TITLE: "THE OTHER SIDE OF EDEN" 

AUTHOR: Char Chaffin 

CATEGORY: Mulder/Scully Romance, MS/Skinner Friendship, Angst 

RATING: NC-17, for Just About Everything: Violence, Language, Adult Situations - 

If you are Underage, Bail Now!! This story deals frankly with intense sexual 
situations and has 

scenes of a frank and violent nature. 

ARCHIVE: Sure, Just Ask! 

SPOILERS: Tiny ones, for "FTF", "Chinga", "The Red & the Black", "War of the 
Coprohages", 

"Humbug", "The Host", "Arcadia" 

DISCLAIMER: I want them, but I can't have them… 

FEEDBACK: GOD, yes! I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please please) 

WITH THANKS TO: 

Two incredible authors, Hillary (Foxsong) and Hester (Stormlantern), who offered 
advice, ideas, encouragement, and a lot of friendship during the writing of this… 
I couldn't have done it without them… 

SUMMARY: If you had your memories torn away from you… the very essence of what 
made you human… what would you become? Mulder and Scully are about to find out… 

**Prologue** 

The jungle floor was damp and slimy with the recent storm, giant ferns trembling 
with the lingering breezes which had carried the worst of the bad weather 
further north. The fat drops of rainwater flicked from the whorls of the fern's 
petals dripped into his swollen face, bringing him into a stinging awareness of 
being alive; of being alive and very sore and aching, everywhere all over his 
body. Slowly his eyes opened; slowly he looked around, in shock at the 
unfamiliar landscape, numb with the cold and the wet moss clinging to him. Half-covered 
with rotting leaves and broken palm fronds - instinctively he'd burrowed into 
them during a semi-conscious moment, needing some kind of warmth and protection 
from the biting storm. It hadn't helped - his naked form shivered violently, 
teeth chattered uncontrollably, arms tight around himself, curled into a fetal 
ball. As if from a great distance he heard his own keening moan of pain and 
terror. There was no realization of how to get warm. There wasn't a knowledge of 
what could produce heat. At that moment, he knew nothing of what surrounded him; 
wet and nasty to the touch - but he didn't understand what it was. 

He didn't understand what he was… 

** Chapter One ** 

The man in the huge, four-poster bed was having a nightmare. 

In his REM fantasy, he was standing over the woman, staring intently at her 
slumped, bound form there in the straight-backed chair. The harsh light overhead 
threw into stark shadows the bruised face and swollen jaw, the broken nose. Eyes 
half-closed with pain and utter exhaustion, still she managed to exude the aura 
of impenetrable strength, of force of will. Half his mind admired her - half his 
mind despised her, for in her defeatless defeat, she was the better person; 
better than he could ever have hoped to be - better than he was on the day of 
his birth… and that knowledge burned like the worst kind of poisonous gall, deep 
inside him. 

In his nightmare, he saw again his rough tugging of her hair, how he wound it 
around a fist and pulled her head up with a mean jerk, up until he could look 
into her damaged face… her unblinking blue gaze. The expression of quiet 
superiority in those wide orbs had unmanned him in the worst possible way. He 
saw again his other hand, drawn back as if to hit her once more - and in his 
nightmare, the flames which shot from her amazing eyes found their mark deep in 
his soul and shredded him from the inside out… the overwhelming pain of it 
caused him to drop her hair, loose her head from its bondage, as he doubled over 
in agony and screamed hoarsely in his native tongue…a language he hadn't used in 
years and years… and her suddenly serene and calm blue eyes smiled slightly in 
tandem with her still-unmarked mouth… 

The man awoke with the sound of his hoarsely-feeble screams still smoking in his 
ears and the wet dampness of his own loosened bladder staining his pajama 
bottoms; tears rolling down his cheeks… gasping for air. And he knew with 
chilling lucidity the inevitability of future nightmares just as vividly 
abounding. 

** Chapter Two ** 

Mid-morning in the jungle… when he awoke again the sun beat down in a hot stream 
which at once soothed his aches and made him scratch at the dried mud on his 
legs. With a grunt of effort, he rolled to a crouching position, eyes darting 
everywhere, looking for anything familiar to him… finding nothing. He slowly 
unfurled his body to its full length, cautiously stretching his cramped muscles… 
aware of the need to relieve himself - somehow remembering how. Without 
bothering to aim, he wrapped a hand around himself and let loose into the earth 
below, shuddering as the last of it was expelled. He swung a sharp gaze around, 
still rubbing at himself; it felt good to him, although he had no awareness of 
why it should. He tried a few steps on still-shaky legs; found himself on a wide 
stretch of white beach, although he didn't know what the fine warm stuff between 
his toes could possibly be. He sniffed the air; something alive out there; 
something unpleasant-smelling, although the smell attracted him and made his 
belly churn with hunger… he knew hunger but not the why of it. He walked toward 
the smell, there at the water's edge; looked down. Odd-looking crawling things; 
mottled blue and green. He didn't know green; didn't know mottled. Didn't know 
hurt, as he reached out a hand to grasp it and a large pinching claw caught his 
palm. He yelled, a wordless sound, and angrily stomped at the thing until he'd 
made it stop moving. Then he picked it up again, turning it in his hands, 
sniffing at it, the hunger intensifying until with a snap of strong teeth he'd 
found a place to pierce and he fed. It was not good - although he still wasn't 
sure of good. It filled an empty place inside him and that's all he cared about, 
for the moment. 

Hidden in the deep fronds of fern and short palmettos, she watched the tall 
being as he crammed into his mouth the hurting crawly he had picked up. She knew 
it hurt because she had tried to pick one up earlier that morning, and it had 
hurt her. She didn't know hurt, except it made her open her mouth and force a 
mewling from her throat. The sound had scared her and she'd dropped the crawly 
and run into the fronds. Her belly ached with hunger - but yet she didn't know 
hunger. Her face was cut and swollen, lips sore, nose healing crookedly, once 
broken. She didn't know broken. It was pain, but she didn't know that; only knew 
she didn't like it, was distressed by it. She huddled herself into a small 
folded shape and watched the tall being throw away the crawly remains; heard him 
belch; saw him scratch at himself. With unsure, cautious fingers she imitated 
his act; closed her eyes in relief at the feel of her torn fingernails easing 
the itch of her enflamed skin, covered with tiny insect bites. She scratched 
harder, digging into her arms, her flanks; a low rusted sound of contentment 
radiating from her throat. She laid down on the shadowed, cool moss and 
scratched herself to sleep. And as she dozed, she felt no immediate fear of the 
tall being. A sense of comfort radiated from him… although she couldn't grasp 
the concept of comfort.

The heat of the sand on the beach intensified in the late afternoon, forcing him 
to seek a cooler place. He didn't understand cooler - but he knew that under the 
shelter of a palmetto tree the burn on his body went away and he was slowly 
learning, remembering what each new experience felt like; what it taught him. He 
spent most of the remainder of the day watching the small monkeys which zipped 
from tree to tree and chattered endlessly; watched bright parrots flitting at 
the tops of the tallest palms; they made a noise which grated on his nerves. He 
didn't know nerves… but he knew something made him not feel good… and he had 
already figured out good. He rubbed himself again, remembering the good of it. 
The rubbing was making him hard. He wasn't able to comprehend the science 
involved in what was happening to his body - any more than he was able to 
understand the blinding, sudden good as he rubbed himself into a state of climax 
which shot his fluids into the jungle moss much the same as that other wet stuff 
he'd gotten rid of, hours ago. Except this wet stuff was good when it came out. 
He would remember that feeling… he would do it again. He curled himself into the 
palm fronds and fell asleep. 

She wandered along the inner island paths, rough trails made by other larger 
mammals than she… perhaps more dangerous - but she didn't yet know fear. She was 
thirsty - her throat burned and her face ached intolerably from the sun and the 
insect bites. He skin was burned in places, scratched raw in others. Coming 
across a fresh-water stream, she plunged into it head-first, mouth open, gasping 
for the clear liquid… letting it wash over her mouth and down her parched throat 
with a moan of pleasure. She drank and drank, until she was overfull; until she 
heaved up all the water she'd absorbed. Weak, but still thirsty, she drank again 
- and vomited again - several more times, until she was clean inside, and her 
belly stopped moving. Reaching out in the water, she caught a small golden fish 
in her hands, and sniffed it a few times before popping it, live, into her mouth. 
Chewing… spitting out scales… it was not good, but it made her belly feel better. 
She had already grasped the concept of making her belly good. She had already 
figured out good. Scratching was good. Sitting in the water was good. She would 
remember good. She hunted around for more of the squirmy little wet things. The 
sun continued to beat down on the little island; the breeze blew softly. 

** Chapter Three ** 

In his lab, the man who had nightmares popped four more antacid tablets into his 
mouth and chewed hastily, needing to get them down into his stomach where they 
would hopefully afford him some relief. He stood at the big metal sink, gulping 
tepid water, trying not to dwell on the horrid dream of the night before. He 
tried to be realistic about the experience - tried to tell himself it was just 
because his unconscious attraction to the woman had made him feel the guilt 
which in turn triggered the dream. During her interrogation, it had taken all 
his concentration not to reach out to her, to unfasten the electrodes monitoring 
her responses to the drugs, the shocks - to take her into a back room and ravish 
her, over and over again, until she felt for him the enormity of what he was 
beginning to feel, for her. He had never met a woman so determined, so innately 
strong - so overwhelmingly powerful. He had only performed this procedure on one 
other woman, and she had collapsed into a heap of weak, blubbering hysteria 
within one minute of his application of the shocks. He hadn't even gotten a 
chance to try out the serum. He'd turned away in utter disgust, signaling to the 
silent hulk of an assistant hovering nearby to take her out of his sight. A real 
waste of time - she'd had very little viable information to impart… 

But this deceptively delicate woman… ah, there was a treasure trove of wondrous 
items of worth, to him and to the organization he supported. If he could have 
gotten access, he could have named his own ticket with his peers and superiors. 
But he was denied the chance to learn her vast knowledge; she'd somehow thwarted 
him. And in his absolute fury at her strength, he'd lashed out at her in the 
most heinous of methods… so controversial it hadn't been perfected on a human 
yet; so diabolically exact in its method of cleansing that not one shred of 
awareness would be left behind. Before the actual procedure, he'd vented out 
some of his spiraling hatred by maiming and marring her lovely face, displacing 
the beauty with ugly blue-green swellings. She hadn't made a sound through any 
of it. That unbelievable solidity of being, that superiority of hers, drove out 
any lingering pockets of lust from his body and he suddenly found himself freed 
from the desire, freed from the craving of her soft white skin. And freed from 
the nagging uneasiness of subjecting her, using her, as a human lab rat for his 
serum. A temporary reprieve, unfortunately… because now he regretted… now he 
chewed the proverbial nails… now he sensed the terrible turn his once-charmed 
life had taken. And the man was very afraid. 

** Chapter Four ** 

It had been light and then dark two times before he first spotted her. 

