In a beat-up van in the alley halfway between the restaurant
and the club, Byers was monitoring Langly's audio feed.
They had taken a chance that no one would check for the
tiny device in his ear or under his collar as he entered the
club, and so far so good.  Byers' headphones had been silent
for quite some time now, however, and the bearded gunman
was beginning to worry.  Finally Langly's voice filled his
ears.  He was describing a stripper in detail, which was
certainly interesting, but not very informative.

"Langly," he hissed.  "Is Mulder okay?  What's he doing?"

A chuckle came over the earphones.  "Getting an eyeful,
what d'you think?:

Byers sighed and settled back in his seat to await
developments.  He didn't notice the dark sedan parked
further down the alley behind him.

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

Marigold's

Just as her date was telling her how much he liked her
beautiful eyes, Scully choked on a piece of pate at seeing
Frohike clearing dishes from a nearby table.  Coughing and
sputtering, she had to wonder how appealing she looked to
Vincenzo now.

Waving him away when he moved to get up and help her,
she took a sip of water, gave a final cough, and smiled her
apologies.

"I'm fine," she said, out of habit.

"I had better not compliment you again, if it causes such a
reaction," her date smiled.

When she finally risked looking over for Frohike, he had
disappeared.  She didn't see him again during the rest of the
meal, although she was certain he hadn't gone far.  Her
feelings were mixed at the thought that her partner had
enlisted the gunmen on a case like this.  A trained
professional would have made more sense as a backup; on
the other hand, she knew that Frohike would die himself
before he'd see any harm come to her.  Maybe that's what
she was afraid of....

While Vincenzo rambled on about a new boat he had
bought, she couldn't help but think about her partner,
wondering what kind of trouble he might be getting into.
Hopefully he was behaving himself, if that word could be
used to describe someone watching a strip show.

A smile tugged at her lips, but it disappeared instantly as she
recalled how unfair she had been toward Mulder earlier that
day.  She had never told him what had really happened with
Ed Jerse, so she could hardly fault him for coming to the
conclusion he had.

Vincenzo interrupted her thoughts at that point, however,
with a direct question, but she silently made a mental note
to clear the air with her partner as soon as they had some
private time.

*******************
Inside Jake's

Several strippers had gone through their acts and another
was just coming on stage when Mulder's two companions
suddenly got to their feet.  Volpe lightly punched the
agent's arm and said, "It's time to go run an errand for Mr.
Vincenzo."

"Aw, guys, I wanted to watch this," he whined, wondering
what they were up to now.  He suspected that, whatever it
was, and with his luck, it would probably be detrimental to
his health.  Then it occurred to him that the drug deal could
be going down...naah, not with him along.

"You'll like it, I promise you," Barber chimed in, as he
nudged the agent's shoulder.

Alarm bells ringing in his head, the agent was tempted to
refuse and just stay where he was.  But that wouldn't gain
the information he needed, so he sighed, got to his feet and
followed the pair to the rear of the room and through a
door.  It opened into a cluttered "undressing room."  There
were stairs built against the wall to his right, presumably
leading to the stage.  The real focus of attention, however,
were several nude women who were applying makeup at the
mirrors which lined the walls.  Although the men took their
time checking them out as they made their way through the
room, the women didn't acknowledge their presence
beyond an initial glance.

The next doorway led to an office, and beyond that was a
large, open garage, with room enough for five cars.  Only
an aging Cadillac was parked near the far wall at the
moment.  Mulder surmised that they must have reached the
back of the building where it opened onto Raleigh Street.
He definitely was having bad feelings about this whole
situation.

Although alert to trouble, the solid punch to the gut by
Barber was sudden.  He fought to breathe as it took him
down hard to his knees against the concrete slab floor.
Reminding himself that he was, after all, a trained FBI agent
who presumably knew self-defense, he struggled for that all-
important breath so he could retaliate.  He frantically tried
to note the positions of his companions.  Barber stood
directly in front of him, only a foot away.  Volpe...where the
hell was Volpe?  Then he had his answer as the back of his
head exploded in pain and the world faded away.


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

Marigold's

Scully had just finished her meal, and her eyes followed
several couples as they danced to the music of the live band.
A warm hand suddenly covered her own where it lay against
the linen of the tablecloth and Vincenzo murmured, "Do
you mind if we forego the dancing and return to the hotel?
I would like for us to have dessert in my suite and then talk
some more.  I find you to be quite fascinating, yet
mysterious.   I'd love to get to know you better."

Mentally rolling her eyes at this thinly-veiled come-on, she
managed to smile at him.  "That sounds wonderful."  But
not really, she added to herself.  Scully wanted that drug
sale information and would have to walk a fine line with this
man.  She wasn't about to sleep with him but couldn't cut
him cold, either.

She soon found herself sharing a taxi with him, and realized
that she had a decision to make, and quickly.  He was
showing unmistakable signs of wanting to kiss her.  Since
she had acquired no useful information from him up to that
point, she didn't want to risk alienating him...yet.  So she let
him gather her into his arms and kiss her.  No big deal, she
told herself, and was surprised when the kiss wasn't quite
the chore she had expected.

The image of her partner's face and the memory of the
contemptuous way she had treated his earlier concern for
her brought a blush to her cheeks.  She eased away from
Vincenzo and put her hands against his chest as a barrier.

"We're moving a little too fast," she breathed.

"Funny.  I thought the opposite."  His brown eyes danced
with amusement and desire.

