Title: Touch
Author: darkstar
Email: clone347@aol.com
Subject: Mostly mulder angst, and lots of it, but i guess there's msr in here as well. all this and a conspiracy too. ;)
Disclaimer: This doesn't belong to me. Sob. It belongs to his X-ness Chris Carter, and all those dark and sinister Fox executives, to whom I send my fondest wishes that a sea monster will eat them through their potties.
Rating: pg. Various and sundry violent things.
Summary: Mulder loses hope in a place of nightmares, where even your eyes can be used against you.

View the illustration for Touch

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I don't want to see Scully anymore.
I want her to die.
If I had my gun I'd shoot her.
Paint the walls with her brains.
Right before I painted them with my own.

God, if we're still talking to each other, kill her for me. *Please.* Take her to a place where no one can make her suffer again. Where no can can hurt her because of my foolish quests and dreams and visions. No one, myself most of all.

C'mon Mulder ol' boy, snap out of it. You're getting morbid. Again. I pull the emergency brake on my train of thought and wince as it crashes into the other side of my brain. As if my head wasn't sore enough already. Too much thinking I guess. Too much time for thinking.

Days, hours, minutes, seconds, heartbeats. In India they teach that each life path has seven great choices to face. Well I've wasted my seven a long time ago, and the only "nirvana" they've led me too is here. As for the multitude left over, I hate them. Passionately. Then again maybe not a-l-l of them.

I don't really mind being born. But as I remember I didn't have much of a say in that one. Meeting Dana Scully and being her partner was *definitely* one of the better ones. Now even that has become a piece of barbed wire sheathed in silk to wrap around my already ripped and bleeding heart.

I hate my quest for the truth. I hate the lies that hide it. I hate the men who took Samantha from me, who took Scully from me. I hate my father for being one of them. And most of all I hate myself for the fact that I have wasted my life fighting invisible monsters when I should have led a normal life as a plumber in Suburbia, USA with two freckled kids and a red-headed wife. Preferably one with the name Dana.

But compared to my existence now- a timeless world measured only by the scant lapses between experiments when the fleeting edge of sanity brings me some twisted form of control over my mind and my body- my old life was pretty good. Paradise-like even. I would wake up every morning and know who I was, and (most of the time) where I was. I looked forward to going to work so I could watch her, brush against her, and if I was lucky catch a brush of rose petal skin.

Touch. It's what I crave the most now. At night my fingers burn to curl around hers, if only for a heartbeat. For once the curse that is the blessing of photographic memory serves me well, allowing me to recall each small miracle when her hand found it's way into mine.

So I *hate* my eyes. They are traitors to me, for they did not help me at all before, blinded as I was by the glaring light of truth, blind to the jaws of the trap until they were snapping shut around us.

They took us quietly, or at any rate unnoticed by the rest of humanity at large. Bait was laid, the fool's gold of evidence left unguarded to lure me to my doom. They knew I would come; just as surely they knew she would follow. Once we were close to the base, out of range of help and hope, the black jeeps appeared like demons out of the night, driving us off the road. It was a secenario we had been a part of many times, but this night it was different. There were black sedans as well, and soldiers, and instinct knew there would be no coming back. Not this time.

We ran. They hunted us. Like wolves after wounded deer the soldiers caught up to us. A storm of kicks and curses and blows drove us to the ground. Now in reflection, most of the pain stemmed not from the bruises on my flesh, but from the bruises on my soul to watch my angel suffer and know it was my doing just as much as if I was the one to hit her. Red anger, blue anguish and black fear overwhelmed me all in one icy-hot flood.

I do recall fighting. Holding her in my arms, trying to shield her from them. I remembering failing, as they pried us apart, dragging me to a "safe" distance to subdue me. She was no less the warrior, and her knee found it's way to the groin of the largest one, dropping him like a fly. She paid for that one. I fought against the hands that restrained me, screaming like a bloody madman while they hit her so hard blood welled from the spilt skin and ran in crimson rivers down the ivory of her face. Until that moment I had never realized all I had done to her. I had never considered the possiblity that sight could be the most exquisite form of torture.

I learned that lesson quickly.

I learned when I regained consciousness in a cold white cell to see her lying in a still growing pool of her own blood scant feet away from me. Of course I rose to wake her, to touch her, to hear her say she was fine. Only to find that we were separated. all that kept me from her was three inches of clear fiberglass. So little has never been so much.

I continued to learn when the experiments started, a barrage of needles and chemicals straight from the mouth of Hell itself we were powerless to stop. She fought at first, when they came to take her, then as time passed the fighting changed to begging, and the begging changed to numb compliance. But she never once asked for my help. Because I couldn't help her. There was nothing I could do when they brought her back unconscious, only to wake screaming for God, for me, for her mother, for anyone.

Except for watch.

I *saw* her every day. She was still my Scully, still beautiful in my eyes even though her skin paled to wax and stretched like parchment over her bones, turning her into a living breathing skeleton. I would watch her sleep at night, just three inches of glass away. In those few sweet moments of solace, the torture was almost bearable.

Until this morning.

When I woke up to notice the bulge in her stomach. How it'd swollen when the rest of her had wasted away. The sick realization hit me like a sucker punch to the gut that they'd hurt her in a way they could never come close to hurting me.

They'd made her pregnant.

My first thought is a curse word that I don't want to say since it would sear the paint of the walls and my cell is a little short on asthetic beauty as it is. My second is a question. Or more correctly, a great many questions.
Will the child be human, or another Emily, another monster wearing a fairy's skin ? My hands are already itching to kill the sick freaks who would take away Scully's ability to give life only to return it when it suited their sadistic purposes. Why didn't she tell me ? That one I can't figure. As if I wouldn't notice. Maybe she was afraid. Maybe she was embarrassed.

Either way I know she wants this baby, even if she didn't ask for it. Or at least her Dana side does. The Scully in her will wonder what the use is, since they will more than likely steal it from her arms before it draws it's first breath. I think Dana is winning, from the way her hand rests protectively over her stomach.

I draw myself up into a sitting position, unable to sleep anymore, the train of my thought taking off at light speed in a million directions at once. When is the baby due ? From the look of it I'd guess she has at least six months left, but then I'm no judge of these things. But they *will* take it from her, no questions there.

Or can I stop them ? Offer them something of value in return for Scully's baby. That track ends quickly, with the recollection that there is nothing I have that they want. I tried to bargain, in the beginning, offering them my life, the X-files, anything if they'd just let her go. I remember the thought that she was going through the same pain I was had terrified me. It still does. I had even begged. Fox Mulder, Special Agent for the FBI, had fell to his knees on the floor of a dingy operating room and pleaded with the doctors to stop hurting her. They had laughed. And stuck needles in my brain.

I still wish I was dead.

I'd still kill Scully, even though I know now I'd be killing two people. Who's to say they won't kill her anyway, once they've finished with her ? And as for the baby, well, death would be far kinder than the life they would have planned for it.

It's funny how all my trains lead to the same station. Death. When cancer had invaded Scully's body, my every breath and thought was focused on finding a way to cheat Death, to keep her with me one day more. Now that I run headlong in pursuit of him, he hides his face. That's the really ugly thing about this place. It sucks out your humanity, your will to live, until you are nothing more than a withered, dried out shell of a human being.

Have I lost hope that completely ?

I used to try to escape.

They'd catch me. Punish me. Throw me back in my little cell and think smugly to themselves that Fox Mulder had learned his lesson. So I'd ecscape again, just to prove them wrong. And again, and again.

When did I stop trying, stop believing ? Was it when the experiments got so bad that for two solid months I couldn't even remember my own name ? Or did I simply let them one step past my body and into my soul, allowing them to control it as well ?

My eys travel a well-worn path to Scully's face. It seems so peaceful now that apart from circles the color of squashed grapes under her eyes the casual observer would never be able to fathom the horrors she's been through. *She* has never given up hope. True, I was the one who rebelled, the one who tried to escape, but she was the one who believed even after I was caught, and lay on the floor in a pile of bruises and broken dreams. She would lean against the glass and whisper for me to try again, and not to wait for her because she knew I'd come back to save her. Scully never stopped believing.

Until I stopped trying.

Maybe I'll do it again. Maybe this time I won't stop when they start shooting. But not now. And not alone. She has to be with me this time. Perhaps it is selfish and morbid of me, but the last thing I want to feel before I die is her hand in mine. Ok, so maybe I want to get out of this in one or two pieces, and we won't stand a chance while she's in her "condition".

Who's the father anyway ? Whoa, Mulder, stay away from that one before you hurt yourself. That's a good boy. No fantasies of Scully as the little wife. Not that she doesn't look *positively smashing* in an apron....my thoughts snap off suddenly as Scully stirs, her eyes fluttering open as she wakes up, exchanging one nightmare for another. I notice she looks a paler than usual, more tired, but >from what I 'm not sure.

"Morning Scully." At least I think it's morning. My voice is muffled as it passes through the fiberglass to her. "How are you feeling ? I heard morning sickness can be killer."

"Morning sickness ?" her head jolts up, a flash of confusion in her eyes, then follows my gaze down to her stomach. "Oh." Her voice, already dampened, grows a little smaller. "That."

