************

Coming through the door and seeing everyone assembled in
Skinner's office was disorienting.  It was too much like
times in the past when we'd meet furtively to discuss
something involving the Consortium or the Smoking Man. 
Similar, but with noted exceptions.  Shabby clothing and
unkempt hair replaced FBI suits and Mario Tricoci cuts.  

To say we were rag tag was an understatement.

I avoided Skinner's eyes again. I couldn't bear to see the
pain there and the acknowledgement of my tear-stained face.
My emotions were too jumbled, too fresh to understand
clearly. But also wanted everyone to leave so I could go
sit in his lap, and bury my face in his warm neck and let
him make the world disappear so it was only him and me
again. Fixing my eyes on the 'v' of his shirt, I felt a
flush rise up my face at the forbidden thought.  I risked a
look at him and he'd plainly seen it. A secret twitch of
his lips before becoming stone again told me I was in deep
trouble.

The dark expectation of everyone present loomed large over
the room.  I'd missed something important. Byers and I sat
down in the strained environment, ready to hear bad news.

"As I was saying, how do we know you're telling the
truth?"  Skinner's bass voice reverberated in the small room.

"You don't."  Krycek sat forward and looked at each of us,
daring us to contradict him.
I was about to ask what he'd said when Krycek supplied the
information for me.  He turned, his eyes fixing on mine.
His stare was steady, unblinking, and unsettling. I thought
he probably did that often; something done for emphasis, to
make a point so that the person on the receiving end was
paying attention.  I was.

"I told them the reason I knew Mulder was in Minnesota was
because I've seen him for myself."

"What's he doing in Minnesota?"

"He's in an alien encampment."

I looked down at my feet.  Mulder alive in Minnesota?  My
heart started beating faster.  We knew almost nothing about
the northern encampments.  They were heavily guarded, and
Skinner's forays to get closer were usually fruitless.

 Without looking up I asked, "Is he still alive?"

"Yes."

"How do you know this?" Doggett, ever the skeptic, broke in.

"Because I used to be one of them."

"One of them?"

"One of the humans cooperating with them."

"You son of a---" Doggett stood, and drew his gun.

Skinner was out of his chair and moving as Krycek backed
up against a wall.

"Put the gun down, John."  Skinner's voice was low, but
menacing. 

"I've seen first hand what those bastards are doin' to
people. Burnin' 'em up alive. If he cooperated with that,
then he deserves to die."

Monica touched his arm gently. "Let's hear the rest of
what he has to say."

Doggett hesitated, and looked down into her eyes. I could
see him struggle with the 
request, not wanting to relinquish the idea of shooting
Krycek just yet.

"You of all people know what they've done.  They hurt you,
almost killed you-" He broke off with desperation in his
voice.  But he holstered the gun and sat again when he saw
the pleading look on her face.

Krycek was still wary, and remained standing with his back
against the wall.

"There's no killing going on up there. Not the kind you're
talking about anyway.  The camps up there are strictly for
production."

"Production of what?" Langly's voice broke in.

"Disease."  Krycek let the word sink in, let it have the
intended effect of horror. "They're making human bug bombs"

"Explain yourself." Skinner cut everyone else's questions
off.

"They're making some kind of virus and injecting it into
people; they're shipping it to the out-lying camps to be
injected too. It lies dormant for one year and then becomes
active. The people infected spread it to all the other
humans that come into contact with them.  It looks just
like the common cold until the last stages."

"Why are they doing this?" My voice cracked from fear.

"They're going to pull out soon, and everyone will think
it's because they've been defeated.  But they're just
letting 'nature' take its course until every human is dead
on this planet."

"Why are they pulling out?" Langly asked.  "Seems simpler
to stay put and let everyone die." 

"They're vulnerable to it too.  It has a shelf life of two
years before becoming inactive. Once everyone's dead they
can come back and clean it up."

"Is there anyway to tell who's infected?" I'd begun to
feel nauseated at the picture Krycek painted.

He nodded. "When they're injected in the upper left arm,
it forms a small blister.  It becomes a red ring with white
in the middle as it heals. When it's done it looks like a
target."  He walked over to Skinner's desk and drew a
symbol that looked like a bull's-eye on a target.  

"Have you seen anyone with this mark?"

I tried to think back over the multitude of refugees and
their wounds I'd observed.  It seemed I had seen someone
with it---.

Monica stood and gasped.  She started tearing at her long
sleeved shirt, ripping the cotton fabric to shreds in her
haste. Underneath the dangling threads I could see a small
red-ringed target.

Doggett stood beside her and stared at the mark, knowing
it had been there, but not understanding the significance
of it.  He looked up at Krycek and before anyone could stop
him, he barreled across the room and shoved him up against
the wall.

"You're a liar. A fu---"

Skinner pulled Doggett backward in an effort to release
his grip on Krycek's shirt. Doggett resisted, and I thought
he and Skinner might come to blows.

"I'm not lying," Krycek protested. "That's the reason they
killed some humans and left others alive.  They knew some
would be rescued and brought back to the resistance camps. 
Why do you think they've left you alone?"

Doggett let the words sink in and he abruptly let Krycek
go. It made sense, and it could be true. No attempt on the
camp had ever been made, and it puzzled us.

He turned back to Monica with anguish in his eyes. I'd
gotten up and put my arms around her while she sobbed openly.

"If this is true, then why did they let you go?" Skinner
asked quietly.

"I escaped.  They told us there was a vaccine and they'd
give it to the people who cooperated. We all received it,
but I found out it's a limited vaccine, watered down too
much to be effective.  They were going to let us die too."

"Then there's no hope?"  Monica asked between sobs.

Krycek smiled, and it sent shivers down my back. He
pointed to Skinner with his head. 

"The old man over there is immune." He looked back at me
with a sensual grin. "The doctor is too."

Skinner snapped his head up and we looked at each other.
"How?"

"The nanocytes were the first step in the development. You
were the first guinea pig to test immunity. Clogging your
arteries was just a fun little sideline. Scully's immune
because they can be passed through 'close' contact with
body fluids."

I suddenly had an irrational thought.  The first sexually
transmitted virus that you'd actually want.

"What's he supposed to do?  Boink the whole human
population?" Frohike's blunt question caused nervous
laughter in the room.

Krycek shook his head. "There are two kinds of nanocytes,
virus nanocytes and immunity nanocytes. For some reason the
immunity nanocytes can be passed only once through sex, and
then, via some autoimmune 'sharing,' they become inactive
to anyone else but those two people." 

"Like first pass metabolism?" I offered.

 Krycek nodded. "From what I understand of it. They're
indistinguishable under the microscope. Fun boy over there
is probably already infected with the virus." Krycek had
pointed to Doggett.

"What are you talkin' about?"  Doggett's voice warned that
he was on edge.

"She's your girlfriend isn't she?"

Monica started screaming. "No, no, no!" Doggett tried to
hold her, but she broke away from him and ran out the door.
He went after her immediately, leaving us in stunned silence.

"Is sex the only way it's passed?" Skinner's voice sounded
rusted.

"No.  Like I said, once activated it acts like a cold and
then it's spread through droplets."

Langly interjected again. "How do you know so much?

"I broke into their files and read everything.  What I
didn't understand I looked up in books. I thought they were
acting deceptive.  I was right."

"Is there any hope at all?" I asked weakly.

"In between Skinner's blood and mine there's a real
vaccine."

"How is that possible?" I asked, trying to wrap my mind
around the possibility.

"They were working on a permanent vaccine for themselves;
very secretive, but I found out about it. There's a limited
supply up in Minnesota."

"Why didn't you take some of it before leaving?" Skinner's
voice was stronger now.

"It's too well guarded.  I'd have to have some help to go
back in for it."

Langly piped up, "We could work on something here with
Scully's help."  I turned to see all the Gunmen nodding in
unison.

I shook my head.  I'd done a little research, but this was
clearly out of my league. 

"We'd need a microbiologist, or infectious disease
specialist.  I wouldn't even know where to begin. Remember
the government threw millions of dollars into research for
AIDS using the best equipment in the country and couldn't
cure it.  I don't even have a proper microscope."

"Then we go up there and take it.  I'm your safe cracker,"
Frohike said with confidence.

"YOU crack safes?" Krycek sounded astonished.

