From: Teresa Carthage Date: Mon, 1 Dec 2003 16:37:59 -0800 (PST) Subject: Archive Submission: Risky Business Source: direct **************************************** CHAPTER 13- Requiem for the Fighter Monday, May 8, 2000 7:42 PM Dresden, Germany A knock at the door woke Scully from her light sleep, and she groggily stumbled out of bed to open it. "Hey," she mumbled in greeting, and waved Frank inside. Frank closed the door and locked both the deadbolt and the chain, out of paranoid habit. Scully smiled at this- the little behavior quirk reminded her of Mulder. But her smile diminished when she saw what Frank had tucked under his arm- a bottle of red wine, with two glasses balanced between his fingers. "Frank, do you have some bad news I need to be inebriated to hear?" "Not bad news. Just news." He set the wine and glasses on the night table. "I got a call from Slavomir an hour ago, he said he'll meet us here in Dresden for the trade. Tomorrow morning at three, neutral secluded location." He poured her a glass of wine and offered it to her, but she didn't take it. "Frank, I'm dazed enough without alcohol in my system." "It's not to get you dazed, Agent Scully, it's to make you relax. Mentally." Scully looked at him, then exhaled with a chuckle. "I'll admit, I don't think I've ever been more in need of relaxation." "You didn't sleep well?" "Of course not." "You're worried about Mulder," Frank stated, and handed her the wine. "You miss him." "Of course I do," she replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "He's my partner." Frank laughed. "Nope. More than that." Scully eyed him suspiciously. "He's my best friend..." Frank nodded. "Keep going." "No offense, Frank, but I don't see how this is any of your business," she mumbled, focusing on swirling her wine. He sat down beside her, yet far away enough to allow her some space. "Fair enough," he said, "I just thought it might help to talk about it a little." "Talk about what?" "Anything you want, I suppose. But I think that you're secretly dying to tell someone about what's been going on, with you and Mulder." She didn't respond, and he added, "You've had to worry about your reputations for so long; for seven years you've had to be so careful about the affection you show... even towards your best friend, as you put it. And now, you've finally crossed the threshold, all the barriers are finally gone, and you're afraid." Scully looked up at him in awe. "What are you afraid of, Scully?" She sighed and raised the glass to her lips again before answering. "I'm afraid..." she began, cautiously, "I'm afraid of what's happening to us right now. I'm afraid I'm going to lose him. We've been through so much together, I forget what it was like before I met him, before I had him around to back me up and fight for me and make me laugh and ask me thirty times a day if I'm all right..." She took a deep breath, silently promising she'd never take his concerned questions for granted again, if he was returned to her in one piece. Her next words came with a shudder. "I feel like I'm living my worst nightmare at this very moment, and I can't wake up until I make sure he's-" She stopped suddenly and stared straight at Frank, narrowing her eyes. "How did you do that?" she asked accusingly. "How did you make me spill my thoughts like that? I barely know you." Frank shrugged. "I'm a good listener, if you want to continue." Scully shook her head. "No. No, that's enough. Not until you tell me something more about yourself, so that you don't feel like such a stranger." "Look, I don't want to be a stranger to you, Scully, but you've got to understand that I'm an agent of the CIA, and whether I'm on a deep cover assignment or not, I can't reveal much about myself to anyone." Scully swallowed the last of her wine and set the empty glass back on the table. "Well," she said, avoiding Frank's eyes, "I guess we remain strangers, then." She stood up and strode past him towards the bathroom, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist, an impulse he was surprised to have obeyed. She turned and looked down at him neutrally, waiting for him to say something. At last he sighed and dropped her hand, and his entire posture seemed to relax a subtle degree. All right, he thought. Time to stop being a tough-ass CIA agent for five minutes and let out some of the past he'd kept bottled under pressure for four years. "I was born in Chicago but moved to Boston when I was six," he said without emotion. "My parents died when I was fourteen and I was left in the care of my older sister, who promptly abandoned me to the foster system so she could marry a yuppie stock broker and make a fresh start without a teenager to raise." He paused. "Shall we continue into young adulthood?" "If you like, Frank." Scully sat down on the bed beside him, giving him her undivided attention. "I was bounced from foster home to foster home, until I finished high school and got into MIT. After I graduated I enlisted in the Air Force. I flew briefly in the Gulf War, saw a bit of action in Desert Storm, but not enough to change me or make me heroic. But when I got home I was recruited by the CIA." "And you've just been an agent ever since?" Frank looked at her for a long moment, searching her face for a reason not to trust her. When he found none, he took a deep, courageous breath and continued. "After I was trained I was paired with a partner for most of my early missions, and we worked so well together that the CIA officially paired us on all future assignments. We became one of the best teams the CIA had ever produced-" "What was her name?" Scully interrupted. Frank looked at her. "What makes you think it's a woman?" "I'm right, aren't I? Of course it's a woman. What was her name?" Frank sighed. "Her name was Natalie. She was incredible- nothing could touch her, nothing. She taught me everything I know, she made me who I am." "That's saying a lot," Scully said kindly. "Yeah. It was so much fun working with her all those years, I'd do anything to relive just one of our missions together... except the last one." "What happened?" Scully asked softly, and Frank quickly caught her eye. "If you don't mind, what happened to her?" Frank stared down at his hands, as if remembering what they had once held. He spoke very slowly, to make sure each word did justice to the memory he was trying to convey. "She... died, she was killed on assignment in Japan. It was a particularly dangerous task, we were ambushed, and the enemy had me cornered. But Natalie, she fought... she fought so hard and she saved my life, but they took her instead..." He tried to swallow the increasingly large lump in his throat. "Natalie fought for me, she sacrificed herself so I could survive. They shot her at the scene but she was alive when they took her. And... and they tortured her, for a week before she finally died... and it was supposed to be me. She died for me." He watched his red wine swirl in the glass, a sudden disturbing reminder of the last time he'd seen his partner. "She bled," he murmured aloud. "They shot her and there was... so much blood, I still remember." He chuckled bitterly. "But she was a fighter. She wasn't going to give up so easily. She defied them until the end, even after all they did to her..." Frank was suddenly aware of an agonizing pressure in his head, just behind his eyes. He recognized the pain from a very distant memory and knew that it was commonly called "tears". But he had been unable to cry for four years; he had dried up like a prune after he lost her. He bit back the throbbing insistent pain and continued to wear the perfect emotionless mask that had actually become his face. Scully gaped at him, awed by the story and a bit disturbed by the numbness he was expressing. She shook her head and reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm so sorry, Frank," she whispered. "I loved her," he said quietly, as if it were a secret he'd never confessed. "I only told her so a day before the Japan assignment. But it was too late, I waited too long, I wasted too much time. So much wasted time..." "I know what that's like," Scully remarked, half to herself. "But you're gonna get him back," said Frank. "And you can make up for that wasted time. My partner's gone, there's no bringing her back." He stared down at his feet. "All I can do is miss her." Scully raised her hand to his shoulder, and he finally met her eyes again. She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, and smiled sympathetically. "Thank you, Frank. For everything, for all your support, for helping me find my partner. Because I miss him, too." Frank just stared at her, at the sheer kindness and compassion radiating from her face. She reminded him so much of his partner, he had the sudden urge to take her in his arms and find out what else might remind him of Natalie. At the moment, she was so full of pity for him that he wondered if she'd even have the heart to protest. But he couldn't do that to her, he couldn't betray her trust like that. He wanted her, yes, but was reluctantly resolved to the fact that she'd never be his. She was already taken- utterly devoted to another man who, in his opinion, deserved her less, but needed her more. And she missed him, loved him. There was absolutely nothing Frank could do about it. He returned Scully's sad smile. "Don't worry. I'm gonna make sure you don't suffer what I suffered, I'll make sure your fate is different." He slowly stood up and headed for the door, but cast one more backwards glance at Scully. "I promise you, Dana, your partner will live." Scully nodded, realizing that she believed him. *Trusted* him. That fact alone made her feel like a sort of traitor; she was disobeying Mulder's most sacred command. But she couldn't help it- there was something in Drew Frank that told her that despite his tragic past, or perhaps because of it, he was a good man, a respectable man. He wouldn't let her down. She might even admit that she liked him, if it weren't for the fact that she was afraid to take that tiny step. She couldn't acknowledge even the slightest affection for him. Because that might lead to a whole new betrayal. "Drew, wait-" At the sound of his first name he turned in the doorway and faced her, and she froze. What are you going to do, she challenged herself. Tempt him? Or simply allow yourself to be tempted? This was far too dangerous to get into, in her weakened emotional state. Although... perhaps her feelings were innocent, after all; she only wanted to heal him, because he didn't deserve to remain broken. She had only the best intentions. "Are you... are you going to be all right?" she asked him quietly. Frank chuckled, but it bordered on a scoff. "Why? You planning on doing something about it if I'm not?" That was a challenge if she'd ever heard one. Scully looked at him for a moment, then stood up and slowly walked towards him. He was watching her intently, and he could feel his heartrate increase with every step she took. She stepped close to him, so close they were nearly touching, and he could feel her warm breath on his throat. He closed his eyes when she placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to whisper intimately in his ear. "No." He felt her pull back, and he opened his eyes. She had taken a full step backwards, putting some space between them. Her arms were once again at her sides, her body language neutral. And her expression assured him that this was not an outward rejection, but simply a denial. Not the response he'd hoped for, but exactly what he'd expected. Frank nodded in acceptance. "Then I guess I'm fine." "I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. She wanted to help him, yes, but not in that way. Mulder's name was repeating over and over in her head, and she couldn't ignore it. She didn't want to ignore it. "Don't be sorry." He finally looked away and took a deep breath. "Get some sleep, the meeting's at three." And he turned once again to leave. "Goodnight, Agent Frank," Scully said softly. Just before he closed the door behind him, he looked back up at her and a hint of a smile crossed his face. "Goodnight, Agent Scully." A moment later, he was gone. **************************************** CHAPTER 14- Mission: Difficult Tuesday, May 9, 2000 3:14 AM Dresden, Germany Scully shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. Spring in Dresden was a tad colder than spring in Washington, especially before the sun came up. At least she and Frank were out of the wind, but the alley in which they were waiting was not the most hospitable shelter. She checked her watch impatiently and narrowed her eyes, peering down the dark empty street for any sign of a car. "Frank, they're fifteen minutes late," she said worriedly. "What if they're not coming?" "They're coming, all right," Frank replied, and exhaled one last cloud of smoke before he smothered his cigarette underfoot. "We have what they need, there's no way they're willing to let this go." He patted his chest pocket, and the syringe hidden inside. "But what if it's a trap? I mean, you know what kind of monsters these guys are. You saw what they're capable of. How do we know they won't just take the files and the toxin and shoot us as they leave?" "We don't," Frank stated. "But I'm armed, and so are you, and we have a fighting chance." He touched her shoulder briefly, tentatively. "Trust me." Scully sighed. She definitely did not like the situation she found herself in, and didn't like the fact that she seemed to have no other options. She had no choice but to trust him. Suddenly the wind seemed to change, and Scully turned towards the street. She detected the gleam of headlights, growing brighter as a van neared and then abruptly turned the corner into the alley, blocking the only exit. The van screeched to a halt, and Scully took a step backwards towards Frank, shielding her eyes from the glare. Finally the engine was cut, the headlights went dark, and the van doors opened. Scully counted five figures stepping out of the vehicle, including the driver and front passenger, but all remained in shadow and she couldn't make out any faces. But she was absolutely sure her partner was not among them. "Where's Mulder?" she demanded, momentarily alarmed, and she regretted letting her voice show it. "No deal until I see him." One of the dark figures raised a hand towards the others, giving a signal. Two of the guards reached back into the van and pulled out the tall figure of her partner. Mulder stumbled out onto the sidewalk, blindfolded, until the cloth was harshly ripped from around his head. He fell to his knees in pain and exhaustion, squinting up at the streetlight. His hands were still