"So when were you planning on telling me ?" My tone cuts across just a *tad* accusational, but it's just a mirror of how I feel and part of it says she deserves it. That happens to be the part I'm listening to right now.

"Soon." She picks at the edge of her thumb and smiles this little bittersweet smile. "It's not the kind of thing you can just hide forever. I don't know why I didn't tell you. I was....I don't know...in denial. I mean, everyone said I wasn't supposed to have children, and now-" she gestures to her stomach. "This."

"How ?" I have to force the words out between teeth clenched to lock the bile in my stomach. As soon as they slide from between my lips, my thoughts rush into a thousand frenzied prayers. Please don't let it be that. Please don't let them hurt her that way.

"The medical way Mulder." She knows I am worried, I can tell by her tone, the soft way it falls over me like a warm blanket. Relief overwhelms me so suddenly it is almost painful. But it is almost sweet pain, to know that they left her at least some dignity.

"You want the baby ?"

The look of confusion returns, streaking across her face like a flash of heat lightening in summer and gone just as quickly, moving to lurk behind her eyes. "I didn't, to be honest. Not at first. It seemed so...futile...to grow attached to something only to lose it." Her voice pales to nothingness; she is thinking of Emily.

"But now I don't know. Mulder, I'm a mother. The one thing I've always wanted to be. The only thing I'm sure of- deathly sure of- is that I *love* my baby, and I'm so helpless to stop them..."

Her hands tremble slightly and the catch of tears drowns her voice. I feel an all-too familiar ache in my arms, the intense desire to hold her, just to hold her and keep her safe from everything evil in the world. But all I can do is place my hand over the glass where hers rests, lining my fingers up exactly with hers, in a ritual holding some much more now. For a second I wonder if I should tell her about my plan- not that it can be called that at this time- but decide against it. She has too much to worry about already.

I paint a smile I don't feel on the unwilling landscape of my face. "Should've told me sooner, Scully. I'd have thrown you a baby shower."

She lifts her head and flashes me a true smile more precious and brilliant than any diamond, that lights up the room and for the first time in an eternity makes me feel human again.

Suddenly seeing her isn't so bad after all.

*****

Days pass, then melt unto weeks, until finally months are sliding by. The experiments have increased in both frequency and intensity, and at times the black abyss of despair threatens to swallow me yet again. I fend it off by planning, always planning, putting my mind through a series of escapes and searching for any flaws. The tiniest detail could mean the difference between life and continued death for the three of us. Yeah, I'm taking the baby. I don't think Scully would leave without it- we still don't know whether it's a boy or a girl- behind and I'm *not* leaving Scully.

My one ray of light is that she's doing better. They've started feeding her actual food, not the processed crap they normally give us, and she doesn't have to suffer through the painful experiments anymore. That in itself is enough to make me thank the same God I used to curse every time I get back >from a really bad session to find she's still ok. The downside is that they've started different tests on her now. On both of them. She tells me it's nothing, but I can tell she's scared. Not for herself- we're used to it by now- but for her baby. For all my bravado and reassurances I'm scared too, a crazy kind of scared, that she'll die. Maybe not in the birth itself, but after, when take her child.

So maybe that's why I keep putting off telling her that we aren't sticking around here for much longer. I'm a little- ok a lot- new to this baby thing and if she begins to worry and somehow loses the baby they just might kill her then and there. And then my escape plans would be futile anyway, because I would be too busy killing as many of them as I could before they killed me too.

Six months ago I was praying just that for both of us. But as a whole I've been a lot less morbid lately, except for last week when I tried to kill myself during an especially nasty experiment but that was the drugs at work, not me. Other than that I've done an admirable job of being good. I've eaten all of the unidentified substance they try to palm off on me as food. I've only attacked one guard and he used the words "whore" and "Scully" in the same sentence, so he was begging for it. It was kind of worth the pounding I got to see the "dead fish" look on his face when a handcuffed prisoner got a choke hold around him.

It's working. Security has loosened the tiniest bit the past few days. I know- and couldn't care less- that they think they've finally beaten me once and for all. The only hard thing is that Scully does too. True to her fashion, she never says a word about it but I can feel the betrayal in her eyes and the guilt it causes is just as real as if I really had given up.

She's asleep now. Scully sleeps a lot lately. I think they've been drugging her to make sure she doesn't try some lunatic escape with their wonder child. I hate the baby when I think of it that way, but then I hear her half-sobbed pleading with God late at night that he won't let them take her baby away and know the child's half her too. That's why I'll risk my life to bring it with us, why I'd die for it to make sure Scully gets her chance to be a mother.

And ok,ok, I'm still a little jealous that it couldn't be with me.

She looks so incredibly peaceful now. I hope her rest is sweet, and not plagued by nightmares like mine is haunted every night. A strand of fiery hair has curled across her face in a caress I imagine as an extension of my fingers. Scully, if we get out of this....

No promised, Mulder. Be a realist. That's right. You probably won't get out of this. What right do you have to risk her life, the life of her baby ? If you leave them here at least you know they will live a little while, long enough for you to come back with help.

I shake the thought out of my head. It is all or nothing. Besides I don't have it in me to walk out and leave her to face the tests alone, to be used prehaps again as a mother. Prehaps until she dies of it, one way or another.

I slid my hand inside the band of the grey cotton pants they gave me when i first came to feel the cool metal kiss of a scapel touch my fingers. I'd stolen it yesterday in an experiment by very cleverly faking a set of convulsions just as they were strapping me down, and grabbing the scapel in the few seconds of confusion that caused. It made the trip back to my cell in, well, a "very safe" place, and they obviously don't know about it.

It was *very* tempting, the last time Scully thought I was asleep and cried about her baby, to use it to slice the throats of the doctors who did this to her. That will come. When we escape. And I'm just human enough to look forward to it. Then my eyes can pay me back by letting me *see* them die at her feet like the scum they are.

But something's not right. My eyes are seeing something else- Scully, as she jolts from sleep as quickly as if she had been hurled from a cannon, her face a contortion of pain. She only has to breathe one word and I know what is wrong.

"Mulder ...!..."

Little Scully's making an entrance into the world. My brain is flipped topsy-turvy and I struggle to find a few words to reassure her.

"Now ?" I blurt out. "We haven't even been through LaMaz." Instantly I want to slap myself. Great Mulder, just go ahead and make a complete and total fool of yourself. But it's worth it, because she smiles briefly before the flash of light is buried by another avalance of pain.

She screams.

Every muscle in my body jumps three feet into the air and takes me with it. Half of me refuses to belive that this is real, that it is anything more than one of my scotch-induced nightmares, but that half is squashed when another blood-curdling shriek tears from her lips.

Footsteps and voices ring loud and heavy outside the door- they have heard her screaming and are coming to claim their prize. She has clamped her mouth shut so tightly her jaw is bone white except for the garish thin red line of blood oozing from her lips where her teeth keep her screams inside.

Scully do you always have to be so John Wayne ? It's okay to cry, even when you're giving birth. Most women do, so I've heard. But then she was never the "Avon woman" to begin with. I realize that I love her for just that.

There's no more time for thought. The door flies open and one of the freaks along with his AK-toting minons storms into the room. Scully can't move away from them- she tries but the pain is too great, causing her to curl into a fetal ball. She throws her gaze out to me, and the pain in her eyes is overshadowed by pure terror.

"Mulder !!" she screams, feebly pushing away the hands that pull her onto a stretcher. "Don't let them-" Another spasm of pain takes her control, but Scully wins it back, her voice strained with the effot. "take my baby..."

Oh God in heaven they are taking her...hurting her... I can't stop them...I can't stop them...I can't...Anger, white hot and scalding like fire, builds inside me until it rips me in two, exploding out my fist as it connects with the fiberglass. I throw my body against it, numb to the chipping and bruising of bone, over and over and over again. Logical thought is a thing of the past, and only one phrase fills my brain and spills out my mouth.

" *Let me touch her !!*" The simple request is screamed from my lips, the only thing I can do for her now. "Let me hold her hand- *please* - just let me touch her this once..."

But they are gone. And I am alone, on the wrong side of the wall in a cold white empty room.

*****

A tortured eternity later, she returns, or more correctly is returned. The door to her half of the cell swings open with a whine, and two orderlies carry her into the room, her face blanched whiter than the cloth of the stretcher that holds her. I notice in disgust tinged with fear that the orderlies once spotless scrubs are splattered sticky red in places. She sleeps the heavy-handed sleep of unconsciousness, and I hope it's >from drugs, that they gave her something to take away the pain. To be honest I have trouble associating such a humanitarian act with our captors.

Every shred of her peace has been stripped away. Her hair is matted with sweat to a dark copper and slicked back away from her face. Her face... The pain splashed across it is so intense that it stings my soul until I can hardly bear to look at her. Her baby doll lips are marred with deep bloody gashes. Attempts at silence Id' imagine. Pain has left other legacies as well- ugly bruises ringing her wrists and ankles from the straps, heavy leather monsters I cringe to think of her in. Half-moon shaped tears in her palm >from her fingernails.