He had been afraid of the dark at first, when it had crept over the sand and the 
palms, quieting the chattering monkeys in the trees and heralding a whole new 
range of odd animal sounds. He'd found a burying place, there in the moss and 
fronds, and had shuddered all night, finding some small respite from the fear by 
rubbing at himself, and bringing on again that deep good. It had helped, so he'd 
done it several times, finding through experimenting on himself a way to twist 
his fingers, to move his palm, to give himself more good each time he did it. He'd 
finally fallen asleep in exhaustion, only waking when the loud monkeys started 
in again. And his belly hurt, and he was thirsty, and his bladder full. He'd 
found himself already falling into a sort of routine, where he woke, and stood 
and stretched and scratched and urinated and rubbed and did the good on himself, 
and then went in search of some food. He'd eaten slugs, bugs, small squiggly 
squid-looking things… leaves full of moisture, odd-colored lumpy fruit hanging 
in abundance from certain trees. He'd vomited every day, sometimes a couple of 
times a day… each time managing to remember which eaten thing had made him feel 
so unbelievably not good… and he'd stayed away from it thereafter. Some things 
tasted nasty and he'd wanted to spit them out, but somehow he knew he needed the 
fullness in his belly, so he'd forced himself to swallow. Some things were good, 
and these he gorged himself with, almost making himself sick from the good of it. 
He was able, by the third day, to achieve some sort of balance. A feeling came 
over him… if he'd had enough awareness of self, he would have recognized the 
feeling as pride.

He was crawling through the jungle on all fours, searching for grubs - they had 
been one of the good things - when he saw her, on the beach, feet sifting 
through the sand, searching for whatever she could find to eat. He dropped onto 
his naked ass in shock, staring at her half in fear, half in fascination. A 
tremor of knowing came over him, intense and scary; he didn't understand why. 
Her smell came wafting to him, and he shuddered anew at the familiarity of it; 
the nuance of heat and musk and some undefined thing which pulled at him, down 
there where he rubbed at that part of himself which got so hard and big. He 
still couldn't grasp why it got big, but then he still didn't know big. All he 
knew was that for some reason, her scent was making him hot and tight there… and 
he wasn't even rubbing it. He looked down at himself, dumbfounded. He looked up 
at her. She had not seen him yet; still hidden in the fronds, sitting very still. 
She dropped to her knees suddenly, poking at something in the sand, obviously 
finding a morsel of food, chasing it with a couple of fingers - and her perfect, 
rounded cheeks and smooth back presented itself in his vicinity of view - knees 
apart, steadying herself in the slippery sand - and something in her posture 
zapped a message to his brain, triggering a primitive sense of need… and he very 
quietly slipped through the silent moss on all fours, angling behind her, out of 
her side vision… getting closer, the scent becoming stronger… more necessary… 
until without a sound, fast as lightning, he leapt upon her back and knocked her 
to the sand, body pressing all the air out of her lungs. He pinned her, there on 
the beach, chest and flanks tight against her, instinctively wriggling between 
her legs, finding with hidden radar the soft open spot at the juncture of her 
thighs… figuring out in a moment of awkward movement where to put himself, his 
hardness… pressing it with unerring aim, deep into her body. Throughout the few 
minutes it had taken for him to impale her, she had not shown any surprise, or 
any fear… she had not fought him. She had remained still and poised, not 
assisting him but not resisting either - as if she knew his actions were the 
correct, natural procedural destination of her day. He buried his mouth against 
the tender back of her neck and began to move inside her, not sure why he knew 
how to move but understanding the incredible good of it. She pressed her neck 
into his mouth and let him discover the good. His hands moved to her breasts and 
he held onto them as he pushed harder, blindingly fast now, deeper, stronger. 
Her small body shuddered beneath him, so frail but more than able to sustain his 
use. She couldn't breathe; had forgotten her hunger; felt the sand grinding into 
her knees and her elbows. It didn't matter. The good was the only important 
issue, and she keened low in her throat from it, but before she could understand 
how good it could be for her, he suddenly stiffened, then shook violently over 
her and groaned out a huge bellow which pulsed in her little ear, and she felt 
the thick wetness within her, and the pumping of that hard thing he'd put inside 
her. And she smiled, even though she hadn't gotten a chance to get the good of 
it. He collapsed upon her, shoving her face down into the sand, the sun beating 
hot on his back; she turned her head before she hit the sand and avoided getting 
a mouthful of it. They lay in the same position, both still winded, gasping for 
breath. He didn't want to move; didn't want to remove himself from inside her. 
An image came to him then, of a reason for his mouth to be of use other than the 
opening to his belly; he pressed his lips to her neck; to her soft cheek within 
reach; to her ear. He liked it, for her skin was warm and comforting to him. 
There in the full sunlight, they both slept, still connected, front to back.

A chill breeze, slipping over her exposed body, awoke her and she opened one eye, 
focusing in blurry drowsiness the setting sun, feeling the sand almost cold 
beneath her. She had been dreaming, although she didn't know what dreams were. 
She had seen odd shapes behind her closed lids as she slept; vague forms at once 
familiar yet at the same time frightening to her; then a sound from one of the 
shapes; a sound she knew; coming from the same kind of opening in the shape 
which she could feel, there on her face… she had awoken with her fingers in her 
mouth, probing at her tongue. She didn't know why a sound would come out from 
there. 

The warm body which had covered her all during her nap had vanished, and she 
slowly rose to sit in the white sand, looking all around for him, the tall being 
who had come upon her and had put himself into her and had given her a lot of 
good. She missed him, although she still didn't know miss. She wanted… wanted 
him to come back; wanted him to lay upon her and put his hard part inside her 
again… wanted that wet good deep within. So she laid a cheek on her bent knees, 
and waited. She didn't have to wait long… from between the deeper fronds, there 
in the soft sunset dusk, he moved toward her, holding several odd-shaped things 
in his hands. His gaze fastened on hers, intense, never wavering, as he drew 
closer and closer, finally reaching her side and laying upon the sand at her 
feet an assortment of food which he'd been gathering. She broke her locked eye 
contact reluctantly, only long enough to see what he'd laid before her. Several 
large, lumpy pieces of fruit, a handful of moist leaves, on which crawled a 
handful of fat grubs… a long skinny curved food the same color as the sun above 
them… he dropped to his knees before her and picked up the largest grub, 
offering it to her. She held his gaze, expression just as serious as his, slowly 
reaching out her open mouth, rather like a baby bird; he placed the grub onto 
her pink tongue, fingers lightly touching her bottom lip; not sure why it was 
important to feed her first, giving her the choicest pieces of food… just 
knowing it was the right thing to do. He was slowly learning the right of things; 
this was one of them. This was a good thing. She chewed; smiling at the taste, 
the texture of the offering. She put out a hand and hefted the sun-colored long 
thing, eyeing it curiously, sniffing at it, knowing somehow that the better food 
lay beneath the outer layer. With her little fingers she tore at the outer until 
she uncovered the inner; broke off a piece and put it against his lips, pushing 
it lightly into his mouth, smiling when the sweetness of the food teased at his 
tongue and he grinned in delight. She bit into the food and her reaction 
mirrored his. They sat in the cool sand, under a darkening sky, still-warm 
breeze floating over their skin, enjoying a veritable feast… enjoying the being, 
each with the other. They didn't know lonely… but they didn't feel it, either - 
not alone, together. 

** Chapter Five ** 

"We're getting closer to him, Sir… or at least, in knowing where to zero in our 
search." The young agent standing in front of the cluttered desk laid a thick 
sheaf of papers down on the clearest spot, and stood back, waiting. 

AD Walter Skinner, visibly exhausted but stoic as ever, briefly rubbed at his 
tired eyes before replacing the spectacles on his nose and opening the sheaf to 
flip through the top papers. The first several sheets were actually an earlier 
report which he'd already practically memorized - but he didn't reprimand Agent 
Halliday for his repetitiveness - he knew how hard the young agent had been 
working lately trying to piece together the impossible; to help all he could in 
the ongoing search for Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Without even glancing 
at his calendar, Skinner knew they'd been missing for exactly two months, 
sixteen days and twenty hours. Every precaution had been taken, every possibly 
bad scenario planned for… their covers had been perfect. It was inconceivable to 
Skinner how so much could have gone wrong, so quickly… Mulder and Scully had 
only been in deep cover a month when they disappeared… and almost immediately, 
word had filtered back to his office that his agents were dead, had been 
exterminated as soon as their cover had been blown. Other, more painful rumors 
centered around the lengthy interrogation and subsequent torture of both agents, 
before they were killed. With all his heart Skinner had prayed for their passing 
to be swift; no pain… no awareness of the extent of their agony. At first, 
Skinner believed they were dead. He waited for closure, the innate knowledge 
that he'd lost two friends… but closure didn't come. It was then he'd somehow 
known they were not dead after all - but instead hidden away somewhere, perhaps 
in very serious physical condition, dying but not dead yet - the almost psychic 
connection he at times had with his agents not severed yet. He would feel it… 
would somehow know. Those operatives involved in the agents' disappearance would 
most likely not risk killing them; they wouldn't want that kind of exposure, 
that much heat, coming down on their heads. Skinner knew that much, just as he 
knew without any doubt that someone in his division, someone fairly close, was 
leaking information… top-secret, deadly information. And he didn't have a clue 
as to the identity of this person. Until he could find out a name, a place to 
really start… he was stymied in his search for Mulder and Scully. Walter Skinner 
didn't like being stymied - it gave him indigestion. 

** Chapter Six ** 

In the night sky, buffeted by the ever-present ocean breeze, stars twinkled 
brightly upon a perfectly clear, black canvas; the full moon radiating all the 
bright needed to see in the darkness. Upon a padding of shiny, cool palm fronds 
and dry moss, they lay, on their backs, side by side - looking up at the sky 
with intense curiosity and a feeling of hard-won peace - the first peace they'd 
known so far in their short but eventful island life. They had finished all the 
food; had gone to the fresh-water stream which she'd found earlier; had splashed 
and soaked and drank deeply of the delicious water. They'd found a spot deep 
enough to stand upright and still be mostly covered with water, although he'd 
only gotten wet to the waist. She had ended up in water to her chest, faltering 
a little when she realized how deep it was… gasping in surprise and flinging out 
a panicked hand which he'd automatically grasped tightly, as though he'd 
steadied her a thousand times… it had seemed so right. She'd moved closer to him 
and had placed her other hand, wet with cool water, upon his shoulder; had 
drifted in the movement of the stream until her breasts butted against his warm 
skin, and the electric contact of that part of her body jolted through him like 
a shot. He'd sucked in a startled breath, eyes boring into her wide blue gaze… 
not completely understanding why just that little touch would make him hard and 
big, again without him having first rubbed it. He decided it must be her; she 
was doing this somehow. And he wasn't angry or worried about it - he decided he 
was glad about it, although he still wasn't sure of glad. But it made him warm 
and then hot and then a feeling as if the bottom had dropped out of him - hollow 
and full and good as if he'd eaten lots of things to fill his belly up, but his 
belly needed so much more. So much more… as he wound his hands into her hair to 
tug her closer, and in this fashion dragged her out of the water and up onto the 
dry, cool bank, down into some high grasses - hearing her cry of pain at the 
tugging of her scalp, yet she didn't fight him - letting go only after he'd 
pushed her down onto her stomach and climbed on top of her and made room for 
himself, there between the sweet curves of her perfect cheeks… finding again the 
warm soft place and driving into her with eagerness, with remembered 
anticipation of the monumental good it would bring to him. He drove her roughly, 
going deeper this time, because he knew the way to get the best good… he'd 
remembered and stored it, in his ever-expanding mind. The force of his thrusts 
bounced her small body against the scratchy grasses, but she didn't try to get 
away - didn't want to get away. His urgency was somehow feeding her own, even 
through the pain of being used so roughly. She bore up a little, steadying 
herself on her knees, and opened her legs wider, some intuition feeding her the 
idea that it would make the good better, at least for her. The extra width of 
her forced a groan from his throat as he slid deeper; he began to shudder with 
it, that blinding good, once again. His hands bit into her soft skin, teeth 
bared against the silky hair curling on her shoulder, as he felt the hard and 
big of himself swell and explode into her. He slammed against her one last, 
furious time… felt himself pumping madly… and then felt her small hand pressing 
him down where he was inside her, as if to keep him in there, holding him deep; 
the touch of her fingers against her own sensitized body triggering a good which 
she'd never felt before - not when she ate the food, or when the stream had 
tickled over her, that first day. She cried out with it, shuddering violently, 
holding him tightly inside her, making it last longer, for both of them. And 
when her suddenly boneless hand slid away, loosening the grip upon him, and he 
let his weary and leaden weight press her down into the grasses, she relaxed 
every muscle, feeling her body melting into his as they rested by the stream in 
the darkening night, still inside her, face buried in her soft shoulder, mouth 
open upon her skin. She moved her hand up alongside her face; his hand joined 
hers there, fingers laced into hers. She smiled, eyes flickering closed; he 
sighed into her skin and slept. 