Then he surprised her by moving away and giving her some
space.  "I can respect your caution, Angela."  He smiled and
softly repeated, "Angela.  Such a lovely name."  There was
something about his smile that she couldn't place.  She still
saw amusement, but there was a tinge of...malice?

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

Back at Marigold's

Frohike saw Scully and her date leaving the restaurant, so
he tossed his employer's jacket and bow tie aside, pulled a
small earring out of his pants pocket, and made his way to
the doorman at the front of the building.

"Hey, do you know where Mr. Vincenzo was headed?  His
date left her earring and I was told to personally deliver it to
her right away."

The tall young man looked down his nose at this obvious
outsider; one who didn't have the inside knowledge that he
himself possessed.

"Everyone knows that he stays at the Greenwich Hotel
when he's in Washington," he sneered.

Fighting down a nasty retort, Frohike asked, "Well, is that
where he was headed now?"  He was careful to speak
calmly.

"With that hot dish on his arm?  You've gotta be kidding
me!  Of course he took her to the hotel.  Bet he has her
pinned in bed by now - the boss doesn't waste any time."

In Frohike's mind, he hauled off and hit the dipshit in the
solar plexus, and when the tall man bent over, knocked him
out with a blow to the side of his neck.  Too bad he
couldn't really direct his fury that way, or he might put his
friends in jeopardy.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and muttered, "Punk-ass," as he
turned to flag down a taxi.  He didn't fool himself that he
could rescue Agent Scully from an assault on her virtue, but
Mulder had asked him to watch out for her, and that's
exactly what he was going to do.

He tried calling Mulder on his cel phone once he was settled
in the cab, but couldn't raise him.  That made his brow
furrow, since he knew that the agent was worried about
Scully and would have made himself available.  So he dialed
another number and got Byers.

At Byers' cautious, "Yes?" he quickly gave him a rundown
of the situation.  In return, Byers was able to give him the
location of Vincenzo's suite.

"Can you have Langly tell Mulder what's going down?"

"I would, but we can't find Mulder.  One minute he was
sitting there at a table, and the next, he and the two bozos
had disappeared.  Langly is sniffing around, hopefully
discreetly, right now."

Frohike snorted at the idea that Langly could be discreet
about anything.

"I'll call you back later to see what develops.  If you talk
with Mulder, tell him that this Vincenzo creep was all over
Scully tonight.  Bad vibes.  Over and out."

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

Jake's Garage

Mulder was awash in pain before he fully regained
consciousness.  Opening his eyes was not something he
especially wanted to do right then, but as he grew more
aware, it was unavoidable.  He had to see what was hurting
so badly.

The all-encompassing pain in his wrists was explained when
he saw that they were tied by rope to the legs of the
wooden chair in which he was sitting.  His arms were pulled
taut beside his body by the tension on the ropes.  His ankles
were also tied to the chair legs, and there was another
length of rope around his neck, secured to the back slats of
the chair.  It was not a comfortable position, to put it mildly.
Adding to the discomfort, he was bare to the waist.

So much for reaching the panic button on the keychain in
his pocket.  Unless he could free one of his hands, that
wasn't going to happen.

Volpe was telling his buddy, "Remind me not to order any
local fish or crab in restaurants for awhile, would ya?  Those
little suckers will be chowing down on this motherfucker
when he lands in the Potomac tonight."

"Aw, c'mon, you know you ate crab the other night, even
though we had just dumped Michaelson off the pier."

"That's why I want you to remind me this time, dickface."

"They're going to find the bodies soon enough and make an
ID," Barber warned.

"Nah.  I'll knock his teeth out and cut his fingers off just
like Michaelson.  Unless they do a DNA on them, the feds
won't have a clue."

Mulder shouldn't have been surprised to learn just how
vicious these men were, but what he was hearing caused his
stomach to knot painfully.  It occurred to him that, with
Volpe's slicing and dicing, and given Barber's penchant for
cutting off his victim's genitalia, Mulder wasn't going to
have a lot of parts left when they finished with him.

The speaker finally walked around into Mulder's view, and
he saw that Volpe was holding a large, serrated-edged
hunting knife in his hand.  He was followed by Barber, who
mirrored Volpe's expectant expression.

"Agent Mulder.  Hope you have a high pain threshold."
Volpe sounded cheerful, the sick fuck.

"I've put up with you two bozos for several hours.  How
am I doing so far?"  Despite his confident tone and attitude,
the agent couldn't keep his eyes off the knife that the other
man was waving around.

Ignoring the jibe, Volpe grinned his humorless grin and said,
"This could be easier on you if we get some useful
information.  Tell us what the feds know about the Boss."

"Every performance sells out, and he does three-hour
shows?"

Barber snickered, but Volpe's face turned red.

"One more chance, asshole.  Give, or I start cutting."

"You must have realized by now that they don't tell us field
agents jack about a case, except what we need to know."

"Too bad.  Guess we'll just have to see if you can last
longer than Michaelson did."

The agent knew there was nothing he could say that would
deter them from their fun now.  They knew who he was and
they'd already killed another fed.  Oh, God, what about
Scully?  He felt panic settling in at the thought that both
covers were blown and she'd be in danger, too.