"Yeah you want to make something of it?" Frohike pulled
himself up to his full height to glare at Krycek.

Into the middle of this exchange Byers decide to speak for
the first time. "What about Mulder?"


When John finally returned with Monica I took her back to
the infirmary to keep an eye on her.  She was too upset
over the idea of being a human incubator for an alien virus
to be left alone with John.  I gave her a sedative and put
her to bed.  He trailed behind me and sat at her bedside. 
No amount of argument would persuade him to leave her,
despite her pleas for him to go.

"Stay away from me John.  I'm infected.  I infected you.
You're going die because of me."

"Monica," I said gently, "Krycek says nothing will happen
for a year.  I think something would have happened to John
by now if it was going to."

"You don't know that.  Maybe they can become active
earlier than that.  He'd be the first to die."

I sighed and looked at him.  "May you should go--- for
now," I said when I saw the look of protest on his face. 
He stared at Monica who had turned over in bed with her
back to him.  The look of pain on his face was heart-
breaking, but he nodded and left silently.

Skinner came in with Krycek shortly afterward.  Plotting a
raid together while I was gone with Monica, no doubt. It
was a new world indeed to see them collaborating. When
Krycek sat and pulled his shirt off, I could see his
bandage was bloodied from his struggles with Doggett.

I went over to him automatically to undo the soiled cotton
and check for damage. Steering him to his old bed, I made
him sit for the exam and changed the bandage.  I looked up
at Skinner's grave face.  I knew it wasn't lost on him that
he'd brought Monica here, sacrificing a great deal to bring
into camp something that could snuff out all our lives. 
He'd also almost killed Krycek, a man with the very
information that could save us.  It was a bitter irony.

I left Krycek to his own devices and trudged wearily back
to my room. Skinner followed close behind, and he put a
gentle hand on my shoulder. I turned in his arms, and he
held me while I cried for the second time that day.

"You don't believe him do you?" I sobbed against Skinner's
shirt. "That Mulder's a collaborator, too?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore.  I'm too tired to
think about it now."

We lay down together in my tiny bed, clinging to one
another against the storm of emotions threatening to break
us apart. I slipped into a restless sleep, knowing the
morning would only bring more questions.

******************************************End part 3

<continued in part 4>

The Beginning of Sorrows Part IV
by Philiater

************************************************

Da 3:4  And, behold, one like the similitude of the sons
of men touched my lips: then I opened my mouth, and spake,
and said unto him that stood before me, O my lord, by the
vision my sorrows are turned upon me, and I have retained
no strength. 

Isa. 53:4 Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our
sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God,
and afflicted. 

**********************************************

My sleep was restless, filled with visions of the dead and
dying. The infirmary was over- flowing with hundreds of
people as I stood at the head of a never-ending line of
death.  They were grabbing at me, pleading with me to save
them, but I couldn't.  So many people trampled forward that
I was buried by them and crushed to death.  I woke up
gasping for air next to Skinner's inert body.

He was sound asleep, his face screwed up in pain, and
mumbling as if dreaming too. Neither of us was going to get
any peaceful sleep tonight.

Feeling restless, I pulled on a robe, and walked out into
the infirmary. Monica and the Gunmen occupied one end of
the room and Krycek lay at the other.  Frohike, Langly, and
Byers were sprawled across their beds in comic disarray. 
Monica was curled tightly into a ball, but she seemed deep
in sleep.

I walked over to Krycek who lay on his back, his face
relaxed in sleep.  He looked somehow more innocent and
younger this way, and I found myself shuddering
involuntarily.

Without knowing why, I sat on the end of his bed to study
him.  If what he said was true about the virus wiping us
ou, I wondered how he could sleep so serenely now. Perhaps
he had no conscience at all, feeling content because he
could manipulate the situation to his liking.

I noticed his good arm was outside the gray blanket that
covered him.  The bones of his hand were delicate and his
fingers were long and supple; such a contrast to Skinner's
broad palms and thick fingers.  I reached out to touch the
back of his hand and my wrist was seized in tight grip.

I looked up to find he was studying me, his eyes
glittering in the dark.  He was wary, staring at me as if I
were an assassin come to kill him.  Using my arm for
leverage, he pulled himself into a sitting position, never
losing eye contact.

"What's on your mind Scully?"  His voice was so soft I
barely heard him.

I didn't answer because I didn't really know.

"You looking for information on Mulder?" I glanced away,
feeling shame crawl up my spine. "I thought so."

I refused to look at him even though he increased the
pressure around my wrist to bruising proportions.  "What's
the matter?  Isn't the 'Big Guy' enough for you?"

"Let go," I said between clenched teeth.

He only smiled, believing he had the upper hand and
enjoying my discomfort. But suddenly the smile faded and he
released me so abruptly I nearly fell.

"Go back to bed, doctor.  You won't find any more answers
here." He lay back  and shut his eyes, dismissing me.

"Are you lying?"  It was an inane and stupid question, but
I needed to hear him say it again.

"About Mulder?"

"About everything."

"No.  But you'll never believe that will you?"

"Why are you telling us this? Why are you helping us?"

"Because they lied to me and manipulated me the same way
the Consortium did. If you're successful, then they all die
and I get revenge."

I thought there should be more to it than that. Revenge
was certainly a powerful motivator, but Krycek couldn't be
entirely heartless could he?

"Is there a woman?"

He opened his eyes and a tiny sliver of fear glittered
behind his lashes. "What?"

"Is there a woman up there you want to find and rescue?"
I'd been simply guessing, but his reaction revealed I was
correct.

He looked away and his face fell.

"What's her name?" I asked gently.  Krycek in love was a
revelation.

"Marita."

"She's up there with Mulder?"

"Yes." There was real emotion in his voice, and I thought
that few people probably ever saw this side of him.

"Is she cooperating too?"

I must have struck a nerve, because he kicked out at me
with his legs, sending me to the floor.

"Go back to bed Scully before Skinner wakes up and kills
us both. And if you tell anyone--"

"I won't say anything." 

I picked myself up and went back to bed. I slid in behind
Skinner as quietly as I could, putting my arms around him
in a reverse spooning position.

"Did you find out what you wanted?"  His deep voice
startled me, and he tensed in my arms.

"I have what I want."  I wondered how much he had heard.

"No, I don't think you do."  He sounded sad, almost
vulnerable and I felt pain for him in my chest.

"You're never going to believe that's it's you I want, are
you?" Mistrust cut both ways, and I felt as frustrated as
he did.

"Not as long as Mulder remains a martyr in your heart. 
There's not enough room for both of us."

"I love you both.  You can't ask me to forget all that."

He turned over and looked at me with anger in his eyes. 
"I'm not asking you to forget.  I'm asking you to put it in
the past where it belongs."

"How can I put it in the past when I haven't reconciled
the present?"

He sighed and got up, putting on his coat and glasses with
exaggerated slowness.  He paused at the door and spoke
without turning around.  "You won't be happy with me as
long as you continue to believe you could've been happy
with Mulder.  I can't compete with a ghost, Scully."

"I'm not asking you to."

He turned and looked at me over his shoulder. "Aren't you?"

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me cold and
alone.  I felt like something inside of me had died.

*****************************************************


I woke late the next morning and found the infirmary
empty.  I wondered why no one had bothered to wake me, and
dressed quickly. A growing fury that they were deliberately
leaving me out of the planning process hastened my movements.

Just as I started to leave, Childers walked in.  He was
dressed in his uniform, but had the hood of a dark jacket
pulled up over his head. He stood in the middle of the room
looking around as if he'd never been there.

"Childers?"

He fixed his eyes on me and I saw recognition, but I also
saw something else: a deadness in his eyes as if his
personality had been removed.  My heart started beating
faster and I retreated backward toward my room.

I didn't have to see green blood to know this was a bounty
hunter. I pulled a cart of steel canisters over in front of
him and tried to shut my door.  He pushed the cart aside,
crushing the containers without effort.
	
We struggled with the door, but I was no match for his
strength.  The door burst inward sending me backward onto
the bed.  I turned over and crawled to the top.  Just as I
was reaching under the mattress for my gun, he grabbed an
ankle and pulled. My arms flailed out, trying to grab onto
something, and fell against a tray I kept a few bottles on.
I lifted it and swung it at his head with all my might,
sending the bottles to shatter on the floor.
The tray seemed to make little difference, barely slowing
his progress. He picked me up like a rag doll and put my
neck in a powerful grip. He began to squeeze with both
hands until I saw stars swimming before my eyes. He was
killing me. I was going to die.