And now they lay next to each other and stared at the night stars and neither 
thought to wonder who they were, or what they were, there on an empty beach in 
the dead of night with the sounds of nocturnal life all around them, yet they 
didn't fear because they were gleaning strength from each other. They didn't 
know strength, yet -but they would, very soon. With a mutually-simultaneous 
shiver, they turned toward each other, using their combined bodies to keep warm, 
falling into a sleep thick and dreamless and good. 

** Chapter Seven ** 

The man in the wide, rumpled bed, sheets twisted around his restless legs, was 
not so lucky in achieving a good, dreamless sleep… the events which had placed 
him in this particular dark place in his otherwise charmed life were swirling 
behind his tightly-closed lids and he lay helpless to do anything more than let 
them reel out like the worst kind of horror movie… 

He stood over the woman who sat slumped over in the hard-backed chair, bruised 
and weary and marred - until she raised her face and revealed the utter contempt 
burning deep in her eyes, for him. He'd so wanted her to look at him with the 
same soft gaze which she had bestowed on her partner… who sat slumped over in 
another chair only a few feet away. Dark hair sticky with blood, cuts everywhere, 
all over his shoulders and his chest. The man reluctantly tore his gaze from the 
woman's unwavering regard, and flicked it once in the other's direction, noting 
with vague approval the hatchet job his assistant Leonie had completed, during 
the interrogation. She'd taken one look at this captive, half-naked and bound to 
the chair, and had begged to do the honors… and Leonie's interrogation methods 
were brutally to-the-point. He briefly thanked a God he didn't usually 
acknowledge for the advantage of having her working with him instead of against 
him. This partner of the woman's, unconscious now and seeping blood, had also 
not uttered a single sound during his ordeal - had not closed his eyes against 
whatever pain was inflicted…had stared straight ahead, clear, hazel orbs 
unflickering and undaunted by the physical damage being wrought upon him. The 
woman had not flinched, either, even though she'd been forced to watch - he'd 
held her face tightly between his hard fingers and had kept her twisted in the 
right direction, so she might experience the full effect. Waiting for a reaction, 
something - anything which could be used against her, against them… he'd waited 
in vain. She'd watched, an almost bored expression on her face, breathing calmly, 
face serene. He'd been beside himself with inexpressible fury. That's when he'd 
broken her nose… 

Later, in his outer lab, behind the deceptively solid-looking wall which served 
admirably as a two-way mirror, he and Leonie had sat and smoked and watched 
their reluctant guests as they sat facing each other, the woman dozing fitfully 
and the man finally rousing from his unconscious state. As his eyes opened and 
he forced his head high enough to look around, the woman also blinked and sat up 
- and their gazes locked together. Noting their sudden intense expressions, 
Leonie nudged her superior and pointed at the wall; surely now they'd reveal 
something useful… but she was disappointed, for they merely watched each other 
intently, no words passing between them. Steady regard, sitting almost at 
attention… their eyes never faltered from each other, barely even blinked. And 
the man knew with indefinable certainty the connection these two people had, 
between them; stronger than words and deeper than gestures… rarer than diamonds. 

Behind his closed lids, the man witnessed again the red haze of fury which had 
descended upon him and had forced the decision which he'd acted upon and which 
would cost him his sanity as well as his soul. He'd stripped them barer than 
bare, inside and out… then left them in No Man's Land… to die.

** Chapter Eight ** 

Over the next several weeks, their days fell into a pattern which in some 
strange way was soothing to them both, establishing an order which they'd seemed 
to need, for they thrived on it. 

They had explored most of the island, filing away in their newly-activated 
memories the exact location of the best foodstuffs, the cleanest water and the 
most sheltered areas to hide out during the frequently violent storms hitting 
this time of year. Not yet knowing what they were, they had figured out the 
rightness of their mating, for obviously they were of the same type of creature. 
As they moved around their new home, learning it as well as they were learning 
themselves, they found the bond established between them tightening and 
thickening with each passing day. In the morning they awoke to the feel of their 
warm skin pressing together, of sleepy eyes and large yawns and much scratching. 
They would begin by scratching themselves, then taking turns scratching each 
other - the scratching would lead to touching, which would escalate into one of 
them pushing the other onto the mound of palm fronds… they had learned a lot 
about their bodies, and what felt good. They had learned a lot about good. 
Touching was good; touching all over, hard in some places and very gently in 
others. With no inhibitions to restrain them, no social and psychological taboos 
and mores to stop them… they'd let their feelings, their needs, dictate to them 
what they would give, and learn, together. Surprisingly the monkeys had provided 
them some insight as well - monkeys were notoriously sexual, almost perverted at 
times… and their intimate antics were observed carefully, every chance they got 
- some imitated as well. Their bond grew and strengthened. 

Food was plentiful on the island; they never went hungry. In their silent but 
decipherable manner, they had relayed to each other their own personal food 
discoveries; what had made them sick and what had not. Careful to choose only 
enough to get them through a day, somehow understanding that leaves and fruits 
had to stay on the tree to live, they did not waste their bounty. Everything 
alive was eaten raw, for they had no knowledge of fire and would not have been 
able to produce it had they even known. They learned which live things tasted 
best and steered clear of the rest. They had enough water; had learned early on 
the importance of getting plenty of it. A small pond, fed by another, less clear 
stream, was discovered in the second week; they'd fallen into it, rolling their 
hot bodies through the cool liquid, soothing insect bites and sunburned skin, 
learning to cut through the water with strong strokes, easing sore muscles. The 
pond helped to cleanse their bodies as well; helped combat the infection which 
they faced on a daily basis. They didn't know infection, didn't yet grasp the 
issue of cleanliness. They just knew the water felt silky and good, so they 
spent a large part of their mornings soaking in it. 

At times they would sit on their bed of palm fronds, deep in the shadowed 
vegetation, facing each other and touching lightly, all over. His fingers wound 
through her hair, gently pulling out burrs and tangles, soothing against her 
constantly-itching scalp. She would close her blue eyes and purr deep in her 
throat at the good of it. He touched her cheeks, her little crooked nose, her 
full lips, feeling inside her mouth for her teeth, sliding along her tongue; 
curious, inquisitively probing. He wanted to feel with his fingertips those 
areas of her which gave him so much good, so he touched them all, very gently, 
for he'd learned within a few early encounters the need to be gentle; that 
gentle gave her the best amount of good. And he wanted her to have the good in 
the same amount as he was getting. Instinctively he'd understood the need to be 
unselfish; that by giving her good he was also giving it to himself. And with 
each coming together, a little more awareness of self was gained… as new 
memories were made and filed away within their eager minds. His hand roved over 
her flat belly and probed her softest spot, where he put himself when the good 
was flowing between them. She was so soft there, softer than her hair… softer 
than her tender skin. He rubbed her there much the same as he'd rub himself, 
listening intently for the breath in her throat to lock up, for her tiny gasps 
and her purring, which always sounded the best to him. Her hands were never idle 
during these learning sessions, for she probed and stroked and trailed fingers 
of fire everywhere she could find on his body, as curious to know as he. His 
hard part was especially fascinating to her, the part of him which would bind 
her, lash her to him in their moments of highest good… and she probed him there 
most assiduously, using both hands to measure the length and girth of it, using 
her soft cheek laid upon his equally silky skin to feel the heat of it, the 
pulsing blood underneath the surface, the blood which turned the flesh to steel. 
He closed his eyes against the pleasure of her, and gasped through his mouth, 
while his body shook. And she turned her head, and gazed upon his hard skin… and 
acting upon a long-buried image, pulled from deep inside her somewhere… she put 
her lips on his skin, and trailed her mouth up and down his length, feeling him 
tense under her and groan thickly… her tongue darted out to slide along the same 
path which her mouth had taken, just a few seconds ago - and the shock of her 
hot little tongue against his sensitive skin made his entire body clench as he 
stiffened, back arched like a bow… then his climax shot through him and he cried 
aloud with the intensity of it, falling back onto the palm fronds and pulling 
her with him. He wound his arms around her tightly and wouldn't let go. She 
cuddled close to his still-shaking form, a slight smile curving her mouth, 
knowing she had given to him something very, very good. She raised her head and 
looked into his sleepy face, half-closed eyes still glowing, lips curved in a 
smile which her fingers had to touch… finding herself beginning to succumb to 
the need for sleep, they both dozed off in that position, with her fingers on 
his smiling mouth. And they dreamed, both of them, wrapped up in each other's 
skin… they dreamed of shapes, much like their own; shapes whose open mouths 
formed sounds which wafted over their ears, telling them of love, of caring - of 
warnings and caution and impending doom. And as they dreamed, they whimpered, as 
one - and clung together. 

** Chapter Nine ** 

"Any news, Mr. Skinner? Anything at all?…" the voice on the phone trembled just 
a little despite its attempts to remain steady. Walter Skinner sighed softly, 
wishing for the hundredth time he could offer any kind of assurance, however 
minute. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scully… nothing yet. We had a couple of leads which fizzled out, 
and we're looking into calling in a few favors, just to see if there's any 
reliable information out on the street. I wish I could give you more to go on…" 
his voice petered out and he sighed again, in frustration. Her next words went a 
long way in offering him some comfort, although he knew it should have been the 
other way around. 

"They're not dead, you know… they can't be. If they were dead I'd know it, I'd 
feel it… deep inside, I'd feel it." Softer now, more confident. "I felt it when 
Melissa was hurt… I knew something had happened, to one of my girls. There's an 
ache that won't go away, and a sense of panic which invades the very soul…" She 
laughed a little, into the mouthpiece. "You probably think I'm nuts…" Skinner 
was shaking his head in denial, even though he knew Maggie Scully certainly 
couldn't see him doing it. His voice dropped and he spoke very softly as well. 