My stomach is a tightly wound coil, and I am almost glad I did not have to watch, because I know it would have killed me. Not that I wouldn't have stayed through it all. Stayed to hold her hand and kiss her when it was all over...

My thoughts move on before the futility edging them can take over completely. No sign of the child. The circle of questions come to mind again, what is it, who the father is, and where it is now. How I can get it back.

And I *will* get it back. I don't know how, but they will not rip her heart away so easily. For in doing so, my own is torn twice over.

*****

It has now been three days. Three days with Scully awake but not talking, not moving, not eating. I can hardly tell she's breathing. She doesn't even blink. Or cry.

I wonder if she has any tears left, if either of us do. I am running sort of options. I've tried every trick I know.

Shouting. Begging. Lecturing. Reasoning. Begging again. I even pulled out my patented puppy dog look, guaranteed to thaw even one as cold as my ice queen can be. I think the ice has thickened, and she is freezing herself to death. My eyes feel like cotton balls in my skull. I refuse sleep's velvet seductions for fear I will miss something, and now the world is glazed over and tinged with burning.

The profiler inside me has been working busily, all thoughts of escape on stand-by. She needs to talk about her baby. The longer she holds it inside, the more she will slip into despair. I've started several conversations, but she hasn't so much as looked at me. I decide to try again.

"Scully ?" I venture, not putting false cheer into my voice but keeping the worry to a dull roar. "It's been three days- I'm getting a little tired of the silent treatment." I wait, almost hopefully. Nothing. Her eyelash twitches but other than that the silence is thick enough to taste.

"C'mon Scully." A little more frustration leaks through. "You can't hide inside yourself forever. Believe me, I've tried."

Not even a twitch this time.

Something inside me that has been stretching thinner and thinner the past few days snaps. "Is this what you want ? To give up ? To die ?" My voice is razor sharp and edged with anger but I don't even attempt to soften it. "You want the easy way out. You'll just leave your child here with them, won't you ? *Your* child Scully. And it's not exactly easy for you to have another one. But you'll abandon it. Just like you are now."

The minute I finish speaking I realize I have pushed too far in the wrong direction, but it is too late. Scully jerks her head up, waves of hatred and disbelief rolling off her like a force field. "What ?" She stumbles to her feet, anger crackling around her. "How dare you ?" A few more steps takes her right to the wall. Her eyes are two bolts of blue electricity, spitting fire as she speaks. "How *dare* you Mulder ? You were the one who got us here in the first place. You ! And they didn't make you pregnant, Mulder. Take nine months of your life and bond you with another body only to rip it away. So *excuse me* if I want out. " She stops, whirling away from me, and her body quivers slightly like she's crying.

"Scully...I'm sorry." The words tumble out around my tongue that has grown thick with guilt. "I had no right." My fault. Always my fault. She's crying now because of me. "It's my fault. Everything. If I could take it for you, God know I'd do it in a heartbeat..."

Scully turns to face me again, the fight drained from her. Tears cloud her eyes as she slides to the floor leaning against the wall. "It was a boy." she whispered, a catch in her voice. "A beautiful little boy." Her eyes touch mine and the raw anguish in them pierces my soul. "I only got one look at him..." she continued. "They wouldn't even let me hold my own child."

She melts into silence again, her body trembling with these quiet little sobs that break my heart. I lean my head against the glass opposite hers and choose my words slowly and carefully.

"I'm going to take you away from here."

She laughs a bitter kind of laugh before she realizes I am being serious. "How ?"

"I've paid attention to and from experiments. There's a way." I drop my voice below a whisper. "But we shouldn't talk about it. They might be listening. "

Her smile isn't so bitter this time. "Now that's my Mulder."

"We're taking your baby with us."

The smile is frozen in shock, and she barely manages to gasp the words out. "How ?"

"Leave that to me. Just eat and save your strength, ok ?" I feel a tiny smile dance across my face. "And no more depression. I get bored talking to myself the whole time."

"Really ? I thought the little voices kept you company."

A triumph- her humor is returning. That brings a bigger smile into play. "Only sometimes. Not like you do. So you promise ?"

The ghost of a true smile touched her face, more in her eyes than her lips. She put her hand on the glass. "Promise."

I covered it with my own, the thought of how her skin must feel sending quivers down my spine, and tightening my chest. I don't know how long we sat that way, sharing silence no longer thick or cold, but before it was over, we each had found something I thought lost long ago in the operating rooms.

The first faint glimmerings of hope.

So it all boils down to this. These moments. These seconds. The phrase "life or death" sums things up perfectly, but the phrase rings trite and cliched when faced with the true enormity of the situation. I extend my body into a stretch meant to coax my sleepy muscles into life. During our little stay here, the only exercise they allowed me was the short walk to experiments- I never did seem to be walking *back* from any of them- and whatever I could do in my cell, which wasn't much considering that I was too sick to move 99% of the time. They'll be coming for me soon. I have to be ready. I sense Scully's quiet gaze resting on me. We haven't spoken much today. There is no need. Our plans were finalized late last night and in silence we still talk, our thoughts flowing free without the cumbersome burden of speech.
The faint click of polished boots on tile falls into my hearing, echoing ever louder as they draw steadily closer. Every fiber of my body is humming with the static electricity of adrenalin; for what must be the hundredth time in five minutes my fingers brush against the band of my pants. The rigid outline of the scalpel is still there. I am fully prepared, almost longing in some ways, to use it.

The foosteps are closer now, more defined. Two pairs of shoes. Only two guards today. I remember the other escapes, the failures, the brutal beatings, and for a moment the worst kind of fear freezes me. Terror that this time will be not different. That I will fail myself and fail Scully.

She seems to read my thoughts, for her eyes lean into mine, softly pushing away all doubts. She believes in me. The thought gives me fresh strength, redefined purpose. I have already determined that she *will* survive this no matter how great a cost. My own life is expendable, my own health a joke. Give her liberty or give me death. Somehow I think I've misquoted good ol' Patrick Henry, but this version seems especially fitting now that the door is opening.

This is my life. These seconds. These heartbeats. I force the fear that is turning my hands clammy back into my soul, feeding instead off the twin fires of hatred and love. Here goes nothing. Here goes everything.

The guards enter the room. I notice they aren't carrying handcuffs today, and struggle to keep a smugly satisfied smile off my face. Fools. Arrogant fools, to think they can hurt Scully like they have and not receive minute for minute their time in hell. Despite the soaring defiance lacing my blood, I slump and meekly, almost timidly, follow, my eyes vacant, as they lead me into the hall.

Just three steps past the door to the cell block. There's a break in the video surveillance, just a tiny one. There is where I will take my stand. My muscles coil and tense and my fingers twitch in anticipation. My escorts take no notice. They've seen me in far more bizzare conditions. Time slows until a lifetime is measured by the burning of my blood in my veins, the thundering rhythm of my pulse in my ears. Love. Hate. Love. Hate. The words interchange with my heartbeats. Love. Hate. Love. Hate.

There is no more time. We pass through the exit to the cell block, and my world erupts into a whirlwind. I freeze, spasmodically clutching my stomach as I fall to my knees, groaning like my insides are trying to come out. The guards hesitate only for a moment before one of them reaches to drag me to my feet.

Love. Hate. Hate. *Hate*.

I might imagine his surpise that a deathly ill prisoner would lunge at him so quickly if I were acting on rational thought. This is survival instinct, pure and simple, fueled by hatred for what they have taken >from us. The scalpel glints icy silver in my hand as it slices through the delicate skin of his throat like a knife cuts through a ripe peach. A river of blood spurts from the jagged tear across his artery, drenching his uniform and running in warm rivulets down my hands to wet mine. He staggers back, vainly trying to ebb the ocean of life pouring from him, then crumples to the ground, a faint gargle marking his last breath. A velvet tide of crimson has already begun to pool around him.

The other guard manages to recover from stun and grabs me from behind in a massive bear hug, attempting to contain me and draw his gun at the same time. I slash the scalpel across his wrists, hearing his shriek of pain at the same time the first ruby red drops ooze >from his flesh. My heart is screaming madly in my brain.

Hate. HAte. HATe. HATE.

It's searing flood cauterizes my nerves, numbing me to all else. I see the night we were taken, hear the soldiers laugh as their fists slammed into Scully's face. Blood poured from her nose. A flick of my wrist opens up a fresh gash across the man's face. I see the needles and the drugs and the cold sadism of the doctors as I struggled to get free. Another stab slashes across his chest. I see Scully crying at night because of what they did to her. I see her lying on the floor, a broken heap of human flesh after giving birth to a baby she hadn't even been allowed to touch. A vicious swipe of my arm catches his throat perfectly, slitting the skin all the way across. With each vision my hatred intensifies, traveling down my arm and into the scalpel.

Then the emotion is gone, leaving a black void inside of me. My eyes focus again, my senses start to feel. I am straddling a dead man, covered in something warm and sticky. Blood. Not my blood. For the first time I notice the deep rivers of blood crossing his face, his chest, his throat, his hands. There is not a shred of remorse in me. Or pity. Prehaps at one time I would have balked at the thought of killing two men with little more than my bare hands. But my nightmare has changed me. *They* have changed me, twisted me into little better than an animal.