bound behind him and he peered into the darkness through bruised, swollen eyes. "Scully?" he called uncertainly, his voice hoarse. "Mulder!" she gasped, appalled at his condition. He looked a thousand times worse than when she'd last seen him. She instinctively tried to run to him, needing to help him, but Frank grabbed her by the elbow and held her back. One of the guards raised a gun to the back of Mulder's head and Scully heard the hammer click threateningly. "Stay where you are, Agent Scully," said Slavomir, stepping into the light. "I hope for your partner's sake that you've brought what we asked for, this time." "I have it," she replied. "But first you're going to let him go. Untie him. Now." Slavomir stared back at her, but then gave a curt nod to the guard standing behind Mulder. The man crouched to one knee and untied Mulder's hands, then yanked him roughly to his feet. Mulder rubbed his raw, sore wrists and scarcely had the strength to stagger in Scully's direction, but the guard grabbed him again and shoved him away from her, against the side of the alley. Mulder groaned but remained slumped against the brick wall, glaring intensely at the guard and anyone else who dared to even look at his partner. "No reunion, yet," Slavomir sneered. "Time to finish the business. The biotoxin, here." He held out his hand. "Whoa, wait a minute, Scully, what did he say?!" Mulder interrupted in disbelief. Scully sighed. "It's a bioweapon, Mulder," she answered softly, avoiding his eyes. "It's your ransom." Mulder stared at her, shocked. "God, Scully, why didn't you tell me?" "I knew you'd feel guilty," she said, "and I was afraid you'd do something drastic to keep me from doing this. I knew you would have tried to stop me, somehow." She finally looked at him, desperately. "Please don't make this any harder for me-" "Agent *Scully*!" Slavomir interrupted impatiently. "The toxin! Now!" Frank stepped forward, pulling the syringe from inside his jacket, but Scully ran to him and grabbed his arm. "No, Frank, let me do it. Let me give it to him." Frank gave her a strange look, but obeyed, handing her the bioweapon. She took it and stared at it in her hands. She knew she wasn't really holding a syringe- she was holding the lives of hundreds of innocent people- thousands, maybe, even millions. So much potential for destruction, and she was about to place it in evil hands... No, she couldn't do it. She would never be able to live with herself. "We can't let them have this, Frank," she murmured, so that Slavomir couldn't hear. "Agent Scully, we have to, we have no choice. It's the only way they're going to let us go." "But they're *not* going to let us go," she whispered. "You know as well as I do that they're just going to shoot all three of us as soon as we give them this weapon." "We have to risk it," he replied. "We're sure as hell not getting out of here any other way." Giving up so easily, Frank? she thought bitterly. But she nodded to him and slowly stepped towards the line of terrorists, still staring at the syringe in her palm. She had no choice... or did she? Yes, she thought, there was one other choice, one last resort... but did she have the courage to go through with it? "This is the last of the toxin?" she asked. "Yes, it is the last," Slavomir said suspiciously, after a moment. "Bring it here, Agent Scully, and we'll allow you to leave." Scully stopped and lifted her head, staring him in the eye. A hint of a smug smile flashed across her face. "That's not how it's going to work," she stated. She quickly uncapped the syringe, pressed it against her upper arm, and glanced towards her partner, locking eyes with him briefly. "Scully, no!!" Mulder darted towards her as fast as his weakened reflexes would allow, but Frank grabbed him by the shoulders. It was too late. The clear barrel of the syringe made a slight hissing sound and Scully's breath caught in her throat as the thick needle instantaneously pierced through the fabric of her sleeve and shot the deadly fluid into her veins. She paused, watching the barrel drain of the toxin, then pulled the needle out again and tossed the empty weapon at Slavomir's feet. "It's gone," she said triumphantly. "It's a part of my blood now, there's no getting it back. It's the only thing you weren't planning on, isn't it? That someone would use it all up? You have no sample left, and Coen's long gone-" Slavomir roared at her in fury. He shrieked something in Czech to his guards, and their hands reached for their guns. Four semi-automatic weapons were instantly pointed straight at Scully's head, but Frank was even faster. Before the guards could touch their triggers, Frank had already fired twice, taking down two of the terrorists with well-aimed shots to the head. The following momentary confusion and panic provided the opportunity for him to finish off the other two guards, leaving only Dorjan Slavomir himself, unarmed. Slavomir's gaze of seething hatred turned from Scully to Frank, after watching his men fall dead around him. "Hands where I can see them!" shouted Frank, gun still poised, ready, and trained on a certain terrorist's forehead. The resentment and shock at seeing such a quick turn of the tide faded from Slavomir's face, and he smirked. Frank stepped closer to him, undaunted. "Hands on your head!" he ordered again. "Now!" Slavomir obeyed but seemed unconcerned with the situation. "Agent Frank, I don't believe the CIA permits assassination of major enemies without clearance by the operation coordinator." Scully scoffed. "Don't worry, I won't let him pull the trigger. If anyone's gonna shoot you I'd rather you have *my* bullets." She tapped the barrel of her gun threateningly. "Miss Scully, it appears that the only life you're capable of taking is your own," Slavomir retorted. "I'm just sorry we never got to finish what we started back in Prague. Too late, now." "What do we do with him?" Scully whispered to Frank. "Well, normally I'd take him to the nearest embassy and let them figure it out... but he's too dangerous for anybody but elite law enforcement. So I think it's best we put him in military prison. There's one outside of Berlin-" "I am not leaving this alley as a prisoner, Agent Frank," Slavomir interrupted. "You'll have to take me dead." "You think I have a problem with that?" "Perhaps not now... but as soon as news of my death reaches the survivors in the NCCP, there will be nowhere in Europe you can hide from my assassins." Frank lowered his weapon, pulled out his handcuffs, and approached Slavomir. "Well, Mr. Slavomir, there will be no news of your death reaching anywhere. You're under arrest, not under fire." Slavomir didn't answer. His hands were still behind his head in surrender, but suddenly he reached farther down behind his back and whipped out a small handgun from a shoulder holster, swinging it to aim right between Frank's eyes. And although Frank had a quick trigger finger, this time someone else was faster. Slavomir hit the ground with a loud thud, and Frank cocked a confused eyebrow at his unfired gun, only half-raised. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Scully walking briskly towards him, and he relaxed his finger's grip on the trigger. She lowered her gun and thrust it back in the holster hidden beneath her long black trench coat. She stood over Slavomir's lifeless body, staring down at him with contempt. "Thanks," Frank said, but Scully didn't reply. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, then looked away from the corpse, never looking back. She ran, then, to her partner, who was still gaping at her in shock and pure devastation. He took a few steps towards her but stumbled and fell to his knees again. She kneeled with him and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. Exhausted, he let his head fall to her shoulder, burying his face against her. "Mulder," she whispered in his ear, mostly just to reassure herself. "You're okay now, you're okay, you're okay..." I don't believe this, he thought. Is she actually trying to comfort *me* while she's the one with death flowing through her veins? I should be holding her, not the other way around. Did I really see her inject herself with poison, or am I just hallucinating again? Mulder glanced sideways at her upper arm and saw, confirming his nightmare, a small blood stain on her sleeve. "Scully... my God, Scully, what were you thinking?" he murmured. He pulled back and lifted a trembling hand to touch her face for the first time in days. "What on earth were you thinking..." "It's okay, I saw it in a movie once," she joked, smiling at him sadly. Mulder shook his head but managed a small laugh, and winced at the resulting twinge in his bruised ribs and lungs. "I think I saw that movie too, Scully," he said between coughs. "But I'm not Tom Cruise and you're not supposed to play martyr like this." "I couldn't just give them the bioweapon," she insisted. "They would have killed so many innocent people, and you know I couldn't have allowed that. They were just going to kill us anyway, Mulder, all three of us. I had to destroy it somehow, quickly, and it was all I could think of. Now at least you and Frank will be fine." "You'll be fine, too, Scully." He struggled to stand up, and she helped him, propping him up with her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not so sure, Mulder. We have no idea where the antidote is." "I'll find it. Frank and I-" he nodded towards the agent standing behind her- "we'll find it for you." Oh, no, she thought. Mulder and Frank working together? Did they think they were going anywhere without her? Not a chance. "We'll find it," she corrected. "All three of us." "No way, Scully. You're... sick, and it's too risky to-" "Look, Mulder, you're not leaving me again. I can't believe you're even thinking about it." She gave him a stubborn, determined look that said 'Fox William Mulder, you'll be sleeping on the couch again in no time if you don't back off and let me do as I please.' Mulder got the message quite clearly and sighed. He turned to Frank. "How long until she... I mean, how long do we have?" "The toxin will activate itself in fourteen hours, and she'll be incapacitated." "Incapacitated?" Scully asked. "And, after that?" "Two additional hours, max." Scully inhaled deeply. After a moment of thought, she clapped her hands once and met her partner's eyes, then Frank's. "Okay," she said, forcing optimism. "Where to, Frank?" "Train station," he said flatly. "We've got to get to Paris. That's where Dr. Coen keeps his lab, and hopefully the antidote is there, too..." **************************************** CHAPTER 15- Destination: Paris Tuesday, May 9, 2000 3:52 AM Dresden Train Station Mulder was leaning heavily on his partner as he limped up the ramp onto the train. He knew he looked like he'd been through a war, and that he was drawing stares from the few other passengers who were traveling at such an early hour, but he managed to ignore them. He concentrated hard on putting one foot in front of the other, then again, and again, but the pain was still relentlessly pounding in his limbs and he knew he probably couldn't walk very far without Scully supporting him. She managed to get him into the private cabin they had reserved, and carefully sat him down on the cushioned bench. "I *wanted* to get you to a hospital, Mulder," she said, in a tone that made her sound annoyed that all the attention was focused on her ailment rather than his. "We don't have time for that," he replied, stifling a groan as he shifted to get himself comfortable. "You need fluids, antibiotics, X-rays... you need general medical attention, Mulder-" "Can't I just have *your* medical attention?" he whined. Scully crossed her arms and frowned at him, like a parent rebuking an obnoxious but adorable child. "I packed a first aid kit," she said. "Hold on a second." She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a smaller bag containing just about everything she'd need to patch up a six- foot-tall FBI agent. "Well you certainly came prepared," Mulder remarked, watching as she dumped the bag's contents onto the seat beside him. "I know you, Mulder, and by now I know exactly what it takes to fix you when you're broken." She handed him a packet of aspirin and her bottle of water. "I'm not *broken*," he protested, after swallowing the pills. "I just need a little refurbishing." "Well whatever you need, you'd get it better at a hospital." "That's an opinion I don't happen to share," he replied, cocking an eyebrow at her with a grin. He reached for her, but she pried his hands from her waist and placed them back at his side, firmly. She gave him a chastening look as she snapped sterile surgical gloves over her hands and dipped a needle in alcohol in preparation for the stitches he'd probably need. "Ooh, are we gonna play doctor, now?" he asked excitedly, apparently not noticing the needle. "Shut up and hold still." "Okay, Dr. Scully," he said, suddenly feeling somewhat cheerful. He fully intended to have fun with this even if she refused to play along. She rolled her eyes at him and tried to ignore the mischievous grin on his face as she helped him remove his shirt. "Oh, Jesus, Mulder," she gasped when she saw the countless bruises completely covering his upper body. Some were small but deep and throbbing red, some were large and lined with bleeding cuts, some were welts in the obvious shape of shoe prints. The thought of what he'd endured made her want to both cry and kill. "Look what they've done to you," she murmured, with quiet seething rage. "Look at what those bastards did..." Scully met his eyes, and the fury on her face was instantly replaced by only unconditional compassion. She put a hand on his cheek, being careful to avoid his dark, swollen right eye. "Mulder, you've been through hell." "Yeah," Mulder admitted, quickly dropping his playful attitude when he saw the distraught look on his partner's face. "But I'm okay, Scully, really. It was only hell because I... I didn't think I'd ever see you again." "What, you doubted whether I'd be able to get you back?" "No, I knew you could," he said honestly. "I just doubted whether you'd want to." Scully stared at him, hurt. "Why would you ever think that? How could you think I'd abandon you, that I wouldn't do everything in my power to save you?" Mulder ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "They weakened my mind more than my body, Scully. I'm sorry." "No, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I couldn't get you out sooner, I couldn't save you from all this..." She lightly traced the bruises on his chest, but then forced herself to look away from his wounds, which meant that she couldn't look at him at all. "Hey," he said, turning her cheek towards him until her eyes reluctantly found his again. "There's nothing you need to be sorry for, nothing. I brought this on myself. And now, as always, I need you to fix me. Patch me up, do some repair work, so that I can go back out there and take the damage all over again if that's what it takes to fix *you*." Scully shook her head. "Stop trying to sacrifice yourself for me, Mulder-" "Isn't that what you've been doing for me since you got here?" She frowned. "That's different," she replied, but knew it wasn't, not at all. "I just don't want to see you hurt again. Stop saying you're willing to get hurt for me, stop saying you'd die for me-" "But I would," he interrupted. "But I wouldn't want you to." "Well I would anyway. Believe it or not, I would blatantly disobey the wishes of almighty Special Agent Dana Scully and I'd give my life for her if I could." Scully stared at him, then gently pulled his head down so she could press her lips to his cheek. "You never listen, do you?" she chuckled scoldingly. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Guess it depends on whether or not I like what you're saying." "Well right now I'm saying that you need your wounds cleaned and stitched, or they'll get infected." She pulled back, soaked a cotton ball with alcohol, and held it up threateningly. "And it's gonna hurt." "Fine," Mulder sighed in resignation, and leaned farther back against the seat as if to brace himself. "But you'd better think of some way to ease my pain." "I have a few ideas," she said, grinning. "So do I. Hope we're thinking the same thing." He grabbed her by the waist again, and this time she cooperated willingly. She pressed a stinging ball of cotton to a wound on his shoulder, but soothed him with a kiss. "Maybe this won't be so bad," he said with a wry smile. "This could be a very effective method of anesthesia..." He kissed her again, making her momentarily forget the medical care she was supposed to be administering. "Uh, maybe I'd better get another cabin," said an uncomfortable voice from the doorway. Mulder glanced past Scully and let out a sigh of frustration that only she could hear. She smiled at him in pity, untangled herself from his arms, and turned around to greet Frank. "Are we all set to go?" she asked amicably, and subtly reached behind her back to toss Mulder his shirt. She heard him grumble something about interrupted medical care as he put it back on. "Yeah," said Frank, "we should be leaving any second now." "I still wish we could take Mulder to the hospital," said Scully. "We don't have time," said Frank. "It'll take at least half a day just to get to Paris. We'll be cutting it close." Mulder grabbed Scully's hand and turned her around to face him. "Look, Scully, as soon as you're healed you can take me to the hospital and remove a kidney for all I care." "As soon as I'm healed we're going home," she corrected. "And *then* you're going to a hospital." "And so are you." She glared at him for a moment, but he glared right back, mocking her stubbornness. She couldn't help but smile. "Fine. Just a check-up, though. Outpatient only, Mulder." "What a coincidence, that's where I'll be." Scully chuckled. "I just can't get rid of you, can I?" "Not if I can help it." Frank suddenly cleared his throat, growing impatient. "Agents, we need to discuss our plans here." He sat down across from them, and Scully sat back down beside Mulder. "Now, although train is the fastest method of transportation in Europe after flight," said Frank, "it will take twelve to fourteen hours to get to Paris, as I mentioned. After that, we have two more hours to find Coen and the antidote. Agent Scully, you will most likely be... out of commission at this point." Scully nodded neutrally. Frank looked at Mulder. "Now, the antidote takes awhile to prepare, so it would help if we could contact Dr. Coen ahead of time." "Do you even know how to contact him?" asked Mulder. "No," Frank admitted with a frown. "I don't even know where he is." "Well don't you have... spies or something that can find out? Isn't there some way to track him?" "I was tracking him," said Frank, "until I stumbled across your partner and decided to help her out instead." "So you lost him?" Mulder asked, his voice rising. A million panicked questions burst into his head. "Then how the hell are we going to find him? How are we going to find the antidote? What if he's not in Paris, what if he's left France? Jesus, what if he's left the continent? You said that Scully can't fly, so she'd just be stuck here without hope for getting the cure in time?" Frank could only shrug. For an intelligence agent he had very little information about their target, and he was feeling a bit embarrassed. But Scully turned to her partner and calmed him with a touch on the arm. "Mulder, I think it's time you called our friends back home." He shot her a look. "That's not your sarcastic way of referring to the FBI, is it?" "No," she said, smiling, "I mean, our somewhat strange yet very endearing friends who don't see much sunlight but bask in the glow of computer screens 24 hours a day." Mulder chuckled. "Ohhh. Them." *************** Monday, May 8, 2000 9:46 PM EST Lone Gunmen Newspaper Office, Takoma Park, Maryland Byers, as always, checked the very sophisticated caller-ID when the phone rang. This time it said only, "International Number." He eyed the phone suspiciously, praying that word of their skills hadn't gotten around to other terrorist groups who wanted spy favors. But the ringing was persistent, so he finally picked it up. "Uh... Lone Gunmen Newspaper," he said, keeping his voice as monotone as possible. "If you have a question about your subscription, please stay on the line. If you have need of illegal files, are seeking to hack into a government agency, or need to physically infiltrate top-secret security, please hang up." "Byers, it's me." Byers quickly covered the receiver with his hand and called for his associates. "Langly, Frohike, pick up! It's Mulder!" Frohike and Langly both made a mad dash for the nearest phone. Langly's height proved to be an advantage, and he was able to grab the phone out of Frohike's grasp. Frohike proceeded to stomp on Langly's foot, hard, and caught the phone when he dropped it, cursing in pain. Finally Byers broke up the mild scuffle and switched to speakerphone. "Mulder! Where are you?" asked Byers. "Somewhere west of Dresden. We're on our way to Paris." "Whoa, all this fuss just to get her to the love capital of the world, Mulder?" said Frohike. "You need to work a little harder on your romantic getaway plans." Byers ignored him. "So you got away from the NCCP? You're okay?" "Yeah, I'm okay." "Man, you had us worried," said Frohike. "I'm fine-" "Good thing, too, because Frohike had dibs on Scully if you didn't come back," said Langly. Frohike elbowed him in the stomach. "Guys, listen to me," Mulder started. "I have a problem... a really big problem. I need your help again-" "More terrorists, Mulder?" Langly interrupted. "Or have you gone back to good old alien conspiracies again?" "No, no, let me guess. You're finally having porn withdrawal symptoms and you need us to beam the Playboy channel into your motel room?" said Frohike. Byers and Langly laughed. Mulder ignored them, growing impatient. "No! Listen, it's about Scully!" The laughter faded quickly, hastened by Frohike's insistent hushing. "Hey, something wrong with your federal flame, Mulder?" Frohike asked, a bit nervously. "Yeah, there's something wrong. She's... hurt." "Oh, Mulder. We're sorry," Byers said quietly. "What happened, is it serious?" Mulder swallowed. "She, um... she's been infected with a biological weapon, some sort of toxin the terrorists developed. We have to find the antidote, or..." His voice trailed into silence. "Or what, Mulder?" Langly demanded. "She'll die," he said numbly. "She'll be dead by sunset, our time. 12:30 PM, your time." There was a long silence as the weight of the situation settled in their minds. Finally Frohike spoke up. "What do you need us to do?" "I need you to locate a man named Dr. Coen. He has the last of the antidote in his possession, but he fled Prague a few days ago. We know he went to Paris, but by now he could be anywhere in France." Langly was already typing furiously. "Here's a record of a plane ticket for Dr. Wilhelm A. Coen, German citizen, from Prague to Paris. Three days ago." "What about car rentals or pickups? Any flights out of Paris?" "Nope, nothing." "Okay," said Mulder. "What about residences in France? Where does this guy live?" Langly paused. "The only home address listed is in Germany. Business address is an office in Paris. Must be his lab." Mulder sighed. "Yeah, we already knew that. I'm gonna need more info." "It'll take some time, Mulder," said Byers. "I don't have time, guys. I need to know the exact location of this man and a way to contact him. Before we get to Paris, in about thirteen hours." "Thirteen hours?" exclaimed Frohike. "What the hell kind of plane are you taking?" "Oh, uh, we're not taking a plane," Mulder explained. "Altitude and air pressure could exacerbate her... condition. We're traveling by train." There was another slight pause. "Mulder," Langly began, "even if you find out where Coen is, you're still gonna have to get to him." "And Scully has less than fifteen hours left," said Frohike. "You'll never make it in time," said Byers. "Don't you guys *dare* tell me that," Mulder snapped with sudden anger, misdirected at his friends. "We *will* make it, we *will* get the antidote, she *will* be fine, and we *will* return to the U.S. tomorrow. Understand?" The Gunmen were silent, and Mulder sighed an apology. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jump all over you. I really appreciate everything you've done for Scully, and everything you're doing for me. I'm just under a little pressure, here." He laughed tensely at blaring understatement. "Just trust me, okay? I'm not going to come home without her." They all knew he meant it. **************************************** CHAPTER 16- Profiles, Aliases, and Info East of Frankfurt, Germany Tuesday, May 9, 2000 10:16 AM After finishing the phone call, Mulder returned to the cabin to find Scully alone, stretched across the bench, reading a pile of papers in a large binder. Her lips were pursed in concentration and she didn't notice him standing in the doorway. "Scully?" She looked up and smiled slightly at his return. She sat up straight and couldn't conceal the eager hope on her face. "Did the Gunmen find anything?" "They're... working on it," he said, and tried to sound optimistic. But Scully could tell by the look on his face that he had no good news. "Oh," she said, nodding. Her smile had faded considerably. "Hey, where's Frank?" Mulder asked. She shrugged and turned her attention back to her reading material. "Went to get some coffee, I think." Mulder sat down next to her and peered over her shoulder. "Whatcha reading?" he asked, seeing lots of statistical graphs and chemical maps, and of course not understanding a word of it. "It's Coen's data on the toxin," she replied, not looking up. "It's genius, really, the makeup of this compound, how he got it to do what it does-" "What it does to the human body, you mean?" Mulder said, suddenly bitter that she had such respect for such an evil thing. "What it's doing to you at this very moment?" "Mulder, the more I understand it, the better our chances of finding a way to stop it. But it's very interesting, actually. Coen designed it so that it lies dormant for those first fourteen hours, and then it paralyzes the limbs and shuts down the medulla in the victim's brain, which eventually stops the lungs and heart and all the other automatic metabolic processes. I haven't gotten to the terminal symptoms yet, but I'm guessing there's fever, chills, muscle spasms-" "Jesus, Scully, stop it!" Mulder snapped, standing up. "I don't want to know! I don't want to know all about what's killing you, I don't want to know the details of what would happen to you if we fail, and I sure as hell don't want to think about what you'd be suffering as you lie dying in my arms!" Scully stared at him silently for a moment, then turned to gaze out the window. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." "You're not crossing any bridge without me." "Mulder," she said gently, "Just don't think about it. If you keep thinking about it you'll go crazy... and so will I." She was still looking out the window, but she could see his faint reflection as he sat back down beside her. "I need you to keep your wits, Mulder, no matter what happens to me. And... don't try to follow me across that bridge, even if you suddenly find I'm on the other side." She turned to face him. "Promise me." Mulder shook his head, frowning intensely. "You're talking as if you're already-" He caught himself and swallowed the word. "Look, I really don't want to discuss this anymore, Scully." "All right," she agreed with a sigh. "Just... think about going home, sleeping in your own bed, and when you wake up, we go to work together, to fight vampires and mud-monsters and Mexican goat-suckers, not to mention the good old aliens we miss so much..." Mulder chuckled. "You know, stuff we're used to. None of this terrorist crap. No more dealing with humans." "Except for me, I hope?" Frank stood in the doorway, wearing his signature smirk. "Vampires and aliens, huh? That's how you earn your paychecks?" He shook his head, feigning regret. "I'm in the wrong line of work." Mulder threw him a mild scowl, but Scully chuckled. "Trust me, Agent Frank, you don't want to get involved in our line of work." "You're telling this to *me*, an international spy?" He laughed, but not mockingly. "My job is to keep track of evil groups of men who conspire against countless innocent people and would kill me if they only had the urge and the opportunity. What makes *your* job so dangerous?" "The same thing," said Scully, with a hint of sadness. Mulder shifted impatiently. "Agent Frank, did you come in here to tell us something, or just to complain about your job? Do you have some new information from your fancy CIA resources?" Frank ignored Mulder's sarcasm. "Not new information, no. On the contrary, I have some questions that need answering. Mostly questions about you, Agent Mulder." Mulder raised an eyebrow. "About me? What do you want to know?" "I think it would help if we just laid all our information out on the table, so to speak. And there's still some information you've been hiding, Agent Mulder. So first of all, why don't you tell me what started all of this? What exactly you