The world began to go black, but he suddenly let go, and I
fell to the floor amid the broken glass.  Before I lost
consciousness, I saw Childers dissolve into a steaming
green puddle in front of Skinner's black boots.  And then
there was nothing.

********************************************


I saw flashes of light and heard a voice I recognized, but
I couldn't move or speak. I felt light as air, separated
from my body, and a burning pain inside my head and throat.
A peaceful darkness had descended over me and I accepted it
gratefully.

But suddenly I was slammed back into my body and the
blinding pain returned. Dimly I heard Skinner's voice close
to my ear.

"Come on Dana, breathe. Breathe for me, please." His voice
cracked with emotion.  I struggled weakly, realizing he was
performing CPR. With his next breath, I began to cough
violently.  Air seared along my throat and lungs as I
gulped, bringing fresh pain with it.

I began breathing rapidly, coughing and shaking with the
effort.  Skinner's face was pressed next to mine, and I
felt wetness on my cheeks. Ghostly sounds like sobbing were
emanating from him, and I wondered whether the dampness I
felt were his tears.

The effort of staying conscious proved to be too much, and
I slipped gratefully into oblivion.

Sometime later I heard voices, but my eyelids refused to
open. The voices sounded angry, like an argument was brewing.

"Now they know I'm here. No one is safe."  Krycek's harsh
tones filled the air.

"And how do they know it?"  Skinner's voice was accusatory.

"I don't know.  The only person who knew I was planning to
leave was Mulder."

I moved restlessly at the mention of his name, and Skinner
was instantly at my side.

"Scully?"

My mouth opened and tried to form words, but a hissing
squeak came out in the place of sound. 

"Don't try to talk. You're safe now."  His hand was gentle
on my cheek, his lips close to my ear. Another hand stroked
my forehead gently, coaxing my eyes open.

Skinner's craggy face filled my vision and the look of
anguish on his face tore at my heart. Hot tears welled up
and spilled onto his hand.

"Don't cry Scully, please don't cry," he begged.

I thought he was still angry with me, but I could see now
the anger had been replaced with grief and it frightened
me. I lifted a hand and pulled him close.

"Hold me, " I whispered in his ear. 

I found myself enveloped in the heat of his chest and
arms, my face pressed close to his heart. He rocked me
gently back and forth while I continued to cry. I almost
died. I almost died. I almost died, I repeated over and
over in my head.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said against my hair. "I
shouldn't have left you. I promise I'll never leave again."

 He sounded eaten up with guilt, and I wondered whether
either one of us would ever be free of it. But I felt safe
for the moment in his arms and drifted back to sleep.

***********************************
I woke to find the Gunmen and Monica standing over me. I'd
been having a nightmare, and must have shouted out loud.
Their faces wore lines of pain and concern.

"I-I've died and gone to Republican hell."

They laughed in unison, and I was gratified to see the
lines crinkle into smiles.

"Hey, sleepy head," Monica said, laughing. She looked and
sounded much better since last night, and I wondered what
had wrought the sudden change.

"We were starting to think you'd never wake up," Langly's
voice teased me.

"Yeah, must be nice to lie in bed all day," Frohike made a
snorting sound.
Byers, of course, only smiled.  No words were necessary to
convey the happiness I saw in his face.

I sat up slowly, feeling pain in my back and neck from the
near strangling. Blackness swam before my eyes and it took
a few moments to adjust my equilibrium.

"You okay?"  Monica asked.

"Yes.  I need to wash my face." My voice was coarse and
breathy. A strange throbbing pounded through my head, and
my eyelashes were matted from crying.

Standing was a harder chore than I expected. I wobbled on
rubbery legs for a moment, and all three Gunmen rushed
over. It was strange to be the object of so much scrutiny,
but I couldn't help smiling at them.

"I'm fine."  Fine, fine, fine echoed in my head.  It was
an old lie.

I finally made it to my room, and noticed that the chaotic
mess created by my struggle with Childers had been cleaned
up. In the bathroom I turned on the water and gasped at my
reflection.

The tell-tale signs of strangulation had left their ugly
mark. Petechial hemorrhages in the whites of my eyes bore
mute testimony to the amount of force that had been used on
me; blood had literally burst out of the capillaries and
into the tissues. Bruises in the shape of hands stood out
on my white skin.  Each individual finger could be seen
clearly in muted hues of purple and red. Sometimes I hated
being a pathologist.  

I splashed frigid water over marks that no amount of
scrubbing could remove. I'd be a very visible, walking
reminder to the danger we now found ourselves in. Shivering
and alone, I wondered where Skinner was.

I changed clothes and tried to make myself more human. 
Using my scarce supply of makeup, I attempted to hide some
of the bruises, but succeeded only in intensifying the
color. I touched the back of my neck where the chip would
be, and again felt a strange throbbing sensation.  It
stimulated a deep memory that I couldn't seem to get at;
something from long ago that kindled a sense of longing.

Monica was the only one left in the infirmary when I
emerged. She looked up from some papers scattered out
before her.  "Feeling better?"

I nodded absently and walked over to the window.  Night
had fallen, and the clear sky was full of bright stars. The
longing sensation tugged harder, beckoning me to go outside
and walk toward them. Only Monica's startled voice kept me
from opening the door.

"Scully!" I turned around to see her with my coat and
gloves.  "You'll catch your death of cold out there without
these."

I took them from her and started toward the door again. 

"Where are you going?  Skinner's office?" she asked.

"Yes," was all I could say before the need to leave over
took me again. She nodded and sat back down.

"I'll wait here for you.  We need to go over some of the
old records for people who could be infected like me.
Skinner has an idea that might work, and maybe it'll save
us, save me."

I ignored the plaintive tone in her voice, and opened the
door, never losing sight of the stars.  One in particular
twinkled with a brightness that signaled something deep
inside me. Come home it said.  Come home.

I walked toward the north fence, barely noticing that a
portion of it was damaged, and bloody footprints shown
against the bright snow.

I paused for a moment, contemplating the bizarre pattern.

"Childers," I said, feeling my human self return a little
with the knowledge that he must have died here.

But the star called me, and I crawled through the fence
when one of the sentries' back was turned. 

"Home." 

I was going home.


******************************************

Cold.  I was so cold. Colder than DC in winter. Colder
than any time I ever spent at the camp.  Colder than
Antarctica. Cold.

I trudged through snow drifts that engulfed my legs and
lower body, numbing them so I couldn't feel my feet
anymore. I stumbled several times, but somehow managed to
regain my footing again and start northward once more.

A sensible side of me warned I was going to freeze to
death, but it was a distant sound, drowned out by the
persistent force drawing me onward. It was an old feeling
I'd listened to before.

Once or twice I turned back toward the camp, even though
it was miles away. My heart, the only thing stronger than
my head, reminded me someone there was missing me, loved
me, would die for me.

I stood looking back and tried to remember his name.

"Sk--Skinner."  I felt a momentary flash of pain when I
said his name, and felt my lower lip tremble.  But I tamped
it back down against the cold, and turned forward.

Night turned to day and then to night again, and still I
walked; never resting until I got to the meeting place.

On the second night I faltered and couldn't get back up. 
My legs, exhausted and aching, refused to cooperate this
time. I struggled like a turtle on its back to no avail. I
managed only to turn over on my stomach and stare down into
a valley.

Through my wind-tossed hair I saw people gathered in
shivering bunches outside a wooden cabin. They wore ill
fitting clothing and looked as if they'd just stopped what
they'd been doing to come here, as I had done. Suddenly a
bright circle of light enclosed them.  They stopped
shivering and stood waiting expectantly.

I screamed loud in agitation against the wind.  I was
supposed to be with them.  I'd come so far, so far and I
couldn't be among them.

The light grew brighter, a noisy hum engulfed them and
they all disappeared.  Then there was nothing at all but
the sound of the wind. I howled again in frustration,
feeling alone and afraid.  The unrelenting force guiding me
here was gone.  It left my body cleanly as if I'd shed a
skin, leaving me open and vulnerable.

"Skinner," I whispered. "Skinner, I loved you."  And I
allowed the cold to envelop me.