The thought is closer to sorrow than any other.

But what is done is done. I fumble in their pockets, ignoring the omni-present blood, until I find the key card that will open Scully's cell. She is all that matters. Let me be reduced to an animal, but they will not take any more of her humanity. I hold the key to it in my hand, but time is slipping like sand through my fingers. I am not, however, in too great a rush to remove the guards of their guns, stashing them in the band of my pants for the inevitablity of later use. One last prize is added to my spoil- a small plastic card that looks important to something.

The path back to her cell is made short by my long legs, but my mind is spinning a millions times faster. A code will be needed to open the door. That is one thing I could not find a way around, and it will cost us precious minutes. Already the doctors will be dispatching more guards...

Here I am. Face to face with her prison. The outside is a thick metal door that dashes at once any hopes I had of breaking in by force. A small device that looks similar to a credit card machine sits innocently on the wall next to the mantle.

No, this is too easy. But then again, I guess even the guards would have trouble keeping up with the combination to every cell on their own, given the size of this place. Or is it a trick, an alarm ? I shake my head. No deliberation. No hesitation. Only action will keep out shot at freedom open.

My fingers leave smears of blood on the card and I stop, wiping them on my pants in disgust. Once they are remotely clean I swipe the card through the machine, half-expecting the shriek of alarm and the shout of guards. Inside the door swings open with a whispering whine of grinding metal, and I find myself standing in the place of my dreams and nightmares. Beside her.

The anxiety in her eyes deepens to fear when the door first opens, but quiets when she sees me. "You made it." She breathes the words on a heavy sigh of relief.

"C'mon." My words are clipped, impatient, for I imagine they are already running this way. "We've got to move." I hold out my hand for hers.

There is a heartbeat's hesitation as she takes in the still warm blood soaking my shirt and pants. A decision is being made, only one of many we will face today. Does she still trust me ? I want the answer to be yes so badly that the thought of anything else rushes around my heart like a vise, clamping off my breath. Then she takes my hand. The test is over. For now I have passed. Never ming that her touch is pure energy, lighting my body on fire. We have a miracle to pull off.

We stumble down the corridor in the closest imitation of a run our abused bodies can pull off, back the way I came. Scully flinches when she sees the bodies of the guards, and I feel her eyes bore holes in my back as we step over them, the lake of blood spreading across the floor lapping at our feet. She knows I killed them. She hates that I had to. I can feel her wondering just why I had to. Agent Mulder would have found a better way. Agent Mulder was conscientious and sensitive to *all* human life.

Agent Mulder is dead.

Fox Mulder is a killer. A man desperately clinging to the ragged edge of sanity. Fox Mulder is only sensitive to one life, the life of the angel he holds by the hand. And he will do anything, no matter how unthinkable, to protect her. I only hope she can understand.

Suddenly I feel the singe of guilt for holding her hand, as if I am passing my defilement on to her through my touch. Despite the magnetism of her skin, I force myself to let it go, though my fingers scream their protest.

"Stop." I tell her, halting only a few yards from the dead men. We are in full view of the red stare of the cameras now. There is no turning back. She obeys, but does not look at the bodies. Or at me for that matter. Her face is blank, emotionless, her body rigid.

I am loath to leave her side, even for a moment, but there is much to be done. Holding my scapel between my fingers, it's shine now tarnished to a coppery red, I take hold of the cord attaching the surveillance camera into the wall. Smile Mulder, you're on candid camera. The blade is not as sharp as it was...before...but I manage to make short work of the cables.

This might just work.

"C'mon." I start down the hall, motioning for her to follow. She takes a halting step forward, but turns back to look at the bodies. Fighting down my impatience, I hurry back to her side, and touch her shoulder- all of her I dare. "Scully, there was no other way." My voice has softened to the tone I will only use for her. "Believe me, I didn't want to do this."

She nods, and looks back towards me. Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a long breath. "Mulder," she says, and I flinch slightly at the sound of my name, waiting tensely for her condemnation or her blessing. "get me out of here."

I grin, handing her one of the guns. "As you wish, Madame."

She slides her hand into mine, and I flinch away but our skin melds firmly together as we run down the hall. Or at least try to run. We used to be in pretty good shape, even for FBI agents, but during the past few months- I dare not think it may have been years though it feels like a thousand lifetimes had whirled past us- the experiments have worked their voodoo well on our bodies. Not to mention the fact that a week ago Scully was in labor, and it's a little soon for a marathon.

Nevertheless I feel an urgency to leave the hallway, for I feel Death walking the halls. I have summoned him and now it is as if he stalks us, waiting for us to fail.

I will *not* fail her.

Not even if he catches up with me.

Another door. Another barrier. This one has a security device, but unlike the cells, it requires a card. I try the one I "requesitioned" and it opens easily. Headlong into a patrol of very disgruntled guards.

"Back !" I push Scully back into the hallway with my body, shutting the door and activating the security device. The feel of the gun has become a stranger to my hands, but slowly they warm to the angles and lines.

"Like riding a bike." I say to her, clicking the safety off. "You still remember how to use one of these things ?"

"Point and pull." she says, her lips momentarily easing then pulling back into tenseness.

"That's my girl."

I dart across the hall, whispering for her to stay put, and wait as the security device chirps its acceptance of the pass card. My plan is simple. I draw their fire, Scully picks them off one by one. I am lucky in that not only does it give us a one in a hundred chance at actually surviving this- a lot better than the usual odds around this joint- but she will be out of harm's way for the most part. There are three, maybe four guards in this group. I figure we have at least as many bullets, but give up counting as soon as the door opens.

I fire first, my bullet catching the leader square in the forehead, splattering grey matter all over the man behind him. These guys aren't the type to surprise easily, I'm afriad, and they quickly and mechanically maneuver around the body of their fallen leader. I am busy firing as fast as my fingers can squeeze the trigger, and fell another before they can draw their guns. The remaining two have had enough time to return fire, their handguns spitting death into the walls around us.

I feel a slight tug on the fabric of my left arm, then a sliver of fire sears its way across my skin. I scream a curse to add to the bedlam, and fire three precious shots at the man whose bullet ate my flesh. The pain muddles my aim, however, and two of my shots go into the ceiling, the third striking him in the thigh. A shriek cuts from his lips as he falls to the floor. I ready myself for another volley from the one suriving guard, but find instead a body sprawled amid the rest that my bullets did not touch. Through the haze of powder smoke and blood Scully meets my eyes, then slowly nods and smiles. Until her gaze travels to my shoulder.

She moves fast for a sick woman, and a second later she is at my side. "Mulder...you're shot..." Always the doctor, she is.

"It's not that bad." I feel blood oozing around my fingers where I have my hand clamped over the wound. Through the red haze of pain of shrouding my head I force myself to pry my hand away and stagger to my feet. "We've got to keep going. This is sure to liven up the whole place."

She opens her mouth like she wants to protest, but I cut her off.

"It's not like I haven't been shot before." I force a smile. "And it hurts a whole lot less than what will happen if they catch us."

Reluctantly Scully nods her agreement, but we're already moving. I exchange my empty cartridge for the full one resting on a guard's belt, and we do a pretty good imitation of a run through the door and into another of the seemingly endless hallways.

"I don't know where they keep the babies." she pants. "And we don't have much time to look around." her voice edges sorrow.

She has a valid point. The second dispatch of guards may very well be the end of both of us, but I promised her we wouldn't leave without her baby. So we won't. We spilt to each side of the hall, peering in windows when we come across them, and generally wasting what little time remains.

But just then Fate decides to smile on us. An orderly turns the corner, wheeling a tray of syringes down the hall. He sees us the split second we see him and bolts back the way he came. We are faster. I plant my foot in the corner of his back and use his own momentum to send him sprawling. The sudden movement jostles my arm, which reminds me that it is still injured by washing my arm with a fresh coat of blood.

"Don't. move." I hiss through clenched teeth. Scully catches up a second later, her gun boring a hole through the man's head. From the pasty gray of his face, he is getting our point. "Where is the nursery ?"

"N-n-urshery ?" he stammers, his voice slurred by fear.

"Yeah." The word comes out as a snarl. "Where they keep the babies."

"I d-don't know."

I pull the safety back on the gun. "Listen, we're in a rush. Now either you help us out..." I select one of the syringes filled with a blue liquid and tilt it until it shimmers in the light. "She'll just shoot you. But me, I tend to like a more creative approach." I lay the point of the needle against his neck. "So what'll it be ?"

"Third corridor to the left. Door 3721." He spills his guts rather quickly, so I figure whatever potion in the syringe is rather on the nasty side and try to push my luck.

"And the access code ?"

"I don't have tha-" His voice is choked off by fear or pain or both as I allow the tip of the needle to sink under his flesh.

"Don't make me use this." I whisper, my voice soft with carefully controlled menace. I feel like a stranger. I feel like one of Them. Desperate measure for despreate times.

Something in his eyes flickered and died. His head dropped a few inches and his mouth opened, moving mechanically.

