Termination
 Date: 97-01-28 

* * * * * * * * * 

FOURTH SEASON WARNING! Watching 'Tunguska' and 'Terma'
 is a requirement for this course. There will be no exceptions. 

SYNOPSIS: I loved Terma. So many nice big holes, so many
 places to fill in the blanks. The most important one, I my humble
 opinion, was Mulder and the Black Cancer. Is he dying? Or could
 things in the past (and someone in his present :) have come back to
 save him this time? Here's my spin on this, Muldertorture,
 Scullyangst and all. 

DISCLAIMER: I did this without permission. And since I'll
 probably do it again, I think it qualifies as a mortal sin by now. Or
 conspiracy to commit a misdemeanor--I always get those two mixed
 up. But I'm not getting anything out of it, so unless you want a
 house that needs siding, 6 kids that eat far more than most children
 their ages, and a car that is in serious need of a paint job, I suggest
 that we just leave this between the two of us, CC. 

RATINGS: MS-Deep Friendship with a sprinkling of UST. No
 romance, at least not more than the hug scene that everyone is
 arguing over. No really bad language, just bodily function stuff.
 Rated PG-13. I think this qualifies as a conspiracy story. Not a lot
 of bang 'em up, shoot 'em up action, but lots of drama. You decide
 where it falls. And I still don't like Marita, but I figured out how to
 use her, anyway. Hey, if fish innards can make roses grow, you have
 to use what they give you, right? 

TECHNICAL CREDIT: I couldn't have done this without the ever
 faithful assistance of LuvMulder. Her research abilities put the
 World Health Organization to shame! All other medical knowledge
 posited herein comes from watching just about every doctor show
 on TV since 'Ben Casey'--so if I remove Mulder's spleen through his nose,
 you'll know that I wouldn't really expect him to live in real life. In
 short--don't try this stunt at home. 

DEDICATION: I did this one for Esther and Pat, because they
 always like me to fill in the blanks for them AND to all the Genteel Ladies : ) 

COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT: I'd love mail on this.
 vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

TERMINATION
 by Vickie Moseley 

Day one 

"Mulder, are you feeling all right?" she asked as he turned to start
 out of the Senate Committee room. They had just been dismissed,
 so the Senate 'staff' could examine the evidence 'more closely'. From
 the looks on the faces on the panel, the reports she had written, the
 evidence they had uncovered concerning the 'Black Cancer' and all
 attempts to find an inoculant, however illegal and immoral, would
 never see the light of day. Her own displeasure was reflected in the
 dejected slump of her partner's shoulders. But there was more to it
 that just another defeat at the hands of the shadows. Scully was
 certain there must be something else wrong. 

He took a deep breath and almost hid the wince of pain that flash
 across his eyes. "I'm fine, Scully. I'm just tired. Getting the shit
 kicked out of you four times in less than three days does that to a
 guy," he joked and absently rubbed his sore ribs. 

"You're lucky you walked away from that blast with just bruises,
 Mulder," she told him sternly. "Well, bruises and a trench coat now
 only suitable for painting your apartment," she added glumly,
 remembering that her own coat and suit were now residing in her
 'rag box' at the bottom of her closet. 

"I wanted a new trench coat. Now I have a good excuse," he
 shrugged as he held the door open for her. "Scully, would you mind
 driving? I'm a little beat." He had his eyes cast down, he didn't want
 to look at her. It was the closest he would come to letting her know
 how much he was hurting. 

"Sure," she answered lightly and they walked to the car in silence. 

She had dropped him off at his apartment. Any attempts to get him
 to tell her what was wrong were ignored or out right shot down. At
 least she had been successful in convincing him to take the next day
 off. The doctor at the emergency room had assured them both that
 he was fine, but needed rest--and plenty of it. She was a little
 amazed that he had managed to come through the whole ordeal
 relatively unscathed. Only a lump and scrape on his forehead and a
 couple of bruised ribs after three days trudging across Siberia and
 narrowly escaping an uncapped oil well fire and explosion. For
 Mulder, it was a minor miracle. 

