Title: Abandoned Spaces
Author: Jori
Rating: NC-17

Summary:Held captive, Scully once again has her mettle tested, as she undergoes unknown experiments and wild dream states.

The room is so large I can't make out the other side. Large, white and bare. The light filters in as if through an early morning fog, and I am unsure of the source of either the light or the haze. It isn't warm, nor is it comforting. It is merely there, like overhead lighting in a train station. No one cares about it; they only pass under it.

Mulder and I face each other, each of us sitting on our own uncomfortable, ladder-back chair with only a few feet separating us. I want to reach for him, but my arms won't move off of my lap. He doesn't reach for me, either.

I am unsure as to how we both ended up together in this room. My mind is almost positive that he wasn't with me when I first arrived at this place. He is trying to say something to me, but it is as if he is talking through a radio I just can't tune right. No matter how hard I try, I keep passing by the words that would be his. All I know is my head hurts and I can't tune in Mulder.

"Scully, I ca... " he starts to say, but once again the end of his sentence is lost. Focus, Dana. If I focus more, I will be able to hear him. Maybe he has all the answers to how we ended up here together.

"Mulder, I can't understand you. Help me understand," I plead, as my head starts to throb harder.

"Scully, I can't save you," he says, and I don't understand what he is supposed to save me from. We are together, and we appear to be safe.

My head hurts so much, and he just keeps trying to talk. I look at him and he sounds far away. So very far away.

"Mulder, my head hurts," is all I can say, and I want to move my hands up to caress my temples, but my arms are glued to my lap. The more I try to move them, the heavier they become.

"Scully, you've got to figure out how to save yourself. Play his game, let him think he's in control, all the while you maintain the real control," he says, and instead of sounding far away, his voice has grown incredibly loud.

"I don't know what you mean," I say, wishing he'd get to the point before my head splits. Mulder never gets to the fucking point, and when he does, half the time it makes no sense. Especially not when my headache is now approaching the size of Texas.

"One of us has to live. For Christopher," he says, and then he falls silent. No off-tune humming, no static. Nothing but peaceful silence.

"Christopher?" I ask, as it slowly dawns on me that we have a child. How could I forget?

"I have to go now, Scully," he says, his voice booming and echoing around the white room again, "You can do it."

He is gone off of the chair. Just gone, as if he vanished into thin air.

"Mulder!" I cry out, but he doesn't come back.

Instead I feel someone kicking at me. I can't see them, and am only able to feel their actions on my body. My arms finally move and grasp at what feels like sand. I know Mulder is close for I can feel him near and I recognize his now familiar scent. Why doesn't he stop this person from kicking me?

My eyes flicker open, and I realize the white room was all a dream. Mulder being here with me was a dream, and the only reason I felt he was near is that his trench coat is folded up under my head, serving as a pillow. I can only hold my eyes open for a second, wanting so badly to go back to that room.

"Looky here. The bitch is finally waking up," a voice says from over me, and I can feel the panic rise in my throat. 'Save yourself. Play his game' echo through my head again and again, and I fight to open my eyes.

"Mulch," comes out of my parched throat, making barely more than a creaking sound.

"Give her something to drink, Mulch. I'll be back in two hours. Make sure she is out again by the time I'm back. And don't touch her," a voice says. The voice is familiar, yet I cannot place it. It could be the man who brought me here. My headache wasn't part of the dream, that is for sure. What did that man inject me with? I vaguely remember being given an intramuscular injection, through the material of my pants, in my left thigh. The pierce of the needle quickly faded as the drugs washed over me and drowned me in sleep.

The list of possible sedatives ticks through the narcosis; possibly a benzodiazepine, barbiturate, opiates, maybe even propofol. The nausea associated with high doses of narcotics isn't present, so I mark that one as unlikely. Propofol can cause livid dreams, but I've got a headache. I'm disoriented... has to be a benzodiazepine. Any second year med student would know that benzodiazepines are the hypnotic of choice.

Everything is spinning and blurry, and I try to wipe my eyes only to find that I have handcuffs on. Probably my own. My legs are also now bound and I feel like hell. I don't know where I am or how I got here. I struggle to sit up so I can face Mulch directly.

"What did he inject me with?" I ask, wondering how long this muddled haze would carry on in my brain.

"Couldn't pronounce it if I tried, but it looks like some mighty good shit. You know, with the way you were moaning and screaming. Jesus, woman. You see him every God damn day at work and you dream about him. Is he that good of a fuck?" Mulch asks, and I realize I must have screamed out Mulder's name.

"May I have some water?" I ask, too tired and weak to parry his antagonism.

"You gotta beg for it," he says. I can see him through my clouded vision, teasing me with a water bottle. My head is really pounding too much for this crap.

What now? Do I say please, and see what he requires of me next? Do I just go thirsty until whoever that was gets back and gives me water?

Damn it. Mulder is so much better at dealing with these hostage situations than I am. 'Play his game' rings through my mind, but to what end? My own death?

"Please," I say flatly.

"Only if you do to me what you do to him," he says snidely. My vision is slowly clearing and I can see him looming large over me.

"Mr. Mulch, Agent Mulder and I have been partners for many years and have been in many dire situations together, so I would naturally call out his name under duress," I say, hoping he believes the half-truth I tell him.

"And I have bridge to sell you in New York City," he says, as he pulls up an old folding chair and plants himself squarely in front of me.

I begin to survey my surroundings, trying to get my bearings as to where I might be. The structure looks like it has been long abandoned, and reddish sand has filtered in and covered the floor. There is no furniture, except whatever Mulch and my abductor brought in. All the windows are broken out, and torn, faded curtains flutter in and out of them. The sun is starting to trickle through the shattered panes, so I must have been out for several hours. The only other house I can see through the nearest window is in the same stage of disrepair.

"Just give me a sip so I can talk to you without sounding hoarse," I say, and am surprised when he actually hands me the bottle. I gulp down as much as I can before he swipes it away from my hands, before any thoughts of bathroom facilities enter my head.

He retreats back to his chair and I scoot up against the wall, trying to use Mulder's jacket as a backrest. We face each other, contestants in some game of wills.

"Here's how I see it," he starts, taking a swig out of the bottle I just drank from, "You are fucking this Mulder guy, because, well, hell, I don't know why. I thought he was a God damn prick but maybe he's a great piece of ass. Anyway, you fuck him on the road. And I think the man who gave you this is named Christopher."

He holds up his little finger, and my engagement ring is on it. My heart sinks in my chest at the thought of that man wearing it. I never appreciated it the way I should have. I never appreciated exactly what it meant until now. Mulch doesn't even know who it came from and I can't tell him.

"So, who in the hell is Christopher?" he asks.

I must have called out Christopher's name, too. I'm not telling him I have a child. This man tortured those women's children, too. He would have no sympathy, just more questions.