Struggling against the ropes, Mulder watched with a
horrible fascination as the knife moved toward his face.
Look at the bright side, he told himself; at least they weren't
starting on his family jewels.  Then it paused, and Volpe
said, "Oh, by the way.  The boss has screwed your partner,
put a bullet into her pretty little head, and by now she's on
her way out of the hotel with the garbage.  That's his M.O.,
as you cops call it.  Just thought you'd like to know before
you die."

Then the ugly metal blade moved, bypassed his jaw and
pierced his shoulder.

At first the only pain was mental.  Mulder's mind was
frantically rejecting the thought that Scully could have been
raped and murdered.  This was just part of the torture,
right?  Please, God, let it just be a mind-fuck, and not true...

The blade very slowly pushed its way into the muscle, blood
now running freely down his chest.  Then white-hot searing
agony shot through his shoulder, every nerve traumatized,
forcing a raw scream from his throat.  The agony was
unbearable, but it went on and on as the knife pressed
deeper and deeper.


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

Inside Jake's

Langly had finally decided that the nondescript door to the
left side of the stage had to be where Mulder had
disappeared.  There just wasn't anywhere else.

As he reached for the doorknob, Byers' voice resounded in
his ear, asking, "What's going on?"

Desperately trying to calm his heartbeat, Langly nervously
whispered, "Chill out, man.  I'm entering the lion's den as
we speak.  Catch you later."

He again reached for the doorknob, turned it and walked
cautiously into the room beyond.

He narrowly missed bumping into a woman who wore
nothing but her long, curly red hair.  She was carrying a
large, feathery fan, and gave him a wink as she slipped past
him and up some stairs.

Langly gulped, his eyes very large behind his glasses as he
watched her disappear through a curtain at the top of the
stairs.  Hearing a soft noise behind him, he turned in time to
see another nude woman, blonde this time, carefully sliding
a gauzy piece of material over her head and onto her body,
hiding nothing.

"Talk to me, Langly," came Byers' voice in his ear, startling
him back into a semi-coherent state.

"Uh..."  Langly flushed at his inability to speak, and tried
again, addressing the young woman.

"Did you see anyone come through here, m'am?"  M'am?!
Nervous much? he sarcastically thought.

"Yeah, about eight, ten minutes ago," she answered,
looking him over.  Then she pointed to the door at the far
end of the room.  "They went into the office."

"Thanks," he said, and made his escape.  Once in the office
with the door shut, he could hear a muffled sound coming
from further back in the building.  Could be screaming...

An impatient voice in his ear demanded, "What the hell is
happening?!"

Distracted, he moved through the empty office toward the
other closed door, saying, "Don't know yet.  Sounds bad."

Once his hand closed over the doorknob, he felt very
reluctant to take that last step.  He was sure now that those
were screams and he really didn't want to see what could
make someone sound like they were being skewered alive.
But he forced himself to keep going.

It was a scene from hell that opened before Langly's
shocked gaze as he stepped into the large garage.  A big
man who had been crouched over a seated figure in a chair
turned his head to look at the intruder.  His eyes were
insane, and Langly was horrified to see that he was pulling a
wicked-looking knife out of Mulder's shoulder, while blood
spattered everywhere.  Another man who had been
watching the butchery produced a gun from somewhere on
his body and leveled it at the new arrival.

"What are you *doing* to him?" Langly whispered.

"Who the hell are *you*?" Barber bellowed as he
confronted this new complication.

Langly had forgotten his own precarious situation after
seeing his friend's plight, and pushed forward to see if he
could help him.  Barber resolved his anguish with one
knock-out blow to his head with the weapon.

That seemed to enrage Volpe.

"Why the fuck didn't you just kill the guy, you dumb shit?"
he demanded, looking down at the unconscious man, the
knife in his hand dripping several drops of blood onto
Langly's white tee shirt.

Barber shrugged and said, "We can have some fun with
him, too, but this will keep him quiet while we finish with
the fed over there."  He nodded toward Mulder, who was
gasping and fighting to stay conscious.


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

Alleyway next to Jake's

The front passenger door of the sedan opened and closed,
and Wu settled into the seat with a sigh.  Grayson glanced
at him, waiting to hear what he had found inside the
building.

Wu stared out the windshield as he said, "Something's
going on in there.  We need to check out that van first and
then the joint."

She thought about that for a moment, contemplating the van
that was parked nearly the length of the block away.

"We might blow Agent Mulder's cover if we make a move
right now."  Grayson looked over at her partner, knowing,
however, that she would follow whatever course of action
he felt was right.  She used to question these instinctual
"feelings" he had, but after several years of his making the
right call in these kinds of situations, her arguments with
him were more of a habit than anything else.

Wu nervously tapped his fingers on the armrest, indecisive.
Five minutes ago, from his vantage point across the room in
the strip joint, he had seen Agent Mulder and Vincenzo's
hoods go through the dressing room door.  He knew Volpe
and his mentality.  The murdering asshole wouldn't have led
the FBI agent into the interior regions of the club unless he
was up to no good.

Suddenly he grabbed the short-barreled shotgun from the
floor beneath his feet and said, "Let's go.  I don't want to
see another fed disappear on this case.  You take the
driver's side."

They moved quickly up the alley and yanked open the doors
to the van.  Identifying themselves, they shouted orders
about dropping weapons and raising hands but only found
one man inside.  They seemed to have scared him nearly
into having a heart attack, but once the initial excitement
was over, they realized that he was also upset about what
he'd been hearing over the listening device he'd been
monitoring.

"You're DEA?" he demanded.  "You need to get in there,
now!  I think my friends are in real trouble."