They hadn't had much time, but on the way to the oil field, she had
 gotten him to tell her a little of what happened in Tunguska. She
 knew he was giving her the 'Reader Digest' version, especially when
 he got to the part about being imprisoned in a Russian Gulag. She
 had pressed for details, only to be told that pissing in a hole in the
 floor and finding a cockroach in his water were not topics of polite
 conversation with a lady and the subject was abruptly changed to her
 tenure as a 'jailbird', compliments of the US Senate. Something had
 happened, and Scully was willing to wait him out to find the truth. 

She got to her apartment and collapsed on her couch. It had been a
 long day--one that had started almost 72 hours before--and she was
 too tired to even change her clothes. Within seconds, she was
 asleep. 

A persistent knocking at her door jolted her from her dozing. She
 sat up, listening. It wasn't Mulder. She knew Mulder's knock.
 Besides, if she hadn't answered by this time, Mulder would have
 used his key and come on in. It didn't sound like her mother. She
 screwed her face into a scowl and got up. Reaching for her gun, she
 called out, "Just a minute." Then, cautiously, she walked over to the
 door, first checking through the peephole before touching the knob. 

An attractive young woman stood before the door with a dignified
 air. She was blond--very blond and her clothes spoke of money,
 with a hint of power. The tightly fitted suit she was wearing left
 little to the imagination. No place to hide a weapon, Scully made a
 mental note and opened the door on the chain. 

"Can I help you?" Scully asked, not taking the chain off the door. 

"Dana Scully?" the woman asked. 

"Yes, I'm Dana Scully," she replied. "And you are . . . ?" 

"My name is Marita Covarrubias, Agent Scully. I was wondering if I
 could have a word with you. It concerns your partner and I'd rather
 not hold the conversation in the hallway, if you don't mind." 

Dana closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. Then,
 curiosity got the better of her and she opened it completely, ushering
 Ms. Covarrubias into the apartment. 

"How did you find me?" Scully asked, not bothering to hide her
 distrust. 

"Bethesda phone directory. Lucky for me there's only one listing for
 D. Scully," the young woman said lightly. "May I sit down?" she
 asked. Scully nodded and they both moved over to the living room. 

Ms. Covarrubias took a seat on the sofa, Scully sat on the arm chair
 facing her. For a moment, both were silent, Marita gazing around
 the apartment, Scully sizing her up. "You said this concerns
 Mulder," Scully finally said. 

"Yes. I was wondering if you talked to him recently," she said and
 let her head tilt slightly to the side, as if she were used to
 interrogating people. 

Scully frowned. "I was with him most of the day. I just left him at
 his apartment. Why? Is something wrong?" 

Marita smiled indulgently. "Agent Scully, how much did you partner
 reveal to you about what happened to him in Russia?" 

Scully was a little taken aback, and the use of the word 'reveal' gave
 her no comfort. "I believe that's personal, Ms. Covarrubias." She
 didn't like the way this conversation was going and it had just
 started. 

Marita pursed her lips and nodded. "Then he told you nothing, am I
 correct?" 

Scully only glared in return. 

"Just as I thought. Well, Agent Scully, in this particular case, I don't
 think you're partner is proceeding in a manner that is in his own best
 interest. I know he's probably confused by the events that took
 place in Siberia, but his reluctance to share these matters with you
 could very well be harmful to him." 

That got Scully's attention. "What do you know?" she said in a low
 voice, not bothering to hide the menacing look that accompanied the
 tone. 

Marita reached down and pulled some pages out of her small purse.
 "These are medical records. Your partner was exposed to the Black
 Cancer while in Siberia. Actually, exposed is misleading. He
 contracted the Black Cancer during an experiment in which he was
 used as a human lab animal, similar to those patients at the
 convalescent home you were at last night." Marita sat back on the
 sofa as Scully, wide eyed, read through the pages. 