"No, I don't think you're nuts at all… if that's nuts, then many people in this 
world are afflicted, including me - because I don't feel it either." She blew 
out a relieved breath and her voice lost its tremor. 

"You'll find them; I know you will. You won't give up - you can't give up. You'll 
find them and they'll be safe and you'll bring them home… to the people who love 
them…" soft sniffles now; steady voice, but crying. Skinner closed his eyes and 
bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop its sudden trembling. 

"I'll find them, Maggie… I won't give up. I want them back so much…" His voice 
cracked a little, then strengthened. "And when I get my hands on the persons 
responsible for all of this…" he couldn't go on; she finished the sentence for 
him, in a manner which shocked him to the core… and caused him to admire her 
even more than he did already…. 

"…When you find them, you'll assure they get what's coming to them - after you 
rip their fucking arms off and stuff them up their asses…if you like, I'll help 
you. Will I need a badge for that?" His shoulders shook with unexpected laughter; 
on the other end, a small, teary chuckle. 

"Oh, Maggie… I needed that… thank you." 

** Chapter Ten ** 

The wind was blowing very hard and the overcast skies were swollen with what 
would fast become a vicious storm. There had been more and more of them lately; 
smaller and less violent, but still enough to blow coconuts and mangos off the 
trees and scatter the monkeys into their nesting places. In the shadowed jungle, 
amongst the palms and ferns, they had concocted a shelter of sorts, mostly made 
from the larger fronds and assorted debris they'd found on the jungle floor. It 
hadn't been very big, but it sheltered them adequately enough and withstood the 
softer breezes; but there wasn't a hope it could withstand the sort of wind now 
being whipped up by the incoming storm. Standing on the beach, chilled but not 
really cold yet, he looked up into the sky and watched the dark clouds churning. 
She came up behind him, also peering upwards at the storm, and twined one arm 
around his slender waist, pressing her body to him for warmth. She'd been sick 
again; he could smell it on her. She'd vomited again. The sick had started a few 
days ago; she'd run into the palmetto's underbrush right after they'd eaten, and 
violently thrown up everything. He'd run after her, afraid she'd eaten something 
not good; something on their mental list of 'bad things'. They'd been very 
careful to stay away from those things, and were confident they had found all 
the bad things on the island; had she found something else, something they had 
both overlooked? His eyes asked her; she shook her head. They had eaten the same 
thing, and he wasn't sick. He was anxious now, and so he watched everything she 
put into her mouth, making sure he ate some of whatever she did. So far, she'd 
been sick, but not him. 

Now she curled into his back and enjoyed the warmth radiating from his body, 
still a little queasy but feeling better… feeling hungry again. She noticed a 
snail, barely moving, there at her feet in the sand. She bent to pick it up, 
remembering these were a good food. She pried it out of its shell with strong, 
nimble fingers and took a healthy bite, offering the other piece to him, 
grinning when he shook his head and pointed at her. She downed the rest of it 
and dropped to her knees looking for more. His hand staying her arm made her 
pause; she looked at him and he pointed up at the sky, then stared at her until 
she understood the need to seek shelter, right away. He pulled her up and they 
dashed into the jungle underbrush just as the first cold drops hit the beach. As 
they snuggled together, keeping each other warm under the shelter, he thought 
about the hole in the earth he'd seen, just a few days ago when he was out 
foraging for food. It was small and stuck out the side of a ridged cliff, on the 
other side of the island. He didn't quite know what it was, but something about 
its basic shape and size triggered a fogged-over memory of sleeping, all 
enclosed in earth… and he knew it would be a good place to stay, away from the 
storms. He shook at her gently; she'd fallen asleep and he didn't want to wake 
her, but they had to get there, now. She woke quickly, and sat up, yawning at 
him. He smiled at her sweet face and motioned at the distant hill, then looked 
at her expectantly. She nodded, and let him pull her to her feet; held onto his 
hand as they ran out of the shelter and around the thick clumps of vegetation, 
toward the other side of the island. 

The cave was small but not too cramped. He'd gone in first, cautiously, looking 
for signs of something else living there, but the cave looked as if it had never 
been used by any creature. He poked his head back out and motioned her in. Later, 
when the wind died down, they would go in search of something to line the dirt 
ground for sleeping, but for now they were just happy to be away from the cold 
rain and howling wind. They snuggled together, she sitting in front captured 
between his legs, his hard part pressed against her lower back. It felt good 
there and she wiggled a little, rubbing herself on it, hearing him gasp out a 
shaky moan as she pushed into him. She twisted in his arms and faced him, 
grinning at him, seeing him smiling back at her, cheeks flushed behind the hair 
on his face. Nose to nose, they stared at each other, still smiling… until some 
tiny thread of awareness, buried so deep it was almost non-existent, caused her 
smile to fade, and in her mind she saw a flash of two heads, very close just 
like this, but connected at the mouth… how odd. But she was curious, and so she 
leaned in just a tiny bit, and her lips touched his. He jumped at the contact, 
and gazed at her in bewilderment… then his mouth parted on a groan, as she 
touched it more firmly, with hers… The image was stronger now, dancing in front 
of her unfocused eyes, two mouths touching and moving against each other… she 
tried moving her head, awkwardly mimicking the image, and he reached out his 
hands and wound his fingers into her long hair, and his mouth suddenly opened 
wide and he felt the inside of her mouth, and her little tongue… The world 
outside spun away, off its axis as they kissed more deeply, both of their mouths 
open now, eating at each other's lips, until she was crying great tears of salty 
wetness, down her cheeks, and he was licking at the tears, at the salt, and his 
hands held her face between them, big palms cupping her wet cheeks, and she felt 
a tearing from deep, deep inside her body, in a place which had until now been 
locked to her; a sound which clawed its way from her stomach up through her 
lungs and out her unused throat, startling her and scaring her with its utterly 
foreign audio - 

"Mulder…" 

** Chapter Eleven ** 

"His name is Friedrictoph… Dr. Pell Friedrictoph." The voice on the phone was 
deep and melodious, the sort of voice one would expect could sing arias, deliver 
full-bodied soliloquies on stage… instead of being one of the FBI's most 
notorious informants. Very few agents trusted this man… Skinner was one of the 
few who did. In five years of association, he'd never been led astray. He didn't 
expect it to happen now. This informant knew exactly what would become of his 
life, should anything false cross his lips when speaking to AD Skinner. Their 
odd relationship was nested in a weird compliance of respect and an admiration 
of sorts, one to the other. Whatever it was… it worked for them. 

"Friedrictoph… German?" Skinner was curious. The voice hummed briefly in thought, 
then replied with uncertainty. 

"I don't know right off, but I could probably find out for you. Think it would 
make a difference?" 

"It might… see what you can dig up, would you? I'll take it from here, see if I 
can find out where this guy fits into their little Mickey Mouse Club…" Skinner 
pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease what amounted to the third 
headache of the day. He sighed heavily, and the voice in his ear clucked at him 
half in amusement, half in sympathy. 

"Headache, right? Another one? You're killing yourself with this one, you know 
that, don't you?" Only this man could have gotten away with being so familiar, 
without Skinner wanting to flatten him. "I know what's going down with you… I 
like those agents of yours too, you know. I promise you, I'll keep my ears well 
open, and sooner or later, someone's gonna slip up, and sing like a bird… you 
gotta be patient." Skinner sighed again, and the sharp pain between his eyes 
eased up, just a little. He spoke a brief, tired thanks into the mouthpiece and 
hung up. He looked down at the tablet on his desk, where he'd written the name 
he'd been given. Friedrictoph… German, he'd bet. This was the one, then - the 
name of the scientist heading up the project which Mulder and Scully had been 
sent to infiltrate… the scientist who was somehow responsible for their 
disappearance, their… he refused to say those words out loud; refused to betray 
for one instant the unwelcome possibility that all this effort was too late in 
coming. He had fresh hope now; he had a name. Very soon, he would have an 
address. And then… Skinner bared his white teeth in a wide, awful grin… then he'd 
have a reason to do a little torturing of his own… 

It was quiet in the dark cave; quiet and humid and devoid of movement except for 
the steady stroke of his hand upon her tangled hair, as she lay with her head in 
his lap. His eyes never left the shadowed outline of her face; eyes anxious and 
worried, although he didn't yet know worry. She'd fainted dead away, right after 
she'd shuddered against his mouth, after she'd turned her wide, frightened eyes 
on him and had uttered that sound, a sound he had never heard her utter, not in 
the daylight hours, not during their feeding times… not during their times of 
good when he was inside her. He was terrified by the sound of it, there on her 
tongue; rusty and croaking but yet full of a feeling he was rapidly beginning to 
know, to possess, for her… She'd made the sound and then her eyes had turned up 
in her head and she'd fallen into his arms. He'd held her and rocked her and 
felt the wet of his eyes falling upon her still face. He had placed a hand on 
her chest, so happy to find it still moved. The early days in the island had 
taught them both not to eat anything until it wasn't moving; and so they both 
knew moving and what it did or didn't signify. He pressed his cheek to her hair 
and rocked her some more. 

She came awake slowly, aware of being held and rocked, just as she'd been when 
she was a little girl and she'd had a bad dream. Strong arms, there in the 
darkness; they felt wonderfully reassuring and so she snuggled into them, 
somehow knowing them by their shape and strength, the elegant fingers and wide 
palms holding her so carefully. Mulder, she thought dreamily… Mulder's got me 
and I'm all right now. Had she been in the hospital again, she wondered? Were 
they in her apartment or his? Didn't matter - one place was as familiar to her 
as the other. She drifted a little, not wanting to fully awaken yet - liking the 
feel of her body pressed against his… 

Her naked body… 

With a muffled gasp of shock, she sprang upright, arms flying inward to cover 
herself, complete bewilderment and disbelief marring her face; Mulder gaped at 
her in the dim light, not understanding why she had jumped like that. He stared 
at her worriedly… to find her staring back at him in absolute horror, wide eyes 
moving all over him, noting with mounting panic the long, wildly tangled brown 
hair… the thick untamed beard… the muscular, very naked body… finally locking 
her gaze on his eyes… seeing the truth of the situation in one fell swoop. His 
eyes… untamed as his hair, wild as can be with no awareness in them other than a 
soft glow of concern for her, but not in the way one human would regard another. 
Her head spun dizzily… Mulder…. She sat back, away from him, not letting any 
part of her touch him… thinking furiously with whatever part of her brain not 
numbed by shock. Come on, remember! - she screamed at herself… She saw herself 
packing her bags, in her apartment; outside hailing a cab; meeting Mulder at the 
airport, both of them unsmiling, intent on their newest case - 

Their case… 

With a gasp which startled Mulder anew and made him jump and moan under his 
breath, Scully saw again the men who burst into the lab… who twisted her arms 
behind her roughly, and handcuffed her tightly; she saw them do the same to 
Mulder, there across the table from her… she saw again the way they were half 
dragged, half walked out of the bigger lab and into a smaller, dimly-lit lab… 
thrown into hard chairs and strapped at the ankle and wrist… she saw the 
scientist, Pell… and her eyes widened even more in abject horror as she 
whispered his name, to herself. Pell… he'd found them out. He'd discovered their 
assignment; their deep cover assignment… Her body went hot and then icy cold at 
the unwelcome remembrance of him. Pell Friedrictoph, a mad scientist indeed… he'd 
been coldly polite to Mulder during the research sessions - but overly, 
sickeningly cordial to her. When he thought she wasn't looking, his eyes would 
crawl over her body, assessing, imagining… she'd felt as if worms were sliming 
their way along her skin. He'd asked her to dinner… she'd refused as gently and 
politely as possible, not wanting to anger him, but a rebuff just the same - and 
he'd not taken it at all well. What he did to them, when their cover was blown… 
she clutched at herself, arms wound tightly around her belly, and rocked, 
moaning anew… 

What he'd done was unspeakable. 