"Who are you and who are your 'friends?' " Grayson asked,
as she motioned for him to get out of the van.

As he climbed out of the vehicle he impatiently answered,
"I'm John Byers.  Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI is in that
building and may be hurt.  I've lost the audio from Langly,
so he might have been hurt, too."

She kept her gun leveled at the increasingly-agitated guy
while Wu frisked him.  No weapons were found, but the ID
confirmed his identity.

"You have to *do* something," he demanded, while
Grayson made sure there were no weapons tucked away in
the van.

Finished searching, the partners exchanged a glance in the
dim light of the alley and came to a silent mutual decision.

As a precaution they cuffed Byers inside the van, to the
frame, and left him sitting there.  They made sure, however,
that he wasn't within reach of the electronic equipment.
Moving quickly around to the back of the building, they
searched for a lock they could force.  The agents wanted to
keep a low profile for as long as they were able.

"Here!"

Grayson had found a door at the back corner of the
building.  There were also several large overhead doors
adjacent to it.  Wu went to work with his lock pick.

*****************
Hotel

Scully was reconsidering her decision to go with Vincenzo
to his suite.  Granted the man was charming, but she had
learned nothing that was useful all evening.  She vowed to
scream if he told her one more time how beautiful her eyes
were.

And the thug he'd left on guard outside his hotel room
door...He may be Vincenzo's bodyguard, but to her, he was
just another obstacle to be dealt with if she had to get out of
a sticky situation with his boss.

She and her "date" had been sitting on a small sofa together
making small talk, his hand caressing her cheek or arm
occasionally.  This she could handle.  But then his patience
must have worn thin, because he suddenly made his move.

Setting his glass of wine onto a side table, he shifted even
closer to her.  His lips were warm and sensuous as he kissed
her again.  She was torn between slapping him away and
going along with the charade for the sake of the job.  Then
suddenly, without warning, his hand was moving through
the slit in the skirt of her dress and heading for home base.

Scully's reactions kicked in, and she scooted into the corner
of the sofa, away from his questing hand.

An angry spark lit up his eyes.  He snarled, "Enough tip-
toeing around.  At the risk of sounding like a dastardly
villain from some '30s film, the situation is this: I'm going
to fuck you, Agent Scully, so you may as well lie back and
enjoy it."

The sexual threat was nearly forgotten when the fact
registered that he had called her by her own name.  Her
expression caused him to chuckle.

"We've known who you were since this afternoon.  What
really makes this whole thing priceless is that we exchanged
the drugs for the money last night.  So you're a day late and
an agent short."

He easily anticipated her lunge toward her purse on the
lamp table and roughly shoved her back into the sofa
cushions.  She kicked up and out, trying to connect with his
groin, but he nimbly dodged the potentially lethal high-
heeled shoe and stood back out of range.

"Where's my partner?" she demanded.

"Agent Mulder should be just about..." he made a show of
looking at his wristwatch, "...dead by now."

Her face turned white.  She slowly got to her feet, her eyes
never leaving the face of her enemy.  She felt as though the
atoms of her body were disintegrating and she would fly
apart any second.

"I don't believe you," she managed to choke out.

Vincenzo sighed and said, "Volpe isn't a subtle man when it
comes to torture.  His methods are so heavy-handed that the
victim never lasts very long."

Scully didn't see the blow coming in time.

His fist hit her jaw with a force that sent shock waves
throughout her body, with the pain centering on the point of
impact.  He gathered her limp body into his arms, strode
into the bedroom, and dropped her onto the bed.  His blow
had stunned her and although she was desperately willing
her limbs to move, they were useless.  Her shoes were
discarded and her dress rapidly followed.  She lay there
clothed only in panties while Vincenzo loomed above,
practically drooling as he gazed at his prize.  She screamed
for Mulder then, but only she could hear the sound,
imprisoned within her mind.

Garage at Jakes

It took only seconds for Wu to defeat the lock on the door,
and then they were inside the building.  Grayson moved
through the door first, weapon ready, and suddenly she was
diving to the side, screaming, "Gun!" at Wu, and "Federal
agents!  Drop your weapons!" at Barber.

The first bullet caught Wu in the leg, but the second went
high, spanging off the open edge of the metal door.  Before
Barber could get any more shots off, Grayson took Barber
down with two rounds from her Glock.

Still holding her weapon on the scene in front of her, she
screamed, "Dan!" knowing he had been hit, but not how
badly.

"It's okay.  Go on," was his calm reply.  He was sitting on
the concrete floor, back against the wall, gun up and
covering the room.  His other hand was pressed against the
large dark stain on his thigh, just above the knee.  Despite
his reassurance to Grayson, he realized that he was going
into shock.  Better call Samuels first, he thought, and
fumbled for his cel phone with his blood-covered hand.

Casting a quick, worried glance over her shoulder at her
partner, Grayson cautiously moved further into the large,
open room, not seeing any immediate threat.  The man she
had shot was obviously dead.  There was a blond man lying
on the floor either dead or unconscious, there was a man
tied to a chair who looked like Agent Mulder, and one guy
was still standing, hands in the air.

Volpe waited until the fed had moved close to Mulder and
was feeling for a pulse in his neck with one of her hands
before he made his move.  As he dropped suddenly, he
pulled the spare knife from his ankle sheath and threw it at
her before he hit the floor.