"My God," she moaned. It was too horrible to consider. The
 records, which were labeled as translations, reported the amount of
 'toxin' introduced into Mulder, the time between introduction and
 infestation of the cancer, and the level of infestation. Other pages
 spoke of the series number of an inoculant administered within 6
 hours of the infestation and a documentation of the symptoms
 Mulder exhibited at the time. Scully looked up from the pages, fear
 and terror written plainly across her face. "He's got it. He's going to
 die," she whispered and bit her lip to stop the rest of the torrent of
 emotions threatening to crash down her walls of reserve. 

"Not necessarily," Marita said calmly. "That report is similar to ones
 we found for other Gulag prisoners. You will notice that they don't
 do very extensive screening of their test subjects. Basically,
 whoever they pulled in off the street. No preliminary examinations
 were given. If a test subject later exhibited any other diseases, they
 were eliminated from the test findings. Terminated, as it were. So
 they really knew nothing of Fox Mulder, other than the fact that he
 was an American and Alex Krycek delivered him to them." 

"Krycek," Scully growled and her anger pushed all other thoughts
 aside. "When I find him . . ." 

"Don't bother yourself with crusades of vengeance, Agent Scully.
 Alex Krycek is nothing more than a pawn. He has already been dealt
 with on this matter. You need to be on the look out for him, but
 there is no need to seek him. You have other matters to concern
 yourself with right now." 

Scully dropped the vengeance for a moment and thought back to
 Marita's words. "You said he might not necessarily die. What did
 you mean?" she asked anxiously 

Marita smiled, a genuine smile. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder is one
 of the only people on the face of the earth to survive exposure to a
 previously unknown retro virus. A retro virus that gained access to
 his body through his exposure to extraterrestrial blood." 

Scully's anxiety turned to confusion. "I don't understand," she
 muttered. 

"His body possesses an antigen for the retro virus, Agent Scully. I'm
 sure you are aware of this. I believe that you've even kept fairly
 close documentation of Agent Mulder's health in the months since
 his exposure and near death in Alaska. That antigen will quite
 possibly safe his life." 

"You're saying 'possibly'--don't you know?" Scully demanded. She
 was losing her patience quickly with this woman and wanted some
 straight answers for a change. 

"Agent Scully, you must understand. We are talking
 experimentation on the highest level of security. It is so secret, I
 doubt more than four of five members of your government had any
 knowledge of the tests your people were performing here in this
 country and they probably were in the dark on much of the
 information. All I can tell you is that there is a real chance that
 Agent Mulder can survive this. And if he does, he will become even
 more important in the scheme of things than he already is." 

Scully rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "More important to WHAT
 scheme? Please, tell me what you are talking about? Why are you
 helping him? Why are you feeding him information? For that
 matter, why is it so important to you that he lives?" she pleaded. 

"Agent Scully," Marita said patiently. "Your partner's father was an
 important person in a project that was initiated before Fox Mulder
 was born. But he regretted his position. Others stepped in and
 made certain that he did not betray the project--to anyone. While he
 was still a child, Fox Mulder was a pawn in this international game
 of Chess. When he joined the FBI and started working on the X
 Files, he was elevated to the position of a rook." 

Scully gave her an exasperated look and shook her head, displaying
 her skepticism. 

Marita smiled at her disbelief. "Events have occurred in the recent
 past that have allowed him to rise even further on the chess board.
 He is now on the level of Bishop, quickly moving toward King." 

"And who am I in all this?" Scully spit out, defiantly. "Just another
 pawn?" 

Marita stood and gathered her purse. She looked at Scully with
 amusement, and a touch of envy in her eyes. "Oh, no, my dear. You
 are, and always were, the Queen to his King, and an equal in the
 game." She took the pages out of Scully's hands and shuffled them
 to the last page. "Here is the best estimate of what you are going to
 be dealing with. I suggest that you take care, there is every danger
 of exposing others to the toxin. You have no need to worry. But to
 others, it might prove fatal. I suggest you take steps to isolate
 Agent Mulder as soon as possible. You'll know what to do." 