"Why do you care so much, Mulch? Was prison that lonely that you need to hear about my life?" I ask.

"Nope. That's not it at all. I always like to test the waters before I take a dip," he says to me, and slowly licks his lips.

"How long do you expect this to go on, Mulch? I'm sure people are looking for me by now," I say, hoping he realizes the consequences of his actions.

"Not your boyfriend, though. Oh, no. He ain't gonna be looking for your sweet ass no more," Mulch says, laughing.

"Why should I believe you?" I ask. How would this man know where Mulder is?

"I've got this," he says, as he holds up Mulder's badge, "And this."

Mulder's weapon. My mind tells me that it doesn't mean anything. He's lost his gun before. I've even had my weapon taken from me. It is an embarrassing thing to have happen and requires a truckload of paperwork explaining the incident.

"And I thought this was a fucking hoot. I always wanted to get me one of these," Mulch says, pulling up the hem of his pants, showing off an ankle holster.

My head reels for another moment, but I still tell myself it means nothing. Mulder could be in another house like this. He could even be in this one as far as I can tell. They have my weapon, so I'm sure they would have his. That is why he didn't meet me. They met up with him first. And Fowley. They probably have her weapon, too. Skinner has got to know we are all missing by now. Someone has to be looking for me, for us. My car would be found by the next shift in the morning. It would be eight hours before anyone even noticed I was gone if Mulder was taken first.

"What do they want, Mulch?" I ask.

"You know, they never really said. Not that I'd tell a Fed bitch like you," he says, making himself more comfortable on his little metal chair.

"They must need me for something, and they must need you, too. Do you think these people do anything without expecting something in return?" I ask him, and he just glares at me.

"I've been waiting for these fucks to pay me back for years. They owe me, not the other way around," he says, as he stands up and walks over to a shattered window.

"What do they owe you for, Ronnie?" I ask, hoping my use of his first name might loosen him up a bit. My best judgment says I need him to think I'm his friend. Is that right? I can't remember.

"None of your fucking business," he says to me, obviously not wanting to give me his 'friendship' in return.

He doesn't say anything else, just leaves me be sitting against an old, dilapidated wall in some run down house in East Rat Head, New Mexico. I will have to ask to go to the bathroom soon. I'm sure he will love that.

My breasts are also getting heavy. That is just what I would need right now. If I start leaking breast milk, Mulch will start to figure out more than he needs to. I take my arms and try to press against them as best I can with handcuffs on. Come on body, don't let me down now. It is bad enough I'll probably never be able to nurse my baby again. I might not ever see my baby again. Even when I do, I have no idea what drugs they are using or how long it might stay in my system.

"So, how long have you been cheating on your fiancé?" Mulch asks.

"Come on, leave it alone already," I say back to him, not wanting to deal with this man and his pitiful questions anymore.

"Listen, bitch. I hold your life in my hands. I will ask you whatever I fucking want to ask you," he yells at me, spit flying out of his mouth.

I retreat, and do not make eye contact with him again. All I can do is sit there and listen to him until I'm rescued or drugged or whatever my fate may hold.

"Mulch, I really need to use the bathroom before you dope me up again. Did any of you think of that?" I ask.

"Of course we did. We didn't want you pissin' all over the place," he says, as he comes towards me.

"Thank you," I say as he unbinds my feet and pulls me up so I can walk to where ever it may be he is taking me. Where he takes me is into this tiny, dark closet near the back of the house. They have provided me with a bucket and a roll of toilet paper. Lovely. It will have to do until I can get out of here. I'm surprised Mulch doesn't watch me as I figure out how to do this with cuffs on. Mercifully, he shuts the door, leaving me and the bucket alone in the dark. I still haven't figured him out, but I sense he doesn't really want to hurt me. Either that, or the other man's orders not to touch me have some strong consequences behind them. God, I hope so.

"You almost through in there?" Mulch says as he bangs loudly on the door.

"Yes. One second," I call back, as I stuff toilet paper into my bra, hoping it isn't too noticeable yet that it is enough to contain any leaks that might occur.

I walk out and he escorts me back to the spot I was in before. He grabs a roll of tape and binds my ankles again. Where in the hell do they think I'm going to run to? Mulch doesn't seem to interested in me right now, so I lie my head down on Mulder's jacket, and shut my eyes. My headache has abated as the drug I was given has run its course through my body. I know they are going to drug me again. Mulch is going to inject me. Maybe he will let me do it myself.

I am nearly asleep when Mulch rouses me with his foot again. I open my eyes to see him above me with a needle.

"Listen, don't give any trouble with this, you hear?" he says to me.

"Mulch, do you know what you are doing?" I ask, as I try to back away.

"Never shot up myself. Watched my cell mate do it all the time," Mulch says, as if that qualifies him.

"I'm a doctor. Will you at least follow what I tell you?" I ask him, hoping he will go along with me.

"If you are a doctor, why are you wasting your time in a pathetic career like the FBI? I don't believe you, bitch," he says to me, and comes closer with the needle.

"I am a forensic pathologist. I do autopsies. I search for evidence that criminals didn't even know existed on the dead bodies they leave behind. Like those dead girls you left behind," I say, and he stops his approach.

"Did you find anything?" he asks, without even a hint of remorse in his voice.

"I might have. Now just listen to me," I tell him. He stops and listens to my careful instructions on how to inject whatever the hell that might be into me.

It doesn't take long for everything to go all hazy again.

I am standing center court in what appears to be a high school gymnasium. There are signs up wishing the home team good luck, but I can't make out the school's name or mascot. It certainly isn't where I went to school. The bleachers are empty and all is quiet. I just stand, waiting. From out of nowhere, I hear a basketball being dribbled behind me.

"Hi, Dana," Mulder says, as if it is perfectly normal that we would be in this place and perfectly normal for him to call me by my first name.

"Hi, yourself," I say, looking shyly away from him as if I'm back in my teen years. Back to the years when I might have been on a high school basketball court talking to some guy. But this isn't just some guy. This is Mulder.

He is dressed in shirt and tie, and that seems incredibly out of place here. He starts playing with the ball, spinning it on his finger as if he was a damn Globetrotter. Mulder has turned into fucking Meadowlark Lemon.

"You cuss a lot more in your head then I thought you would," he says to me as he tosses me the ball.

"How do you know what I do in my head?" I ask, unsure of whether this is reality or not. I'm also not sure whether he expects me to start dribbling the ball around and between my legs before passing it back to him. I will have to assume he wouldn't.

"Because I know. I'm here right now, aren't I?" he asks.

"I don't know. Are you?" I ask back, tossing the ball so hard it thumps him on the chest. He starts to dribble around me, before running to a basket and making a lay-up shot.

"Nothin' but net!" he shouts, childlike, as the ball hits the backboard, clumsily circles the hoop several times before finally sinking through.

"That was more than net," I tell him as he walks back towards me.