Without thinking, Grayson fired a round at the man, even
while spinning away from the object that was hurtling
toward her.  She felt the sting as it sliced along her cheek
and heard the solid thunk as it embedded itself in the wall
behind her.

Taking a shaky breath, she checked on the man she now
recognized as Volpe, one of Vincenzo's hired thugs.  She
had been aiming for his chest but her bullet had gone high;
Volpe had a neat hole through his head, right between the
eyes.

"Good shot," a hoarse-sounding voice remarked from
nearby.

Looking up from the body, gun swiveling to face the sound,
she saw Agent Mulder gazing at her, still bound to the chair
and bleeding.

"Oh, God.  Let me get you out of there."

She quickly had him untied and then checked on the other
bodies lying around the room.  The blond-haired guy was
alive; just unconscious.  She confirmed that Barber was very
dead.

She realized that both her partner and Agent Mulder needed
immediate care to get the bleeding stopped.  She found a
fairly clean shirt lying nearby and pressed it to the agent's
wound.  He jerked back initially, but then took over for her,
keeping pressure on it.  He seemed dazed, but able to
function.

Returning to her partner she saw that he was pale and
sweating, gun lying beside him, blood still seeping from his
wound.  She knew he had called for help already, but she
needed to do something about that leg.

As gently as she could, she eased him down so he was lying
flat, and then scooted a box under his feet to elevate them.
Hoping to slow the blood loss, she quickly fashioned a
tourniquet with his belt above the wound.  Then she hurried
over to the dead man and worked the jacket off his
stiffening body.  Her partner needed it more than he did.
While laying the jacket over Wu, she absently noticed that
Agent Mulder was checking on the blond man who was still
out cold.   The agent really got her attention, though, when
she saw him pick a gun up from the floor and stagger
toward them, the now-saturated cloth held to his wounded
shoulder with one hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"Scully," he whispered, and continued making his way to
the back door.

"An ambulance will be here in a second," she objected.
"You need medical attention."

He didn't seem to hear a word she said and was out the
door, a trail of blood droplets marking his route.

"Shit," she said, and grabbed her cel phone.


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

Hotel

Armed with the suite location from Byers, Frohike went
directly upstairs when he reached the hotel.  Once off the
elevator, however, he came to a dead stop.  There was this
tough-looking guy standing in the corridor halfway between
himself and where the hallway split in two directions.

Odds were, he thought, this guy was guarding Vincenzo's
door.  Now what?

Trying to act as nonchalantly as possible, he ambled past the
guard to verify the suite number. Yep.  This was the place,
all right.  He gave the guy a nod and kept going, frantically
wondering what he could do to check up on Scully without
getting himself killed.

As he reached the corridor intersection, he heard the
elevator doors opening back down the hall behind him.
Turning slightly, he wasn't so far away from the elevator
that he couldn't see that the three large men who emerged
had very grim expressions and were carrying automatic
weapons.  Not a friendly bunch.

Not being armed, he scampered around the corner, but then
halted and leaned against the wall to await developments.
He was far enough from the group that they wouldn't hear
his cel phone, so he tried dialing first Mulder and then
Byers.

Half a dozen gunshots and a tremendous crashing sound
interrupted the call and he peered around the corner to see
what was going on.  He was in time to watch the last of the
three men disappear into Vincenzo's room by stepping over
the guard's body and pushing through a completely smashed
door.

A voice coming through the phone was ignored as another,
longer, barrage of gunshots assaulted his ears.  Nearly in
tears with indecision and fear at what might be happening to
Scully, he whispered into the phone, "It's a mob hit on
Vincenzo, and Scully's in the middle of it."

He heard a strangled sound and realized that Mulder had
been on the other end of his cel phone connection - not
Byers.

Frohike urgently said,  "I'm at Vincenzo's hotel room.
Where are you?"

"The hotel, coming up the elevator," was the distracted
response.  "Tell me what's happening now."

The three men came barreling out of the room, and took the
stairs at a run, bypassing the slower elevator.  Frohike
wasted no time in entering Vincenzo's room, telling Mulder
that the shooters were on their way down and that he was
going to check on Scully.


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

Earlier in the Van

Byers had nearly had his second heart attack that day when
a bloodied, shirtless Mulder clutching a gun suddenly
yanked the driver's door open and practically fell into the
seat.

"I *thought* this looked like the Gunman's van," he panted,
as he looked back at the handcuffed Byers.  The handcuffed
man in question was still sitting in the cluttered open area at
the back, and now wore an expression of astonishment.
Mulder laid the weapon on the passenger seat, slapped his
hand against the empty ignition and turned a frantic look
back at his friend.

"Spare key under the mat," Byers managed to say, correctly
reading the agent's mind.

With a grunt of pain as he bent down, Mulder retrieved the
key, put it in the ignition, and floored the pedal as the
engine roared to life.  He didn't pause as he burst from the
alley, and turned up the avenue at full speed.

Finally collecting his wits, Byers grabbed a cherished
Ramones tee shirt of Langly's that was in reach and threw it
to Mulder.

"I assume this is a rescue mission.  You'd better put that on,
or you won't get two feet once people take a look at you."

He almost regretted the gesture, because Mulder kept
driving like a madman, using his thighs to steer while pulling
the shirt over his head with his usable hand.   Luckily it only
took a second or two, but Byers' life flashed before his eyes
as they ran a red light and nearly sideswiped two cars.

"Where's Langly?" he called, as he slid sideways when
Mulder took a sharp corner.