*****************************************

It was the second time in three days that I'd died.  The
same peaceful warmth and floating sensation wrapped me in
its arms. I looked down and I was high above my body.  I
felt no pain, no regret, and knew this time I'd be
successful in death if not in life.

I saw a large man come over the hill and pause over my
body.  He pulled me into his arms and wailed to the sky as
I had done. I wondered if he'd just missed going too.  He
sounded so sad, so mournful, like the sound of skin ripping
apart.

I didn't want to leave, but the cares of my life
overwhelmed any good I thought remained there. Love didn't
conquer all, only me.

But I did stay. He picked me up gently and carried me down
to the cabin. Through the fog of cold I slowly became aware
of his movements.  He stripped me of my wet and snow-
clotted clothing. When he removed his parka I could see it
was Skinner. He sat in front of a fireplace, pulled me up
against him and wrapped the warmed parka around us both.

I heard the sound of a flare igniting and the sharp
crackle of wood being consumed inside the hearth. As heat
invaded my frozen limbs, they protested against the renewed
blood flow. Pain burned along iced nerve endings making me
moan in protest. He never said a word, only held me closer,
waiting for revival.

I regained enough strength to burrow into his chest and
nuzzle past the buttons of his Henley shirt. Fine hair
scratched at my frigid nose and cheeks. He only made a yelp
of protest when I reached under his shirt to warm my hands,
but tolerated the discomfort silently. Large hands held my
feet which resisted reheating, and throbbed in pain when
they reluctantly did.

Inside the darkened confines of Skinner's parka and body I
began to shake violently. My shiver response had finally
started in sluggish recognition of my hypothermic state.
Why was everyone so hell bent on making me live when it was
this painful?

Time passed in shaky jerks and starts. He didn't redress
me, and I irrationally suspected it was because he could
touch me as much as he wanted and I wouldn't protest.  But
of course it was done in the pursuit to save my life and
limbs.

I always woke when Skinner left me to do something. I
trembled with fear at his leaving, but he always came back.
When he reached to hold me again, I burrowed as close as
possible, trying to insinuate myself into him. Inside my
sluggish brain another warm spark ignited.  I loved Skinner
because he always came back. He was more faithful than
anyone I'd ever met.

Sometime later, I found my dried clothing back on, and the
sound of voices nearby. I was on a pallet in a back room,
covered in warm blankets that I recognized from camp. I sat
up and saw bandages on my hands and feet.  Burning pain
licked along the ends of my fingers and toes. I wondered
whether I'd lose some of them.

I struggled to a sitting position and grabbed hold of a
log jutting out of the wall. I hauled myself up to a
standing position, but fell flat on my face with the first
step. A startled oomph was forced out of me, and the owners
of the voices I'd heard came in.

It appeared the plot schemers from base camp had moved
here. Skinner, Doggett, Monica, Krycek, and the Gunmen were
surrounding me in a semi-circle.

Skinner bent and picked me up with a displeased look on
his face as if I were a naughty child who'd gotten up past
bedtime. He held me easily by my waist so we were at eye
level. Concern hid itself in his eyes, and I knew he'd put
me back so I used a cheap ploy. Looking at him with
desperate pleading in my eyes, I touched his face.  He
melted under the touch, and I marveled that I could have
the influence to soften such a hard man.

Forgetting our audience, I pulled him close for a hug. I
heard the embarrassed shuffling of feet as they left us.
Only Krycek remained to leer at me over Skinner's shoulder.
His face told me he knew exactly what I was doing even if
Skinner didn't.

"Let me come out and sit with you," I whispered in his ear.

"I don't think-" he began.

"Please."

He looked away, contemplating the wisdom of his decision.
With a grunt, he swung my legs up and carried me into the
other room.  A riot of papers, diagrams, and hastily wired
computers lined a table.  He sat down amid the chaos with
me in his lap.

"How are you feeling, Scully?" Doggett asked softly. I
realized they were all looking at me as if I'd been
abducted and returned again.

I smiled broadly to allay their fears.  "Could be worse."
The joke fell flat.  These were tense times for us all and
my disappearance must have unsettled them more than I
thought.

"I'm fine, really.  I missed my appointment."  I looked at
Skinner to confirm that he'd seen the space craft and told
them about it.  He had.

"Did you see how many were taken?" Monica asked.

"Yes. Maybe twenty five or more."

"They're accelerating things."  Krycek's voice sounded
ominous.

"Do we have less time?" Doggett asked.

Krycek nodded. "I know they didn't plan to round people up
until the final stages of departure."

"Then we need to keep going," Skinner said, gravely.

I remained quiet while they planned and discussed their
assault on the alien encampment.  There was a rough diagram
of a large facility and various doors with locks, cameras
and sentries marked on it. A centralized and heavily
guarded area was labeled 'LAB.'  It was this room they
apparently planned to invade.

It became apparent they were divided on how attack the
place.  Doggett and Skinner were for an all-out battle. 
Get the other partisans in the area to form a united front.
Bomb it.

Krycek and the Gunmen thought stealthy, secret invasion
was a better choice.  Jam communications, short circuit
computers, cameras, and kill by surgical assassination.
Steal the vaccine and leave before detection.

Each side had valid points. Monica remained carefully
neutral. I remained neutral as well.  Whatever they were
planning had to be done soon, and I wouldn't be in any
shape to participate no matter which method they chose.

They argued back and forth for hours, neither side backing
down.  Krycek was afraid physical assault would kill
innocent people and destroy the vaccine.  The others
probably assumed he was speaking of Mulder, but I knew
better.

Doggett and Skinner said the signs pointed to the aliens
pulling out soon, and no amount of stealth could save us if
they took the vaccine with them. They also argued that even
if they failed, they would be going out fighting and maybe
destroy as many of them as possible.

Either proposition was imminently dangerous and carried
the potential for disaster.

In the early morning hours they called it a night and
everyone bedded down to sleep.  The tiny back room was left
to Skinner and me.  I curled as close to him as possible,
relishing the closeness and warmth.  

"Thank you," I murmured into his chest.

He pulled me away from him, scowling.  "For what?"

"Saving my life again."

He snorted in dismissal, as if I should have expected him
to traipse across half a state to find me. But he held me
closer, resting his chin on my head and stroked my face.

"I can't lose you. I won't lose you again." 

"I won't leave you even if you find Mulder alive."

"No?"  His voice tried to be forceful, but it was thick
with emotion.  I realized he'd been waiting for me to say
it.  It wasn't enough to just show him.

"NO."  I made it as firm as I could.

"Even if he wants you back?"

"He never 'had' me to begin with."

He laughed then, his deep voice chuckling with delight. 
Of all the responses I expected from him, mirth was not one
of them.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I owe Frohike ten bucks."

"You had a bet on who I'd choose?"  I was angry now.  A
bet cheapened my feelings and mocked the love I felt for him.

"No just how long it would take for you to tell me."

"Oh?"  I still wasn't satisfied.

"He said you'd tell me in bed tonight."

"And you?"

"I said you never would."  He sounded sad again.  It
seemed no amount of love would convince him, and no words
were sufficient.

"What would it take for you to believe me?"

"Time, Scully.  Nothing but time."

"I love you, you know."

"Yes, I know. I love you too, but I'm afraid it won't be
enough."

"It's enough Skinner.  It's enough."

I drifted off slowly, wondering what the morning would
bring.  I hadn't long to wait.

******************************
end part 4

<continued in part 5>

The Beginning of Sorrows Part V
by Philiater
See part I for descriptions, disclaimers and rating.

*********************************************
Ec 1:18 For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that
increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow

Job 36:17 But thou hast fulfilled the judgment of the
wicked: judgment and justice take 
hold on thee.

Pr 15:13 A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but
by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.
**************************************************


I woke to the sound of a loud thud and wood splintering.
Men dressed in fatigues rushed in through the ruined cabin
door and held guns to our heads. There were various shouts
for us to obey, but Doggett struggled longer than the rest.
He was rewarded with a rifle butt to the stomach.

Skinner tried to protect me, but he was hit on the head
and dragged out to the main room. Two other men dragged me
by the arms when it appeared I couldn't walk. We were lined
up sitting against the wall and held at gun point.

The men wore black ski masks, but I didn't think they were
super soldiers.  They were too frantic in their movements,
and I saw one man's hand shake a little as he held his gun.