Scully read through the last page and almost didn't notice that Marita
 was at the door, preparing to leave. "Wait. Why shouldn't I worry
 about exposure?" 

Marita shrugged as she opened the door to leave. "Because you
 have already been exposed years ago, and survived." With that, she
 left, and Scully sat back heavily on the sofa, staring at nothing. 

It didn't take her long to come to her senses. Scully quickly read
 through all the papers. It was all too impossible, but it was all
 documented. Regardless of it's origins, the Black Cancer was
 deadly, she had seen it's effects. Or rather, she had seen the
 beginnings of it's effects. She thought of the exobiologist at
 Goddard Space Center and cringed. The thought of Mulder,
 strapped down, if the file was correct, and exposed to the same
 black substance that was evident on the scientist and the old people
 at the home, that made her sick to her stomach. According to the
 report, he had been given a strong sedative prior to exposure. There
 was every possibility that he was unconscious through the
 procedure. She prayed that was the case. Then, he was probably
 unconscious during the inoculation. The inoculant was a virtual
 unknown to her, but the chemical compound was recorded. She
 could get Pendrell on it as soon as possible. 

Her thoughts turned to Mulder. How was she going to confront him
 with this, especially if he had no memory of it? Knowing her
 partner, he would probably try to brush it aside. It never ceased to
 amaze her that he could believe every cockamamie story slid
 underneath his door, but when faced with evidence of his own injury,
 he would blissfully dismiss it. Maybe it was fear that made him do it.
 In any case, according to the estimates of the course of the disease,
 she really didn't have much time to persuade him. She had her work
 cut out for her. 

"But first, for a really good cover story," she mused to herself as she
 picked up the phone and dialed the home number for Assistant
 Director Skinner. They would both need some time off and the full
 use of the FBI labs. And most importantly, someplace safe to hold
 up in. 

Fox Mulder's apartment
 8:00 pm 

He'd thought he was hungry. More than anything else, Mulder had
 wanted food the entire time he'd been sitting in the Senate committee
 room. Aside from something he vaguely remembered eating on his
 flight back to the States, he'd had almost nothing to eat for three
 days. At one point on the ride to the Canadian oil field, when his
 stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the
 helicopter engine, Scully had given him her best 'I can't take you
 anywhere' look and had handed him a roll of Lifesavers from her
 purse. He'd eaten the whole roll, and it hadn't even scratched the
 surface. But when he got home and started rummaging through his
 freezer for something quick, all hunger left him and he just felt
 queasy. He reluctantly opened a can of tomato soup and ate about a
 quarter of it. Then he collapsed on the couch and picked up the TV
 remote to channel surf himself to sleep. 

His mind wouldn't stop working. He'd been going at such a pace
 since he'd woken up the second time in the gulag that he hadn't really
 had time to digest anything that had happened. He rubbed his arm,
 the small wound made by the 'inoculation' still painful. He'd been
 grateful that the doctor at the ER hadn't bothered with the fresh
 adhesive bandage he'd put on after his shower. Scully would have
 hit the ceiling if she'd seen what had been done to him. And
 undoubtedly would have demanded a full explanation. 

What could he tell her? "Oh, by the way, you know that Black
 Cancer that seems to be killing or causing everyone to be killed
 around us? Well, I've got it so don't come too close, because I don't
 want to give it to you." That was a joke. He remembered the words
 of the former geologist in the cell next to his. "It gets easier."
 Those men had been exposed repeatedly and they were still alive.
 Why? And for how long? It frightened him more than just a little to
 think that after all he'd been through, all the times he'd almost died,
 that he would slowly waste away and there would be nothing
 anyone, not even Scully, could do about it. He didn't know if he
 could go through that. He didn't know anything at the moment. 