"Knocked out cold, but he should be okay," came the terse
reply.

"Where are we headed?"

"I figured Scully would be back at the hotel by now."

Byers hesitated, and then said, "Frohike called earlier and
said that she and Vincenzo were headed back to the hotel,
and that the guy had been coming on to her, big time."

The car swerved wildly as muffled curses reached Byers'
ears.

Then they were pulling up to the hotel, while a phone began
ringing somewhere in the van.

"Sorry, Byers, but I don't have time to try to get you out of
those cuffs.  Later!"

He grabbed the ringing phone and the gun, opened the door,
tucked the gun in his waistband, and staggered past a
startled parking valet.  The washed-out light-colored tee
shirt Mulder wore was gradually becoming a deep red in the
area of his wound and he held his left arm protectively
against his chest as he ran.

Knowing he'd never be able to climb fourteen flights of
stairs, he made his way through the large lobby toward the
elevators.  Impatiently, he activated the still-ringing phone.

"Yeah?"

No one answered at first.  Then he could hear gunshots
coming through the instrument.  Running for the just-
closing elevator doors, he kept demanding, "What's
happening?"

Frohike's words chilled him to the bone.  "It's a mob hit on
Vincenzo, and Scully's in the middle of it."

Mulder couldn't help the choked cry that was wrenched
from his soul.  He was terrified of what he would find
upstairs.  He finished his brief conversation with Frohike
and stuffed the phone out of the way in his pocket.

The young couple who were already in the elevator had
moved to the far corner at the sight of the bloodied wild
man.  While his foot held the door open, Mulder hollered at
them to get the hell out. Their eyes riveted to the butt of the
gun sticking out of his waistband, they scrambled hastily out
of the car.  As the doors closed, they could all hear sirens
screaming nearby.

Mulder desperately tried not to think of all the things that
could have happened to Scully during the interminable
fourteen-floor ascent.  When he neared his goal he drew the
gun from his waistband and clutched it tightly.  The blood
loss was beginning to be a problem, however; he felt
lightheaded now, and the pain in his shoulder was
threatening to take over and knock him flat on his ass.
Adrenalin had kept him going up to this point, but the wait
in the elevator had let the injury take its toll.

With a slight jerk, the elevator car finally stopped and the
doors slowly parted.  He forced himself to move cautiously
out into the hallway, which appeared to be deserted.  It had
only been a few minutes since he had talked with Frohike,
though, and the bad guys could still be nearby.

Although lightheaded now, he didn't waste any time in
heading down the hall to the room where the remnants of a
door did little to bar his way.

Still no one in sight.  He moved through the living area and
fearfully entered the first bedroom he came to.  And froze.

Frohike was kneeling on the floor near the large bed,
weeping.  But it was the sight of the bodies on the bed that
stopped Mulder's heart.

There was blood everywhere.  The man lying on top of the
woman was nude, so it was easy to see that he had at least
six or seven bullet holes in him.  The woman....the woman
was Scully.  It appeared that she was unclothed as well.
From what he could see of her beneath Vincenzo, she
wasn't moving and was also covered in blood.  His already-
stopped heart now began cracking and falling into pieces.

"I think they're both dead."  Frohike's voice was grief-
stricken.

With a sudden fury, Mulder grabbed the dead man by his
shoulder and shoved him over and off of Scully.  Now he
could see that she had wounds to her head, her shoulder,
abdomen, and upper arm.  With a trembling hand, he felt for
a pulse in her neck, holding his breath in terror that there
would be nothing.

There.  He felt...something.  A faint pulse.  Then his shaking
hand moved to her mouth and a puff of breath tickled his
palm.  He nearly wept with relief.

He grabbed a rumpled sheet from the foot of the bed and
threw it over her nakedness, and then leaned close to her
face.  Gently touching his lips to hers, he whispered
brokenly, "If you have me big time once more like this,
Scully, so help me God, my heart will stop for good."

Suddenly there were police and feds streaming into the hotel
room, screaming orders and generally creating havoc.  One
of the police officers mistakenly tried to pull Mulder away
from Scully and received a black eye for his efforts.  But
with the pain and his weakened state, the desperate agent
would have ultimately lost the battle if Agent Samuels
hadn't stepped in and clarified Mulder's role and identity
before it got really ugly.  When the cops then turned their
attention and suspicions on Frohike, Mulder explained that
he was a witness.

Meanwhile, paramedics worked on Scully, hooking her up
to various bags of liquids and treating her wounds.  Mulder
was able to give her his full attention at last, and was
hovering anxiously over these efforts, when she stopped
breathing.

The room full of people went silent as the EMTs
concentrated their efforts to get her breathing again.  Silent,
that is, with the exception of one man's quiet pleading for
her to 'breathe, Scully.'  Somehow, he managed to hang
onto one of her hands as the medical experts efficiently did
their job.

The intensity of his expression lightened slightly when
Mulder saw that they had managed to get his partner
breathing again.  A ventilator had been inserted and they
were wrapping things up preparatory to moving her.

He had temporarily stepped back to give them room to
work, but as they headed out to the elevator, he practically
glued himself to the gurney.

"I'm not leaving her," was all he'd say.  No one argued.

But plans change, and when Mulder suddenly staggered in
the hallway, leaned against the wall, and slowly slid to the
floor, the paramedics realized that they had more injuries to
treat.