** Chapter Twelve ** 

"I found him, Sir! We've got him in custody! You'd better get over here…" 
Halliday's excited voice bounced and echoed on his answering machine; he'd just 
gotten back from a much-needed run; had hated to leave the apartment even for a 
moment, in case something had happened - but God, he'd needed to do something! 
Now it looked as if he'd missed the single most important call in his life… 

"Shitfuckshit…" he mumbled to himself as he threw on fresh clothes, not 
bothering with a suit… grabbed his keys and tore down to the parking garage 
below. 

"Where is he?" 

Skinner burst into his office just as Halliday rose from the side chair where he'd 
been waiting; reached out and gripped Skinner's hand. Skinner squeezed back hard, 
once, and again demanded, "Where is the little motherfucker… I want him tied 
down, naked, on a bed of poisoned nails… where's that cattle prod you guys 
brought back from Texas and gave me as a gag gift last year? I want that too…" 
Halliday laughed tiredly; AD Skinner was beginning to sound like himself… 
finally. He had to walk fast to keep up with his AD's longer legs as they strode 
down the hall toward the interrogation rooms. "Where… how did you find him?" 

"It was your informant, the guy with the voice… man alive, I've never seen a 
more cooperative snitch! He must have a hell of a regard for you, Sir… he was 
relentless; put himself in harm's way several times, to get you the info needed 
to nail this guy. It was something to see…" Halliday was impressed. Skinner 
snorted a brief laugh, walking a little faster and reaching the cipher-locked 
door first. As he punched in the numbers, Halliday added, "There's something 
else, Sir… your guy also figured out the insider; our little Benedict Arnold. 
Sir… it was Barratelle…" referring to one of Skinner's proteges, someone he'd 
recommended for Special Projects himself. Skinner's eyes clouded over in sudden 
pain and disillusionment, but only for a moment. In a while, he'd think about it, 
try to analyze it. Right now, he had more important things to worry about… He 
thought again of the incredible help his informant had provided, for his agents, 
and turned to smile briefly at Halliday. 

"My informant has always had a soft spot for Mulder and Scully - they saved his 
life once, years ago. He's never forgotten…" Skinner pulled open the door and 
stepped through, eyes immediately fastening upon the man who sat slumped in the 
hard-back chair, wrists and ankles restrained, seemingly unconscious… but as 
Skinner approached, his head slowly lifted, affording Skinner and Halliday a 
polite half-smile, eyes somber and calm despite the obvious pain he must have 
been experiencing, from the dark and swelling bruises on both sides of his face. 
Skinner raised an eyebrow at the marks, turned to Halliday and inquired mildly, 
"Who had fun with him before I got my chance?" Halliday had the grace to flush 
slightly. Skinner nodded and turned back to his 'guest'. 

"Dr. Pell Friedrictoph… I believe we have quite a lot to talk about…"

She was shivering… couldn't stop shivering. Mulder held her tightly, rubbing at 
her arms, trying to warm her, but she couldn't stop shivering. Shivering… cold… 
so cold… colder than Antarctica, colder than the alien tank of muck… so, so cold… 
She spoke aloud, teeth chattering, somehow back there, naked and impaled by the 
tube forced down her throat… choking and spitting up green shit… "Cold… I'm cold…" 
He didn't understand her words, didn't understand words at all. To him they 
sounded like the chattering of monkeys… But he could tell she was scared, more 
than he'd ever seen her scared… and he got scared with her, for her… but not 
because of her. He gripped her tighter. She was looking up now, with glazed-over 
eyes full of unspeakable amazement… then suddenly her gaze swung level, and 
there crept into her eyes the most terrifying fear… and she was somehow on a 
bridge, somewhere deep in her fevered mind… and she was seeing the burning, all 
the burning people… and she was crying over and over again, "Oh My God!… Oh My 
God!…" She suddenly ripped her body out of Mulder's arms and scrambled up 
against the far side of the small cave, glaring wildly at him, damp hair in her 
eyes, spitting words, almost incoherent words, at him… he didn't know the words 
but he could feel the waves of animosity and hatred steaming off her as she 
screamed, "YOU BITCH YOU FILTHY BITCH GET YOUR GODDAM HANDS OFF OF HIM DON'T 
HURT HIM LEAVE HIM ALONE… MULDER!…" And Mulder heard that sound she'd made when 
she'd looked at him in shock… the only word he recognized, so far; the sound she 
called him. She was afraid? For him? Why… when…? It was very hard for him to 
understand any of this. He reached out for her; she fisted her hands and punched 
at him, knocking his hands away from her. Eyes still spitting immeasurable 
hatred, body tense, every muscle outlined, breathing heavily and hotly, through 
her open mouth… she drew her hands up to her face suddenly, covering her eyes, 
shuddering as she fell to her knees and her forehead hit the dirt floor of the 
cave… she whispered more sounds, in a terrible, broken voice - Mulder couldn't 
begin to understand the sounds, but he did hear that sound again, the one she'd 
directed at him; the one which must be him… 

"MulderI'msosorryIcouldn'ttellhimIcouldn'tstopherOhGodpleaseMulder…" one long, 
drawn out sound of incomprehensible pain. Her hands lifted and the look of 
complete despair on her face tore into his soul. He pulled at her until she fell 
against him, suddenly limp, letting him comfort her; she leaned her head against 
his chest and sobbed anew. 

** Chapter Thirteen ** 

The mad scientist restrained in the very uncomfortable straight-backed chair 
smiled politely at AD Skinner, as if he'd just been offered a cup of tea and had 
to refuse because of religious reasons. Regret in those icy blue eyes, hidden 
between thick black eyeglass frames; he'd not answered a single question, merely 
smiled his little smile and made inane comments about the weather and the huge 
amount of dragonflies he'd seen in and around some of the DC parks. Skinner was 
about at the end of his rope; Halliday'd had to grab at his arm twice, to keep 
his boss from taking a huge swing at the scientist. Skinner now paced back and 
forth behind Friedrictoph, thinking furiously of his options. They had been 
interrogating the man for three days… and they'd gotten nothing. They had 
deprived him of food and water, had not let him sleep… it hadn't seemed to touch 
the monster. In fact, he still looked as if he'd just gotten out of nothing more 
strenuous than attending church, while Skinner and Halliday were decidedly ripe. 
It was so damned frustrating… Skinner passed a weary hand over his face, 
preparing to begin in again… and a soft knock at the door provided a momentary 
interruption. Halliday moved to open it, to admit one of the older agents, who'd 
been digging through Friedrictoph's hotel room in Munich, for the past week… and 
who'd promised to bring anything of interest back with him. Now that agent stuck 
his head in the open door, waving a plastic bag which appeared to contain a lot 
of VHS tapes. From across the room, Skinner could see the victorious grin on 
Simpson's face as he called, "Guess what I found… interrogation tapes. Quite a 
few of them… the sick little cabbage-fermentor must have been watching them 
while he was holed up in his hotel room…" Simpson passed the bag to Halliday, 
then reached behind him to open the door further, rolling a TV/VCR unit into the 
room. Friedrictoph clapped his hands in delight and beamed, "Oh, movies… how 
lovely! You must let me spring for the popcorn…" Skinner moved his open hand 
almost casually, watching with detached curiosity as the back of it made jarring 
contact with the side of Friedrictoph's smiling face. He squealed in pain, 
yelling, "You simply cannot inflict bodily damage upon me! I have diplomatic 
immunity…" 

"Shut the fuck up, asshole… Halliday - plug in the unit. Simpson… have a seat. 
This is going to take a while…" 

Seven hours later, Skinner finally turned from the still-flickering TV screen, 
and wiped at his eyes, not bothering to hide the tears… stomach still clenching 
from what he'd had to watch. The tapes had been produced with clinical 
efficiency, the lighting perfectly balanced, the sound expertly controlled. He'd 
watched most of it… had seen Mulder and Scully dragged into the room, flung into 
chairs and restrained… had seen Friedrictoph go to work on them, starting with 
Dana… had heard the questions, posed to them in a jocular, caring voice which 
had seemed more suited to a father dispensing advice to a child, rather than a 
monstrous, criminally insane doctor probing a prisoner. Throughout the 
interrogation, Scully had remained calm, almost disinterested. Skinner had 
watched her being slapped, then hit, poked and prodded, had seen the way 
Friedrictoph twisted her hair and jerked up her face to punch her… had sat with 
teeth gritted, fists clenched, as the son of a bitch leaned in close and uttered 
his lewd suggestions in her small ear, almost drooling as he invaded her 
personal space with his loathsome presence. Scully had never acknowledged him, 
not once. Skinner had jumped up, cursing, when on the screen Scully's pretty 
nose had been broken. She'd not uttered a sound as her head snapped back on her 
slender neck. In the chair across from her, forced to watch it all as well, 
Mulder had kept his jaw clenched and his eyes locked to Scully's, sending her 
his strength, his control… his love. It was there to see, in his eyes; even 
Skinner could decipher it. All through the unrelenting questions… who was their 
operative on the assignment… who was the organizational informant that had let 
them in… tell us about the cases which led you to our little world, Miss Scully… 
tell us… tell us. Skinner was speechless with admiration for her incredible 
fortitude, her strength and power… and Mulder's, when his turn came. And it came 
with a vengeance, when Friedrictoph's tall, big-boned assistant Leonie walked 
into the room and began on Mulder. She had been relentless… had grilled him over 
and over, in a shrill nasal voice which grated worse than a schoolroom of 
childish nails on a chalkboard. When she failed to get any kind of response, 
Leonie had donned a pair of gloves, tipped in very thin, wickedly sharp-looking 
needles… and raked them over Mulder's exposed torso, obscenely kissing him and 
licking at his blood which welled up each time she 'caressed' him with her 
gloved weapons. Scully had watched it all, forced by the hand which was still 
twisted in her hair. She hadn't broken down, even then… but through the lens of 
the whirring camera, even from the TV playing the tape… the utter anguish in her 
huge blue eyes was plain to see. And when Mulder finally lost consciousness, 
when Scully, weakened badly by what she'd endured herself and by having to watch 
Mulder's agony, fainted and slumped in the chair… when Friedrictoph and his 
assistant realized they had been defeated… Friedrictoph had produced, with a 
flourish, the hypodermic needle from his pocket… and had injected first Scully, 
then Mulder… and had brushed the tousled hair off Scully's forehead, almost 
lovingly… and had then sat back to watch, as Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox 
Mulder violently and with immense mental and physical agony… literally lost 
their minds and their identities. 

** Chapter Fourteen ** 

They had been in the cave for two weeks. 