"Eight-nine-oh-one-three-two."

"Thanks pal." I pull out the needle and pick up my gun. Now I can empathize with Krychek. Two arms are so much better than one. The man's eyes widen. He thinks I am going to shoot him. I'm not.

But the scary thing is, I want to. I want to kill them all. I close my eyes against the dark side of my brain and bring the gun down in one smooth motion onto his temple. A sort of relief floods the man's eyes the second before he loses consciousness. Yeah well sweet dreams. I hope he remembers this favor if we are caught. Instead of replacing the needle in the cart, I slide it into the waistband of my pants near the small of my back.

"Mulder, c'mon, hurry." The tug of Scully's hand on my shoulder reminds of of the urgency of the moment. She already has relieved him of his datacard, back into her role as the rational one. "Third corridor. That's not far."

I shake the demons from my brain, embracing the mind-numbing pain that comes as I push myself to my feet, and urge my body into another run. So close... we have to make it this time. We have to.

Three corridors later Lady Luck appears to be with us once more. There have been no more confrontations, although two patrols have passed searching for us. We hid. Not the braver option, true, but it was smarter and gave us a greater chance of getting out of the building with all our limbs. My arm feels like it's trying to fall off and is in tug of war with my shoulder. This hallway is a carbon copy of the rest, >from the harsh flourescent lighting to the thick steel doors, marked with various and sundry warnings, often accompanied by biohazard signs. Scully's fingernails dig into my hand as we get closer, continuing our game of "dodge the video cameras". She is intensely nervous, but she's perfectly calm compared to the bundle of raw nerves I am. She needs my hand for strength. I need her hand to keep my sanity under this pressure.

Door 3719.

Door 3720.

Door 3721.

We're here.

I type in the access code, and the winking red light of the security device softens to green. Scully's face is white, and she is chewing on her lower lip as she waits for me to open the door. Things are suddenly *very* awkward.

"Do you want to go in alone ?" I ask her, loathing the very idea of leaving her side, but willing to give her privacy if she wants it.

"No." she says simply, letting her breath out slowly. "Come with me. Please."

Thank you Scully. Thank you for letting me be there for you. I squeeze reassurance into her hand and push the door open. I am a minute to late at holding back my choked cry of surprise. Behind me Scully gasps and her hands fly to cover her mouth. We came here looking for one baby. The room is full of them.

Each child is kept in a plastic incubator, with an identification number stamped on the outside like they were some kind of lab rat. The ones closest to the door are big enough to be toddlers. I suppose the newborns would be at the opposite end of the room. The sheer number is staggering. And for every child there is another woman, just like Scully, that these freaks have abused.

I turn back to her, expecting something along the lines of surprise. Or maybe shock. I found neither. Her eyes were wider than I'd ever seen them, and their vivid indigo blue contrasted sharply with the pale of her face. They glow with something primal, something fierce that comes from the hidden parts of her soul. I recognize it as a mother's love. She begins to walk down the row of children, first slowly and then faster and faster until even my long legs have trouble keeping up. Her lips are moving in a cry or a prayer. She stops. Just stops. And stares at an incubator marked "DKS-511". My eyes follow her gaze to the baby sleeping inside. My brain is stunned, and one thought prevails over the chaos. Her baby...how beautiful...how perfect...just like his mother.

His hair is brown- wherever *that* trait came from I don't even want to know- but his eyes are hers. The nose is almost too big for his face, but his lips have the same cupid shape hers does. He turns his head toward us, and cooes merrily when he sees Scully. Smart kid. Knows his mother.

"Help me get him out, Mulder." she breathes, her voice trembling slightly. "Help me."

I unlatch the incubator's plastic covering, wondering how many alarms I am tripping in the process, and ease it open. Little Scully gurgles at the change in temperature and waves his hand in the air at me. I disconnect the status monitors and then silently nod to Scully. She gathers the folds of his blanket around him and lifts him into her arms.

I have never seen her look so beautiful. Her eyes are rimmed with the crystal sheen of tears and she holds the child she was never supposed to have close to her heart. Her face is glowing with the most incredible mixture of joy and love and tenderness. She is more than an angel now. She is a mother, holding her child. My eyes sting with tears of their own, and I am forced to look away before they escape. This was what I'd always wanted. For Scully to have a child. My child. For us to live in peace and happiness in the bliss of ignorance to the dark side of the nation.

But we knew no such bliss. The child wasn't mine. It was the product of medical rape. A perversion of science. But somehow I didn't think it mattered. Not to her. Not to me. I loved them. *Both* of them.

"Look at him Mulder." Her voice is husky with tears of joy and she smiles up at me. "Isn't he beautiful ?"

"Just like his mother."

Little Scully copies his mother's smile and curls his tiny hand around my pinky in an iron grip. "You should feel this guy's arm Scully. He'll play for the Knicks for sure."

"Thank you Mulder." She turns her face full into mine, her eyes shining. "For this. For giving me hope, life. For giving me my baby." The words are soft, like a caress.

I can't seem to find words of my own so I reach up rather awkwardly and brush a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Let's go." I start to smile, but it dies mid-form when the loud, unmistakable click of a revolver shatters the moment of happiness into a thousand fragments.

"Well aren't we the happy little family."

Scully does good job of masking her fear, though her hands closer protectively around her baby, and her eyes beg me to do something. I turn around slowly, keeping my body in between her and the man behind the gun.

An Overseer. I should have expected as much. He's the epitome of a military doctor- bald, wiry, and totally ruthless. He was smart to figure out we'd be coming here. Stupid not to bring a patrol. He's left me a window, albeit a small one. If I can catch him off guard...my thoughts are dangerous, and I hide them behind the mask of stone I wear as my face.

"Ok now, both of you put your guns on the floor- nice 'n easy like- and start walking toward me. You-" he gestures to me with a wave of his hand. "Put your hands behind your head. And keep them there, unless you want them blown off.

A wry smile nearly breaks out across my face. So they've found the bodies. Obviously they consider me a threat and Scully passive. After all they've done to sap her will, I can see why. Their delusions stems from their arrogance, arrogance which may prove their downfall.

If I can just get that gun...

My gun falls to the floor with an resounding "thunk" followed by Scully's. I bring my hands up behind my head, locking my fingers together. Scully stays behind me, and I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves to my back. As we begin our way forward in slow, halting steps, her free hand finds traces the length of my spine down my back.

Don't do that now Scully. I supress the shiver that followes her hand along my spinal column.. The last thing I need is a hormonal tidal wave just before I'm going to attempt one of the stupidest things I've ever done. Charge a man with a loaded gun while I only have one good arm, and no weapon. Her hand stops at the band of my pants, closing on the needle. I realize what she is doing and the risk she is taking. But I have to hand it to her. She's brilliant. In one smooth motion, she pulls her hand away, the needle shielded by her palm, and tucks it in the baby's blanket. Dr. Mengele or whatever his human name once was glares suspiciously at us but does nothing.

God, if this works you can have the X-files, you can have Samantha, you can have everything. Just let me get Scully out of here.

"Stop." he commands when we are three feet away from him. Taking a small walkie-talkie out of his labcoat, he flips it on. A burst of static fills the room, followed by a the terse words that mark a miltiary police from a mile away.

"Command central to five-niner-seven- report your status." "Send a patrol to Sector Six." The doctor says coldly, something like a sneer on his face. "I've got them."

"Over and out- *sir*." The other spook sounds excited. He'll probably get a medal or something for this. I'll get at least nine broken ribs, and three broken fingers. *If* I'm lucky. A sense of the true hopelessness of our situation slams into me like a wrecking ball. A one-armed man and a recently pregnant woman, both ill, against a healthy, armed ex-military doctor.

No Mulder. Fight the despair. Fight it ! I take a deep breath and force it out between my teeth, trying to expel the darkness in my mind along with it. Focus. That's it. Scully. Remember her ? You can't let her down.

But I have. I have let her down. Again. I bite my lip. Please don't let them beat her. I can't watch that. Not this time.

"You there-" he waves his gun at Scully who is crouching behind me like a tigress prepared to strike. "What are you hiding >from ? Come out here sp I can see you."

She obeys, stepping out from behind me, her head high and her eyes aflame with defiance. A flicker of recognition crosses her face and I notice her trying to fight the shiver of revulsion it brings.

Instinctively I know he is the "one". He'd given her the baby.

There is no word in the English language strong enough to describe the hatred that stood my nerves on end, although quite a few came close, most four-lettered.
He must have noticed the hardening of my face, for his lips twist up in a smile that make me feel like a swarm of baby spiders is crawling over my body. My muscles quiver from the strain of keeping still when all I want is to rip the leer from his face.

And now that he has caught us in his trap, he decides to play with us a little.

"So you want to spend a little quality time with your child?" he steps closer to Scully. His hand brushes the side of her face, daring her to shrink away. She never so much as flinches.

"Don't. Touch. Me." her voice is low and strong. "Or my son." Obsidian black duels with ocean blue as their eyes engage in a silent battle of will. In the end it is he who drops his arm to his side. I may have imagined it, but Scully's head is a little higher than it was before.