He could still feel the organism crawling beneath his skin. That's
 how he thought of it. He'd finally encountered yet another
 extraterrestrial biological entity, up close and personal. First the
 morphing alien, who had left him to die on the ice fields of Alaska.
 Now this little black worm like substance that he was carrying
 around with him like a bad case of the 'clap'. It made his skin itch
 just to think about it. Still, he had examined himself in the mirror
 when he'd gotten to his apartment the day before and hadn't been
 able to detect anything. No movement under the skin, like he'd felt
 in the gulag or like Scully had reported seeing on the exobiologist.
 Nothing in the mirror that looked at all unusual. 

But looks can be deceiving, he knew all to well. As long as he was
 on to topics to prevent him from ever falling off into a comforting
 sleep, he decided to drag out an 'old friend'. Scully's abduction. The
 women from the MUFON chapter in Pennsylvania and their warning
 to her--a warning that she was one of them, and would die of
 horrible cancers. "Together in everything, aren't we, Scully?" he said
 with disgust and angrily threw the remote at the television. His aim
 was off by a mile and it bounced, unscathed, off the far wall and
 skidded to a stop under his desk. 

He got up from the couch and grabbed his running shoes. Not even
 bothering to take a jacket, he stuck a spare key in the little shoe
 wallet Scully had given him a while back and left the apartment for a
 mind clearing run. 

As he came off the elevator, he saw a familiar figure heading toward
 him. He immediately went on the defensive. "I know that I'm
 supposed to be resting, Scully," he said with his hands up to fend off
 her verbal attack. "But I'm too wound up right now. I only plan on
 running for a couple of miles or so, just enough to break a sweat.
 Then I'll come home and even sleep in my real bed, I swear." 

She didn't appear to be listening to his words, just waited impatiently
 for him to shut up. "Mulder, I have to talk to you, now!" She
 stepped onto the elevator and held the door open, expecting him to
 follow. He frowned in confusion and stepped on the elevator beside
 her. 

"I want you to pack a bag. Just some old stuff, sweats mostly.
 Those should be easy enough to get on and off," she was directing as
 she took out her own key and opened his door for him. 

"Agent Scully, are you coming on to me?" he asked, slightly amused
 at her serious tone and matter of fact approach to whatever was
 bothering her. 

She stopped dead in the hallway just inside his door. This was not
 going to be as easy as she had hoped it would be. "Mulder, we need
 to go to someplace relatively deserted. Do you still have a key to
 your family's vacation place in Quonochontaug?" she asked him. 

Her question caught him completely off guard. "Sure, Scully. Why,
 is something the matter?" No longer in the mood to joke, her
 mannerisms were starting to disturb him. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering all the courage she
 could find. "Yeah, something's the matter. Mulder, you've been
 infected with the Black Cancer," she said evenly, in that professional
 voice he had come to love and to hate depending on the
 circumstances when she used it. 

He took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "I know." He then fixed
 her with a fierce glare. "How did you find out? Been taking little
 tests, Scully?" 

Her brow furrowed at that answer and she couldn't stop the anger
 that well up inside her from rushing to her lips. "Oh no, Mulder!
 Don't you dare try to turn this back on me. Your little 'informant'
 paid me a visit tonight and gave me all sorts of information. But that
 doesn't explain why I had to hear it from her. Since you already
 know, when in the hell were you planning on telling me?" she
 demanded. 

He blushed slightly. "I don't know, Scully. I'm still trying to figure
 out how to tell myself," he said in a quiet tone and walked over to
 the couch, to slump down on it. He sighed and leaned forward, his
 hands covering his face. "This is going to sound so incredibly
 callous and self-centered and . . . I don't want to die, Scully. I'm
 sorry. I just don't." He looked over his fingers and his eyes
 telegraphed all the anguish and pain that his words couldn't possibly
 convey to her. 