One stepped forward. "Who's the leader here?"

"I am."  Skinner said it with deadly force.

"What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question."

Great, a stalemate while they decided who was the bigger
man.

"They're here because of me."  I heard Skinner suck a
breath in at my declaration.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, unless you've been inside a cave for the past
twenty-four hours, you couldn't have missed the large space
craft hovering overhead yesterday."

He took another step forward. "What do you have to do with
that?"

I looked at him, wondering how to word my response.

"Nothing.  It created a-compulsion to come here. It took a
group of people with it, but I was late," I said, pointing
to my bandaged feet.

A slight man on the end took a step forward. "Did you see
a blonde woman about twenty years old and wearing a green
coat?"  His young voice trembled with emotion.

I tried to remember the people I'd seen standing in the
light. "Did she have a big red barrette in her hair?" I
asked, remembering shiny hair against blood red plastic.

"Yes."

"I saw her. She was in the group that was taken."

The young man started shouting. "No, I don't believe that.
She's still here.  You killed her."  He stepped forward in
a threatening manner, and I thought he was going to shoot me.

Ever the protector, Skinner stood up and placed himself
between the gun and me. The man who spoke the first time
tried to diffuse the situation.

"Daniel, back off."

"She's lying. They killed her."

"We had nothing to do with her disappearance. If you
really want to help her, I suggest you help us destroy the
people responsible." Skinner used a calm and clear voice.

The first man spoke again. "Are you partisans too?"

"Yes. Our camp is two days away."

The first man lowered his gun and the rest did also. Only
'Daniel' was reluctant to let go of the notion that we were
enemies.

"Put it down, Daniel." When he hesitated Skinner reached
out and took it from him. 

Skinner stepped forward to shake the first man's hand.
"I'm Walter Skinner."

"I'm Robert Hunt."

"Oh great. Now we're all friends. Don't let him kiss you
big guy," Frohike said. The tension in the room diffused,
and I heard laughter from both sides.

"I think you should explain what you meant by destroying
the people responsible."

***********************************
There were ten in the new group and to our surprise more
showed up.  Each group had the same story: Someone in their
party had answered the ship's call and they tracked them
here to the cabin.  Before the day was through, over fifty
people crowded into the little valley.

The cabin became full to over-flowing and a headquarters
of sorts. Makeshift tents were erected outside.  Those with
temporary encampments nearby brought food and other
essentials.  Looking over the valley, it could have been
mistaken for a miner's camp out of the old west.

There was debate over whether we should stay, given the
tragic events that had occurred there.  Experience said the
ship might come back, but not for some time. It was ironic
that the aliens had given us the means to organize and
exchange ideas.  

Because Skinner had a commanding presence and had been a
former Assistant Director of the FBI, he was made the over-
all leader.  Once he started organizing, any hope of a
stealthy attack on the alien facility was abandoned.  A man
name Green said we were only ten miles from it.

Skinner told the other leaders about the virus, and the
vaccine that was inside.  He deliberately left out
important details such as the tell-tale target lesions on
victims, and Krycek's collaborative past. The legitimate
fear that panic would cause the skittish to seek out the
virus 'reservoirs' and kill them kept him silent. And as
much as he hated to admit it, Skinner knew he needed Krycek
too.

After we had been there three days, I could walk again.
Bloody and raw skin made it difficult, but I reasoned that
exercise would improve blood flow to my poor feet.  I
sought Skinner out to have him take a walk with me.  

I found him in the cabin going over elaborate attack plans
with a dozen or so men.  He hadn't gotten much sleep
lately, and I worried he was compromising his health. The
Gunmen, Krycek, Monica and Doggett were there, too.  Each
apparently had an assigned area to work on. Klein had come
up from camp to be at Skinner's side.  I felt a little left
out. 

Watching him work brought on a wave of nostalgia.  It was
like the times he organized us during FBI operations.  He
was in his element and quite good at what he did. Pride
that he was mine made me smile unconsciously.

When he saw me motion to him, he came over immediately.  

"I need to speak to you about something important." I
imparted a sense of secrecy and urgency into my voice.

He nodded silently and I led him outside. When I started
for the woods he placed an arm on my shoulder. "Should you
be walking this far?"

"I need the exercise and to be away from all this," I
said, gesturing to the people around us traveling about
like worker ants.

I walked until I could no longer see the cabin or any
other person. I found a large, flat rock and sat down
gratefully.  Skinner brushed off snow and sat next to me.

"So what's so important that you couldn't tell me in camp?"

"This."  I got up and stood between his legs.  I leaned
forward to kiss him hungrily. He was surprised at first and
a little irritated, I think.  But he returned the kiss with
fervor.  I hadn't spent any real time alone with him since
we'd been at our own base camp.

When I finally broke the kiss, I hugged him close,
relishing the contact. I wished we didn't have so much
clothing between us, and judging by Skinner's response to
me I think he wished the same thing.

He unzipped my coat and slid his hands inside. They roamed
over my body while we kissed, causing my knees to quiver. 

"I want you so badly," he said against my ear.

"I know.  I want you too."

His hands slid to the top of my jeans. "We could-"

"NOT here," I gasped stepping back.  When I saw the look
of disappointment on his face I added, "I want you in a
proper bed and not outdoors where we could be found by
horny soldiers." The lack of women in the camp had made
Skinner wary and possessive of me.

He pulled me into his lap and held me close again,
stroking my hair and occasionally kissing my face.

"I wonder what would have happened if you'd slept with
Monica first."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Skinner's face was
incredulous.

"Don't tell me you didn't know Monica had a crush on you."

"She did?"

How could he be so blind? "Yes, she did.  She practically
drooled when you came into the room. Don't tell me you
didn't notice?"

"You were the only one I noticed, the only one I wanted,"
he said quietly. It was heart-breaking to know he'd felt
that way.  "Anyway, she drools only when John's around now."

I laughed. "But do you think the nanocytes would have
'cured' her?"

He was quiet.  "I don't know."

"I think Krycek was assuming a lot to think I was the
first person you'd slept with since being infected with the
nanocytes.  Three years is a long time to wait."

"I would have waited forever if I thought you could love
me."

I frowned at him. Why was he being so open? This wasn't
like Skinner at all.

"You're coming back," I said with emotion.

"What?"

"You're coming back from the raid. You promised you'd
never leave me again, remember?"

"I can't guarantee that Scully."

"Well, you better figure a way out then." I found myself
breathing fast as panic bubbled below the surface. All the
fear I'd avoided thinking about was rearing its ugly head.

He pulled me close, but I remained rigid in his embrace.
"I know you've loved me for a long time, but I've just
found you now. I want more time."  I sounded whiny and
stupid.  Love had a way of making me that way.  Mulder had
seen this side too.

He didn't say anything, just held me until I relaxed. I
could feel him withdrawing from me emotionally while we sat
there; steeling himself to return to the business of
plotting to lead men into battle and certain death.

A little while later we heard Doggett's voice calling.
"Skinner, Scully are you out here?"

Skinner stood up, dropping me gently to my feet. I looked
up at him, knowing this would be the last time we'd be
truly alone before he left.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Scully.  I promise to come back." 

He sounded sincere, so why didn't I believe him?

********************************************************

The morning of the raid dawned cold and clear. There was
anticipation in the air that crackled among the soldiers in
the valley. I woke to find Skinner watching me, and caught
his look of focused sadness before he could hide it.

He bent down and kissed me so sweetly, so tenderly, I
wanted to pretend that nothing else existed except the two
of us. To pretend there was no deadly virus lurking in the
shadows, no raid whose outcome was undetermined; that the
dozen or so people sleeping in the next room were gone and
I could make love to him at my leisure. 

But all those things did exist, and he was up and out
before I could protest. I followed him later because I
wasn't a part of the preparations for battle.  But I was a
doctor and knew I would definitely be a part of the
aftermath.

I'd persuaded Monica to stay behind with me.  She was as
good a nurse as I'd ever worked with and I would need her
services. Doggett wanted her to stay behind as well so
she'd be safe.  I wondered what kind of goodbyes they'd say
to each other.

We were lucky enough to have a physician's assistant too. 
Larry Jason had worked in a small Midwestern town, and had
essentially functioned as a full fledged doctor. He'd also
performed surgery and I was grateful to have someone with
experience.