He diverts his attention to me, eyeing me as if I am a bomb ready to explode in his face. In some ways I am. All I need is an excuse to light the fuse. And it is not long in coming.

"So this is the man whose name you scream." he says, turning back to her. "Do you honestly think he can save you ? You belong to me. You and everything that is yours." He reaches for the baby. "Give him to me."

"No." the word is not screamed, but spoken with an air of the quiet yet total defiance fueling her stand. Say the word Scully and I'm on him. Wounded or not.

"Don't disobey me, sow." he hisses, taking a step toward her, his fists half-raised.

The fuse is lit. It's burning...burning...burning...

"I am not yours to order." she murmurs. His fist crashes into her face, sending her reeling backwards, clutching her baby tightly.

The room explodes.

I release my muscles, springing forward to crash into his side. A sudden rush of pain nearly tears a scream from my lips. I forgot about my shoulder. Just as sudden as it comes, I shove the pain somewhere deep inside me where my nerves can't reach. I am all over the doctor, both of my hands clenching his wrist and trying to pry the gun loose.

Not to be outdone, he brings the elbow of his free hand across my face, and promptly send me sprawling. Before I can wipe away the blood blinding my eyes, he is on top of me again. I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun, soon to be introduced to a bullet.

"I was going to wait for the guards..." he says, wiping a trail of blood from his nose where my fist first caught him. "But as it is, I see no trouble in finishing you off now."

The click of the gun echoes loudly in the strangely silent room. I close my eyes, resigning myself to fate. So sorry Scully...

The shot never comes. Instead, the doctor's body stiffens suddenly. My eyes fly open to see his eyes roll back until only the whites are showing, clawing frantically at something in his back. Scully is standing behind him, the embers of dying hatred still burning in her eyes. She kicks him off of me, and then I notice the syringe protruding out of the base of his spine. His body curls in a set of violent spasms, before it stops movement apart from the occasional twitch of muscles.

Her hatred dies with him, leaving a heavy weariness behind her eyes. She is drained physically and emotionally. I faintly remember the vacuum I felt inside after slicing the guards' throat. But she still holds her son. She has won. And even though I wanted to be the one to kill the sadistic monster, this is more fitting.

"Are you okay ?" she asks.

"Yeah-" I groan out the word as I stagger to my feet. "What was in that needle ?"

"I don't know." she says simply. "But he wasn't prepped for it, so it won't be pretty. We'd better leave before the patrol gets here."

She heads for the door and I follow her. Not once does she look back, but I feel drawn to glance behind one last time. My stomach lurches into my throat. The good doctor isn't so dead after all. He is writhing in pain...as his flesh melts >from his bones like wax from a candle.

I've seen too much, and rush out the door before the horror can sink in.

"What now ?" I see no harm in putting my thoughts into words. I'm running on improvisation as it is, and running out of ideas. Fast. Besides, Scully is in every way my equal, and I want her to know that I still consider her as such. Her eyes follow mine as they scan the hallway, but stick on a door mine slide over.

"There." she says, tugging on my sleeve. "Try the card."

I have no idea why she chose that door out of the rest, but we have less than a minute until we're up to our butts in guards and guns, and I don't exactly relish the idea of another fire fight. There is no time to argue, but I am faintly reassured by the fact that this door is one of the few without a biohazard sticker so it's a safe bet we aren't jumping our way into a room full of genetically enhanced Ebola, or even worse whatever Scully had injected the doctor with.

The card disarms the rather stubborn security device just in time for the first echoing footfalls to come thundering down the hall toward us. Without any further adieu, I push open the door, making sure Scully goes in ahead of me, then follow myself. It slams shut behind us, locking us in darkness so thick I can taste it.

A soft cry snaps the silence in half. My muscles jerk back, before I realize it's Scully's baby. All the excitement must have been too much for him. I feel Scully rock back and forth, hear her whispering small consolations, but I can tell he's getting ready to let all hell break loose. Worry sets in, fringed with panic. How can I get the thing to shut up ? Without thinking I reach over and lift him gently from Scully's arms, placing my finger in his mouth just in time to stop a fresh squall. Not enough to choke him, no, but enough to act as an impromptu pacifier.

"Mulder ?" I remember Scully can't see and is probably half-worried I am choking her baby. "What are you doing ?"

"Shh." I hand him back to her, holding him like he was a piece of extremely fragile glass that my touch could shatter. "Put the tip of your finger in his mouth. He'll think it's a pacifier."

She trusts me, I know, but her arms are quick to recover her child. I hear the slight rustle of fabric as she places one slender finger in his mouth. "It really works..." I can almost see her shaking her head. "Where'd you become such a baby expert ?"

"My mom used to do it for Samantha." I began to reply, but bit my words off abruptly. The hunters were approaching. I could feel it.

In a matter of heartbeats, the muffled sound of voices and scurrying footsteps filters through the door. This is a parody of sorts to the hide-and-seek games Sam and I used to play up in Martha's Vineyard. The same palms-sweaty mouth-dry waiting that makes seconds drag on forever until you are afraid to breathe because it sounds like a tornado in the stillness. But this is no game. They are real soldiers using real bullets and Martha's Vineyard is a long way away.

I stretch out my hand in the blackness, feeling for Scully, seized by some strange fear that she should have faded away into the dark and I am alone. Our hands meet, and she laces her fingers through mind. Her body is warm and alive against my right side and I wrap my good arm around her and the baby, protecting them from the monsters I hear but can't see.

Hide-and-seek. They're still looking. But the voices are growing distant, drifting down the hall. I allow myself a sigh of silent relief. Now all that remains to exit the building. Ha. I make it sound so easy, like all we have to do is get up and walk out.

I rise to my feet to open the door, and inspiration bumps into me. Literally.

My knee cap crashes into something very solid, but that gives a little- or was that the bone in my leg- when I hit it. The pain hisses out through my teeth, accompanied by a few choice words.

"Mulder ??" Scully's voice floats eerily out of the darkness. "Are you okay ?"

"Just...find a light..." I mutter, as soon as I find my voice.

There is the sound of her stumbling over to the wall, and then the flip of a switch bathes the room in the yellowish glow of a single dingy light bulb. "That's bureaucracy for you." I tell her, pointing to the dying light. "State of the art defense systems, billions spent on covert projects, and they still can't even replace lightbulbs."

"I don't think we're anywhere important." she says, looking around the room.

I think she's right. Obviously it's nothing more than a linen closet- a far cry from the weapons store I'd been hoping for- with shelves of neatly folded scrubs lining the walls and a large laundry cart taking up most of the space in the middle of the room, the culprit for my bruised knee.

And that's when the idea comes.

"I have a plan." I announce, talking in Scully's general direction though I'm not looking at her. My eyes are following my brain around the room, and I can almost hear the wheels grinding as I put the pieces together.

"Well let's hear it."

"We're gonna walk out of here."

Her left eyebrow arches up but I have to give her credit- she doesn't laugh out loud at least. "O-k. We just walk out like it's nothing wrong."

"That's the gist of it, anyway. Actually you and his littleness will be in here..." I point to the cart. "And I'll be pushing like any other of the dutiful minions around here. After I get into a pair of scrubs, of course."

She's hesitating, letting her analytical side determine the merit of the idea. Her head dips in a slow nod, and her eyebrow drops back to normal. "Nice idea." she agrees.

I toss her a rogue's smile. "That's why they call me Bond. James Bond."

"Well, Mr. Bond" she returns my grin. "Let me help you out of that shirt. Are you still bleeding ?"

"I"m not sure." I take a glance down at my arms. "There's so much it's hard to tell if it's even all mine much less old from new." It was true. I looked like a butcher. I didn't feel much different.

She carefully lays the baby on a pile of uniforms and then turns back to me. "Can you move it ?"

I make an attempt to raise my arm past my waist and a grimace turns my face inside out. "Not much."

"Then this might hurt a little."

"Isn't that what the doctors always say before sticking the needle in you ?"

Her face pales a little and when she speaks her voice has lowered. "No."

I kick myself. Oh way to go Mulder. Just go and remind her of all the experiments. James Bond all right. Real smooth. "Huh, I'm sorry." I say, noticing with sudden and great interest the way the light played along a crack near my toe. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know." she interrupts, placing one hand on the side of my face and pulling my eyes up to face her. Her eyes cut through my guilt and confusion, not hard and condemning like I expected, but soft and warm. She has forgiven me my demons and sent them shrieking back into the abyss that spawned them. Her gaze heals mine a moment longer before the corners of her mouth crease into a smile. "Now let's go. This place has taken enough of our time as it is."

Five minutes later I have learned something new about Scully. She may not look it, but she has several merciless bones in her body. She got me out of my shirt sure enough- wrenching my arm into at several new and different shapes in the process. Or at least that's what it felt like at any rate.

"Agent Scully, you are enjoying this far too much." I say through gritted teeth. Her hands flutter deftly around my arm, cool like ice but melting my skin as she wraps the wound in a strip of cloth torn from my old prison uniform.

"Maybe, but we're all done now. The bleeding's almost stopped. You shouldn't have any problems." She tossed me a new pair of pants. "Put on those. I suppose you can manage that on your own."