"Nothing gets by you."

"Mulder, what are you doing here?" I ask.

"I should be asking what you are doing here, Dana. Or do you want me to call you Scully even in your own head?" he asks. I nod yes, not wanting to cross into any more unfamiliarity.

"Why wouldn't I be here? Where is here?" I ask, as I try to read the signs better.

"You, Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, are smack dab in the middle of my high school gym," he says, as he starts to dribble the ball again, "And since I didn't know you in high school, I don't know why you would be here. Especially wearing that. We didn't have uniforms, though after seeing you, I wish we did."

I look down at myself do discover I am now wearing my Catholic school uniform from my days at St. Mary's. Jeesh. How embarrassing, especially with Mulder leering at me. It isn't even a replica of my uniform from high school. No, I'm stuck in my little girl uniform whose hem falls well above my knee.

I look around again. This could be any gym in any American high school from the time Mulder and I were in school. There is no telling if it is really the one he went to, considering I can't make out the damn signs on the wall clearly. What in the hell high school did Mulder go to, anyway? For the life of me, I can't remember right now.

"Don't believe me, do you? That's okay. You never do," Mulder says, as he tries to make a shot from mid-court.

"I believe in you, Mulder. I just don't believe in *this,*" I say, as I point around the room.

"That's okay. I remember it. I remember everything, of course," he says, as he retrieves his basketball and stands with it tucked under his arm against his hip.

"Mulder, can I ask you something?"

"Anything you want," he says.

"Are you dead?" I ask bluntly.

He is silent. Or I am silent. I don't know who is doing the talking here.

"I don't really know. I hope not," he says.

"I hope not, either," I tell him as I start walking towards him.

"Want to play a little one on one?" he asks me, tossing me the ball.

"No. You don't want to be humiliated by having a Catholic school girl kick your ass," I tell him, as I start to dribble the ball.

"Come on, Scully. It might be our last chance," he says, and I miss the next beat of the bouncing ball. It slowly makes its way across the court, coming to a stop against the bleachers.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask. Maybe this isn't just some figment of my imagination. Maybe it is Mulder trying to tell me something. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Nothing. It doesn't mean anything. I just like being here with you," he says, as he walks over to get the ball again.

"Mulder, if this really was our last chance to do something together, why basketball?" I ask, finding it puzzling.

"I don't know. I'll try to come up with something better next time. Not that I'm entirely to blame here. It is your dream," he says, as he throws me the ball again.

"Well, I guess we have to make the best of it," I say, as I make the mid-court shot Mulder had just missed a few minutes ago.

"Jesus, Scully. Is there anything else I don't know about you?" Mulder asks, looking shocked by my basket.

"Hang around. Maybe you will learn something."

Mulder and I are sitting up high in the bleachers in a dark corner of the gym, like errant high schoolers hiding out from all authority figures. Actually, he is leaning back against the bleacher behind us while I straddle his lap, grinding into him teasingly. I remember walking in on my best friend and her boyfriend doing this once when I was a freshman, long before I ever had a boyfriend serious enough to risk expulsion for.

Like a couple of kids, we are passing a piece of sour apple candy back and forth, from my mouth to his, with every kiss. We don't close our eyes during this game, instead choosing to up the intensity by watching the exploration of each other's mouth, searching greedily for a square of sour candy. Our kisses are getting more fevered, the combined heat melting the clear green candy smaller and smaller. His tongue darts into my mouth, searching for the tiny, sugary prize, sweeping it back into his mouth with ease.

"You've had more practice using your tongue," I say, as I lean back away from his mouth. The lower part of his face is now sticky and wet with melted candy and my saliva, and he teasingly offers up the candy to me again on the tip of his tongue. How can I resist? Finally, our game is through, for the little square of candy becomes too small to find easily. Mulder crunches the sour remains of it away as I gently wipe at the corners of his mouth with my thumbs. I find myself tracing across his sticky bottom lip just a little longer than necessary.

"Thank God for these skirts, Scully," Mulder says, as I begin to grind against him once more. I can feel him, hard underneath me, and I am so sure he is here with me. He has to be, right? I can feel *him* through his pants.

"This isn't what I wore in high school, Mulder. If I did, I might have tried this more often," I tell him.

He pulls back and looks at me, startled, but smiling.

"Okay, I might have tried this at least once," I say, a blush rising up to my cheeks.

My white cotton school girl panties have been cast aside a long time ago, but Mulder is still all zipped up. Why doesn't he make the move to free himself from those pants? Why don't I make the move to free him. God, I'm so confused.

Finally, his fingers move down between my thighs, and he finds just the right spot. Mulder has to be here, where ever here is. Slowly, his thumb circles my clitoris, and I involuntarily moan out his name. I can hardly think, and my head is pounding under this new found rush. His fingers sink into me, and I find myself bouncing up and down on his hand, wanting more, not caring how foolish this looks. Maybe he can't give me more. I look into his eyes, and he is here, yet somewhere else at the same time. So far away. An orgasm rips through my body from the stimulation, and my cries echo through the hallow gymnasium. I fall on to him, my chest heaving, trying to catch my next breath.

"I certainly never did that in high school," I whisper to him.

"We need to talk before I have to go," he tells me, his tone becoming serious.

"About what?" I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks, as he slowly buttons my blouse again. I can feel him under me, and I can feel his fingers tug my white, cotton blouse shut, but he still feels far away. Even while I'm kissing him.

"So far, I'm okay. I'm sure I'll be fine, Mulder," I say.

I hope I don't have to go back. I want to stay here with him. It is safe here, where ever we might be.

"I can't stay," he says, as if reading my thoughts, "and you can't stay, either. You've got to get out, so you can get back to me."

"I will, Mulder. I will try," I tell him, as I lean forwards to kiss him again.

He pulls away from me and looks at me thoughtfully.

"Do you know what to do, Scully?" he asks me.

"Play his game?" I ask, vaguely remembering the last time I was with Mulder.

"Do what you have to do to stay alive, okay?" he tells me.

"Mulder, where do you go when you leave me?" I ask, hoping he knows.

"I don't know," he says, casting his eyes away from mine.

"Are you safe?" I ask him, but he doesn't answer.

"I've got to go now. I will be back. Soon. I promise," he says to me as he helps me stand up off of his lap. I sit down on the bleachers and watch him as he makes his way down and out one of the doors of the gym. I dress myself completely, though I'm not sure why. Who is going to catch me in my dreams? My head begins to pound from more than the rush of sex.

What if I were to follow? Where would I end up? I can hear other voices. Oh, God, I don't want to go back there. The drugs bring Mulder to me.

I slowly open my eyes to see Mulch standing above me. It is dark outside and I realize I've lost a whole day. There is a old black and white TV blaring some static-filled dialogue, illuminating the room with flickering light. So we are close enough to something to pick up a TV station with an antenna. That's good to know.