A large tent next to the cabin had been set up as a kind
of M*A*S*H unit. We'd scavenged and torn up sheets for
bandages. Plain needle and thread would have to do for
stitches, and ordinary tree branches could be used for
splinting. There wasn't much in the way of antibiotics, and
painkillers were the scarcest of all. I was ashamed of
myself, but I hid a supply of both in my personal
belongings in case we ran short. No one in my group was
going to be without help, especially Skinner.

I was doing a final check list when  a shadow fell over my
clip board.  Klein smiled in apology.

"Klein!" I said with real pleasure.  It'd seemed ages
since we'd spoken in Skinner's office.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Scully, but I wonder if you
could spare some aspirin."

As I came closer, I could see he was sweating and his skin
was a sickly gray.

"Klein, you need to lie down." I directed him to a cot and
he nearly collapsed before I could get him there. Monica
rushed over and helped me put his feet up. Klein's
breathing was labored, and his heart was beating much too
fast.

"How long have you been sick?"

"Two days now.  I-I thought it was just a cold."

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  It
couldn't be what I thought it was. It was too soon.  Monica
looked at me in fear.  She was thinking the same thing.

"Go get Skinner and Krycek," I said in an urgent whisper. 
Monica acted as if she hadn't heard me.  She kept staring
at Klein.  "MONICA. Go get Skinner and Krycek."

She obeyed at last, rushing out the door to find them. I
removed Klein's sweat soaked shirt, and found a small red
target on his left arm.  I wondered why he hadn't told me.
I didn't know that much about his history, and Skinner
never spoke of it.  I'd been under the impression that
Klein had escaped capture as we had.  I could see now that
I was wrong.

Skinner and Krycek rushed in a few minutes later and froze
next to Klein's cot. I looked at Krycek to confirm my
suspicions.

"Is it the virus?" I asked him.

"Yes."

I looked at Skinner who was grim faced. "We need to
isolate him. How long has he been sick?"

"Two days."

He looked at Krycek who shook his head. Skinner motioned
for us to go outside the tent. 

"Even if we retrieve the vaccine tonight, it's too late
for him," Krycek said, emotionlessly.

"How do you know that?" I asked him.

"Because I saw them experiment on humans. Once infected,
the most they have is three days.  But it's too soon for it
to become active. Maybe that's why this last group was
rounded up. Maybe it mutated."

I looked at him in horror. "If that's true, then the
vaccine could be useless. Vaccines are only useful for the
specific virus they were created for."

"But isn't there some---crossover?" Skinner asked. "Like
in small pox?  Wasn't cow pox used initially as a vaccine
for that?"

"Yes, but I don't know anything about this virus.  I
wouldn't know where to begin if the vaccine doesn't work."

"Is it worth the risk to go and get a useless vaccine?" 
Monica asked, quietly.

It was a good question, and one we didn't have an answer
for.

"We're all dead anyway if we don't go. It's worth the
risk."  Skinner sounded definite. 

 I wasn't.

****************************************


The radio crackled with static as we listened for
information from Skinner and Doggett. They'd left just
after sunset, and judged it would take about three hours
for the battalion to reach the outer perimeter of the alien
facility.

Langly and Byers sat in front of a maze of overlapping
colorful wires that were connected to two laptop computers.
Apparently, they could track the company's movements via
satellite, and give them information about the complicated
locks inside the facility.  Frohike had gone along as their
collective eyes.  I knew Langly was especially worried
about his friend's safety.

"You don't know the first thing about guns, and you'll
probably get shot," Langly had argued before Frohike left.

"I won't get shot. I'm too short.  Skinner's a more likely
target.  He's a *big*--"

I'd gasped in horror at the suggestion, even though it had
been meant as a joke.

"Sorry, Scully," they said sheepishly.  It didn't help.

Klein died an hour ago. His breathing had been water-
logged, and desperately labored. His lungs finally gave out
in one long agonizing rasp. I felt tears slip down my face.
I couldn't believe I'd never speak to him again, never hear
his southern voice or kind advice.

Monica and I wrapped his body in a blanket and put him in
the corner.  We'd give him a proper burial when Skinner got
back. So far no other cases had popped up.

Suddenly the radio came to life.

"Foxtrot 1 this is Charlie 3.  Do you read me? Over." 
Base camp had been nicknamed Foxtrot after Mulder, and each
of the five company units was named Charlie in deference to
Skinner's Vietnam experience.  I told Skinner that was the
last time he should let the Gunmen name anything. 

"Charlie 3 this is Foxtrot 1. We read you loud and clear.
Over." Byers had been made radioman because he had a clear
and calm voice. Somehow the Gunmen had been able to pick a
radio frequency and scramble it so that it sounded like
static through any other radio without a special converter
they'd rigged. Frohike carried a video camera that could be
used only for very short periods because they couldn't hide
its signal as they had the radios.

"Foxtrot 1, we have reached the outer perimeter of The
Borg. Over."  I sighed and gave Langly a dirty look.  This
name was his alone. He only grinned broadly in return.

We listened as each unit checked in and were moved into
position around the facility. Skinner, Krycek, and Frohike
were in unit 2, while Doggett was assigned to lead the 4th
unit.

The plan was for units 1, 3, 4 and 5 to make simultaneous
assaults around the facility. Skinner's unit would go in
behind which ever unit managed to break through first.

Just as they moved in, we had unexpected visitors. 
Outside the cabin we heard shouts and the sound of gunfire.
Monica and I grabbed guns and went out. Soldiers were
firing on the few people left in the camp. Behind me I
could hear sounds of gunfire over the radio as Skinner and
his men fought their own battle.

Monica and I went around the back of the cabin and behind
the soldiers.  I counted their five to our four or so.  I
motioned for Monica to shoot the two on the left, and I
would take the right three.  We were in perilous danger of
being shot before the last one was dead if they turned
around.

Two of our own soldiers were pinned down.  Without
thought, Monica and I began to fire in earnest.  They
didn't even turn, still intent on the two before them.  

At first I thought they were super soldiers and we'd be
killed for sure, but red blood poured out of the wounds we
made and I knew they were probably human collaborators.

Monica was a sharpshooter and easily dropped her two.  I,
on the other hand, was badly out of practice and managed to
kill only one.  The remaining two turned and I felt like a
sitting duck.

Beside me Monica shot them through the front of the neck,
and saved my life. I rushed over to our downed soldiers. 
One was already dead, but one was still breathing.

"Help me get him inside."

The cabin was closer and I aimed for its door instead of
the makeshift hospital. As we entered, I could see Byers
and Langly frantically working over the radio.  Monica and
I deposited our burden, and she went to see what the
problem was.

My problem was the young man before me named Bryan. He was
blond and probably only twenty years of age.  Skinner had
forced Bryan and his friend to stay behind where it was
'safe' because they were so young. He'd gone to Vietnam
himself at age nineteen and hadn't wanted them to go
through what he had. If only we had known. It was yet
another irony in the alien scheme of things.

I found a bullet entrance wound in his arm and frantically
searched for an exit wound. If I couldn't find one it could
have traveled anywhere. During one autopsy I'd seen a
bullet enter a thigh and exit the end of a man's penis. 
The further a bullet traveled in the body the more damage
it would do by a tumbling action.  In Bryan's case, it
could wind up in his chest.

After turning him gently, I found an exit wound on the
back of his arm; a clean through and through injury. As
long as none of his major arteries were severed, he'd
probably do well.  Bullet wounds such as these were
considered 'sterile.' A bullet traveled so fast, the heat
from it would sterilize anything in its path.  It wouldn't
even require stitches. I suspected Bryan had simply fainted
from fright.

When I made sure he was comfortable enough, I went over to
the radio.  Monica looked anxious.

"They've lost communication with the company."

***************************************

Harsh static emitted from the makeshift radio.  Byers and
Langly were trying to raise the company again using every
method possible.

"What happened?" I asked.

"When your friends showed up they must have caused some
kind of electronic surge.  One minute we're talking to
Doggett, and the next nothing but static." Langly sounded
angry and bewildered at the same time.

"What was happening when you lost contact?"  For no reason
other than intuition, I had a feeling something bad had
happened.

"They managed to breach the outer perimeter, and Skinner's
group went inside.   There was a lot of gunfire, but I
think they made it to the lab."  Byers' voice was firm,
conveying the surety of his belief that they'd gotten in.