"I'm not sure-" I begin, only to be cut off as she glares up at me. "Hey, I had to try." I smile sheepishly.

"I'll bet you did." she turns around, picking up the baby in the process. "Now hurry in case the guards wise up and come back here for us."

"Yes Commandante." I mutter, but I do hurry. She still has a gun and the will to use it if I don't.

Squeak. Squeak. There's a loose wheel on the left side of the cart that sounds like I've stepped on a mouse or something but I guess it just adds the effect. We've made our way through three hallways now, and passed the usual collection of scientists and more than a few guards- they must be getting nervous right about now that two of their little lab rats are still on the loose- but no one has recognized me. I'll have to give Scully credit for that- it was her idea for me to wear a surgical mask over my face. It'll keep my identity secret and give the impression that there's something in the dirty laundry that requires me to wear one, which could help us out. Speaking of Scully I'm starting to wonder if she's still alive. The pile of uniforms on top of her hasn't moved a bit since we started rolling.

I turn a corner and my breath is suddenly caught in the back of my throat. There's the door. At the end of the hallway. This is it. We're doing this. We're actually doing this. I force myself to keep from running or shouting or even smiling. One step after another. Take it slow and take it easy, just like you've done this so many times it's boring you out of your head.

Squeak. Squeak. The hallway is no longer than the rest we've traveled through today, but it seems to stretch for miles, my footsteps echoing like thunder on the floor. I am less than five feet away when a man wearing the olive green uniform of a soldier notices me.

"You !" he barks, breaking way from the patrol he led to trot over to me. "Stop !"

The muscles in my lower back freeze on instinct, and I slow the cart to a halt. The only question in my mind is whether I shoot him now or wait for him to make the first move. I remind myself to breath. And to relax. You have nothing to hide Mulder, nothing.

"Is there a problem sir ?" My voice is muffled by the mask, and I hope he doesn't make me take it off.

"You know this door if off limits to the janitorial staff." he says, glaring at my over the end of his gun.

"Yes sir." Whatever he says.

"Then why are you taking it ?"

"I'm new here, sir. I couldn't find it." Yeah that's it. I'll play it stupid and get directions out of here.

The soldier gives me a sneer meant to remind me of the scum I am. Let him grin. The big bosses will have his butt made into meatloaf when they find he let two subjects walk out right under his nose. "You follow this corridor to the right. It's on the end. Do you think that's easy enough for you to find ?"

I ignore the temptation to match his sarcasm and smile underneath the mask. "I think I can manage. Thank you sir."

And with another sneer, the superior life form turns back to his men. I roll my eyes once his back is turned. Jerks like him make me doubt the feasibility of natural selection. But never mind the insanity of it. I wheel the cart right and head for the door at the end of the hall.

The door doesn't lead outside, as I was hoping, but into a garage of sorts. There are several jeeps, probably the preferred form of on-base transportation around here, with their respective mechanics tinkering away underneath the hood or simply polishing their babies. They don't catch my eye as much as the trucks. There are two of them, both covered with a drab green-brown canvas. The back end of one is open; obviously they're transporting something. Out of the corner of my eye I notice more carts like mine sitting in front of it, some empty, some full, some partially full.

They're getting rid of their dirty laundry. Talk about your perfect timing. No one seems to notice me as I push the cart along the cement floor until I'm alongside the truck. There's another janitor loading his cart as well. What I know is I need to get rid of him. What I don't know is how to do it without attracting attention. I decide to take the friendly approach.

"Bum job, huh." I say by way of introduction, conveniently grabbing a handful of laundry out of my cart and throwing it in the back of the truck.

"Yeah, but it pays." The man is smoking and he takes a long draw from his cigarette and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, staring at me through it. "You must be a newbie. I ain't seen you before."

"It's my third day here." I extend my hand. "The name's Hancock. George Hancock."

"Well Hancock," another drag from the cigarette- from the looks of it this guy could rival the CSM as largest single supporter of Morley Inc- and he shakes my hand. "Welcome to the freak show."

"Yeah." I look around and shrug my shoulders like I'm shuddering. "I want to leave already, and it's only the start of my shift."

"I'm off in-" he checks his watch. "Five and it can't be bloody soon enough."

I pause a minute then smile in the epitome of friendliness. "Well if it's that soon, just take off. I'll finish your cart." He takes the bait almost immediately. "All right then. Thanks a lot, pal. "

"Don't mention it." My smile drains as soon as he vanishes around the corner. Then I double-time it back to the laundry cart. "Move it Scully. We've got about five minutes to get our seats out of here."

She emerges from the pile of clothes looking mildly surprised but she asks no questions, merely hands me the baby and allows me to help her out of the cart. The paranoia voices are shrieking loudly in my head and I hurry her into the back, handing her child and then give the whole scene one more glance before I join her. She's already burrowed down into the clothes so that only her shoulders and face is showing. I spread a handful of clothes over her, reminding myself that now was not the time to re-notice the way the fine features of her face remind me of a porcelain doll, or something equally as delicate.

I gulp back my emotions and begin to cover myself with clothes, trying not to imagine what various and sundry nasty germs could be swarming over my body. Ewww. It's not working. Nothing you haven't been exposed to before, Mulder. I try to logical approach with myself, hoping it will work for once. And probably in a lot smaller quantities.

The thought is still lingering in my mind like a bad odor when a low rumble that vibrates up and down my lower body signifies that the truck is starting. Wherever it is going, so are we. For better or for worse. It's the worse part that worries me, and that's why the remaining gun is clenched tightly in my left fist. The crumbling of gravel underneath the wheels and the occasional jar of potholes tells me that we have left concrete onto a dirt road of some sort. I almost take a deep breath before I remember what is covering my face. Everything is proceeding with a sort of eerie smoothness.

Which brings the phrase "here we go again" to mind, although I don't know why.

We're stopping. It's about time. The lower half of my back- my butt included- is about the consistency of day old jelly, due to the somewhat bumpy ride. The baby started to wail twice but the roar of the engines must have drowned him out because the driver never so much as slowed speeds. Now that I know we're somewhere, the key is where. We've been driving for a while, long enough to leave the base or whatever compound they'd kept all of us in.

A few silent seconds pass after the engine dies and I figure I'd better be coming up to take a look at things. Slowly I sit up, flinging an especially smelly shirt away from my face. Shaking my head to clear the ringing in my ears, I get a look at our final stop.

Only to find I am staring into hell.

An incinerator. A large incinerator, belching up sparks and shimmering waves of fiery heat that kiss my face like the angel of Death. "Schully-" her name is mangled by my fear. No, by my terror. Fire. Burning. I cringe away in horror, imagining my flesh shriveling away from my bones. Imagining Scully screaming beside me and me paralyzed in the same death.

"Oh dear God..." She gasps, emerging to see the same horrible gate dancing before her eyes. "Mulder...we...we've got to get out of here. Now."

She's right. We have to leave. Have to get out, away from the hungry flames. But the slow grinding of machinery freezes my joints as horrible realization descends upon my mind, sending it reeling in agony. We're being dumped. Into the flame. Into the furnace. Into Hell.

Scully faces me, terror playing havoc with the normal mask of calm she wears. She is begging me to find a way out of this. I'm trying, I'm trying but options are disappearing as rapidly as the first of the clothes when the tongues of fire lick them up. Even the canvas of the truck itself is scorched black.

The canvas. Tied onto the truck by... !rope! I grab Scully's hand and half-drag her up the now slanted floor of the truck, through the river of clothing sliding around us, and push her up into a far corner near the top. "Hold onto the rope." I thread my hand through one of the loopholes. "Like this."

The bed of the truck continues to rise, higher and higher. Scully is clutching her baby to her chest, maternal instincts in full force, trying to ignoring it's squalling as she concentrates on maintaining her footing. Her hand releases mine to grasp a piece of rope and the unthinkable happens. She slips. It is almost as she is floating in space, her eyes fastening on mine in a silent scream of utter hopelessness and futile agony.

Then she falls.

A tortured scream erupts from my throat, rising even over the morbid laughter of the furnace as I grab for her wildly, my fist closing around a handful of air. She is plunging to her death. All I can do is follow her. So I do. I release my rope and push my body in a slide down the truck bed. She is a matter of feet away from me, screaming now, and for all my frenzy I fear I am too far.

My body slams into hers a moment later, hurtling us both forward at an even greater speed. A few more seconds and it is over. I pull her against me, imagining I can shield her from the wrath to come. My left hand fumbles along the wall of the truck and then abruptly snags on something that chafes like rope. Instinctively my fingers close around it in a death grip.

The sudden stop jerks our bodies back. A scream of red hot pain rips up my arm and out my lips. A different kind of fire spreads from the wound in my shoulder, soaking my sleeve in fresh blood. I can feel my body begin to shake.

Scully is dead weight for now, her arms wrapped around me like iron, the baby pinned between our bodies. I open my mouth to vent the agony only to find that I cannot even scream for my vocal cords have failed me. My eyes fall below us to the penalty if I should weaken my grip.