"Mulch, what in the hell are they doing to me while I'm out?" I ask. My whole body aches. At least the headache isn't as bad as the first time I came to.

"A couple of men showed up and did some tests," Mulch says, as he moves over to his chair, "I don't have a fucking clue what they are doing, really. I just like to listen to you moan."

I will have to live with his filthy mind. Or mine. I can't control the images that come to me while I'm out. As I struggle to sit up I can tell I've been moved since I fell asleep. God only knows where they might have taken me or how long I was out.

"What kind of tests, Mulch?" I ask, as I try to figure out what hurts the most.

"I don't know. They took this little piece of shit metal out of your neck."

My heart misses a beat as I feel the panic rise through my being. My neck. I can feel a bandage over that spot. *The* spot.

"Mulch, can I get a drink?" I ask, my voice cracking with each word.

Mulch is too wrapped up watching some overly dramatic night time soap opera on TV to fight with me. He brings me a water bottle and haphazardly hands it to me, allowing me to grab his wrist with my cuffed hands.

"Listen to me, Mulch. You are going to find out what in the hell they are doing to me and when they are going to bring that 'piece of shit metal' back and insert in my neck again. You are going to find that out for me, or so help me God, I will figure out a way to kill you myself before they finally do it," I shout at him, and a look of shock washes over his face.

"Christ, woman!," Mulch exclaims as he jerks away from me, "That thing must really be worth something. You got anymore of them on the body of yours?"

He grabs my arms, touching them slowly, as if he's going to find a goldmine under my flesh.

"You will, Mulch. You will find out what they are doing. You will tell them to put that implant back," I say to him, and he stops touching me.

"What do I get in return, sweet cheeks? I seem to be holding all the cards right now, and I've already got the only thing of cash value off of your body," he says, holding up his hand to show that he still has my ring.

I have nothing I want to bargain with willingly. Not with this man. He isn't holding any of the cards. Someone is holding the cards and playing with my life, but it's not Mulch.

"I, uh, have..." I start to say.

"Well, you take sometime to think about it, you hear," Mulch says as he walks back to his little TV set.

I have nothing but time. Or maybe I have no time at all.

I awaken from a light sleep to find Mulch sleeping in his corner of the room with the TV still on. I can only speculate as to what threat they are holding over his head that keeps him from touching me. It must be one with severe consequences, for although he threatens, he has not harmed me. I do not believe he will.

My body still aches from whatever they did to me this morning. Then again, perhaps it just aches from being restrained on the floor for hour after hour.

I stare ahead into the darkness, wishing I could find the sleep and dreams brought to me so easily by those drugs. At least then the thoughts of my mortality would not rest so heavily on my mind. Do those men know that they signed my death sentence by removing that implant? Do they care?

A barely audible news blurb comes over the TV, detailing the search for a man wanted for questioning in three homicides and an ongoing search for a missing FBI agent.

*A* singular FBI agent. One. Either Mulder and Fowley are okay or they are dead. The news makes no mention of them. Only of me and three dead women. Three? The last I knew there was only two. Either someone is setting up Mulch, or he's having one hell of a time while I'm out.

Mulder. How many times have you been *dead* before? At least we planned for it now that we have so many more responsibilities. My mind begins to ponder the smallest details of what every parent dreads. I know Mulder made out a will, leaving Christopher the house. If I die at the same time or near the same time, my mother is given guardianship of our son. He will be fine. He will grow up knowing only of his parents that which his grandmothers choose to tell him. He will not know personally of us as Mommy and Daddy, but rather a second-hand tale of what his parents were like so long ago.

I might not ever see Mulder again. I might not ever see my son again.

"Mulch! Wake up!" I yell, and he lurches up with a start.

"What in the fuck is it!" he yells back at me.

"Tell me. Is Agent Mulder dead?" I ask. I have to know. I have to know now.

"I don't know. Go the fuck back to sleep. Now," he says, as he settles himself back down.

"I have to go to the bathroom. Now," I demand, mocking his tone, and he obliges. I want to be alone for a few moments, out of sight of Mulch. I resist any urge I have to break down and cry. Mulch would be able to tell if I did. Instead, I flip the empty bucket over and sit on it. I'm tired of this hell I keep getting dragged through. I just want to be home, with my child, with Mulder, and safe. The price of our quest for whatever the truth maybe now has gone too high. I don't want to pay it anymore and not get any answers.

"Come on. I haven't got all day," Mulch says, banging on the door. I decide I had better actually use my seat for better things before heading out there.

On our way back to the main room, he asks me a question.

"Do you really think they are going to kill me?"

"Mulch, in the years I've been in the position at the FBI that I am operating in now, I've learned that one thing holds true no matter what. They do not care about anyone else but themselves. The death of millions means nothing to them. The death of one man will not even make them blink."

His face shows concern for the first time since that first prison encounter.

I say no more to him, preferring to let him sit and think about what he has gotten into and how he's going to get out of it.

"Dana is dead now, Fox. You have to get on with your life," Diana Fowley proclaims over a fresh grave.

Mulder is by her side, holding our son, yet he says nothing. He lets the flowers he is holding in his other hand cascade one by one into the gaping hole in the earth.

"I'm not dead," I try to utter, but the words will not come out. I am stuck in the crowd of faceless, gray mourners and can't make it to the front to yell to him that I am alive.

"We can make a life together. I will help raise your child. It will be our child, like it should have been," Fowley says to him, as she pulls Christopher out of his arms and clutches him as if he were her very own.

"No!" finally tears from my throat, echoing and echoing for the whole world to hear.

"Hey! Get up?" I hear, and I feel a hand shaking my shoulder, "You were dreaming something wild. Man, I've not heard someone sob like that since..."

Mulch cuts it short. I'm sure I don't want to know when the last time was he heard a woman sobbing with grief, fear and panic.

My dreams are not the same without the drugs. I am not a participant in them, nearly a bystander watching in. My subconscious fears are starting to get the better of me.

"They'll be back soon," Mulch says, and I begin to realize that it is daylight.

"Do you know who they are, Mulch? Do you have any idea what you've gotten into?" I ask, as I pick up the bottle of water he now just leaves by me.

"Not a damn clue, angel. I just do what they ask," he says as he turns the TV off for the first time since yesterday.

"Well, try to figure it out so I can figure out how to get us the hell out of this," I say, and he looks at me stunned.

"*Us?* Why should I fucking care if you get out or not?" he asks me, staring at me through slit eyes.

"I'm your only way out alive, okay? Don't you understand that yet? They are only interested in me and you mean nothing to them. I would imagine being alive in prison is better than being dead out here," I say to him, gesturing to the deserted land that surrounds us.

"Alive in prison? You ain't never been to jail, have you?"

"I've been locked up," I tell him, trying to gain any sympathy I can with him. I want him to believe I'm the only one on his side, that I am playing his game.