"I was walking Frohike through disabling the electronic
lock on the door, when we lost contact."

"Will you be able to get it back?"

Langly and Byers looked at one another.  In Gunmen body
language, that meant they didn't know. We were all in for a
sleepless night.

I paced back and forth on my sore feet, unable to rest. I
wouldn't feel secure until everyone was back and safe. 
Until Skinner was back and safe.  

I wondered whether it was better this way; to not know
their fate until they came back, or listen to play-by-play
action as they fought for their lives.  And ours.

Byers had said they made it inside.  I had to hang onto
that, focus on it or I'd go crazy with worry.

"Come home to me, Skinner.  Please come home," I begged
silently.

For the first time in years, I pulled my cross out to
finger it absently.  I wondered whether God would be angry
with me for staying away for so long; for stopping prayer
because I'd lost faith.  What was the old saying?  There
were no atheists in foxholes.

I walked out to the hospital tent to be alone. I saw
Klein's inert body and realized I had nearly forgotten what
the mission was all about. Right there I knelt down and
prayed for their safe return.  

I was still on my knees when the first of the company came
back.

*************************************************

At first they just trickled in, the wounded and living
soldiers. No one we knew was in the first batch.  Doggett,
Frohike, Krycek and Skinner were unaccounted for. I
questioned everyone alert enough to answer where they were,
but no one seemed to know.

After a short time I couldn't ask anymore because we were
inundated with wounded.  Monica and I worked frantically to
salvage the few we could.  Triage became a place of
deciding who could live and who could die.

Monica had trouble with doing that. She lacked the
objectiveness it required, but I didn't blame her.  It was
a job few could do.  But I could.

John Hunt was left to do surgery by himself, and he
'drafted' a few soldiers to help out.  When they protested
he said, "I don't have time to listen to that and neither
do *they*."

I was bandaging someone's head when I heard Monica shout
for me.  "Scully! Come here!"

John Doggett lay on a blanket covered in blood.  He was a
sickly gray color and at first I thought he might be dead.
I touched his neck, searching for pulse.  Beneath the dirt
and blood I felt the fluttering of a heart beat.

"Monica, he's still alive, but I think he's lost a lot of
blood.  Do you know his blood type?"

"B positive, like mine."

"Then I think you can give him a transfusion."

"But the virus-"

I smiled.  "Monica, you've already 'shared' that, and it
won't kill him until later.  Lack of blood will kill him
now."

She nodded and I helped her carry him to a cot. I
connected an IV to her and then to John.  I instructed her
to pump her fist, to keep the blood flowing.

"I've given blood before, Scully."

"Not like this."

Behind me I heard a high pitch and whiny voice. "Hey, what
about me?"

Leaning against the side of a tent pole was a decidedly
dirty and disheveled Frohike. 

"I'm the one who's gonna save us." He held out a large
stainless steel container.


*************************************



After making sure he wasn't injured, I ushered him into
the cabin.  Byers and Langly descended on him asking a
torrent of questions all at once.  He sat down dramatically.

"We made it inside lab and I couldn't believe it, that
bastard Krycek told the truth.  The vaccine was right where
he said it was.  I broke into their computer system to find
out how to get it, and let me tell you that wasn't easy."

The Gunmen lapsed into tech-speak, and I cut them off. 
"What about the vaccine?"

"It's here," Frohike said holding up the large container.

"How do we use it?"

"I downloaded everything that looked like medical jargon
onto a disk."

"Where's the disk?" Byers asked quickly.

"Skinner has it."
I sucked in a breath. "Where *is* Skinner?"

Frohike raised his eyes, and looked at Langly and Byers.

"He's not here?"

We all shook our heads no.

"Oh no."

"What do you mean 'oh no?'"  I was running out of patience.

"Look, I don't think I'm the one to tell you this---."

"If you don't tell me, you'll wish you'd died in the raid."

"Okay, okay. After we stole the vaccine, there were some
explosions.  Krycek ran off toward the south end of the
building and Skinner went after him.  Doggett came through
with some of his men and grabbed me. I told him what
happened and, he said it was more important to get the
vaccine back here.  Skinner could take care of himself."

I walked to the cabin door to look out.  Doggett had been
right, but knowing it didn't help the tearing sensation in
my heart.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I don't know what happened to him
after that.  We got caught in another explosion when we
tried to leave.  Doggett got hit."

"Why were there so many explosions?" Byers asked.

"Don't know.  Doggett thought the place was rigged to blow
because it looked like they were planning to pull out. Or
already had."

I turned around.  "We can't use the vaccine if there
aren't any instructions on how to utilize it.  For all we
know this could be full of the original virus, not the cure."

There was silence while we thought about it. I couldn't
think long, Monica came to get me.  "Scully, there are more
wounded coming in."

**********************************


I kept myself busy with the wounded, always checking to
see if Skinner was among them.  When twenty-four hours had
gone by without any sign of him, I knew he wasn't coming
back.

Treating the soldiers kept me from grieving too much, and
when I finally allowed Monica to lead me to the cabin,
sleep came quickly.

Thankfully my sleep was dreamless.  Exhaustion had some
advantages.

I roused myself near dawn of the second day to check on
some of the sicker patients, and found Monica asleep at
Doggett's side.  She'd refused to leave him despite my
urging for her to get restful sleep.

"You need to think of the other patients."

"I don't care about the other patients."

"Yes you do," I said, gently. "You'll hate yourself later
if you abandon them now."

She finally agreed to sleep, but only at John's side. I
was reluctant to wake her now, she appeared so peaceful.  

I walked around the other beds checking vital signs,
bandages, and general conditions.  It could have been much
worse. I had the feeling that a skeleton crew of soldiers
had been left behind to defend the facility, but why leave
the vaccine there?  Either it wasn't a vaccine, wasn't the
right vaccine, or the aliens were already infected
themselves and simply left.

The raid was supposed to clear up our understanding of
what was happening to us, but it only created new questions.

Monica finally stirred awake, and I found her whispering
to Doggett.

"Hello John.  It's good to see you doing better."  I
applied a fake smile to hide my sorrow.

"I'm sorry Skinner didn't make it back with us Scully.  I
tried to find him, but that damn explosion stopped us cold."

"It's all right John.  I know you did the best you could."

"I'm going to go wash up in the cabin," Monica said. 
"Then I'll come back and we can make rounds."

I nodded absently while checking John's wounds.  He had a
jagged cut on his chest and abdomen that hadn't penetrated
any vital organs, but had required about a hundred stitches
that Monica had painstakingly put in.

Before she left, I heard Monica say, "It looks like
there's another soldier limping in.  I'll hurry, and help
you with him when I get back."

"Okay," I answered absently.  I finished with John's
bandages and rose wearily to greet the new arrival.  As I
exited the tent I could see he was still a few hundred
yards away.  As he came closer, I felt a constriction in my
chest.

I thought I could see light bouncing off a bald head. 
Please God, let it be-----.

Without thought I started running despite the pain in my
feet. As I got closer the features beneath the smoke-marked
face began to form familiar lines and I ran faster.

I could feel tears running down my face, and they were in
my eyes blurring Walter's handsome face.  I jumped up into
his arms and held him to me in a death grip.  I just sobbed
into his shoulder, still not believing he was back. 

"Are you real?"  I asked his neck.

"Yes."

I felt him sway a little under my weight, and I hastily
got down.  "Are you all right?"

"I didn't bring Mulder back."

"It doesn't matter."

"But---"

"It *doesn't* matter. You're here, and that's all I care
about right now."

I pushed in under his side and walked him back to camp. I
could see Monica, Doggett, and the Gunmen waiting for us
there. They were even more rag tag than I remembered from
base camp.  I thought I had never seen a more beautiful
sight in my life.

*********************************
End Part V
Epilogue to follow.

The Beginning of Sorrows: Epilogue
by Philiater

PS 90:10  The days of our years are threescore years and
ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years,
yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut
off, and we fly away. 

Ec 11:10  Therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put
away evil from thy flesh: for childhood and youth are vanity

Ec 7:10 Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness
of the countenance the heart is made better.

**************************************************




It's been two weeks since the raid and I'm keeping my
fingers crossed that the vaccine is working. Only Klein and
a few others succumbed to it. I miss him still.