They had noticed that his tee shirt was covered with blood,
but figured that it was somebody else's, given the condition
of that bedroom scene.  The shirt wasn't torn in that area,
either.  But when they checked under the sodden material,
they found a nasty knife wound.

Sending Scully's gurney on down with one of the EMT's,
the remaining technicians took Mulder's vitals and
temporarily bandaged the wound.  He was deeply
unconscious by this time.  Another gurney soon made its
way up to the fourteenth floor and they took their second
burden down to the ambulance.

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

Hospital
Saturday morning

Regaining consciousness abruptly, Scully was mesmerized
by Mulder's hazel-eyed gaze not more than a foot away
from her face.

"Welcome back," he murmured, pulling a lock of hair away
from her face with a finger.  Then, to give her room and to
let her properly wake up, he settled into his chair with a
sigh.

His system had recently absorbed several bags of blood,
pain killers, antibiotics, tetanus serum, and God knew what
else.  He had slept through the treatment of his stab wound
which involved a thorough cleansing and fourteen stitches.
The rap on his head hadn't caused a concussion by some
miracle, but there was a cut that took three stitches.   It had
been 8:00 the following morning before he had suddenly
come to life, urgently asking for Scully.  He was still weak
and in some pain from his shoulder, but he had visited her
the minute he found out where she was.  After a few hours
of staring at his unresponsive partner, he had gone to visit
Wu down the hall and then returned to continue his vigil by
Scully's side.

Focusing on him, she could see the edges of a large bandage
under his hospital pajamas at the shoulder.  Lifting the hand
that wasn't encumbered with an IV needle, she pointed at
his chest and raised her eyebrows.

Immediately recognizing what she wanted to know, he said,
"Volpe used me for a knife-holder, but I'm all patched up,
with all my body parts in working order."  He couldn't
resist giving her a sly, sideways look and waggling his
eyebrows for emphasis.

Her worried look didn't go away, so he thought he'd
distract her by bringing her up-to-date on the case.

"The gleesome threesome - Volpe, Barber, and Vincenzo -
have all gone to the Great Pasta Figule in the sky.  Grayson
put down the two bozos, and Vincenzo bought it from three
gang leaders who were pissed off about his making such a
huge drug sale in their territories."

"They..."  She had to pause and gratefully work at an ice
chip from the cup Mulder offered before she could continue.
He could also see that her bruised jaw and cheek were
making talking painful.

"They sold the drugs...*before* we were assigned to the
case, Mulder."

A strange mixture of anger and guilt crossed his face as he
nodded.

"What?" she asked.

"Uhhhh, well....I was down the hall in Wu's room...."

"Wu?!  Did he get hurt, too?"

"Yeah, and Langly got bopped on the head.  But he's fine."

At her puzzled expression, he thought he'd better finish the
whole sordid story.  Besides, it would delay having to fill
her in on what happened in the last hour or so...

"...And the bullet to your abdomen was superficial because
it went through his body first, which slowed it down
considerably.  The head shot was bad, but it bounced off
your skull above your temple and didn't penetrate.  You've
got a concussion; it was bad enough to stop your breathing
for a minute back there..." He forced the quaver from his
voice and continued, "... and your arm has a flesh wound.
All in all, you were pretty lucky."

"Yeah, I was really lucky," she said wryly.

Mulder, his heart in his eyes, found himself babbling, "Well,
he could've left that expensive dress on you, it would have
been ruined, and you'd be looking at a hefty bill from the
DEA."

With a serious look at him, she captured his fidgeting hand
with hers.  Memories of being coldly stripped of her clothes
by Vincenzo had been flashing through her mind.  She had
no choice but to ask....

"Did he rape me, Mulder?"

He blinked, and said with surprise, "You don't know?"

Swallowing her fears, she shook her head no.  "He hit me a
couple of times and I wasn't exactly aware of what was
happening."

His fingers whispered across the bruised skin of her cheek
as he said, "Well, the doctors told me there was no evidence
of rape...I asked," he admitted, ducking his head.

She realized that she was tightly gripping his hand and
forced herself to relax and take a breath.

"That's okay, Mulder.  I understand that you were worried
about me."  She took another deep breath before adding, "I
really did try to fight him off."  She couldn't stop the
trembling of her lower lip nor the moisture in her eyes.

Through her blurry vision, she could see that he looked
stricken, so she forced herself to calm down and gave him a
small smile of reassurance.  That move backfired, however,
since her face and jaw were so sore that it turned into a
wince.

"Scully..." he whispered in concern.

"I'm okay, really.  But remind me later to apologize for
being so ungracious to you in the suite yesterday, when you
were just concerned for my safety and making
an...understandable...assumption."

He could only nod, all smart remarks gone from his head.
The apology would be mutual, he vowed, but now was not
the time to get into it.  The talking she'd just done seemed
to have worn her out, since she looked as exhausted as he
felt.

Then he managed to say, "We'll talk about assumptions
later."  And they both knew he was also referring to the
Diana issue.

He released her hand when he felt her grip lighten, missing
the connection immediately.  Mulder ached to pull her into
his arms but knew that her injuries wouldn't allow it, nor
would she, in such a public place.

A few minutes passed in silence as her eyes stared into his,
until finally she asked, "What aren't you telling me,
Mulder?"

His first reaction was to look startled, then offended, but
finally he backed down under her steady gaze.