"You? What for? Bettcha it had something to do with that prick partner of yours, right?" he says. My eyes do not waiver away from his glare, do not betray the truth.

"Just figure out what they want with me and that metal chip, okay?" I tell him, and he merely nods his head.

I can see him preparing another dose of the drug for me. I am not sure whether I'm happy or not about this. It is an all too easy escape. I need to gain his confidence enough to eventually talk him out of administering the dosage before *they* arrive. I don't know what plans I may have, but that seems to be my only option. I have to face them.

"You wanna do this?" he asks, as he hands me the hypodermic needle.

"Yeah," is all I say back.

I am in the arms of someone else, yet it is all too familiar. He holds me tight to his chest, and I know by the scent of his cologne and the texture of his dress shirt that it isn't Mulder. I know these arms, that smell, this place. I know for sure this man isn't Mulder. He was just a substitute for words yet unspoken then, for emotions we were unwilling to share.

"Dana," he says with the nervous laugh of a person on a first date, "it's all better now."

I look into Ed Jerse's eyes, and see that they are lacking that wildness that was there the last time I saw him. Perhaps it was the wildness that attracted me in the first place, an escape from my proper self. But why now? I have Mulder, and I am now allowed to be free with him. The words have been spoken, and the unwritten prophecy fulfilled. The plans someone designed for us were realized with Christopher, and that is how it was always to be. There could be no one else.

"What is all better now?" I ask, as he continues to hold me tight.

"We are. Everything is all better now. You'll see," he says, as he places his mouth over mine. His kisses are harder than what I am now used to, and his tongue darts into my mouth, reaching into me for more.

I want to pull away, but something keeps me there, holding on tight to him. I should break this fiery kiss, but I can't. This is an escape from it all, Mulder included. Mulder who has brought me nothing but pain and grief. Mulder who has brought me nothing but the greatest love I've ever known.

He finally breaks his bruising kiss, and stares at me with eyes that appear far more innocent and playful than they should. The madness is gone, along with the wildness. He is so ... normal. It could have been so normal.

"I don't belong here," I say nervously. I belonged here way back then. This was only about me that time. Now there are so many other people involved.

"Come on, Dana. This is only in your head. You must want it if you are here. There are so many things you want that you're just afraid of," he says. He begins to nuzzle my ear, his tongue tracing the contours and crevices.

"I'm no longer that person, Ed. I have realized what it is I want, and I have obtained most of the goals I've set for myself," I tell him seriously, as I try to gently push him away.

"Then why are you here?" he asks me. He doesn't allow me to slip away that easily, instead he envelopes me in his arms even tighter, while his mouth makes its way back to mine. He certainly could kiss then. He certainly *can* kiss now.

Why am I here? This isn't where I want to be, but I still can't move away. Something burns deep inside of me, urging me on. This isn't real. It isn't abnormal to dream of past lovers, the mind going to places where the body no longer can.

"You're still trying to escape that father-figure, aren't you?" he asks me, as he hold my face in his hands. His thumbs trace my jawbone slowly, carefully. Unfamiliar fingers now touch my lips. They are soft and inviting and I want to lean into his touch, to lose myself again.

"Actually, that father-figure is now really a father," I say to him with a smile, but he doesn't ask more.

"This is all about you, Dana. Not about him. It was never about him," he says to me.

"No, Ed, it isn't anymore. Nothing can be all about me. I will never again have that day back," I tell him, for it is the truth. Motherhood stamps that thought right out of existence. Every move I make effects another life now, and nothing will be done for the rest of our lives that does not have consequences on the other.

"With me, Dana, it is always about you," Ed tells me, teasingly. I know it isn't about me. This man tried to kill me, and I don't know why I'm standing here. I can feel his fingers move towards the buttons on my blouse, and a tiny part of me screams out for me to stay, let it be about me. Another part tells me I must move on. That part wins out this time. Even in the safety of my own thoughts, I am the ever faithful Dana Scully.

"I have to go," I tell him, as I maneuver from his arms.

"Where?" he asks, looking lost without someone to hold.

"I have to go find Mulder," I tell him, as I walk out the door into someplace else.

I am standing at some distant shore, watching the waves roll in around my feet. It is dark, with only the moon offering up its silvery light. There is only the water, the sand and me. I am no longer confined by the walls of Ed Jerse's apartment, no longer held by arms and wishes that can never be fulfilled.

This place is familiar, but I'm not sure why. The hills in the background remind me of when my father was stationed in Hawaii and we went to visit him over our summer break. It was one of the few times we didn't move with him, by my mother's choice. I have never discovered why, and never asked.

"The shirts are a bit much, Scully," Mulder says from behind me.

I don't know why I'm surprised to see him here, where ever here is. I was expecting him. What I wasn't expecting to find was him holding Christopher in his arms.

I look at the three of us and laugh. We are all wearing identical multicolored, flowery Hawaiian shirts, including the tiny one Christopher has on. We look like a family who's trying to avoid getting separated and lost at Disneyland.

"How?" I ask, nodding towards me sleeping son. My arms are desperate to hold him, to caress his tiny form.

"I don't know," Mulder answers, "You want to hold him?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation, and I take him from Mulder's arms.

Christopher is more beautiful than the last time I saw him, if that is possible. I could stand here holding him forever, ignoring the tides and the moon and the stars.

"Where are we, Mulder?" I ask.

"Well, geography has never been my strong point, but I'd have to guess Hawaii," he says, as he reaches a hand out to stroke the auburn hair on our son's head.

"That's not what I meant. I meant where are we that this is possible. I want to know how *this* is possible, us together like this?" I ask him. The drugs are influencing my mind in wild ways, moving me from Ed Jerse to Mulder in a matter of seconds. This place is more comfortable. This is where I belong.

"They took the implant out, didn't they?" he asks me out of the blue. His eyes are placid and calm. Mulder isn't worried about what they have done. I am locked in his confident gaze, but I feel my confidence waning.

"Yes," I say, and I can feel the tears well up in my eyes, ready to spill over. A salty tear finally makes it way down my cheek and splatters on my son's face. He doesn't move, but lies there in peaceful slumber. Mulder reaches up and catches the next tear before it can make its way to Christopher's face.

"I believe they are going to put it back in, Scully. They need you alive and they know that is part of what keeps you here," Mulder says, so sure of his declaration.

"Why do they need me alive, Mulder? Why have they ever kept either of us alive?" I ask, not so sure of these men's intentions.

"I believe it is because of him, what he represents to them," Mulder says, nodding towards Chris. He has grown heavy in my arms, settling his sleeping head against my breast.

The water is lapping up higher on my legs and I have the urge to just stand here, and let it pull us out to sea. It is so peaceful. Perhaps that is what my death is going to be like. I will just drift out on a current, lost forever at sea.