Mulder had gone out in the torrent of rain and wind every morning, when the 
storms had been mildest, and brought back as much food as he could carry, 
refusing to let Scully help him. He'd brought back all her favorites… the little 
snails and the grubs, the thick moist leaves and the yellow fruit which he know 
knew was something called a banana. He couldn't understand why her face turned 
green at the sight of the grubs… but she did manage to eat the leaves and the 
fruit. She wasn't eating enough… and she was still vomiting every day. He wished 
so badly to find out which food was making her sick. It worried him greatly… and 
he now knew worry. 

Outside the opening of the cave, Scully had just finished vomiting yet again, 
and had sunk back wearily against the damp ground, trying to regain her strength. 
Her breasts were tender, ached… she cupped them gently, trying to ease some of 
the ache. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. 

She was pregnant. 

She, Dana Scully, supposedly mostly barren (most of the doctors assigned to her 
so long ago had agreed she would never bear a child), naked and trapped on a 
remote island in God knew what ocean, with her partner who wasn't really her 
partner… more like her wild 'pet'… was having a baby. She wiped at her streaming 
eyes. Why now, she thought - when I cannot possibly enjoy being pregnant; when 
every day was fraught with so many dangers, from infection to poison food, to 
the very real possibility that whatever large predators dwelling on the island 
would eventually figure out that humans were a tasty dish… when she couldn't 
even remember making love (or having sex - she really hadn't known which) with 
Mulder… A Mulder who was still wild, who hadn't remembered anything yet… 
although that was probably a blessing in disguise, she thought with a shudder. 

The things which she had begun to remember were the true stuff of nightmares. 

She remembered the interrogation… of having to watch that hideous bitch 
assistant of Friedrictoph's slice up Mulder's prefect torso… she remembered the 
indescribably agonizing feeling of having her mind, her identity ripped away 
from her, memory by memory. Everything good in her life, every memory of her 
father, her sister… gone; it had slipped away on a foggy dark cloud from her as 
she'd reached out to it in the depths of her mind, sobbing aloud, "NO! COME BACK… 
DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!! MELISSA! Daddy…" Childhood images, gone. Emily's sweet 
face… gone. Her mother, Charlie, Bill… Mulder. The hallway. Their shared pain 
and glory… all gone. The serum had done its work diabolically well… it had been 
designed to cleanse the mind while affording the victim the ability to actually 
feel, and react to, the stripping. It had been the single most horrendous 
experience of her life… because she felt it happening… was powerless to prevent 
it from happening. Scully dropped her head into her dirty hands and moaned in 
pain… then her head snapped up in horror as it dawned on her what Mulder, with 
his obsessive need to embrace his angst, would have to endure when the knowledge 
of their ordeal finally hit him between the eyes. My God, she thought… he may 
not make it through the remembering! It had very nearly killed her… She 
scrambled to her feet and ran back into the cave to wait for him. Whatever 
happened… she had to stay by his side… to somehow help him get through it. 

Somehow she had to break through to him and find a way to communicate. 

** Chapter Fifteen ** 

Three more days… nothing. The bastard had finally been allowed to sleep, for 
very short periods during which he screamed and shook in the throes of very 
obviously terror-laden nightmares. 

It had been the only bright spot in this whole mess, as far as Skinner was 
concerned. Obviously Friedrictoph was lousy with guilt. But, how to use that 
guilt against him… Skinner paced his office furiously, thinking hard. Trying to 
figure out a way to force the scientist's hand… because time was running out for 
his agents. Skinner suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, in mid-pace. He knew 
what to do… he knew how to get the bastard to talk. He ran out of the office, 
punching numbers into his cell phone as he ran.

In the interrogation room, Halliday stood guard at the door, alert and bright-eyed 
despite the fact he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. In the hard chair 
Friedrictoph dozed fitfully; he'd had a nasty bout of nightmares, all through 
the short time he'd been allowed to sleep. Halliday had enjoyed the screams and 
moans coming out of the monster's throat… was satisfied knowing he was suffering. 
Too bad his dreams hadn't dished up any viable information, unfortunately. Even 
in his sleep, the animal was thwarting them. Halliday turned away from him in 
disgust, wanting to get out of there, just as Skinner flung open the door and 
strode in, shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He snapped at 
Halliday, "Don't just stand there, Agent… wake up our boy! I've got a nice 
little surprise for him…"

It had finally stopped raining, and the sun came out hotly, steam rising off the 
saturated palm fronds and lower vegetation. The white sand of the long beach, a 
silvery gray when wet, became white again quickly, drying up in that strangely 
instant way only very white, very pure sand can do. Monkeys and exotic birds 
came out of their hiding places, sending the tops of the trees and palms into a 
concerto of raucous activity. Sand crabs bore up through clumps of still-wet 
surf, claws clacking in a frenzy, prowling for food. And in the cave, dark and 
cool and still nicely dry… Mulder awoke first, opening gritty eyes and rubbing 
at them with a grimy hand; next to him, on her side pressed up and into him, 
Scully slept on. She'd had a restless night; had tossed around a lot, mumbling 
and occasionally crying out softly, unintelligible sounds to him, although he 
knew by now that to her they meant something. He just wished he could know. He 
knew lots of things now; had remembered every experience in the time they'd been 
on the island… could still see it in his head, if he wished to look for it… like 
a deeply-buried morsel from a life he barely recalled living; all the days they 
had been here, all the food they had eaten… every time he had moved to lay her 
down on their bed of moss, and put himself inside her, to feel her under him or 
over him or alongside him, body full of him and shaking sweetly as he gave the 
good to her and received it back a hundredfold… each of these were in there as 
well, from which he took comfort. And now as he lay behind her with his hand 
warm against her little rounded belly… Mulder worried about her, even though he 
knew she was eating better and had stopped being sick. He caressed her belly, 
gently… and gasped aloud as he felt the soft pressure under his hand, as 
something in her belly moved against his palm. He lay very still and pushed his 
hand more firmly, there on her belly… and felt an answering push from inside her. 
Mulder was dumbfounded. Something was in her belly… alive in her belly. She'd 
eaten something alive, something moving… and it had stayed alive in her belly! 
How could this be…? Her hand suddenly covered his, still cupping her there, and 
she pressed it tightly to her as the movement increased. Half asleep, Scully 
turned around, to face Mulder, sleepy eyes noting with a bit of amusement the 
complete look of confusion there, almost fear. She looked up, into his eyes, 
smiling reassuringly at him, sliding a hand over his face, watching the 
confusion melt away and a slow burn of awareness begin in his eyes. His body was 
hardening against her, and she trembled at the feel of it, telling herself that 
this too had to be familiar to her… after all, how else could she have gotten in 
this condition? But, it was one thing to be pregnant… and an entirely different 
matter to remember the events during conception. And since she'd had her memory 
return, still spotty but filling in slowly… Mulder had been very careful and had 
not pressed her to mate with him. She was amazed at the depth of his caring, of 
his protectiveness, considering his still mostly-wild state of mind. But now… 
with the obvious cessation of her morning sickness, and her slow but steady 
resurgence of strength… Scully knew it was time - time to decide what to do 
about this strange relationship with her partner, the father of her child… she 
trembled anew at the truth of it. Mulder was the father… of her baby… inside her, 
a baby… against all odds, in spite of everything the doctors (sorry, the quacks) 
had told her, had scared her with… there was now a baby. She was alone on a 
deserted island in the middle of goddam Tarzan-land with a pet partner in total 
memory-drain mode, a baby growing inside her, and no pre-natal vitamins, no milk, 
no added calcium, no way to cook the meat which would give her the iron which 
would be depleted from her body as the tiny embryo inside fed on her… not that 
they'd been able to find any meat, save the monkeys in the trees, she thought 
insanely… Dear God in Heaven!… how was she going to take care of this tiny life? 
She turned back onto her side, away from the building questions in his anxious 
hazel eyes; her hand curved his more fully against her belly, feeling him scoot 
himself closer to her, cradling her in his warmth. Her eyes drooped with 
weariness and she slept. A few minutes later, lips buried in the back of her 
soft neck… Mulder slept as well.

When he awoke again, she was gone. 

He sat up in a panic, rubbing the grogginess from his face; he'd been dreaming 
again; strange visions like the ones before; shapes the same size as he. Making 
those sounds at him; the sound of what he was called. He shook the cobwebs left 
from the dreams out of his head; looking all around for her. He went to the 
mouth of the cave and looked… he didn't see her anywhere. He listened, for 
sounds of her bring sick somewhere… nothing. He was scared now - she was still 
not herself yet, had still not begun to eat enough food yet. Anything could 
happen to her … anything. He tore down the side of the cliff, eyes anxiously 
searching all over… then he heard a splashing, and he skidded to a halt, nearly 
doubled-over in relief. She was in the water… safe, in the water. On shaky legs 
he climbed the short distance to the spring-fed pond, where they bathed each 
morning… although they had both avoided the place during the storm. He reached 
the pond site, stopped and looked for her… then went dead-still, as his suddenly 
fevered eyes took in the breathtaking view of her rising from the water, 
glistening from head to toe, wet, long hair slicked back from her lovely face… 
her body, rail-thin but still beautifully curved, except for the little round 
belly… slender legs with their curling patch of red hair at the juncture… high 
sweet breasts tipped with pale rose nipples. She came toward him and his legs 
gave out on him and he sank to his knees before her, pleading eyes turned up, 
staring into hers… And with a murmur of that sound, that sound she called him, 
she fell to her knees in front of him, and wound her arms around his waist, and 
held him with a tight grip - and then he was rolling her underneath him on the 
soft long grasses next to the water, and they were kissing hotly, mouths opening 
wide to each other, to caress deeply within, everywhere they could reach with 
their tongues… his body trembled and shook over hers as she reached out a small 
hand to hold him gently, moving her fingers up and down his length as he moaned 
and gasped and shook harder… then he was opening her with hard fingers and 
pushing himself deep into her body, so tight, not enough room in there anymore… 
why!… he didn't know why, only knew the tight was making him get harder and 
harder… it was becoming more difficult to move… he couldn't catch his breath… he 
plunged deeper, faster… felt her winding her legs around his hips and holding on 
tight - until with a scream she shuddered all around him and he emptied himself 
into her endlessly, yelling her name in one long sound; a litany pouring from 
inside his heart, where she would always dwell - 

"SCULLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEE…."! 

** Chapter Sixteen ** 

The mad scientist saw the needle coming toward him and began to squeal worse 
than any swine had the right to squeal… 

Skinner, hip propped against the table, watched detachedly as Halliday 
approached with the hypo in hand; a long, wicked-looking needle filled with the 
one substance that Friedrictoph would not be able to resist… his own serum. 
Skinner knew the little swine recognized it, for it had a strange color, almost 
a glow, about it… also an odd smell which was discernable even through the 
plunger. Skinner stood up and approached Friedrictoph almost gently, 
thoughtfully assessing him, choosing his words carefully, before he spoke. 

"Dr. Friedrictoph… I assume you know what is in the hypo that Agent Halliday is 
holding. Let's cease these little games and this playacting of yours… and get 
right to it. 