were doing when you were captured by Slavomir?" "Good question," Scully murmured, and looked expectantly at Mulder. Mulder sighed. "I had just gotten off the plane at Prague International," he began. "I picked up my luggage and was going to meet my informant just outside the gate, when someone came up behind me and stuck a gun in my back. He told me not to cause a scene, and I thought he was just going to take me to see Dr. Michael Lowe, so I cooperated. I was led outside the terminal and into a loading dock behind the airport." He looked at Scully gravely. "But as soon as I saw the black van and all the guards, I knew I was in trouble. Dorjan Slavomir was there, and he told me that Dr. Lowe was dead, and that I would be of good use to them. I got a few hits in on two of the guards, but then they hit me over the head with something and I was out cold." He shrugged at Frank. "I believe you've heard the rest of the story." Frank frowned at him. "This Dr. Lowe, he worked for Slavomir as well?" Mulder nodded. "He must have been a colleague of Dr. Coen, maybe an assistant. But he never mentioned anything about a biotoxin. He was researching something completely separate." "And what was that?" Scully asked sharply. Mulder's speech was doing little to ease the frustration that had been generated from yesterday's argument and still ached in the back of her mind. He was still hiding something from her, something important, and it was driving her crazy. "Mulder, what was Dr. Lowe researching?" Mulder avoided her eyes. "Scully, I can't... I can't tell you that." He saw her cross her arms in irritation. "I'm sorry. As soon as I have you safe at home again, I'll tell you. But not now, not while we have this... this issue to deal with." He put a hand on her shoulder and caught her eye, but she looked away. "Scully, please. Just believe me when I say that it has nothing to do with this bioweapon, and it has nothing to do with saving you. You know I'd tell you in an instant if I thought it could help you." Frank crossed his arms and shrugged at Mulder's reticence. What did he care if Mulder insisted on alienating his partner? "Let him keep his secrets, Agent Scully. The only person that can help you right now is this man." He unfolded a sheet of paper from his pocket and held up a grainy, black and white copy of Dr. Coen's photo ID. "Fifty-six years old, five foot ten, white hair, blue eyes, corrective lenses. Born and raised in Germany, so keep your ears perked for an accent. Once we reach the lab, we can find him if we pay atten-" "Wait, wait a second," Mulder interrupted, snatching the paper from Frank's hand. "I've seen that man before. He was cowering beside Dorjan Slavomir while the guards captured me in the airport. I saw him whisper something to Slavomir just before I was knocked out." "Coen was at the airport?" asked Frank, surprised. "The only reason he'd be there with Slavomir is if he were being sent somewhere." "To France," Scully said thoughtfully. "To the lab in Paris. For the antidote, perhaps? It was always in Coen's custody, right? From the very beginning of the experiments, Coen always kept the antidote for himself in his own lab." "So Slavomir sent him to France to retrieve the last thing the NCCP needed," Mulder continued, beginning to pace as he tried to map out Dr. Coen's motives and plans. "But... Coen never returned. He's afraid, or maybe he had a change of heart, or both. So he stayed in France, and now he's hiding from Slavomir." Mulder paused and looked up at Scully and Frank in realization. "We're not going to find him in Paris. He would never hide there- his lab is there, and that's the first place Slavomir's men would look for him." "So where is he?" Frank asked, skeptical of Mulder's profiling skills. "Somewhere he feels safe," said Mulder. "A home, probably, but not somewhere known to the NCCP. Not a childhood home, either- he wouldn't want to endanger his family. I would guess a vacation house... and he grew up in mountainous Germany, so he'd vacation on the coast-" "Atlantic or Mediterranean?" Frank interrupted. "Atlantic," said Mulder. "The French Riviera isn't his type of scene. He wants peace, not parties." "All right," said Frank sarcastically, "that narrows it down to the entire western coast of France. Good job, Agent Mulder." Mulder glared at him defensively. "I don't see you providing any more information, Agent Frank. Now at least we won't waste our time searching Paris. I'm telling you, he's not there." "Where the hell is he, then?" Frank demanded. "I need a specific location, Mulder! When you figure it out, you let me know, but until then our destination is Paris. Right now it's our best chance. I mean, even your hacker friends couldn't find any record of Coen besides Paris and Germany!" "Well, could he have an alias?" asked Mulder. "Sure, he probably has several," said Frank. "Probably one or two that he uses most often. Unfortunately, I don't know any of them, so that puts us back at square one. And square one means Paris." He looked at Mulder self-righteously, making it perfectly clear that he was the one directing this adventure. Scully, meanwhile, was frowning slightly, deep in thought. "Frank," she said slowly, "what is Dr. Coen's middle name?" Frank checked the copy of the doctor's identification. "Aloysius. Wilhelm Aloysius Coen." He smirked. "Wouldn't want to be stuck with that name." Scully quickly rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a very wrinkled printout of Mulder's e-mails. After a moment of reading, she laughed triumphantly. "There," Scully said excitedly. "Look, Mulder, you've known Dr. Coen all along. Michael N. Lowe is a pseudonym for Wilhelm A. Coen. Same letters, same person." Mulder reached for the paper in her hand, but Frank grabbed it first. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "She's right." "Of course she's right," said Mulder, and he shot Frank an irritated look. "Call the Gunmen," Scully urged. "Tell them to check the alias." Both Mulder and Frank whipped out their cell phones, then looked at each other through narrowed eyes. "Go ahead," said Mulder, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Hearing a CIA agent ask for their help will boost their egos." *************** Little more than ten minutes later, Frank hung up the phone and grinned triumphantly. "We found him. We've got a location. An address, even. 'Michael Lowe' has a house in Granville, France. I had your 'Lone Gunmen' patch me through on the phone, and I recognized Coen's voice answering. He's there, and it's a safe bet he's got the antidote, so now we just have to get to him." Scully and Mulder were both smiling ear to ear, and they both sighed in relief. "That's the best news I've heard in days," said Scully, and she felt Mulder squeeze her hand in silent agreement. "But where's Granville?" Frank's smile faded a bit. "On the coast," he replied, his voice lowering. It was Mulder's turn to grin triumphantly. "Atlantic or Mediterranean?" "Atlantic," Frank grumbled. "Son of a bitch," Scully joked. "He was right." **************************************** CHAPTER 17- Strangers on a Train Tuesday, May 9, 2000 4:54 PM Granville, it turned out, was about a two-hour trip north- west of Paris, on the Atlantic coast near the English Channel. The timing would be tight; Scully would be on the two-hour countdown a little after they switched trains in Paris. They couldn't afford to lose any more time, so Mulder called ahead and ordered another set of tickets for the connecting route. Under an alias, of course. Slavomir's last threat was still hanging in his mind and he didn't want to take any chances. Meanwhile, Frank had pretty much left him and Scully alone, much to Mulder's relief. He didn't want a third party bothering them- not now, not under these circumstances- although there were no plans to do anything that specifically shouldn't be bothered. He simply held her for most of the day, both of them drifting in and out of sleep by necessity not choice. If it were up to Mulder, they certainly wouldn't be lying there in a cramped train car, exhausted beyond reason and catching up on sleep. Because no matter how much he tried to keep himself from thinking about it, there was a chance that those scant few hours would be the last he'd ever have with her. He didn't want to spend them unconscious. He tried to think about what they might be doing if they were free from the confines of the train, free and without limits except the deadly clock. It was a classic thought-provoking question: What would you do if you had one day left to live? Had he ever asked Scully that question, in lighthearted conversation? He couldn't recall, but he figured her answer would probably include, among many other more important things, some nice music, a bubble bath, and a good book. At least, that would have been her answer a month ago. Maybe now it would involve some nice music, a bubble bath, and *him*. Simultaneously. He smiled at the visual, but knew it would remain only in his head. Oh, well. The current conditions would have to do. He'd always known he'd be perfectly content to hold her for the rest of his life... he just never thought he'd be holding her for the rest of *hers*. His wistful expression darkened at the thought. "You are not going to leave me," he told her quietly. She squirmed in his arms, as if the fact that he'd spoken had somehow made her less comfortable. "Mmmm?" "Nothing," he said, and leaned down to kiss her. "Wake up." "Why, what's going on?" she mumbled. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. "We must be in France by now." "I think we're about half an hour from Paris," he told her. Scully rolled off the bench and stood up, stretching. "Then I'd better get something to eat while I still can." Those words, of course, made Mulder frown, but she tried to reassure him with a smile. "I'll be back in a little while. Find Frank and have a little chat while you're waiting." Mulder smirked as if to say, 'yeah, right,' but a few seconds after Scully opened the cabin door and left, Frank stepped into the room. "Speak of the devil," said Mulder, forcing a polite smile. "I need to speak with you, Agent Mulder," said Frank, and he closed the door behind him. "Okay, what'd I do this time?" Mulder muttered, only half kidding. "Nothing," said Frank. "I just want to discuss what we're going to do when we reach Paris. Now, you already reserved seats on the northbound train?" "Under the name 'George Hale'," said Mulder. Frank, of course, showed no recognition, and Mulder wished that Scully hadn't left. Surely she'd appreciate the nostalgia. "Well, we'll have just a few spare minutes to switch trains," Frank continued, sitting down on the other bench. "As the timeframe looks right now, Agent Scully will probably lose consciousness after we've left for Granville. Which is for the best, I suppose; at least she'll be comfortable and we'll only have to carry her after we reach our destination." "I'll carry her," Mulder stated, but inwardly scolded himself for sounding so jealous and defensive. "Are you sure you're up to it?" Frank gestured at the bandages around his torn wrists, a small representation of the four rolls of gauze also dressing the hidden wounds on his chest and shoulders. "I'm up to it," Mulder assured him. "So we'll take her to Coen's house, and demand the antidote, and he won't give us any trouble-" "Because I'll kill him if he doesn't help us," Frank interrupted, but he was basically finishing Mulder's sentence. "All right, then. I guess we're set. Any questions?" It didn't sound as if he actually wanted to answer any questions. But Mulder paused for a few moments, then his mouth tightened as if he'd thought of something important to ask. "Yeah, actually, I do. But it has nothing to do with the plans we just made." Frank folded his arms behind his head. "Um, okay, shoot." "In Prague... when you came across Scully in the NCCP headquarters..." Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "How much did you see? I mean, from what you saw, did they... did they hurt her? After I was unconscious?" "Agent Scully said she was fine," Frank stated. Mulder waved his hand dismissively. "I know, I know what she said. She says that all the time." "You don't believe her?" "I just know that she tends to hold things back, make them seem lighter than they actually are. I'm used to it, but I still want to know what happened." Frank sighed loudly and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know... when I got there you were already out, and they were holding her down. Geryk was on top of her, and he said something to her that I couldn't hear, and she screamed. She turned her head towards you and she screamed." The ashen look on Mulder's face made it very clear that he regretted bringing the incident up again. The thought of Scully screaming- screaming for him, no less- chilled his blood and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what else Frank had to say. Had they actually hurt her? Had she just been hiding it so well that even her own partner couldn't see? Why wouldn't she tell him? "They didn't do anything," Frank said, quick to read Mulder's expression. "Geryk reached for her legs, but I shot him. Then I shot the other three, and got the hell out of there. That's all I saw. She was fine when she left, and she was fine when I saw her the next day." "You followed her," said Mulder. "All the way to Dresden? Why would you go out of your way like that?" Frank didn't answer, and Mulder smiled tightly. "Never mind, you don't have to tell me why. You think I don't know how you feel about her?" "I haven't exactly been trying to hide it from you," Frank said with a chuckle. "No, you haven't, and it's been driving me crazy." Frank shrugged. "Look, Agent Mulder. I think you're a fine agent. You're attentive and smart, and you can back her up when she needs it. You're a good enough agent to be her partner." "But only from nine to five, is that what you're saying?" "I'm saying that if you're going to be more than her partner, you need to give her all that she deserves. But you haven't, yet. Maybe you can't." Mulder scoffed, undaunted. "This is old news," he said. "She knows I can't give her suburban bliss. She loves me anyway." "Has she ever told you so?" Frank demanded, and Mulder fell suddenly silent, unable to reply. Frank cocked an eyebrow. "Well, hasn't she?" "She... she hasn't *said* it, not the actual words..." "Oh, I see," said Frank, with a smirk. "But I *know*," Mulder insisted. "We both know, and believe me, it goes beyond words. It doesn't matter what we *say* to each other." He exhaled sharply in frustration. "Good God, now I know why we