"You aren't going to die, Scully. You know that," Mulder says, as he steps in closer and wraps his arms around the two of us. I want this back so badly. It has only been a few days, but it feels like forever.

"I can't die, Mulder. Not as long as Christopher is alive," I say, as I bend down to kiss my baby's head.

"We have to go," Mulder says, taking Chris from my arms. Even the loss of this dream form of my baby causes my heart to ache, and my arms to fall limp at my sides.

"I love you both," I say, as I watch them walk off down the abandoned shore. Mulder doesn't turn back.

My heart aches from the loss of them, as I feel the ocean pull at my feet. I feel as if I could just dissolve into the salty waves wrapping as high as my knees. Once again, it would be just be easier to go with the tide than to live without them. I can feel the tide rising faster, lapping higher and higher. I have yet to move, but the water is rising rapidly and I cannot fight it.

I finally do let it take me, pulling me out further and further out on its blue-green tide. The moon is the only witness to this and it stares down at me like one single glassy eye. I am wrapped by unseen arms, and pulled down into the murky depths, yet I do not panic. I am hopelessly tangled up in sea grasses, and cannot free myself. An eerie calm overtakes me and I want to give up, but I know I can't. I never can. As calm as this feels I must make it to the shore.

**

"They put it back in," are the first words I'm greeted with when the haze begins to clear my mind.

"What?" I ask, trying to reach around to the back of my neck. My arms feel as if they are weighted, and it is a struggle just to lift them.

"It is a different one, but they put something back in your neck," Ronald Mulch tells me from the other side of the room.

Different? Oh, God. Different how? Do these men know the architecture of the what keeps me alive? What if they missed one slight nuance in the structure of the implant and it no longer has its powers?

"Why are you telling me this?" I question Mulch, suspicious of everything he might say.

"They told me to tell you. I didn't have to, sweet cheeks. I could have just left you sit there and panic," he says, as he absent-mindedly flips between the two TV channels he has available.

"What *are* you getting out of this, Mulch? Why are you doing this for them?" I ask, as I struggle to sit up. My wrists are sore from being cuffed, and my body permanently aches now from whatever they are doing to me. I feel as if I have been pulled from the depths of the ocean, and then remember that I was.

"My freedom. That is why they I'm doing it. They promised it years ago, and I served my time," he says.

"You took her for them, didn't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. It is dawning on me that it was far too convenient for him to be at the site from which Ellen Erickson disappeared only to be connected with them again twenty-five years later.

Mulch's attention switches from the television set to me, and he seems at a loss for words. Well, that's a change.

"I had nothing to do with that, you stupid bitch!" he says, his temper growing fiery, as he springs up from his chair, sending it flying.

"That is what they owe you for, isn't it? It was all set up, but something went wrong and you got caught. When in actuality, you weren't ever going to go free. They always intended for you to get caught. Then they bought your silence for all these years with a promise of release, and now they are using you again," I tell him, unmoved by his angry pacing.

"You don't know anything," he says, as his pacing abruptly halts in front of me. He expects me to cower under him, but I have faced far worse adversaries than Ronald Mulch. If he kills me, they will kill him.

"What did they need Ellen Erickson for, Mulch? What kind of test did they do on her?" I demand of him.

"I don't know what the fuck they did to her. The only thing I ever heard was them calling it 'weather control,' like they do with you. I don't know nothing else," he says, as he turns away from me.

My breath catches when he says that popular phrase. Weather control. What in the hell are they doing now? I always thought their last projects were based on human/alien hybridization. Or that mystery vaccine that once saved me. Now what would weather control be?

"Where did they take her, Mulch, after you handed her over?" I ask him. He says nothing for several minutes, but just watches a black television screen.

"I don't know," he finally answers before getting up and leaving me alone in the room.

Hours pass before Mulch returns. My mind tries to put all the pieces together, but too much is missing. Mulder and I must be a part of this, as is Christopher, but how far can it go back? As far back as Mulder claims, all the way back to Roswell? Or back further than that?

"Here. Eat this," Mulch says when he finally returns to the room, handing me some over-ripe fruit and a sleeve of stale crackers. This is all I've been offered to eat since I've been here, but I haven't seen Mulch eat anything. Or course, I've been out most of the time I'm here.

"Can you undo these for awhile?" I ask, holding up my wrists, "Or at least undo one of them if you don't trust me? My wrists are getting really sore."

He pulls the key out of his pocket, and releases my wrists, apparently trusting that I couldn't get by him if I had to. Unfortunately, with the way my body feels, I probably couldn't.

"Happy now?" he asks sarcastically as he walks away from me.

"Overjoyed," I respond, as I bite into a tart plum.

"So, why did they choose you to do this shit to?" Mulch asks me after watching me devour my meal.

I don't know how to answer him. Because a decade ago I was assigned to be Mulder's partner, making me a prime candidate for victimization? I think Mulch already has enough imagined ammunition against Mulder, without giving him something real.

"I don't know why they do these things to me. I don't know why they ever started doing these things to anyone," is all I can answer.

I sleep for hours without any drugs, and dream of nothing. I am almost glad for it, afraid of what I might dream of next. Sinking, dying, losing. Those seem to be the common theme.

"Agent Scully?" I hear, as I'm shaken from my half-asleep state.

"What?" I ask, as I open my eyes all the way. Mulch is the only person in the room. He called me Agent Scully. I have no idea why.

"I have to get these back on you before they come back. Plus I figured you might want to use the bathroom before you have to be put out again," he tells me, careful to put the cuffs on me before letting me go off on my own to the bathroom.

"Thanks," I say, as he helps me off the floor. I use the bathroom quickly. My breasts are starting to hurt less and less after the initial engorgement passed, not that I could even feed my son if he was here. Bad enough his mom is drugged.

"Here. Take a sip," he says, handing me a bottle of sugary fruit juice.

"I'm cold," I tell him, as he takes the juice back out of my hands. He carefully wraps me up in Mulder's trench coat, and helps me lay back down onto my makeshift bed of musty blankets.

"Anything else?" he asks.

"What are they going to do with me when they are done?" I ask him, not sure if he even knows the answers.

"I don't know," he says, as he begins to prepare another injection.

"What are they going to do with you?" I ask.

"I'm going free," he says, with unfounded confidence.

Does he know they are setting him up? Those dead girls, plus being involved with holding a federal officer hostage? I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

"Here you go," Mulch says, handing me the needle. I look at him warily, and his eyes do not meet mine. He doesn't believe he's getting out of here alive anymore than I believe he is. I wonder what is happening while I'm out that is making him believe this?

I am standing in an empty smoke-filled cantina somewhere... somewhere but I don't know where. The room is lit only by the light that can filter its way through the opaque windows and the glow from an old jukebox. The wooden plank walls are covered with curling, old pictures of men I don't recognize and a Coca-Cola calendar left over from 1952. The head of a buck hangs over the screen door entrance, someone's old hunting trophy standing guard over this tiny establishment.