"I don't want to have to inject you with your own poison… but I will in a 
heartbeat, if you don't tell me and tell me honestly… where are Agents Mulder 
and Scully? Where do you have them stashed?" His wide eyes never leaving the 
needle in Halliday's hands, the scientist tried to bluster his way out of 
answering, sputtering," Mr. Skinner, please! Give me credit for more 
intelligence than you show at the moment… do you think I can't identify my own 
serum? That is, at best, a poor imitation, a fake…" Then he cried out a full-bodied 
scream as Halliday pounced on his strapped-down arm and made to plunge the 
needle in. Halliday paused, just short of touching the small hairs on the 
terrified man's exposed arm… looked over at Skinner and winked, commenting, "Oh, 
yeah… a fake. I knew it all along…" Skinner afforded himself one weary grimace 
of a smile before he leaned both hands on the arms of Friedrictoph's chair, 
snarling in his pale, sweaty face, "I want a location and I want it now, Doctor. 
Where are my agents?" 

The insane Friedrictoph tried producing one more shaky ace. "Really, Mr. Skinner! 
Were you not watching my excellent recording of the events leading up to the 
demise of your agents? They are dead, Sir! Dead, dead, dead! Deader than a 
doornail, deader than anything you could imagine… irrevocably dead! I dropped 
them on that island myself…" his voice petered out as he realized just what he'd 
revealed, and the very tiny gasp he emitted at his error was not lost on the 
agents in the room. Skinner got in his face, nose to nose, eyes narrowed 
fiercely, and growled deep in his throat, "WHAT ISLAND, YOU PORTENTOUS FUCKHEAD?" 
The doctor merely smiled at him benignly, replied graciously, "Why, Mr. Skinner… 
I really can't answer that, you see… I don't have to answer that. And do you 
know why, Sir?" He paused and suddenly all the fear was gone from his face, all 
the panic, as if he'd just remembered something wonderful, something too 
exquisitely fine…"I can't answer your question because, as you and I both know… 
I have diplomatic immunity…" 

Skinner then grinned the most evilly courteous smile, teeth bared wide and white… 
his eyes went dead black and for just a second, the doctor wavered… then knew, 
quite certainly, that he was about to lose it, lose everything… in a mad panic, 
he stuttered in a shrill voice, "South Seas! South Seas! Please… South Seas…" 
over and over again, his wide and terrified eyes never leaving the needle in 
Halliday's hand as it again made its descent to his wildly twisting arm, 
strapped in two places on the arm of the hard-backed chair… as AD Walter Skinner 
leaned in and whispered in the gibbering man's face… 

"Fuck diplomatic immunity, Dr. Friedrictoph… and, fuck you. 

"Halliday - go for it…" 

** Chapter Seventeen ** 

Dana Scully was rocking him gently in her arms, and stroking him with a soft 
hand. Murmuring soft things to him, mouth close to his ear, as he shuddered and 
shook and sobbed and gulped great heaving breaths, head pounding and heart 
triphammering in his body… There wasn't anything else she could do for him, 
except hang on with all her strength, and pray very hard, and try to let him 
feel her caring, her love… 

Mulder was remembering. Mulder was remembering all that he'd been forced to lose… 
and the knowledge of that which he'd lost was killing him. 

In the VHS of his brilliantly photogenic mind, he saw it… saw it all. Saw it 
torn from him, bit by bit. Everything he loved, all he'd ever held dear… ripped 
from him. Samantha, torn from his arms a second time, in a more heinous, more 
evil way than she'd ever first been taken, her essence, her very soul buried and 
protected in his memory, desiccated and shredded before his horrified minds' eye. 
His mother, gone… his father, ripped from him as well… and his knowledge of life, 
his intelligence, his precious mind, the one stronghold constant of his life… 
the only thing, besides his partner, his Scully, which he could trust not to 
fail him… gone… as was Scully. He saw it… saw them all leave him, whirred away 
too fast for him to try to clutch them back… leaving him alone and broken; 
leaving him to die. 

Leaving him… he couldn't bear it; couldn't live through it, not again… a low, 
hoarse moan, building in the pit of him, boiling up through layers and layers of 
unspeakable pain, erupting from his throat as he screamed and screamed with it, 
causing the monkeys in the trees to scatter in fright… doubled over in Scully's 
desperate attempt to hang onto him no matter how his twisting fingers on her 
arms bruised her. She was almost lightheaded from the force of holding him; they 
hadn't eaten anything in hours and hours; she had such little strength left in 
her thin body… and he slumped in her arms and was still. She peered down at him, 
worry and fright for him blinding her with hot tears as she cried, "Mulder! 
Mulder, God, please! Wake up, dammit! Mulder! DON'T LEAVE ME…!"

"I need the most detailed map of the South Sea island territories you can find… 
when? Now, damn it! In my office, on my desk!" Skinner barked into his cell 
phone, then stabbed the disconnect button and rapidly dialed another number, 
grating into the mouthpiece, "This is AD Walter Skinner… I need a helicopter and 
a pilot… make that two… how long… shit, how should I know! Until I say they can 
stop looking! Have them ready to go in half an hour. What? I don't give a rat's 
ass how many people you have to wake up… what time do I think… 

I don't know; who cares? Three in the morning? So what! Just do it… or I'll have 
your badge and your commission pulled so fast you won't know your dick from a 
pencil!" He slammed the phone shut and turned to Halliday, standing nearby 
hopping up and down on each foot impatiently. He growled, "You ready?" Halliday 
nodded grimly. 

"I've got all the gear ready to go, packed in a Rover I pulled from Motor Pool. 
Let's go." The men headed for the elevators. As the doors shut behind them, 
Halliday touched Skinner on the shoulder, reassuringly, not letting go even when 
Skinner clutched his hand and held on with a punishingly tight grip 

"Sir… we'll find them..."

With a weary sigh, Scully gathered the last of the fresh palm fronds and 
scattered them on top of the springy moss, then with a groan for her aching back, 
sank down upon them, turning gingerly to her side and reaching out a scratched 
and sore hand to wind fingers through Mulder's hand, curled next to his sleeping 
face. She watched him anxiously, gauging his eye movement, checking his pulse 
every so often. It was steady and strong, albeit a little rapid; he was dreaming. 
Scully hoped his dreams weren't the stuff of nightmares. God knows we've had 
enough of them lately, she thought sourly. Her stomach growled and she reached 
for a banana with her free hand and peeled it awkwardly, not willing to 
relinquish contact with Mulder even to feed herself; managed to get the fruit 
open and ate quickly. With a sigh of satisfaction, her hunger assuaged 
temporarily, she laid her head down next to his and continued her vigil. 

Mulder had been asleep for several hours… after he had collapsed in her arms, 
Scully had been frantic, checking his pulse, his breathing, screaming her 
prayers into the hot wind blowing through the palmettos… but he'd only fainted. 
She'd laid him down and run for water and had trickled it on his forehead, down 
his cheeks… but he had remained unconscious. Knowing there wasn't anything she 
could further do, and feeling more helpless than she'd ever felt in her life - 
she'd sat close to him and watched him carefully. After a while her back began 
to ache and so she'd risen and set about foraging for fronds. Nothing to do now 
but keep an eye on him, so she could be there in his eyesight the moment he woke 
up… 

So he would know she had not really been torn from him. 

** Chapter Eighteen ** 

A low moan roused her from her fitful doze; she opened an eye and stretched 
stiffly, emitting a huge yawn. The small of her back was aching again, probably 
from not padding the ground enough before she lay down. She looked over at 
Mulder, still lying close to her… and his eyes were open and looking straight 
into hers. She flushed a little; Mulder's gaze was direct, and clear, thanks be 
to God… and cognizant. His eyes flickered over her, slowly; his gaze taking in 
her too-thin, bruised body, sprinkled with insect bites… her narrow hips and 
fuller breasts, nipples darker now with developing milk ducts; the rounded belly, 
even more pronounced due to the leanness of her overall body; the long, tangled 
hair and thin face. Her eyes so weary… Scully gazed back at him helplessly, 
blushing furiously, wanting nothing more than to shield herself from his 
inspection but knowing it was mostly useless; he'd seen it, touched it… tasted 
it all before - although not with quite this level of awareness in his eyes! He 
reached out a trembling hand to cup her cheek; Scully pressed herself into that 
hand and fought back overwhelming tears. Mulder… he'd remembered, and he'd 
survived it. He'd somehow been able to rise above the indescribable pain of all 
he'd been through; all he'd been forced to watch her endure. Thank you, God… 

Mulder stroked Scully's cheek, not touching any other part of her, unsure of 
whether his touch would even be welcome. She was so pale and thin, so exhausted-looking… 
so thin, except for her enlarging belly… compliments of his handiwork… he 
shuddered anew at the imaginings of what he must have done to her, in the half-wild 
state which he now knew must have been his mindframe. Hell… what mindframe! He'd 
been reduced to an animal, he knew that now. He would have had to react to her 
as an animal, which meant he would have attacked her, probably violently... he 
moaned low in his throat; unable to fight the despair caused by the image 
flaming through his mind… of a terrified Scully, naked and vulnerable, being 
pinned down by his brute strength while he - 

"NO! STOP IT, MULDER! IT WASN'T LIKE THAT!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks; 
she'd flung her arms around him and was holding him fiercely; she'd seen the 
look on his face. She whispered in a broken voice, "It wasn't that way Mulder… 
the way I know you're picturing it. It wasn't! It couldn't have been… you wouldn't 
have treated me that way… you aren't capable of it…" 

And in her tight embrace Mulder shook all over, burying his wet face in her neck, 
sobbing into her skin hoarsely, "How do you know, Scully? You were as unaware as 
I was! How would you know what was violence, and what was normal! Both of us 
acting like animals… you would not have been able to stop me…" his voice broke 
on a fresh sob. Scully pushed away enough to look into his drenched eyes, hands 
holding his face firmly. 

"Mulder, listen to me. You're right… we were both animals; we probably reacted 
to each other like animals. But Mulder, think about it… what does the female of 
the species do during the mating process… think! Use that mind of yours and 
think… what does she do?" Mulder sniffed and tried to force his aching head to 
concentrate… then his eyes widened as he realized what she was getting at… and 
he looked into her equally wet eyes, and whispered shakily, "She prepares 
herself for mating by the positioning of her body and secreting the inner fluids 
which will ease…" He was suddenly too flustered to go on, but Scully nodded and 
smiled and hugged him to her fiercely. She whispered tenderly into his ear. 

"Exactly, Mulder… she prepares herself. She gets ready for the salami to be 
slipped to her…" Mulder emitted a shaky chuckle at that so Un-Scullylike remark, 
and gave her a squeeze. She squeezed back, relief swimming through her at his 
body's sudden relaxing. She held his gaze and spoke low and with absolute 
certainty. "Mulder… there is no way you could have forced me, because I was 
ready for you… I know it as surely as I know anything… as I know how much I love 
you. It may have been rough, and it may have hurt, but that's because you're so 
big, and I'm pretty narrow and tight. But never doubt for one moment that I didn't 
want it… because the animal within me surely did…" His wide, disbelieving eyes 
met hers in amazement. 

"Scully… what did you say?" 

"I said I was ready for you…" He shook his head impatiently. 

"No, after that… what did you say…!" She smiled in sudden understanding; held 
him close and pressed small kisses down his neck softly. 

"Mulder… I said I know how much I love you… and you know what? I also know how 
much you love me…" 

"How do you know, Scully?" 