waited seven years. Everybody we work with gets all nosy and suggestive and we can't get anything done. And why the hell am I telling you this, anyway? It's none of your damn business." Frank shrugged innocently. "My business is to save Dana's life." "Your business is to save *Agent Scully's* life," Mulder snapped. "And that's where your business ends." Suddenly the daylight streaming through the windows was replaced by total darkness. The lights above them flickered on, and Mulder heard the voice of the conductor calmly announcing something in French over the P.A. system. "We're underground now," Frank translated. "About four kilometers from the Paris subway hub. We'll be there in a few min-" He was cut short when the brakes screeched and the train shook with an abrupt stop. "What the hell," Frank muttered, frowning. The lights went out again, plunging the entire train into total darkness. Frank pulled out his cigarette lighter and used its flame to find his flashlight. A voice came on over the P.A. system, but this time it wasn't the conductor. Both Frank and Mulder recognized the man's accent. "Please remain calm and in your seats. We are having some... technical difficulties, but the train will be moving again in a few minutes. Thank you for your patience." Frank's eyes widened in realization. "Where's Dana? Where did she go?" "To the dining car, I think. Why?" Frank drew his gun and slowly opened the cabin door. He peered around the corner into the darkness of the hallway, then looked gravely back at Mulder. "You've got to find her," he ordered, keeping his voice low. "Find her and hide in the cargo hold if you can, and wait there until I come for you." He turned to leave but Mulder grabbed his arm. "Wait! You think Slavomir's men are on this train? How did they find us?" Frank shook his arm loose and narrowed his eyes. "That hardly matters, Agent Mulder. They're looking for your partner right now... and you'd better find her first." "What about you?" Mulder asked. "Where are you going?" Frank grinned slightly, but his dark eyes remained solemn. "Hunting." *************** 5:13 PM Scully rinsed her hands in the tiny bathroom, splashed some water on her face, and blotted it with a paper towel. Her tired, bruised reflection stared back at her, but she laughed to herself when she realized that her black eye matched Mulder's. Same size, same shape, same eye. How appropriate. She had just stopped for a bathroom break on the way back to the cabin- she'd had a coffee and a few pretzels in the dining car but found it difficult to eat much else. Her turkey sandwich had been spared all but one bite, and she'd kept her apple in her pocket for Mulder, later. She knew she should be starving-she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast after they'd left Dresden- but her appetite was gone. And although she wasn't quite ready to admit it to anyone, she was feeling a bit ill. Headache, sore throat, and a slight fever... she automatically recognized the symptoms as "flu" but knew that this time, it meant something else. The deadline was coming. Soon. Time to go find Mulder. He should know. He should know everything, just in case she never got to tell him later. Although, deep down, she suspected he already knew. And how could words do justice, anyway? How could words be more important than experience? After all, the experience belonged to him, too. He had to already know. She swallowed the ache in her throat that was now caused more by grief than the impending effects of the poison, and stepped out of the bathroom and into the empty, daylit hallway. The daylight was suddenly gone, however, and as the lights flickered on overhead, she heard the conductor announce something over the P.A. system that she couldn't understand. But his voice was calm, so she guessed that they were simply in a tunnel. But then the lights went out again, and this time the entire train remained in total darkness. Another voice echoed from the speakers, and spoke in English. The words themselves indicated no ill will, but Scully knew better. The man's unmistakable Czech accent made her shudder. They're here, she realized. They're on this train and they're looking for me... I've got to find Mulder. Scully crept down the hallway, unable to see in the dark. Feeling along the walls, she counted the doorways; was her cabin the fourth or the fifth on the right? No, wait, she realized, she wasn't even in the right car... Suddenly it didn't matter- she heard and then felt a rush of wind as the train door opened behind her, and she froze in fear. The door closed again, and the silence was broken by slow, deliberate footsteps approaching her. She pressed herself against a closed door as tight as she could, but knew it was only a matter of moments before she was discovered. The man sensed her presence and stopped, listening intently. "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," he said quietly, in a thick accent, "Connaissez-vous une femme qui s'appelle Dr. Scully?" Scully silently cursed herself for not knowing a word of French besides 'mademoiselle,' but she obviously recognized her own name and when a man with a Czech accent knows her name, it equals trouble. Unfortunately, she couldn't reply in French, but she couldn't say anything in English, either; that would reveal that she was foreign, American, and potentially the elusive Dr. Scully herself. Her silence revealed the same truth to the man. She heard him inhale sharply with obvious excitement, and when he spoke, his voice seemed a step or two closer. "Come with me, ma petite," he drawled. "I know you're there." Scully was suddenly acutely aware of the volume of her breathing, but could do nothing to control it. Apparently the man was aware, too, because he all but pounced in her direction, tracking her by sound. She flailed backwards down the hallway, no longer caring about making noise, and then turned to run as fast as she could. She heard a grunt behind her, then the sound of a cabin door opening. The man quickly caught up to her and grabbed her shoulder, snatching her back, but she wrenched herself away from him and stumbled a few more steps before slamming head-first into an open cabin door. Half a moment later she felt a strong pair of hands yank her sideways, into the cabin. She was dizzy and disoriented, blind in the darkness, but she refocused on her surroundings long enough to hear the cabin door slam and the deadbolt lock into place. She lashed out with one leg and managed to kick the man hard in the ankle, then followed with an elbow to his throat. This made him release her, and she could hear him coughing and wheezing. She fumbled for the door, but he followed her, grabbed her again, and pinned her against the door. "Lemme go, you sonofabitch," she slurred, then gathered enough breath to start a scream. "Mul-" A hand clamped itself over her mouth, quickly silencing her. She recognized his touch at the same time she heard his voice gasping in her ear. "It's me," he hissed breathlessly. "It's me, Scully, shhh..." She instantly relaxed, and he slipped his hand from her mouth but did not let her go. He stood there, frozen, still holding her pressed against the door, now listening carefully. Outside, the terrorist was cursing and muttering, then footsteps approached and another voice joined the first. They spoke to each other in Czech, then laughed. "There's two of them now," Mulder whispered, and Scully nodded. Without letting her go, he backed away from the door and crouched with her near the window. "Do you have your gun?" "No," she replied. She had left her holster in their cabin. Besides, she was feeling rather lightheaded from banging her head, and she doubted that she could have shot anything even if she were armed. "I have Frank's Glock," Mulder mumbled. "Seven in the clip. They'll get in here eventually, and then I'll take them out-" The sound of a large hammer clicking into place outside the door instantly cleared Scully's mind, and she gripped Mulder's hand in warning. "That sounds like... the other one could be armed-" Her assumption was confirmed with an exploding spray of gunshots through the door, shattering the window, sending shards of glass raining down upon them. She instinctively dropped flat to the floor and felt her partner's body land beside her. "Stay down!" he yelled, shifting to half cover her as another barrage of bullets whizzed above them. "Bastard's got an automatic!" He raised his arm over his head and let off a series of blind shots. Five, six, seven, click. Click, click, silence. The gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had started. The first terrorist stepped over the body of the second and kicked down what was left of the door. He had pried the automatic from his comrade's dead hand, and he cocked it again threateningly. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't see a thing in the pitch dark. Mulder and Scully stared at each other across the floor, each from their respective hiding place under the benches. It was, needless to say, infinitely more uncomfortable for Mulder than for Scully. But neither of them moved, neither breathed. The man shuffled around slowly, feeling with both feet and hands. When he realized that his targets weren't dead on the floor where they were supposed to be, he stopped to listen. "There is no use hiding," he sneered, almost playfully. "I've only come for you, Agent Scully." Then suddenly the lights were on again, momentarily blinding all three of them. Scully's headache throbbed in protest of the sensory overload. Blindly, she rolled out from her hiding place and, bracing herself against the legs of the bench, kicked at where she guessed were the man's feet. Unfortunately, at that exact moment, the train jerked and started moving again. Scully's kick went wide and her foot connected with only empty air. Instead, something connected with her foot- a hand grabbed her ankle and yanked her forward, and then she felt a firm pressure on her chest. A large figure loomed over her, blocking the light enough for her to see without squinting. The terrorist was standing over her, holding her trapped on the floor with a foot on her chest. "Look what I caught," he said triumphantly, grinning down at her as she squirmed under the pressure of his step. The tip of the automatic weapon pressed into her throat, and she froze. Mulder cursed loudly and was crawling toward them within seconds. The threatening click of the automatic re-cocking made him freeze, as well. He sat there on his heels, one hand half extended towards his partner, the other clenched in a fist at his side. This is it, he realized. This time I'm free. I can take those bullets and save her, just like I wanted to the last time these bastards had her on the floor... He shifted slightly, putting his weight on the balls of his feet as if ready to pounce. The terrorist noticed and pressed the gun harder into Scully's throat. "Stay right there," he warned Mulder. "This has nothing to do with you." "It has everything to do with me," Mulder replied, taking deep breaths to slow the adrenaline that was evident even in his voice. "I killed Dorjan Slavomir, not her." Scully twisted in protest. "No! No, he didn't-" "Shut up, Scully!" Mulder hissed, but didn't take his eyes from the man holding an automatic to her throat. "I did it! I was the one who shot him!" The man scoffed. "This is not quite a dilemma," he chuckled. "I can kill you both." He stepped away from Scully, towards the door, but kept his gun aimed at her. Then he looked at Mulder, and swung the weapon in his direction. "You first." **************************************** CHAPTER 18- We'll Always Have Paris Scully watched the gun swing away from her and towards Mulder, almost in slow motion. Two gunshots blasted through the room, followed by a cry of pain, and Scully instinctively gasped at the sound. It took her half a second to realize that the cry was not her partner's. The machine gun clattered to the floor and the terrorist spun around to face the doorway, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. But his chest had its own gaping exit wound, and slowly, eyes wide, he slumped to the floor. He looked up at his executor with a mix of awe and hatred, slurred a few words in Czech, and shut his eyes. Frank shoved his Colt back in its holster and extended a hand to pull Scully to her feet. "You okay?" he asked her quietly. "We're fine," said Mulder, before she could answer. "Thanks so much for asking." He couldn't decide whether he was overwhelmingly grateful that Frank had shown up in the nick of time, or bitter that the man seemed incapable of doing anything but saving his and Scully's lives. Slavomir had been right- Frank was James Bond. An irrational pang of jealousy throbbed in his chest. Again. "Where were you?" Scully mumbled to Frank. She seemed a bit shaken. "Weeding out the rest of the terrorists," he replied. "And getting this train rolling again." Scully reached up to touch his left cheek, just under his eye. "I see they gave you a shiner for your trouble." Frank shrugged it off. "Could be a lot worse. Although, this little incident has brought a different set of problems. It's cost us too much time." His voice was grave. "Listen, we've got to change our plans a bit. I think one of us is going to have to fly to Granville from here, and deal with Coen." "I think it had better be me," Mulder stated. He met Frank's surprised eyes with nothing but determination. "You?" Frank protested. "Why you? I'm the spy!" "As far as Dr. Coen is concerned, I'm just as much a spy as you are. He knows me, he's corresponded with me. He'll be glad to see that I'm alive." "He betrayed you," Frank pointed out. "He turned you over to Slavomir." "All the more reason for him to help me and make amends." Mulder replied. "I have no doubt that I'll be able to get what we want from him. I'm willing to do anything at this point, and I have no qualms about using any measure necessary." He clapped Frank on the back. "Don't worry, I'll tell him you said hi." Frank let out a long, weary sigh. "Fine. Sure, whatever." He took out a pen and a crumpled receipt from his pocket, and scribbled some information on it. "Here. When you get off this train, call this number and give them this code. Within five minutes a car will come to take you to the nearest airstrip. There will be a pilot there named Mathieu- tell him I sent you and give him this password and he'll take you wherever you need to go." He handed Mulder the paper, as well as the paper with Coen's address. "See you in Granville." He sounded a little bitter. Mulder turned to his partner, who was standing there like a statue, arms crossed, gaping