"Okay," he finally conceded.  "I was in Wu's room about an
hour ago and Samuels came by to drop the little bomb about
how 'whoops, they already did the drug deal - we didn't
need you and Agent Scully, after all.' " Mulder bit his lower
lip and looked even more uncomfortable.  "I...kind of lost
it."

Looking like a kid who was caught with his hand in the
cookie jar, he admitted, "I knocked him down and then tried
to...uh, strangle him."

All she could do was stare at him, speechless.  Finally she
was able to say, "I don't suppose you succeeded, since
you're sitting here instead of in a jail cell."

He fiddled with the hem of her bed sheet and shrugged with
his good shoulder.  "Skinner happened to stop by the room,
saw what was happening, and pulled me off the guy.  But
when Skinner heard the story, he slugged Samuels so hard,
he's probably still unconscious."

She closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"I suppose you'll use the 'I was drugged' defense, right?"
Her sarcasm faded into real concern when she added, "You
both could lose your jobs, you know."

She felt him move closer to her.  When her eyes flew open,
he was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.

"We could have lost *you*, Scully.  Not to mention Daniel
Wu, his partner, and myself.  This whole scenario was
dreamed up by that little prick, Samuels.  His own
supervisor wasn't being kept informed.  Skinner found that
out when he called the man about half an hour ago.  I think
it's more likely that Samuels will be losing his job than
Skinner or me."

She seemed confused.  "Why didn't Samuels keep in touch
with his supervisor?"

"Because he was trying to grandstand and get a promotion.
He's an incompetent ass who doesn't follow procedure, and
nearly got you killed by not providing backup.  He screwed
up the whole operation from the very beginning."

He fell back into the chair once more, wincing a little at the
discomfort the jostling caused his shoulder.

Scully noticed, and ordered him back to bed.  This, of
course, required him to argue with her about it, until they
were interrupted by a nurse.  This nurse was male, weighed
somewhere around 230 pounds, and probably ate rusted
iron auto parts for breakfast, judging from his gravelly
voice.

"Back to bed, Mr. Mulder," he growled.  "Those stitches
you popped earlier may have been repaired, but you need to
take it easy for awhile."

There was a pregnant pause as Scully absorbed this
information.

Wanting to argue but knowing when to give it up, Mulder
beat a hasty retreat, giving his partner a little wave goodby
as he disappeared out the door.  The debonaire look he was
attempting was doomed, however, with the ill-fitting
hospital pajamas bagging at his butt and the paper slippers
threatening to fall off with each step.

"Thank you," Scully told the nurse.  "He needed to get
some rest."

Turning his amused eyes on the small woman in the bed, the
nurse smiled and said, "Yes, ma'm, but so do you.  I chased
him out of here mainly to let you sleep.  You need lots of
rest right now."

But the peace and quiet they both wanted for her was not
yet to be.  A loud voice in the hallway was saying, "You
monumental load of shit!  I'm being called on the carpet by
Gerald-fucking-Rosenthal!  Me! *You're* the one who
tried to kill a federal officer, namely yours truly!  I'm going
to have your badge, and A.D. Skinner's too!  You're not
getting away with attempted murder!"

She could recognize Mulder's voice but couldn't quite hear
his reply.  Her nurse made a move toward the commotion,
but he paused when Scully's hand fell on his arm.  Then
they heard Samuels speak again.

"The only decent agent in this whole fiasco has been Agent
Scully.  She's so dedicated that she fucked the guy for the
informa...."

Mulder's cry of rage could be clearly heard, along with a
scuffling sound and two loud thumps.  Then her partner
snarled, "If you ever come near Agent Scully or myself
again, I'll introduce your dick to your asshole and then
shove what's left of you through the nearest mail slot."

His interesting comments were interrupted suddenly by
another voice.  It was deceptively calm.

"Agent Samuels.  You are out of line here."  After a pause,
he added, "Mulder, get off of him."

Scully smiled at hearing Skinner's familiar voice of
command.

"*I'm* out of line?!  You...you both....hit me, you
bastards!"

"And you nearly killed two of my agents.  Get the hell out
of this hospital.  You'll have your chance to voice your
complaints at the appropriate time and place."

The voice of reason worked wonders, since a pause ensued,
and then footsteps faded away and a distant door swung
closed with a bang.

With a smile at the woman in bed, Scully's nurse patted her
hand which still lay on his arm, then placed it on the bed.

"I'll go make sure that his stitches held up, okay?"

He left her to rest, figuring that all the excitement was over.
For the time being, anyway.

After that, Mulder's and Skinner's voices ebbed and flowed
outside her door, but Scully was fast dropping into sleep
and didn't bother to try to make out what they were saying.
It was enough to know that her partner was there, close by.
And a wicked inner self was also contented that Agent
Samuels was undoubtedly sporting at least one black eye.

THE END

EPILOGUE
by Ten
(Her revenge for my not writing a "proper"
 epilogue for this fanfic)

Jar Jar Binks was currently being jar-jarred on the
nightstand, eyes bulging, in danger of falling off due to the
banging of Scully's bed into the wall and the night stand
itself.  The toy wobbled back and forth dangerously as the
cries of his owner became more and more frenzied.  As for
Scully, she had dissolved into one big long continual
scream, especially since Mulder had proved to have a
tongue just as dexterous and amazing as Bink's, everywhere
at once...

Jar Jar didn't end up falling though - a stray, hormone-
charged arm whacked him off his perch.  The impact of the
toy against the wall triggered his voicebox: "How rude!"

THE END (again)