She looked away, it hurt so much at that moment. She could feel his
 pain so clearly, it was her pain, too. She moved over to the couch
 and sat down next to him, rubbing his back up and down the way he
 had when he'd hugged her in the committee room at the Capitol.
 "It's OK, Mulder. You aren't going to die. Not if I have any say in
 the matter," she assured him. 

He pulled away from her angrily and started to pace. "What do you
 think you can do about it, Scully?" he demanded. "The damned stuff
 is incurable. And besides, don't you think you should be worrying
 about yourself before you worry about me?" The words left his
 mouth before he'd had a chance to think and now he stood in the
 silence between them, terrified that he said them, wanting to take
 them back. 

She sat there and stared at him. 

"Oh God, Scully, I didn't mean . . ." he moaned and slumped to the
 floor before her. "I didn't . . .Scully, I'm sorry, forgive me . . . " 

"Mulder, I go in every month for blood work. Nothing is
 developing. I'll know the second it does. And if it does, I'll go
 immediately for treatment. I don't plan on throwing my hands up in
 defeat and letting whatever they did to me kill me," she said,
 amazing herself at the control in her voice, when inside she was as
 terrified as he was right now. "I'm not going to die. And I'm not
 going to leave you. Which is why we have to hurry, because I have
 no intention of letting *you* out of this partnership without a fight." 

"So why are we going to Rhodes Island?" he whispered too afraid to
 raise his voice to a normal tone. 

"So I can keep you alive long enough for you to make yourself
 better," she replied flatly and got up from the couch to pack his bag
 herself. 

They were on the road in minutes. She had explained to him briefly
 about the visit she had received from his informant in the United
 Nations. "I'm confused," he said when he thought it safe to use his
 voice again. He'd been in serious danger of breaking down in front
 of her and he just wasn't ready to do that yet. 

"You should be," she countered, pulling her car onto the interstate
 and setting the cruise control. 

"Marita Covarrubias came to you? Why didn't she come to me with
 all this information?" he wondered out loud. 

Scully looked over and gave him a smirk. "Why not me, Mulder?
 Are you jealous? Maybe you aren't Ms. Covarrubias' type," she
 teased him. She wanted him to realize that whatever he had said,
 whatever his emotions had let slip into their conversation was
 already forgiven. 

He wasn't in a joking mood and glared at her for her comment. "I
 mean it, Scully," he said evenly. 

"Maybe because she knows you. Or thinks she knows you. You
 would have just shoved those papers in your desk and I would have
 found them sometime after the funeral, Mulder. You take horrible
 care of yourself. Admit it. You wouldn't have brought them to me.
 You would have ignored them. And then you would have died.
 Simple as that." 

"I wouldn't have ignored them," he groused, finding the Maryland
 countryside suddenly much more interesting than the look on his
 partner's face at that moment. 

"right," Scully muttered. She looked over at him. He was looking
 flushed and she didn't know if that was from the disease or from the
 emotional upheavals they'd just experienced. "Try to get some rest.
 It won't take long to get to BWI. I've got a flight to Providence and
 a rental car all set up." 

"The cabin is in the middle of nothing but beach, Scully. I hope
 you're planning on curing me with some hot water and a lot of hand
 holding," he said dourly. 

She smiled to herself and then turned it on him. "Don't worry about
 that, Mulder. I have it all taken care of." 

Providence Airport
 Providence Rhodes Island
 12:15 am 

When they touched down in Providence, Scully herded him over to
 the rental car counter. There was a package waiting for her there
 and a mini van that had already been loaded with several boxes of
 equipment. 

"There you are, Mrs. Hale. All the geology equipment arrived
 earlier and we packed it in the van for you. You're all set to go," the
 sales clerk said brightly. Mulder looked over at his partner and gave
 her one raised eyebrow. "Mrs. Hale?" he mouthed and then let his
 face fall into a grin. 

"Come, George, we have a nice ride ahead of us," Scully said,
 pulling the straps to their two carry-ons onto her shoulder and
 pushing him out toward the waiting car. 

"Stealing my aliases, Scully?" he taunted as he walked toward the
 drivers side of the car. 