at him. He sighed. "Scully, come on, don't look at me like that." She said nothing for a few moments, then looked away and pursed her lips. "Go ahead, Mulder. Go take a few more risks, be the hero, gamble with danger. I know how much you love being the sacrificial lamb. You made it quite clear a few minutes ago when you tried to get yourself shot by a goddamn Beretta machine gun!" "Instead of you, Scully!" he replied defensively. "I was trying to help you!" "You were trying to die for me," she said coldly. "Even after I what I told you. What makes you think it's okay to die for a dying woman?" "You're not a dying woman," Mulder said immediately, before he could pursue any other argument about why he'd sacrifice for her. "For all intents and purposes, I am!" She grabbed his gaze and held it strong. "Has it even crossed your mind that by sunset tonight I could be dead? I mean, of course it has... but have you considered the odds, lately? Mulder, don't kid yourself! It is quite possible that this is my last day on earth!" Mulder shivered, then looked at his feet. "That's why I need to do something, Scully. I can't just sit around and wait anymore. I have to do everything I can." The conductor's voice sounded from the speakers overhead. His speech was a bit longer than last time, and his voice was decidedly shaky. Frank translated. "We're approaching the station. They want all passengers to assist police in determining what happened when the train stopped. But... don't worry, we'll be able to skip their little investigation. The CIA will take care of the matter later, when time isn't of such importance." The train began to slow down, and the lights of the station tunnel zoomed by outside. "Guess this is where our paths diverge," Mulder mumbled. "I'll see you guys later." Without looking at Scully, he turned and headed for the doorway. Suddenly, almost as if reaffirming her last spoken words, Scully felt a dull burning sensation spread from her chest throughout her veins, down her legs and into each fingertip. Her head swam and she tried to blink away the black patches that were invading her eyesight. Her fourteen hours were up. The toxin had activated in her heart and was now pumping ceaselessly through the rest of her body. "Mulder?" He stopped in the doorway and wearily turned to face her. "Scully, don't make this into a..." His words trailed off when he met her eyes and was instantly alarmed at the pain he saw there. "Scully?" She gasped softly as her legs tingled with short, sharp stings and then went numb. She shakily extended her arms, reaching for him as she began to fall forward. "Mulder..." He was back at her side in less than a second, and he caught her as she collapsed against his chest. He slipped one arm under her shoulders and lowered her quickly but carefully to the floor, his other hand grasping hers. "Scully... Scully? No, no, not yet..." Kneeling over her, he brushed the hair from her forehead and placed a hand on her cheek. Her skin was hot to the touch, she was burning with fever... "Oh, God-" she choked out, and gripped her partner's hand as hard as she could. It felt as if someone were flushing her veins with molten lava. She arched in pain and bit hard on her lip, swallowing the urge to scream. But just as swiftly as the burning began, it ebbed and faded away completely, leaving her panting for breath. Her head throbbed and there was still a roaring in her ears but she could vaguely hear Mulder calling her name, frantically. He was there, and she could feel him touching her, but with a twinge of shock she realized that she could no longer move her arms or legs. Slowly the pounding in her head ceased, and her senses cleared- for the moment, at least. "Come on, come on, Scully, look at me. Are you all right?" "Time's up, Mulder," she whispered hoarsely. He shook his head. "Not yet. I'll get the antidote, you're gonna be okay-" "Don't you leave me here." "Scully, I have to go find it, I'll only be gone for a little while, I promise." "I don't *have* a little while, Mulder, please..." She paused for breath, her chest heaving from the simple effort of talking. "Don't leave me here, Mulder, don't let me die here alone..." Mulder froze and stared at her, suddenly amazed at the tangible, physical pain a broken heart could induce in him. God, how could he have even considered leaving her at a time like this? For the entire day she had been fine, her health perfectly normal. But now, seeing her lying here against him, her strength deteriorating before his very eyes, he realized the truly devastating effect of the first stage of the poison. How could he leave her to suffer like this without him? He leaned down and kissed her lips firmly, shutting his eyes tight. When he pulled back slightly he could feel her breath against his cheek, coming in soft, staggering gasps. "I am *not* going to let you die, Scully, and never, *ever* alone," he told her, making each word slow and firm. "Don't you ever worry about that." She gazed up at him, her eyes beginning to lose focus, and she felt him squeeze her hand. Frank looked down at them uncomfortably. He felt like such an outsider, an intruder; but then again, what else was new? Yet there was something else he was feeling, something fairly unfamiliar... Jealousy? Yes, jealousy, mixed with plenty of bitterness. This man had brought her into danger, unwillingly but still foolishly. And now, she would be dead within two short hours, and the task of saving her would be Frank's alone, again. Mulder himself could do nothing for her now, except comfort her and slowly self-destruct in his own guilt... and yet, for some ungodly reason, she loved him. What could that sorry sonofabitch have possibly done to deserve that? Mulder looked up at Frank pleadingly. "I can't leave her," he said. "I'm sorry, I can't go, not like this... I need to be with her." Frank forced himself to say something constructive, something with some semblance of encouragement. "That's all right," he said, "I'll go, I'll get the antidote. You can stay with Agent Scully." "Frank..." Scully murmured, glancing in the direction of his voice. Mulder saw the worry in her eyes and expressed concern on her behalf. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Mulder asked. "On your own, I mean." "Yeah," Frank said with a grim smile. "It's my job." Mulder heard Scully let out a small, pained sigh, and he looked back down at her with concern. She was starting to shudder uncontrollably, and Mulder pulled her sideways onto his lap, trying in vain to ease her tremors. He looked up at Frank, needing some sort of reassurance. "Tell me she won't... tell me she'll be okay, Frank." "She'll be okay." "*Promise* me." Frank turned away, frowning. Lie, Agent Frank, lie, he thought. That's what you do, that's what you're so damn good at. But he couldn't lie this time, not to this grief-stricken, undeserving man in front of him, and definitely not to her. No, never to her. For the first time in four years- four years that seemed like a lifetime- he cared too much to lie. "I can't promise," he answered quietly. "The toxin... it works slowly, it will slow her heart gradually. Her limbs will be paralyzed the entire time, and soon she'll lose consciousness-" "Why is she shivering like this?" Mulder asked worriedly, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her, trying to hold her still. "Why can't she stop shaking?" "She'll stop soon. It's just her muscles reacting to the poison. She's not in pain anymore." Mulder exhaled and turned his attention back to his partner. Scully's body had gone limp and her shuddering had turned into short, quiet spasms isolated in her chest, as if her lungs couldn't remember how to inhale. But she was still conscious. She continued to gaze up at Mulder with glossy, silent eyes as he instinctively rocked her back and forth, unaware of his own motions. He was shaking almost as much as she was. "Shhh... it's okay, just stay with me, Scully. You're going to be okay. Please, just stay with me..." He kissed her forehead softly, continuing to whisper in her ear as she trembled, the poison spreading mercilessly through her body. "Agent Frank, go." "What?" "Go. Now, Frank. You don't have much time." Although he was addressing Frank, Mulder's eyes remained fixed on Scully as he caressed her cheek. "She doesn't have much time..." "I know. I'll find it." "It's all on you, now," Mulder said softly. "You can't let her down." Frank nodded at him, trying to keep his face emotionless. He was there to do a job, to recover a single item of chief importance, achieve the rescue objective. He was there to help an injured agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He wished it were that simple, but this time he knew it wasn't. This, he knew, was why it was dangerous to get personally involved. The mind automatically weighs all options, including failure, and when an agent has a personal stake in the mission, failure is too painful to think about. He'd already learned this the hard way, and he did not want another lesson in loss. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder," he said simply. "I'll take care of Dr. Coen. You take her as far as you can by train and car, and as soon as the antidote's ready I'll head out to meet you. Okay?" "Yeah," Mulder said softly. "Okay." "You still have the Glock?" he asked, and Mulder nodded. Frank tossed him two extra clips. "Good. More assassins may be searching for you. Are you prepared to use force to defend yourself, and her?" Mulder gently ran a hand through Scully's hair. "Hell yes," he said resolutely, and when he looked back up at Frank, his eyes were clear and determined. "All right," said Frank. "I'll see you in two hours, then." "Two hours, then," Mulder echoed, as Frank turned to leave. But before he closed the door, Frank looked back at Mulder. "She's going to be fine." Mulder could only nod; his attention was fixed on Scully, watching as her eyes finally closed. **************************************** CHAPTER 19- Wilhelm A. Coen Tuesday, May 9, 2000 6:43 PM Granville, France After an hour-long flight in a tiny twin-engine plane, Frank was glad to be back behind the wheel of a land vehicle. From the airstrip, it was only another ten minutes of driving before he reached the heart of Granville. He found the house with relative ease, thanks to his GPS locator and the address they'd discovered earlier. But the house was isolated, built on a hill, without a drivable road leading up to it. Frank had to park on the beach itself and walk about a quarter mile to the white wooden stairway that led from the beach to the house. When he reached the front door, he pressed the doorbell, but nothing sounded, and he saw that the wires had been disconnected. So he knocked twice, then harder and more insistently when he wasn't acknowledged within the minute. Finally the door opened slightly, just enough to reveal the figure of a white-haired old man glaring at Frank over the top of his glasses. "Bonsoir," said Frank, with the painted smile of a salesman. "C'est la résidence de Michael Lowe?" "Non," said the man, narrowing his eyes even further. "Non, pas ici." He began to close the door, but Frank stopped it. "Alors, peut-être c'est la résidence de Wilhelm Coen?" The man's eyes widened, and he slammed the door as hard as he could before turning to run. Frank cursed and tugged at the door handle, only to find it locked and very sturdy. "Le fils d'une chienne..." Frank muttered, and raced around to the back of the house. The back patio door was open, leaving only the screen, which Frank easily kicked his way through. Inside, he heard frantic footsteps going upstairs. Frank gave chase and followed him to the second floor. Coen was in the bedroom, and Frank peered at him around the corner. The doctor was fumbling around under the bed, and he finally pulled out a small handgun from a shoebox. Frank ducked back behind the doorframe and waited. Coen cautiously stepped towards the hallway, holding his gun up in defense, eyes darting into every shadow and every corner. But as soon as he stepped past the doorway, Frank pounced on him, pried the gun out of his hand, and knocked him down easily. Coen groaned but didn't struggle, especially when he found Frank's gun pointed at his face. He sighed and lifted his arms in surrender, leaning back against the wall. "Vous pouvez me retourner à Prague," said Coen, with a thick German accent, "mais je ne vous aiderai jamais. Pas encore. Jamais encore." When Frank didn't answer, he added, "I *said*, you can take me back to Prague but I will not help-" "I heard you the first time," Frank snapped. "Je parle français, c'est une belle langue mais une culture ennuyante. Je parle aussi allemand, si vous préférez, ou anglais, évidemment. C'est votre choix, bien sûr." Coen raised an eyebrow, half suspicious and half afraid. "English," he mumbled. Frank grabbed Coen by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, then, doctor, we have work to do." "No, not a chance," said Coen. "I should never have worked for your people in the first place. And I'm not doing another damn thing for you, not after what you did to that poor American." "I'm not with the NCCP, Dr. Coen," Frank interrupted. "I'm an American CIA agent." "Oh, really. Let me see your badge." Frank rolled his eyes. "Spies don't have badges." "Aha!" cried Dr. Coen. "Neither do terrorists! You think Dorjan Slavomir carries a badge that says, 'Official International Madman?'" "Dorjan Slavomir is dead, doctor, I saw it with my own eyes. I give you my word, I'm an agent of the CIA, and I'm only here on personal business." Coen slowly let himself smile. "Slavomir is dead? Thank God. Who killed the evil bastard? I wish to shake his hand." "*Her* hand," said Frank. "She's a fellow agent, a friend. And if you wish to thank her, Dr. Coen, you will help me save her life. She's been infected with the last strain of your own biotoxin, and she will be dead by nightfall if she doesn't get the antidote." Coen frowned. "Oh, wait just a minute. You want the antidote? That is what you came here for?" Frank nodded. "You *are* one of Slavomir's men," Coen accused. "You made up this story to get the last thing you need from me! Well, comrade, you had better start crawling back to your filthy communist friends empty-handed, because you will get nothing!" He spat at Frank's feet, then scowled briefly at the stain he'd made on his own carpet. Frank lost his patience and slammed Coen against the wall, holding him by the throat. "My name is Andrew Frank, American intelligence agent," he hissed. "I have been gathering information on Slavomir and the NCCP for a year now. My mission is to