The disk Skinner brought back contained pages of
complicated medical schemes and it was encoded to boot. 
The Gunmen and their computers went to work frantically
trying to decipher it.  As luck would have it the language
was not in Navajo as previous disks have been.

In the end, an accidental feed of outlandish military
conspiracies from the Gunmen's hard drive gave us the
breakthrough we needed. A peripheral radical--peripheral
even by the Gunmen's standards--had claimed he stumbled on
a kind of alien Rosetta stone.  The Gunmen hadn't been able
to make anything of it at the time and simply stored it. 
Thank goodness for their obstinate persistence of the truth.

They cracked the code, and then it was up to Larry Jason
and me to try and make coherent medical sense of it. While
we were deciphering, Monica began to display the first
signs of the virus and John became anxious. He wanted to
help so badly that I put him in charge of piecing similar
sentences together.

He kept coming across a term that did not make sense to me
at the time: reservoir.  In infectious disease terms this
is known as the organism that carries the infectious agent
as a necessary part of its life cycle.  Without the
reservoir the infectious agent can't survive.  The life
cycle is interrupted and the agent dies. 

In medieval times the plague was not spread by rats, but
the fleas on the rats.  Without rats, the fleas couldn't
spread the infection.

"Could Monica be the reservoir?" John asked when I
explained the concept to him.

A dawning light began to break and I poured through the
rest of the transcripts.  Monica was indeed the reservoir,
as was every other person with a bull's eye lesion.  The
virus incubated in them and once mature, could then be
spread to others.  If we could make the reservoirs
inactive, then the virus was stopped in its tracks.  

I also discovered that inoculated reservoirs might help
confer immunity to the entire population.  Something called
'herd immunity.'  This concept had been used with the polio
vaccine. This vaccine was a partially live vaccine, and the
idea was that if one person was inoculated, they could
'give' the vaccine to others.

If I could inoculate Monica and the others, the epidemic I
feared might not occur at all.

With Larry's help, we 'made' a vaccine.  We did the best
we could, but the purity, concentration, and effectiveness
couldn't be tested on the concoction.  I'd need a
volunteer.  

I found Monica in the infirmary, taking in air with
labored breaths, barely conscious.

We all gathered around her: Skinner, the Gunmen, Doggett,
and me. I spoke to her gently.

"Monica, I have a vaccine.  I'd like to use it on you but
you're very sick.  It might not work, might even kill you
faster. Do you want to take that chance?"

Doggett held her hand and she smiled up at him.  "Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," she said, never taking her eyes from him.

I injected a small amount I thought was correct and we all
began the long wait.

"She might be too far gone.  Maybe I should inoculate one
of the other targets."

Skinner frowned next to me.  "No.  Wait and see what
happens."

So we waited.  Monica didn't seem to improve, but she
didn't deteriorate either. Her watery breathing could be
heard half way across the valley.

That night Skinner came and got me.  "You need rest."

"No.  I have to stay with Monica."

"John's there.  He'll take care of her."

I realized then what he was trying to say.  I wasn't
wanted there.  If Monica died, she'd be with John.  They
needed some time alone to say goodbye if necessary.

I let Skinner lead me back to the cabin.  We took our
place in the back room, and I wrapped myself around him.

"Is it wrong to be happy you're safe with me?" I said into
his chest.

"No. Monica would want you to be happy, too. All we can do
is wait."

I kissed him then with all the desperate passion I could. 
Somewhere along the line someone had hung a blanket over
the door separating the main room from the back room to
give us some privacy.  Skinner started removing my clothing
and I protested quietly.

"The Gunmen are in the next room"

"I promise I won't make any noise if you won't either.  We
don't want to wake the kids do we?"

True to his word, Skinner bit back the groans I heard
rumble in his chest. I was somewhat less successful,
emitting a strangled squeak at the end. It was so
beautiful, and life affirming, I cried.

Skinner tried to soothe me, but I couldn't seem to help
it. We had lost so much, and had so much more to lose. In
the back of my mind I kept thinking of Krycek and Mulder.

********************************

Skinner said after they'd located the vaccine, Krycek had
taken off to find Mulder and he'd followed behind.  They
eventually came to a prison area with dozens of empty
cells.  No human was there, and if they had been, they were
long gone.

Krycek wailed in frustration and Skinner had been puzzled
at the time, not understanding why was he so upset over not
finding Mulder.  I told him about Marita and he finally
understood Krycek's response.

"That was when the third explosion occurred," he said.
"The building just collapsed all around us.  I don't now
what happened to Krycek, but I was buried in debris.  I
wasn't hurt, but a large beam had me trapped. I called for
help, but no on could hear me."

I'd been holding him lightly when he told me the story,
and I unconsciously clutched him to me.

"All I could think about was you.  Getting back to you.  I
almost lost all hope."

I didn't want him to dwell on the desolation of that time.
"What happened?"

"There was a delayed explosion.  I thought I'd be buried
permanently, but it was enough to shift the beam. I dug
myself out and came back to you."

"You never saw Krycek?  Not even a body?"

"No.  I looked, and called his name, but no one ever
answered."

I'd felt a poignancy for Krycek then.  He had possibly
saved us all and was most likely killed for his trouble.  A
part of me wanted to gloat, but it would have been wasted
energy, and ultimately selfish.

"I'm so thankful you're back. I love you."

"I love you, too."

******************************

I woke to sound of radio static.  The Gunmen must be
trying to raise someone again.  They seemed devoted to the
idea of finding others.

Skinner was gone, and my heart started thumping loudly.  I
dressed quickly and rushed out.

"Hey, you two were pretty noisy in there last night,"
Frohike said with mock annoyance.

I ignored him and went outside to the hospital tent.  I
saw Skinner and Doggett standing over Monica's bed.  My
heart was beating so hard, I thought it would burst through
my chest. My feet felt rooted to the spot.  Monica----

Skinner turned and saw me.  He moved aside to let me see
her.  As I moved closer I was sure it was her lifeless body
I would greet.

"Hi, Dana."  Monica was not only alive, but sitting up and
cheerful as well.

I fell to my knees and started crying, releasing pent up
anxiety and pain.  Skinner was instantly at my side.  He
lifted me and held me close.

"It's all right.  Monica's well.  We can proceed with the
vaccinations."

I kept crying anyway.  We were going to be all right.  All
of us.  It was more than I could have hoped for.

The vaccinations proceeded as planned, and to my
astonishment , no one else got sick.  I wondered whether
the aliens had been infected and that's why they left. 
There were still so many questions left.  Now that we could
survive, where would we go?

"We could stay here," Monica said.  "It's beautiful, and
we know the area."

There was more debate and the question of whether we'd all
stay together came up.
"Of course we'll stay together," I said.  I couldn't
believe anyone of us would want to go now that we'd found
each other.

But Monica and John wanted time alone. Real time alone. 
The Gunmen, too, wanted to go foraging for more computer
equipment, feeling a restless to move on as they had in the
past. The thought of us splitting up made me nauseated, and
I went outside.

Skinner found me later at the flat rock I'd taken him to
before the raid. 

"Here you are.  I thought you'd disappeared for good."

I didn't say anything, sadness making me petulant.  He
sighed heavily and sat next to me.

"You can't blame Monica and John for wanting some time
alone."

"Yes I can."

He chuckled.  "I seem to recall you being upset that *we*
couldn't be alone ourselves."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I wanted to be alone with you, not isolated with you."

"Thank you very much."

"You know what I mean."

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me.  "Maybe I want
to be isolated with you for a while."

"They're like family."

"I know, but John and Monica promised to come back and
visit.  The Gunmen said they'd keep in touch.  Everyone is
trying to get on with their lives."

"Staying with us keeps them from doing that?"

He frowned. "Maybe. We all belonged together so we could
defeat the aliens.  We've done that.  It's time to move on."

I buried my head in his chest.  "I'm so scared."

"I know. I am too, but we have a future now."

I hoped he was right.  The future seemed like a terribly
frightening place to be.  Without a specific goal in mind,
it seemed a vast desert.

"We can keep looking for Mulder if you want to."  His
voice was quiet, waiting for my response.

I finally smiled and hugged him to me.  "No.  You're
right.  We have a future now.  There's no one I'd rather be
with."

And I meant it.  

***************************


End.