"Because… you talk in your sleep, Mulder…" 

"Oh… Wanna go take bath with me, Scully? I'll wash your back… I'll wash your 
front. I'll wash your…-" 

"I get the picture, Mulder… race you to the pond…"

** Chapter Nineteen ** 

"Anything, Halliday?" 

"Negative, Sir… no sign of human life here…" 

They were on the fifth island in the territory below the Tropic of Capricorn; 
they had avoided as many inhabited islands as possible and had kept their search 
minimized to the myriad of tiny islands dotting the more remote areas of the 
South Sea belt. Friedrictoph had become the proverbial fount of information, 
right after Halliday had shot him full of the serum… and right before the 
effects of the drug began to take hold. He'd spilled his guts in six different 
directions… perhaps hoping, in some mad way, he could stay the inevitable. Hadn't 
worked quite that way… and Skinner and his agents had not stuck around to see 
the show; they had a helicopter or two to catch. And even though Friedrictoph 
had not been capable of pinpointing the exact island before he lost all 
cognizant thought… he'd narrowed it down considerably. Still… they'd been 
searching as much as possible, every day, for two months. Skinner stopped pacing 
along the white stretch of beach log enough to take a much-needed swig of tepid 
water. 

So damn frustrating… 

They had to be on one of these islands! He knew it, could feel it… he squinted 
and stared out over the surf, trying to spot the next one, another little dot of 
land somewhere, a place they might have missed. Hell, it was easy enough to miss 
one… so many of them weren't even on a map, weren't more than a little floating 
hill of land, with lots of vegetation and very little wildlife, save the 
inevitable monkeys and birds. They found themselves doing a lot of circling, 
over and over the same areas, trying to spot an island they had possibly missed… 
they had just about given up looking at a map. Instinct alone, instinct and a 
weird sort of intuition would most likely get them further, at this point. 
Skinner flipped open the walkie-talkie and spoke into it. 

"Let's head out, Halliday… there's nothing here…" 

** Chapter Twenty ** 

It was getting more difficult for her to get around lately… she was growing very 
large. 

Scully moved slowly and carefully up from the cool pond, where she spent a great 
deal of her afternoons now. With the days so humid and killingly hot, and her 
ankles in danger of swelling to majestic proportions, she tried to keep herself 
as cool as possible. Sometimes Mulder joined her, there in the water, playfully 
splashing her or just holding her and letting her drift in a semi-doze… much of 
the time he stayed nearby on the bank, speaking softly to her as she lay in the 
buoyant water with her eyes half-closed, listening to his words of reassurance; 
his words of love. They spoke of many, many things, during the long days and 
shorter nights; rehashing old cases with humor instead of remembered horror; 
giggling over things like mutant worms and carnival geeks, garbage monsters and 
playing house… giant cockroaches and pencils stuck in their basement ceiling. 
They skirted the enemies of their past, including the faceless men who had 
threatened them for so long… touched briefly on the monsters, both human and 
inhuman, which they had encountered in almost seven years of partnership. It 
helped them to re-sharpen their minds, their memories… and they didn't want to 
forget a thing, for it had made them what they held most dear… it had made them 
strong partners, deep friends… and committed soul-mates. 

They spoke of their coming child, in hushed, gentle tones… wondering what they 
would have and what they would name her, or him… would the child look like both 
of them, or favor one parent? They decided their child would have Scully's hair 
and Mulder's eyes; Scully's ears and her nose, and Mulder's smile… her 
determination and his intelligence… her courage and his strength of conviction. 
Their combined, fiercely protective love… that was a given. They tried not to 
dwell on the inevitability of a difficult labor and birth; of the possibility 
the baby would not come out head first, that it would be so weakened by Scully's 
malnourishment that it would not be able to survive… They were as pragmatically 
optimistic as they could be. 

They made love all the time, reinforcing their dedication and commitment to each 
other. Mulder was tender with her, even when she got demanding and insisted on 
rougher treatment; recalling with shuddering need the way they had been before, 
as wild creatures instead of college-educated humans… Sometimes she could 
provoke him into letting loose his darker impulses, but even when he would give 
into his wilder side; when he held her tightly to him, pressed face-down on the 
long grasses next to their pond; even when he thrust himself deeply into her, 
mouth on her neck holding her still… when his pounding body began to build and 
build, threatening to overwhelm both of them, and she was shuddering and bucking 
underneath him… his fingers would wind themselves through hers and he would 
whisper a torrent of broken phrases and words of love into her small ear, and 
those words would cause her body to tighten and explode as nothing else could, 
and she would gasp and scream with it, even as his climax would take hold of him 
and his body would dramatically ease as he pumped into her… in his frenzy of 
completion still careful, mindful of the life within her, bathing her gently, 
softly… lovingly. And as they rested there, still joined, still holding hands… 
they would whisper to each other of the surety that God was watching out for 
them… that someone was out there, looking for them… they would be all right. 
They clung to that shared promise as they dozed, and slept. 

Ahead of them, solitary in the calm seas all around them, an island… Skinner 
consulted his map. Of course, this one wasn't on there… even from this distance 
he could see how tiny it was. This island wasn't more than a few miles long and 
maybe a mile wide, if even that. He signaled to the pilot, and they went lower, 
Skinner looking through his binoculars at the low vegetation, the long stretch 
of beach, which looked undisturbed. No sign of life, anywhere… but that didn't 
mean anything. He nodded to the pilot, and they began their descent. 

** Chapter Twenty-one **

"MULDER!…" 

He'd been foraging for bananas; it was the only fruit she could stomach now and 
he knew the potassium was vital… he had a huge bunch of them in his hands when 
he heard her yelling for him. He dropped the fruit and tore off into the shaded 
fronds, into their palm shelter, where he'd left her, napping. He ran into the 
palms, and stopped dead at what greeted his stunned eyes: Scully propped against 
a low palm, red-faced and gasping, hands pressing down on her distended belly. 
She looked up at him through the hair hanging in her face, and wheezed, "Well, 
don't just stand there, Mulder! Go boil some water or something… my water broke 
and the baby's coming…" Mulder started shaking. 

"Holy Shit… what do you… where… Scully! WHAT DO I DO?" She laughed weakly at the 
utter panic on his face, and managed a reply in between the puffing breaths she 
took. 

"Hell, Mulder, I don't know… go pace and smoke nasty cigars, I guess… just get 
in front of me and get ready to catch this kid when it flies out…Ouch… ooohhhh…" 
as her contractions started in again. Mulder quickly kneeled in front of her and 
began to time her contractions, mind going into auto-pilot mode. She whispered. 
"It's a big baby, Mulder… it has a big head, just like you… have you ever 
delivered a baby before…?" He shook his head and managed a tiny, shaky 

smile - 

"Do puppies count? -" hopefully. She sighed and nodded weakly. 

"You bet, Sweetheart… now start watching for the tail…" 

"Scully…?" 

"Yes, Mulder?" 

"Do I really have a big head?" 

"Fuck, Mulder! Don't make me laugh, not now…!!" 

It was the sound of the helicopter which broke his intense concentration from 
Scully and snapped his head in the direction of the beach. His excited gaze 
snapped back to Scully, there in mid-contraction, and he whispered, "Did you 
hear that, Scully? Sounds like a helicopter…" and he was on his feet and running, 
vaguely registering her angry, breathless, "DAMN YOU MULDER GET BACK HERE I'M 
HAVING YOUR KID FOR CHRIST'S SAKE…" 

On the beach, Skinner strode from the damp surf and began searching all around… 
then his eyes widened in shock as he heard a voice yelling, and saw a naked 
figure tearing out from the vegetation, straight toward him… naked and dirty and 
thin; long, tangled deep brown hair, matted beard covering all the face, blazing 
eyes, hazel-bright as he got closer… Mulder. 

Oh God Thank You… 

And Skinner dropped his binoculars and his water bottle and met the wild being 
in front of him, half way… and threw his arms around Mulder as they both 
collapsed into the sand, both men crying openly, unashamedly, Mulder hanging on 
for dear life and Skinner choked with the tears clogging his throat… until 
Mulder, with a gasp, cried out, "Scully… OhMiGod… we have to get to Scully, now, 
Sir! I left her… we gotta get her… hurry… she's in labor… the baby…" Even as he 
was speaking, he'd pulled loose and was running back up the beach toward the 
palms. Skinner ran after him, shouting in complete befuddlement: 

"Mulder… wait… SHIT! BABY…???!!" 

** Epilogue ** 

William Samuel Mulder weighed in at an impressive ten pounds, three ounces, and 
almost twenty-one inches. 

A headful of dark, wispy hair, cloudy gray eyes which could go either way, long 
and lanky like his father… and one lusty, loud set of lungs. Screaming his head 
off for his mother's nourishment, her breasts… Mulder could relate to that need. 
However… the mother in question had very little natural milk of her own, even 
though she had been placed on a little vitamin cocktail as soon as she'd been 
loaded into the helicopter, the co-pilot being a nurse who took one look at 
Scully's emaciated form and commanded, "Calcium. D-plus Iron IV… now, if not 
sooner!" As quickly as that, Scully was hooked up, even before her arm was 
cleaned off, before the baby was cleaned of its birth mucus. Skinner pointed to 
Mulder, squatting close to Scully, holding her in one arm and his child in the 
other, tears falling softly in her face, and said, "Connors… think you could 
attach Mulder to another IV as well?" Connor, the nurse, eyes quickly assessing 
Mulder's similar condition, replied cheerfully, "You bet, Sir… if we can pry him 
from his new family…" Mulder refused to let go, however, and so the smiling 
nurse merely rigged up a temporary IV right next to Mulder and let him stay put. 
The flight back was going to be a fairly long one… the closest hospital was in 
Efate´, within the Solomon Island chain; a very small hospital but with 
everything they would need. Still, they were out quite a distance, and so Mulder 
and Scully were made as comfortable as possible, and the baby, in surprisingly 
good condition other than hunger, allowed to nurse at her breast despite the 
fact she probably had no milk to speak of. But it quieted and soothed the child, 
which was all that mattered. Skinner had boarded the copter with them; Halliday 
and Simpson having gone ahead in the second unit. 

Now Skinner looked down at the baby, dozing at his mother's breast, a little 
pink-faced at the sight of Scully's naked bosom, out there for the world to see… 
then he realized some of what they'd had to endure these past months… and knew 
their combined nudity was really no big deal, to either of them. Scully caught 
his eye, noting the reddened cheeks, and laughed softly, reaching out a little 
hand to squeeze his arm reassuringly. "It's OK, Sir… they're just another 
appendage, you know. Once they've been hanging out there awhile, out there for 
God and all his monkeys… and Mulder… to see - well, who cares anymore…!" Mulder 
choked on the water he'd been gulping and looked at her, aghast. 

"Jeez, Scully… might I remind you this is our boss you're talking to, joking 
about body parts…" 

Scully grinned up at her 'jungle-mate' and pursed her lips at him; blushing a 
little, Mulder leaned down as best he could and kissed her gently. She regarded 
his wild, bearded face thoughtfully. 

"You know Mulder… much as I love your sexy, bare cheeks… you might think about 
keeping that bush on your face for awhile… it's really a turn-on. And besides… 
our boss has just become our best friend in the world… don't you think?" 

And as usual, Mulder had to agree.

To be continued --