shut them down and bring them to justice, do you understand?" Coen nodded fiercely, terrified. "Now, I know you have the antidote to the toxin with you, and you are going to prepare it for me. Quickly. Because if that woman dies, there is a man from the FBI on his way here who will kill you without a second thought. And I will not stop him, doctor; rest assured that I will help him." Coen sighed. "I assume you are talking about Agent Mulder," he said. "I've met the man. The last I saw of him, he was being detained by Slavomir's guards. I didn't want to turn him over, I swear to you. Slavomir found out I was communicating with him under an alias, and threatened to kill me. But he said he'd spare me if I sent for Agent Mulder to use as a hostage. I am glad that Mr. Mulder escaped, Agent Frank. He only wanted my help. He didn't deserve all of this." Frank slowly released Coen, who took a deep breath and rubbed his sore neck. "He needs your help now, Dr. Coen," said Frank. "You can heal his partner, Agent Scully." "How did she become infected?" "She injected herself," said Frank. "To destroy the weapon, to keep Slavomir from having it." Dr. Coen shook his head with pity. "Smart lady. And brave, obviously." He gestured toward the stairway. "I have a home laboratory downstairs. I will prepare the antidote, Mr. Frank, but I must ask for something in return." "You are not in a position to ask favors, doctor," Frank said impatiently. "I need protection," Coen insisted. "From the remnants of the NCCP. And passage to America, where I can find work in a more constructive field." Frank paused, considering, then smiled slightly. "If Agent Scully lives, I will give you more than what you asked. A position in the CIA, preventing bioterrorism and helping me clear out the rest of the NCCP. You'd be a very valuable researcher in our department, doctor." Coen smiled, then, and grabbed Frank's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Agreed," he said, and headed for his laboratory. "But first I must uphold my end of the bargain. Come with me, Agent Frank, I will show you what to do." *************** Tuesday, May 9, 2000 7:28 PM Granville, France Mulder hated having to race the sun. He had to follow it to the edge of the ocean, reach the finish line before it disappeared. It seemed a fruitless effort; especially since with every passing minute, the sky was changing, growing just a bit dimmer, just a bit deeper. It was as if he was actually watching his partner fade away. She was lying in the reclined passenger seat beside him, strapped securely under the seatbelt. He had turned her face towards him so that he could glance at her while he drove, monitor her for any change whatsoever. But she hadn't moved since she collapsed on the train. Unwilling to sit passively in a train car during the most urgent stretch of the journey, Mulder had decided to forgo the second train trip from Paris to Granville, in favor of a rented truck with an eight-cylinder engine and two hundred and forty horsepower. He'd never driven so continuously fast in his life. For nearly two hours, his speed had never fallen below eighty. His average, he guessed, was probably more like ninety-five. Miles per hour, not kilometers. He had spoken out loud to her while he drove- translating bits of French radio broadcasts, describing the landscape they were passing, lamenting over the fact that French wine was so expensive, and telling her how he maybe they'd come back to Europe someday, on a real vacation. But first, he told her, he wanted to take her someplace warm, probably Fiji. And no, he assured her unconscious mind, they would not be bothered by any Fiji mermaids. But the lighthearted and hopeful one-sided conversation eventually ran out, and Mulder was again left with the very real possibility that everything in his world could be coming to an end. Forget aliens, and the Syndicate, and the threat of colonization. The real apocalypse was looming in the west, where the sun was about to touch the Atlantic like a kiss of death. The real apocalypse was lying in the car beside him, silent and motionless, threatening to end all of existence when her heart stopped beating. But at last he'd reached Granville. As Frank had discovered almost an hour earlier, he couldn't reach the house by car, and was forced to park on the beach, next to an SUV that was already there. Mulder got out of the car and peered across the beach, and saw what had to be Coen's house. Almost there. He flung open the passenger door and quickly pulled Scully into his arms, fitting her head under his chin, wincing only slightly at the pressure of her body against his wounds. When he turned around, he saw Frank in the distance, at the top of the hill near Coen's house, racing down the white stairs to the beach. He exhaled slightly when he saw that Frank had a small bag tucked under one arm. Mulder walked briskly towards him, being careful not to stumble in the sand while carrying his partner. "Where's Dr. Coen?" Mulder shouted. "He's gone," Frank shouted back. "I sent him back to America, where the CIA will deal with him." "But you have it?" "I have it." Frank finally reached them and skidded to a stop, slightly out of breath. He looked at Scully, and swallowed hard at the sight of her. Despite the warm glow of sunset around them, her skin was ghostly pale, and her face bore an expression of distress rather than peaceful repose. She was barely breathing, and each breath lasted hardly a second. He tentatively reached out to place a hand on her cheek. "She's almost gone," he mumbled. "It's going to be close. She shouldn't have even made it this long." "She's a fighter," Mulder told him. Frank stroked her cheek affectionately. "I know." Mulder quickly lowered her to the ground, laying her gently on the sand with his hand under her head. "Frank, please, come on..." Frank knelt on her other side and pulled out two pneumatic syringes, much smaller than the one that had administered the toxin. One syringe held a clear blue liquid, the other green. He tapped the barrels of each, eliminating the air bubbles. "The green one must be injected into the carotid artery," he recited. "The blue goes into the jugular vein. The two separate components of the antidote will neutralize the poison, but we have to inject them simultaneously." Frank handed the blue syringe to Mulder and helped him position it over the vein in Scully's throat, then placed the green syringe on the other side of her neck, feeling for the artery with his fingertips. "On the count of three," he said, meeting Mulder's anxious eyes. "One... two..." Both men looked down at Scully, their last amount of hope filling the space of a single second. "Three." Each syringe hissed and instantly emptied itself of its contents. Scully's head jerked slightly at the chemicals' invasion, but then settled back limply against Mulder's hand. Mulder looked up at Frank and frowned. "That's it?" he asked. "That's all? What happens now?" Frank mechanically busied himself with packing away the syringes, avoiding Mulder's stare. "Now... we wait." We wait? How many times have I heard that, Mulder thought. How many times have I spent the night outside her hospital room, having being told that 'all they could do was wait'? As many times as I've silently grieved for her ordeals, I'll never get used to it. I'll never get used to not knowing if she'll ever wake up, if she'll be okay. And now... Mulder looked down at her, wanting to do something else, wanting to do anything but wait. This was all his fault. Death was pulling at her, dancing around her, trying to strike her and take her with a touch... and he couldn't protect her anymore? He couldn't do anything more for her? It was too hard for him to accept. "How long will it take?" he asked Frank. "How long until she wakes up?" Frank checked his watch. "If she doesn't show a sign in... three minutes, she's gone," he replied, more bluntly than he meant to. He saw Mulder flinch and felt another strong surge of pity. "Three minutes?" Mulder repeated. "Three minutes, three minutes..." "Look, Mulder," Frank offered, "I just want to say that despite all the... thinly veiled hostility between us..." He swallowed and looked at Scully again. "I think we're both praying for the same thing here." Mulder nodded distractedly. "I know, Frank." He looked out over the ocean, at the gorgeous glowing sunset casting a myriad of colors down onto the water and up into the clear sky. The waves lapped gently at the shore, and there was nothing but peace for miles around. It was quite possibly the most beautiful display of nature he had ever seen, but he sighed and shook his head. "So this is what hell is like." **************************************** CHAPTER 20- Resurrection of the Fighter She was having that nightmare again. She was buried there, under the sand, trapped in a tomb. But she was also above ground, digging frantically, pulling sand away from the face- her own face- that was exposed to the open sky. But waves kept washing into the crater, causing more sand to tumble in, and she felt herself begin to choke. She was drowning, she couldn't breathe. And she couldn't dig anymore, either. The hands above the surface fell still, exhausted, and the face below the sand closed its eyes. All she could feel, then, was cold. For a few endless moments she suffered there, under the immense pressure, sensing nothing but darkness around her. She was drowning in that darkness, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could survive in it. She knew there was a promise of light somewhere beyond, and she was willing to do anything to see it. She would give up herself, give up her last grasp on life, if it meant an end to the cold and pressure and darkness. Suddenly, almost violently, something broke through to her. A hand. Two hands, then two more. Light poured down upon her, through a dusty shaft in the sand, but she didn't open her eyes. She couldn't- she was too weak. And she still couldn't breathe. But she could sense the light and the cool air surround her as the hands pulled her to the surface, pulled her out of the tomb and back into the world. She wanted to swallow that cool air, let it fill her lungs, so she opened her mouth slowly, then inhaled with a gasp. The sweet oxygen rushed to her brain like a flash flood, and she felt her senses wake. Truly wake. *************** She inhaled again, deeply, and memories returned to her of what she was actually smelling... sand, salt water, and wind. Where was she? What happened, why was she on a beach? It was cold, and damn, her head hurt. Her chest hurt. Her legs hurt. And she was still so tired... what the hell was going on? She opened her eyes and had to blink a few times before she could focus on a face. The face grinned down at her. "Frank," she breathed, smiling back for a moment, until another urgent thought made her smile evaporate. "Mulder... where is he, where's Mulder?" She used what little energy she had to try to sit up, but a familiar hand gently pressed on her shoulder, keeping her still. "Hey... I'm right here. Just lie down." She realized that he was behind her, holding her head, and he shifted around her until he was at her side. She squinted against the setting sun behind him, casting him into dark silhouette. He leaned forward until she could see his face, including his anguished smile and the wet traces of his tears. He looked like hell. He was trying in vain to tuck her windblown hair behind her ear. "Scully. You, um... you okay, Scully?" he asked awkwardly, his voice breaking. "Yeah," she answered softly, barely able to keep her eyes open. "But it would seem, Mulder... that I had you big time." His tears returned with a vengeance, but Mulder chuckled through them. "Yeah," he choked out. "You've really got to stop doing that." She smiled at him, and lifted her hand to his cheek. He shut his eyes tight, melting at last. His head lowered and he buried his face in her shoulder, grasping her coat as he sobbed. Scully exhaled and wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back, trying to comfort him. "Shhh," she whispered. "I know... it's okay, it's okay now..." She kissed his hair, damp with sweat and sea air. "I'm all right, Mulder." "It was so close..." he mumbled against her collar. "Too close, Scully. I was dying here, I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up..." "I was sure," Scully said softly. "I knew you wouldn't let me leave you." Amazed and humbled by the faith she had in him, he lifted his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek, her forehead, her nose, her lips. "I need to get you back home now, Scully, do you understand?" She nodded, her eyes slowly closing again as he pulled her into his arms. "Yeah," she said drowsily. "Let's go home..." And she fell back asleep, but this time no one had any doubts that she'd ever wake up. And she had no more nightmares. Mulder took a few deep, composing breaths and looked up at Frank, who was standing a few yards away, his back turned to them. He was smoking a cigarette and gazing out over the darkening Atlantic, deep in thought. "Frank?" said Mulder softly, and the agent turned to face him. For a moment, Mulder didn't know what else to say- how could he possibly ever thank this man for all he'd done? How could he thank the man who had returned the single most precious thing in the world to him, the person without whom he would die? What the hell was he supposed to say now? As it turned out, Frank understood every thought flashing through Mulder's head, and could read it all on his face. Frank smiled at him slightly, and flicked his cigarette into the sand. "She loves you, Agent Mulder," Frank said, looking down as he buried the cigarette with his foot. "She may never have said it, but it's true." He sighed. "That's really all I can say." Mulder shook his head in awe and newfound respect for the agent. "And all I can really say is thank you, Frank." He extended his hand, and Frank reached down to shake it firmly. "You're a good man, Agent Mulder. It's been an honor." "Likewise, Agent Frank. Best of luck." Frank chuckled softly at this. He crouched and reached for Scully's face, touching her briefly once more, before looking up at Mulder pointedly. "Some men are luckier than others." He nodded a final farewell and turned, and Mulder watched as he slowly walked towards his SUV, never looking back. Within the next minute, he was gone. Mulder sighed and tightened his arms around his partner, aware that the breeze was growing colder. The strong coastal wind blew through Scully's hair, sending a short fluttering wave of red across his shoulder. She was alive, and well, and safe... finally. They