The large, hazy mirror behind the bar displays my startled reflection. My hair is longer than it has been in years, and is pulled back in a tight pony tail. I have on a gauzy black dress, covered in a print of tiny pink flowers. It buttons down the front, but the top and bottom few buttons are undone, and I can see that I have nothing on underneath it. I go to cover myself with my hands, before realizing I'm alone here in my mind.

I take a step towards the bar, realizing that my feet are in unaccustomed shoes. I look down to discover I'm wearing old, worn cowboy boots. Where in the hell am I?

Bottles filled with amber colored liquid take up every spare inch behind the bar. I find a half empty bottle of tequila, pour myself a shot and slug it back. I could get used to this other life of mine.

The jukebox beacons for me to come explore what it contains, and I clomp over there, still getting used to these shoes. I lean against it, trying to make a decision for what would be right for this place. I feel as if I've seen this bar before, and that there is a song that would be just right. Now if only I could find it.

I hear the screen door squeak open on its hinges, reminding me of summer days at my grandmother's house years ago. Someone steps in, and the door squeaks shut behind them. The wooden door hits the wooden frame, and I jump from the sudden loudness. Still I don't turn around.

This other person comes up behind me, and places his hands on my hips, pulling me back into him. I know who it is, without even looking, without them even saying a word. I only fit with one person just like this, oh so right.

He peers around me and hits a button on the jukebox, making his own selection. His hand returns to my hip, and he begins to sway to the music, softly urging me to go along with him. How can I do anything but follow? I always have.

Finally he turns me towards him, and I am met by his hazel eyes. They never move from my own, and I can do nothing but trust him. I always have done that, too.

"Hi," he says, as he pulls me to the middle of the dusty, wooden floor. His hand goes up and frees my hair from the ribbon holding it, letting it cascade down my shoulders to places it hasn't reached in years.

"Hey," I say, finally looking down at the rest of him. He's not dressed as ridiculously as I am, as he is attired in a chambray shirt and a pair of old jeans. He doesn't have boots on.

"You said you wanted better than a basketball court," he says. The Tennessee Waltz plays behind us, softly telling the story of a love lost to another.

"So you picked a setting similar to one from "The Right Stuff?" I ask, as I feel his fingers move to my uppermost buttons.

"Who picked it? Does this seem like it would be one of my fantasies? And would I ever dress you like this?" he asks, as he leers down at me, making me blush. Mulder's stare causes a warmth to settle down low inside of me and I pull my body in closer to his. I feel one of my buttons come undone, followed slowly by another and another.

"I would guess you might consider it," I say with a slight gasp, as he slips a hand into the top part of my dress and cups one of my breasts. His other hand pulls me into him by my hip, moving me in as close as we could possibly be with this much clothes on. We sway in time to the music as his fingers work their magic on my breasts. He finally withdraws his hand, and we both look down to see his handiwork. My nipples jut out against the sheer fabric that remains over them, and the friction from it feels good. He had unbuttoned my dress all the way to my waist, but left me covered.

He pulls me to his chest, and I place my head over his heart, only to hear it racing. He seems so calm, yet this is always the tell-tale giveaway to how he really feels. I catch our reflection in the bar mirror, and we fit together, just as we always have.

He pushes me away from him, and kneels before me, as he slowly, languidly unfastens the rest of the buttons starting from the bottom and meeting in the middle. The wisp of a dress falls off of my shoulders, leaving me bare except for the boots.

Mulder rests his head against my abdomen, and just holds me there. I want more. I want to taste him, touch him, love him. Slowly he draws a line down my stomach with his tongue, over all the scars I obtained through the years, and down further, delving in for more. It is as if he is worshipping my body with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, setting me afire with each movement he makes. I relax my stance a bit, feeling his tongue dart at my clit with the movement of butterflies. I want more than this, I want all of him.

I pull him up off the floor, and our mouths meet passionately, as if we might never meet again. I feel so incredibly open and naked against him, but I don't care. One of his hands moves down between my thighs and I gasp as he makes contact with me again, so much harder now, and he pulls away from our kiss. I am standing there without support while his hand flutters away at my center. All I have to hold me up is his hand, his hand that is darting over and around me. His fingers that are making their way into me.

"More, more, more," I plead in a whisper, as I feel my body begin to hum with electricity. My hands fumble towards him, reaching for what I want more of. I have his button fly jeans undone in seconds, and he never stops touching me, working me over.

"Where do you want it?" he asks, his breath growing shallow, and he finally moves his hand from my center.

I pull him backwards with me to the jukebox, glad it isn't one of those upright Wurlitzer types. It is much easier to fuck on one of the ones with the flat glass tops.

"Here," I manage to say, as I pull myself up onto the glass surface. I lean back as far as I can and open myself up for him. He stares at me, his eyes moving from my eyes down to the nether regions I'm offering up to him. He watches me with such a hunger, as if this is going to be the first time. This is my head. I guess I could make it the first time. Or the last time. Or the only time. Whatever I want.

He pulls his jeans and boxers down, kicking off his shoes in the process. Mulder doesn't make a move to remove his shirt. He is hard and ready, and that seems like a waste of time. He moves towards me, and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him in, demanding that he get even closer. My feet are still clad in those old boots.

He reaches down and guides himself easily into me, knowing each other so well now. I can hear him let out a sigh as he begins to slowly, teasingly move in and out of my body. Mulder's need for more prevents him from keeping it slow and his thrusts begin to get more desperate too quickly.

"Hold on there, cowboy. Let me catch up," I tell him with a smile, and he stops moving. Instead he once again moves his fingers to me, while we remain intimately joined. His eyes are locked on mine, waiting for them to indicate when he can start moving again. It doesn't take long and I can feel myself approaching the edge quickly. I just nod to him, and he begins his hard, deep thrusts again.

"Now?" he pleads with me, and I nod yes again, as we both topple over into that fiery hot ecstasy we've been working towards. I feel his body empty into mine, and we are both wracked with electrifying orgasms so intense, we cause the needle to scratch across the old jukebox record, not stopping its noisy journey until the song begins again. He buries his face into my neck, as we both ride out our body's pleasures to the melancholy lyrics.

We stay like that, not ready to let all we can have of each other go. It is inevitable, though. He pulls out of me, and all I am left with is a sticky, wet emptiness where he used to be. I watch him dress, and then Mulder offer his hand to help me down. He hands me my dress off of the floor and after I slip it on, he slowly buttons me up, all the buttons, from top to bottom, once again ending up on his knees before me.

"Was that our one last time?" I ask, my voice betraying all the sadness I've kept buried in my heart.

He doesn't answer me, as he kneels before me, clutching me tightly to him. My hand are entwined in his hair, holding him closer, afraid to let him go. I can feel his chest rise and fall with each shallow, sad breath he takes. I don't want for it to happen, but we must move.