I draw a deep shuddering breath, preparing myself for my own private torture session, and begin to pull us up. Wave after wave of pain smashes into me from all directions, compounded by the scorching heat blistering my ankles and feet. Pull. Release. Pull. Release. Two simple commands, reinforced through my brain with every motion until I reach the top of the truck. I wrap the rope around my whole arm, ignoring the way my flesh quivers in pain as the coarse strands sink over my wound.

We wait. Forever it would seem, as I stare over Scully's head to the flames that continue to reach out for us. Her face is pushed flat against my stomach, and I feel her lips move in prayer. The baby continues to scream. though I can't blame him. I wish I could scream. I would if I had the strength. Right now it is all I can do to hold on, every muscle in my body rigid in protest. Just hold on for one second. Now one second more. You can manage one second. That's it. One second again.

Through the dull symphony of pain inside my head, my ears filter the sound of machinery again. We're being lowered. It's over. The relief is small consolation to what is left of my body. I refuse to let go, of either the truck or Scully, until the final gear has clanked into place and we are lying flat again. Only to find that I can't let go. My weary muscles have locked in position during my fight to hang onto life. I groan as the truck jolts forward, tearing me in half.

Scully disentangles herself from me, urging the baby to hush, although he's only fussing from the sound of it. I can't see her- my eyes can't focus through the red haze I am lost in- but I hear her voice calling as if from very far away.

"Oh Mulder..." She sounds like an angel. Perhaps I am dying. Her hands touch my left arm- and this time I don't even bother trying to hold back the small outcry that melts along with my strength from my lips. The rope has grown teeth, it would seem, and they are shredding my flesh. Make it stop Scully. Make it stop. I feel her fingers pull on the rope, and the sudden pain conjures up enough adrenaline for a louder shout. But then I am free.

"We have to get out." she tells me. The words fall into my ears garbled, like underwater. Yes Scully. We have to get out. I know that, but there is something keeping me from moving that I'm not quite sure what. I have learned something, however. Pain is not a feeling. Pain is a color. The color of my blood. Pain is a choice, not a welcome one, but one I chose for her. Only for her.

I grit my teeth together and break the invisible tentacles binding me down. Her touch is magic, wherever her hands are there is no pain, and I follow her hands forward, letting them guide me when my eyes cannot.

"We're going to have to jump." she tells me. "Before we get going fast."

Jump? That sounds like it's going to hurt...my feet leave the truck of their own accord and I am airborne again, but this time nothing stops my fall until I crash into the ground with all the grace of a downed freight plane. A small thud beside me signifies she's down too.

The shock of the initial impact actually helps. It clears the fog from my head, and I realize he can still spot us. She is thinking the same thing, already on her feet, and I drag my body up to follow her. We run, crouched low to the ground like animals, until the safety of the trees welcomes us with open arms. But we do not stop. He might have seen us. He might be stopping right now, or radioing for backup.

My body has resigned to its fate, pain fading into a welcome state of numbness apart from my feet, which got a little too close to the fire and the forest floor is not kind to burns. Scully is beside me, watching me with one eye and the trees with the other. After a few minutes, my lungs adjust to the slow but unaccustomed pace and begin to breathe with me, and I have regained enough of my balance to avoid ripping off any more toenails. Scully jogs slightly ahead of me, her hair glinting gold when the sun peeks through the trees.

She has fought hard for her freedom today. I have fought hard for her. And now the breeze is at our backs and blowing from our minds the stench of the cells and the chemicals and the horrors behind us.

We. Are. Free.

Through a window, I watch the ghostly ship of the moon travel through a sea of stars above us. I had almost forgotten the way it leaves a wake of silver over the world, or the way the night breezes can feel so deliciously cool on ones skin. The dusty sweet scent of hay fills my nostrils, as does the fresh scent of night. The smell of freedom. My eyes meander slowly from the canvas of the sky to the walls around us. They were painted the sort of deep red that most barns usually are, but the slow fingers of time and rain and wind have chipped away the paint and splintered the wood. But still, it is heaven to me. The colorless confines of my cell had wreaked havoc on my spirit, for I am like a bird in that I yearn for the endless expanses of sky and ocean.
A slender charcoal shadow blacks out the moonlight in front of me and I look up to see Scully returning from giving her baby his dinner outside. Her face has been kissed silver by the moon, but it is glowing from the inside out. I cannot tear my eyes away as she crosses the room and folds her body into a sitting position. The lines of her lips dance in the soft light , murmuring little bits of nothing to him.

She is so close, and I can smell the night in her hair. Before I can think, or breathe, or wonder what I am doing, my hand reaches out tentatively to take one spun silk strand of her hair between my fingers. I have to touch her, to know that this is real and not another dream from which reality will pry me kicking and screaming. Her mouth freezes mid-word, and she turns her face toward me, melting her eyes into mine. I notice the ugly splotch of bruised flesh across her cheekbone where the doctor hit her.

I brush the spot gently with my fingertips, trying to absorb the pain. Her skin is satin soft, but so pale, like bleached ivory. Her hand flies to my face, tracing the outline of my eyes and nose slowly. She seems to realize what she is doing and abruptly pulls away.

"I'm sorry..." she breathes. "It's just that-"

"I know." I cover her hand with mine. "I had to see if it was real too."

" I keep thinking that the doctors will be here soon." she shakes her head. "It's been a long dark journey."

"But it's over." I remind her. " we are here now, alive and free. And no one- no one- is going to be able to hurt you ever again. You or your baby." I don't add what I am thinking. They won't hurt her because of me, because I won't give them reason to. Even if it kills me I am going to make sure she raises her son in peace and safety. If my life will buy that much, then I am worth at least a little.

"Don't leave me Mulder." My eyes snap back to hers in surprise that she's read my mind. "This hasn't been your fault. Yes, it was a nightmare. But look at the dream it has brought me." She holds the baby out to me. I glance from it to her in uncertainty. She wants me to...hold it ???

"He won't bite." she laughs, the sound skipping gaily through the moonlight. I haven't heard her laugh like that in so long.

He is no longer than my arms as I gingerly take him from her, and his face lights with a toothless smile, gurgling up at me merrily. She plants a kiss on top of the brown fuzz on his head.

"He's beautiful." she says, a wonderful contentment in her words that she has never had before. "And he looks like you." She dares to look at me with something akin to hope.

Despite the seductive happiness of the thought, I shake my head. "We don't know. It may be..." I choose my words carefully, not wanting to steal any of her bliss. "like Emily."

"I thought about that." she said frankly. "But in all truth I don't think he is. I heard a little of what they said, and I think they made him normal as part of a control group." There was a long moment of silence, and she brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. "I want you to know that I'll always think of him as yours."

"Scully you don't have to convince me. If you believe, I believe." I can't tell her it's what I've always wanted, that I'll love it because it is part of her. "But we need to think of a name."

Her eyes dance like fireflies in the night. "I can think of one."

"No- don't even think of it." I sputter. "No one deserves the name "Fox. Not me, and definitely not him."

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of Sam."

Samantha. Sam. I am promptly knocked speechless, and hand her the baby before I drop it. A sliver of concern crosses her face.

"You don't like the name ?" she asks me, tiny furrows rippling her forehead.

"I like it." I hand Sam my finger, and he grabs it with all the grip his little body can muster. "Sam huh ?"

"Yeah. Samuel Ahab."

"It fits him perfectly. He'll be a fighter."

"Like his father." Her eyes are boring into me. She won't give the idea up and if I'm not careful, I'll let it into my head too.

"I hope so." is all I can say. It would be too much to wish for really, but I still hope so.

The hours have flown across the night like doves on wing, and now Sleeping Beauty and her little prince are far and away in dreamland. I hold one of her hands gently in mine, running my thumb across her knuckles in tune to my thoughts.

We'll make it back to civilization, eventually. I don't how long we've been gone, but it seems like forever. There'll be questions. A lot of questions. And medical exams, no doubt. I suppress a shudder at the thought of ever having to see a examining table again and wonder if Scully feels the same way. If she does, I won't let them near her. It may be overly protective, even for me, but I have sworn to make her forget this little segment of our lives. Which brings me to the one thing we can't erase. Samuel Ahab Scully. There'll be a lot of raised eyebrows, hints at scandal, and even outright accusations. I feel a wry smile spread across my face. This one outta wake the whole Bureau up. Spooky and the Ice Queen finally got it on.

If only that had been the case.

Instead we lived through the unthinkable. Call it hell, call it a nightmare call it staring down death through a sheet of clear plastic. But the point is we lived. Once we return to home I will make sure we continue to. We meaning the three of us. I'm already attached to Sam and if They think they can take him, well they've yet to meet me armed and unmedicated. Then we'll see who comes out on top. The fruit of revenge is sweet, perhaps, but it is no more than Wormwood to me. I might have gleaned short satisfaction from watching our tormentors die, but I couldn't be happier than to spend the rest of my life like I am now, watching the woman I would die for sleep with her son. And with that image burning clear in the velvet black backdrop of my mind, I close my eyes.

I don't have to see Scully anymore.

Because I can hold the magic of her hand in mine, feel her essence pulsing with her blood through the arteries at her wrist.

And no matter what, I will never let her go.