would return to Washington in the morning, and get checked at Bethesda, and everything would be back to normal. Skinner wouldn't even know what had happened, at least not all of it. How could he? How could he ever understand what it had been like to run such a race? Not that Mulder could describe it if he tried. The past sixteen hours were a blur he wished he could forget. But now he couldn't help but smile down at his partner as she slept in his arms, just watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. For several long minutes he couldn't take his eyes off her, and was oblivious to the dimming light around them as the sun passed further below the horizon, its glow slowly fading. So this is what heaven is like, he thought. **************************************** CHAPTER 21- Always Thursday, May 11, 2000 11:49 PM Georgetown, Virginia She couldn't sleep. She was lying on her side, staring at the first-quarter moon out the window, letting her thoughts wander into memories she wished she didn't have. So many horrible things, things she had both seen and experienced over the years, clogged her exhausted mind. Her brain begged for rest, begged to be given a break from the madness, and she feared that if it didn't get the rest it needed, she would indeed go mad. She didn't hear the key turn in the lock to her apartment, she didn't hear her bedroom door open. But she did feel his weight disturb the mattress as he slid into bed next to her, and she felt the warm hand on her hip turn her gently towards him. She rolled over to face him, and allowed a tear to escape down her cheek. "How did you know?" she asked. At his puzzled look, she added, "How did you know I needed you here?" He wiped away the fugitive tear with the back of his finger. "I didn't want you to be alone tonight." After a pause, he confessed, "I didn't want to be alone tonight, either." She shut her eyes with an exhausted sigh and smiled as he reached for her in the darkness and pulled her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, brushing her cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, and they laid there for awhile in contented silence. Finally he spoke again. "Scully?" "Mmmm?" "Are you sure you're okay?" She looked up at him. His simple question had caught her off guard, even though she'd heard it ten million times before. Of course she was sure, she thought. Nothing had happened, nothing was wrong. Well... besides the fact that her beloved partner had been kidnapped and nearly killed, she had almost been raped by four terrorists, and then escaped only to be infected by a lethal biological weapon which gave her sixteen hours to live, during which she raced across Europe for the cure... no, nothing was wrong. She was fine, of course. Always fine. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mulder," she forced herself to say, if only for his sake. He studied her face for a moment, not fooled by her false assurances. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever get tired of being fine." He frowned and stroked her back absently. She paused, then admitted, "Yeah, Mulder. Sometimes I get tired. I've always had to be strong, constantly. My work... my *life* requires it. And even though it's what I've chosen, it's exhausting." She turned her head slightly to kiss the hand on her cheek. "But... I have you. You give me the energy I need to keep going. You always make the pain go away, you always make sure I'm all right. And you always do everything in your power to support me, until you hear those three little words... I'm fine, Mulder." Mulder shut his eyes, still frowning. "But when you're not fine, it's usually my fault. Look at all the trouble I've gotten you into... not just now, but for the past seven years. And despite everything, Scully, you've always taken care of me, no matter what. I just haven't always succeeded in returning the favor." He exhaled. "Thank God you're so much stronger than I am." "Your strength has saved me countless times," she reminded him. He was not reassured. "My worst fear is that someday I'll fail at that, too." She pulled his head towards her and kissed his forehead. "Then don't leave me again, and I'll be fine. We'll both be fine." "I didn't want to leave you, Scully," he whispered against her neck, "but I'm ready to tell you why I did." Scully exhaled silently, giving him time to collect his words, but she couldn't help but feel a bit impatient. "I'm listening." "You already know that I had been e-mailing Dr. Coen for a few weeks before I left," he began. She nodded. "Well, it was because I'd heard that he was a brilliant medical scientist. You already know that he's done ground-breaking research in pharmacology, microbiology, neurology, and toxicology. But there was also gynecology..." Scully's head jerked and she stared at him, eyes wide, realizing what he was saying but waiting for him to say it. Mulder swallowed. "He told me that he could restore fertility to barren women, even if they had lost all their ova. I wanted to check it out myself before I told you, I didn't want to get your hopes up only to break your heart again..." Scully's mouth hung open in shock, and tears quickly returned to sting her eyes until she had no choice but to let them cascade down her cheeks. Somehow she found her voice and managed to whisper, "Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't want you to know why I'd gone, Scully, not until we were both safe. As long as we were in danger, I needed to take all the responsibility and blame on myself. I couldn't let you entertain the thought that this was all somehow connected to you. Throughout this entire mess, nothing mattered but you." His expression grew darker, sadder. Full of regret, full of disappointment in his own failure. "But it was nothing, Scully, it was a trap. I was such a fool, I wasn't thinking straight. All I could think of was how devastated you were when the in-vitro didn't work, how I wanted to give you the miracle we had almost given up on, and how happy you'd be if you could..." He paused and watched as his hand traced its way to her stomach and held her there possessively. "I knew how happy I'd be if I could make you that happy..." Oh, God, she thought. Oh my God, he did it all for me. He got himself hurt, he could've been killed... Now he *had* broken her heart, but not because he'd failed. "Mulder," she breathed, barely believing what she was hearing. "Why? Why would you do this for me?" He smiled, then, and shook his head at her, gently reprimanding her for asking such an obvious question. "Because I love you, G-Woman. More than anything." Scully let out a small sob and smiled back at him tearfully. She gave up trying to find words to reply with, and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist as tight as she could. "I take it the feeling's mutual?" he chuckled, and she felt the sound echo through him. She nodded in answer to his question, but he pulled her up to meet his eyes again. "Tell me. I want to hear you say it." It was not quite a demand, but more than a request. "I love you," she promised. "Always." He captured her mouth with a kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair, his hands desperate to hold her. He needed to show her everything that she meant to him, if it was even possible. It would take the rest of his life, he knew, and that wasn't nearly enough time. Besides, he was seven years behind schedule. He gently nuzzled her head back down onto his shoulder and felt her sigh contentedly against his neck. "Sleep now," he murmured, tightening his arms around her. "I've got you." Scully closed her eyes and smiled to herself. No, Mulder, it's quite the opposite, she thought. I've got *you*. Always. *************** On a rooftop across the street, a man dressed in black smoked a cigarette and peered at the sleeping couple through night-vision binoculars. When his cell phone rang, he cursed mildly and stuck the cigarette into a crack in the bricks, unwilling to put down the binoculars. He flipped the phone open with one hand and answered it with an air of authority. "Dr. Coen, I presume?" he said mysteriously. "How did you know?" came a voice with a heavy German accent. "The CIA has been training its agents with psychic ability for years, doctor." "Oh really." "Yes, really. We have a top secret method for identifying callers over the phone- code name Caller ID." Coen chuckled. "It's good to know you have a sense of humor, Agent Frank, since I'm going to be working with you so closely. Where are you now?" "Where do you think I am?" "Stop trying to be so secretive, my friend," Coen said lightly. "You're watching her right now, aren't you?" "Yeah. Mulder's with her." "What are they doing?" Frank sighed and smiled a bit. "Just talking, sleeping... making up for lost time." "Lost time?" said Dr. Coen. "In both the past and the future, it seems." Frank lowered the binoculars. "What do you mean?" "You know why Mulder came to me in the first place, don't you?" "It was for her," said Frank. "Something about her infertility, she wanted to be able to have children." "Yes, that was one reason," said Coen. "But there was something else, something he needed for himself." "For himself?" Frank repeated. "Why? What did he need?" Coen cleared his throat. "You see before you two people making up for a wasted past... but only Mulder knows that they're making up for a nonexistent future, as well." Frank frowned in concern. "What's wrong? What did Mulder want from you?" "He wanted a cure. For himself... he's dying, Frank." Frank's mouth fell open in disbelief, and it took a moment before he could form words. "No. No, that's impossible. How could he be dying, I mean, what's wrong with him?" "Mulder has some kind of electro-encephalitic trauma, a terminal brain condition. He has less than a year to live and he's already been looking for a cure for months. He just doesn't want to die, especially now that he finally has her..." "And he wanted to give her a child," Frank murmured, realizing. "Yes," said Coen. "The most precious thing he could offer. For her sake and for his, even if all else failed and he couldn't be with her." Frank exhaled loudly. "But you couldn't help him? You couldn't help either of them?" "Of course not. It was all a charade, a trap for the NCCP. I can't perform miracles. I can't restore a woman's fertility when she's lost all her ova, and I can't save a dying man who has a brain disorder no one's ever seen before." "There's got to be someone who can help him," Frank insisted, still not quite believing his ears. "There has to be some way to treat him, if not cure him-" "I'm afraid not," said Dr. Coen. "The problem is unidentifiable, and certainly untreatable. There's no one on this planet who can do anything for him." Frank closed his eyes and shook his head. "And he hasn't told her," he murmured. "She has no idea he's dying." "No, she doesn't," said Dr. Coen. "And look at her, Agent Frank. Tell me, does she look happy to you?" Frank raised the binoculars again and focused on Scully. She was sound asleep, wrapped securely in her partner's arms, her ear over the heartbeat she'd always fought to sustain, the heartbeat that would stop within the year. But she didn't know. And she looked... calm, safe. Content. And yes, happy. Blissfully ignorant of the impending mortality of the man she loved so much, the man she would always follow no matter where his steps might lead them. "She's happy," Frank admitted. "For the first time in a very long time, she's totally and unmistakably happy. And for the first time in a very long time, I was happy, too." "Not anymore, Frank?" "It's too damn tragic," he replied, lowering the binoculars. "I don't know what to make of it. I feel so sorry for them, both of them. And... and I can't imagine what Mulder's going through. The thoughts that must be running through his head, they must be torture..." He sighed. "He must be a lot stronger than I gave him credit for. I mean, it was hard enough for me to leave her, and I've only just met her. He's known her for seven years, they've been through everything. She's his life." There was a long, heavy pause. "All lives must end," Coen said softly. "Fate has it that Mulder's time is up." "Fate is cruel, doctor," Frank muttered bitterly. "Fate is indifferent. It doesn't care whose lives it's destroying... it doesn't care that it took Natalie away from me, or that it's taking him away from her, now." Coen chuckled. "Frank, Frank, Frank... You want to be there for her when he's gone, don't you?" Frank considered the question, then smiled and shook his head. "I can't." "Why not?" "Because... not in a million years could I love her more than Mulder does. I could never replace him, doctor, and she could never replace my Natalie. I've been a fool to think so." He sighed and fought one last urge to aim his binoculars at her window again. "Whatever comes her way now, she's got to handle it on her own. But I'm not worried about her. She's strong enough for anything." "So I've heard," said Coen. "You have no idea, doctor. You have absolutely no idea." He abruptly hung up the phone and packed away his binoculars. "This is goodbye, Agent Scully," he said to the empty air. "And good luck... looks like you're gonna need it." And with a last backwards glance at the window across the street, he turned and disappeared from the rooftop. The End. ******************** I remember thinking I'll go on forever only knowing I'll see you again But I know the touch of you is hard to remember But like that touch I know no other And for sure, we danced in the risk of each other Would you like to dance around the world with me? I'll be falling all about my own thing And I know you're the heaviest weight When you're not here that's hung around my head And your lips burn wild, thrown from the face of a child And in your eyes, the seeing of the greatest few Do what you will, always, walk where you like, your steps Do as you please, I'll back you up I remember thinking Sometimes we walk, sometimes we run away But I know no matter how fast we are running Somehow we keep, somehow we keep up with each other I'll be falling all about my own thing And I know you're the heaviest weight When you're not here that's hung around my head And your lips burn wild, thrown from the face of a child And in your eyes, the seeing of the greatest few Do what you will, always, walk where you like, your steps Do as you please, I'll back you up -Dave Matthews ******************** Read the author's notes & story tidbits at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1382697&chapter=22 FEEDBACK: Yes please! 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