I can hear rain begin to fall, as it plink plink plinks on the old, tin roof. I steal a quick glance at Mulder as he stands up and walks over to a hazy window. I swear I could see tears forming in his eyes, tears he's now trying to hide.

"The rain will keep the dust down." Mulder says, as if this should be important to us, "it will make you easier to find."

"I think I have his sympathy," I tell him, walking to his side and holding his hand, wanting desperately to pull him into me again.

"Mulch? Will he let you go?" he asks me, wrapping his arm around me. We smell of sweat and dust and sex. How can one smell sex in a dream? Smells cannot be brought up out of memory, yet here it is.

"I think he knows they aren't ever going to let him go. He knows I'm his only way out. They put something back in my neck," I tell him, and he holds me out at arm's length.

"Something?" he asks curiously, but still without meeting my eyes.

"I don't think it is the same implant as before. I don't know what they are doing," I say, wanting him to look at me, to share what he is feeling.

"Maybe it is better than before."

"Or maybe it is worse. Maybe this one won't keep me alive," I tell him, pulling him closer, not wanting to waste our precious few moments on something I can't control.

"I'll find it if it isn't the same, if your cancer comes back. I will help you find the right one, I promise," he says, as he nuzzles his face into the top of my head.

"You have to go now, don't you," I ask him, knowing already that he does. He can't stay with me in this unknown place forever. I pull him closer, my body pleading with his for him to stay.

"Take care of Christopher, okay?" he tells me wistfully, the sense of loss filling each of his words.

"I should be saying that to you," I tell him, for I'm in no position to take care of anyone.

"He will grow up in the blink of an eye. Such is life. It passes without us noticing..." he says, his voice cracking on the final word.

"Mulder, fight this, what ever it is. We've got to raise him together," I plead with him.

"I have to go," he says, "I have to go and I don't know when I will see you again."

"Why?" I ask him, not wanting to lose him ever again. I try to fight back tears, knowing they will make no difference now.

"That is just the way it is," he says, placing on final kiss on my forehead.

He pulls away from me, and walks towards the old screen door. As he pulls it open, Mulder finally turns to look at me, and I can see one singular tear trickle down his cheek.

"I need you with me soon, Scully. I don't know how much longer I can wait. I love you," he says as he steps out into the rain, letting the door slam again.

I walk to the door, and press my hand against the dusty screen. He is walking away in the rain, moving away from me again, not turning back.

"I love you, too," I whisper, knowing his ears can't hear me through the pouring rain anyway.

The music still continues to play without him. 'Now I know just how much I have lost' rings through my ears and around my head, settling heavily in my heart. This is what a broken heart feels like. I remember it all too well. He is lost and I don't know how to find him. He has left me here.

I am left alone in this unfamiliar place, left alone with the scent of Mulder, me and years of lost tequila dreams. The rain starts pouring even harder and the roof sounds like someone beating on pot with a wooden spoon, but lacking any sensible beat. It is growing louder and louder. I look up in time to see the roof tumble in on me, leaving me alone under a pile of rusting metal and cold rain. I am buried yet the noise still doesn't stop. I am still alone.

**

I struggle to get out of this drug-induced haze, fighting to find out where all that noise is coming from.

I hear familiar shouts in the backgrounds. Requests and shouts I have made. I'm still too tired to process what they are and what is going on.

"Scully?! Are you in here?" I hear a voice calling to me. So familiar, yet not the voice I want. It is coming closer and closer.

I can barely open my eyes, and through the drowsy slits that I can maintain open, I can see a form coming towards me, trying to rouse me. It isn't the usual Mulch kick in the ass wake up call. He looks so familiar, yet his stride isn't Mulder's overly confident gait.

"Mulder..." I mutter, hoping against all hopes, before my eyes go shut again. I'm not supposed to come out of the drugs this soon. I've never felt like this. My mouth is cotton, and words are so hard to form.

"No, Agent Scully. It's Agent Reid. You've got to stay awake. The paramedics are right behind us. Can you keep talking to me?" he demands of me. I sense other people, a lot of people rushing around the room, but all I can see are passing blurs.

"Mulder?" I ask, this time making it a question. My mind still needs to know what happened to him, why he isn't here.

Reid doesn't answer me. Doesn't make a sound. If he is dead, I don't want to wake up. I have to, I know. I have to wake up for Christopher no matter what has happened to his father.

"Agent Scully, can you hear me?" a much more familiar voice asks me, "Scully? The paramedics are here. We are going to airlift you and Mulch to the University Hospital. Do you understand? Scully, you've got to try to stay awake. Come on. Can you do that for me?"

I nod my head yes, trying to figure out what happened to Ronald Mulch. There was lots of noise. That is all I know.

"Mulch? What happened?" I ask, finally seeming to be able to fight the drugs. I can feel someone grab my wrists and free them from the restraints.

"He has been shot, Agent Scully. We are still trying to ascertain exactly what happened here. I'm going with you to the hospital," the voice says. I open my eyes to see Walter Skinner standing over me. I can sense that paramedics are around me, but I can't feel much of anything yet.

The sunlight burns even through my eyelids as they roll me outside, and someone shades them for me. Someone else holds my hand. Or maybe it is the same person. I can't tell yet.

"Mulder?" I ask again, only to not receive an answer again. "God Damnit! Tell me what happened to him!"

"Agent Mulder is already at University Hospital. He is comatose after being exposed to an unknown drug. Both his and your mother flew in yesterday afternoon along with your baby. They are all waiting at the hospital," Skinner says to me, his voice not wavering, nor giving me any clue as to how serious it might be.

"Fowley?" I ask, barely remembering those photos of them together. Something about a mountain. I want to remember, but it is so hard.

"Agent Fowley is there, too," he says, never letting go of my hand. I finally manage to get my eyes open, and can make them stay that way. He looks away from me quickly and I slowly realize it is probably worse then he's letting on.

"They're waiting for you," Agent Reid yells to Skinner as he points towards a helicopter.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Scully. It doesn't look good. For either of them," are the last words I hear Skinner say before he is drowned out by helicopter blades.

I can't stay awake any longer after we are up in the air. I want to prepare myself to face what I'm going to find when we get to our destination, but am too tired, too drugged. I drift away, aware only of the oppressive droning sound of the medivac flight I am on and that someone is still gently holding my hand.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I did write the little courtside action sequence in this piece before "Two Fathers" aired. Really, I did. Ask my editor. It has been on her hard drive for a month before the episode aired. I also came up with 'weather control' before "Rain King" aired and Mulder and Scully were trapped in my hurricane with far better consequences well before "Agua Mala" aired. I also began writing this before CC killed off the syndicate and Spender, so if they appear here and there, well, I just can't go around killing people all that quickly. Once again, a special thanks goes out to Rachel for her editing and help searching for proper drugs.