"I was pressed for time, *George*," she teased back. "Are you all
 right to drive?" she asked, her concern surfacing for the first time
 since the drive to the airport. 

"I'm fine," he assured her. Truth be told, he was tired, but didn't feel
 bad. Not yet, at least. He wasn't so sure what Scully had planned,
 and from the looks of the boxes stacked neatly in the back of the
 van, he was even less sure he wanted to be informed. "Is all that
 stuff for me?" he asked nervously. Then he noticed the four
 Coleman ice chests, and really began to get worried. "Scully, are
 you planning on catching a whole lot of fish at the beach?" 

"Mulder, I'll explain it all once we get to the summer house. It's
 medical equipment, yes. Most of it's mobile hospital stuff, like they
 use in natural disasters. It'll suit our purposes," she said cryptically
 and snapped her seat belt closed. 

"What are our purposes, Agent Scully?" he asked. As they got
 closer to this 'project' he was getting a serious case of the nerves.
 And Scully wasn't telling him anything. 

"Getting you better," she said firmly and motioned to the road
 ahead. "Let's not take all night, OK?" 

It was about an hours drive to the beach. The wind had picked up
 and was blowing the branches of the trees outside the little summer
 house. Mulder got out of the car and stood for a moment, taking in
 deep breaths. It smelled so good here. It smelled like home. After
 a while, he noticed that Scully was already busy carrying boxes into
 the house. He grabbed some boxes and followed her in. 

She had dropped the load in the living room and then went back for
 another. He stacked his cartons on top of the couch and stared over
 at the mess of broken ceramic on the floor by the fireplace. He had
 almost forgotten the night he had come here, leaving his mother's
 hospital bed, to look for a device that proved ineffective at best. He
 sighed and went to the little closet off the kitchen to get the broom
 and dustpan to clean up the mess. 

*****
 
Scully was bringing in the last of the boxes when he finished his
 cleaning. "We won't have a lot of light in here. Most of the lamps
 are broken. There's an overhead, but it's fluorescent and tends to
 blink out occasionally," he commented. She was busy opening
 boxes and taking out odd medical gadgets. He recognized a few of
 them and cringed. He considered them all to be implements of
 torture. 

"That's OK. I'd prefer it if we set this up in one of the bedrooms, if
 that's all the same with you," she answered absently and quickly
 surveyed the two bedrooms, deciding which would best suit her
 needs. "Is there an outlet behind this bed?" she called to him from
 the room that he and Sam had always shared. 

"Uh, yeah, I think so," he replied and helped her move the bed to
 reveal the electrical outlet. 

She plugged in a six plug power strip and moved the bed back. "A
 lot of this stuff will work on a gennie, so I hope the voltage here will
 be all right," she muttered and got down on her hands and knees to
 examine the floor around the bed. 

"Scully, what exactly do you have in mind?" he asked. She stopped
 and looked up at him. He had that look he got when he was really
 scared and didn't want to admit it. She stood up and took his hand,
 guiding him into the living room and sat down with him on the sofa. 

"I never told you what happened in Alaska, did I?" she started and
 he looked confused. 

"You didn't have to, I was there," he reminded her. 

"Yes, you were, but not really, not at the beginning. After the . . .
 woman who claimed she was Samantha . . . " 

"The clone, Scully. She was a clone," he said impatiently. 

"It doesn't matter right now, Mulder so shut up and listen," she
 growled. "Anyway, after she disintegrated in the ambulance, I did
 some thinking. And I went to the morgue at USAMRID, where they
 had Agent Weiss's body. The doctor there had done some simple
 experiments with the organism, the retro virus, that killed Agent
 Weiss. By lowering the temperature of the blood, the virus was
 knocked out. It couldn't handle cold. That was the one way to kill
 it." 

He looked at her and nodded his head. "So my being on the ice flow
 when I was exposed . . . " 

"Is what saved your life, Mulder. Initially, at least. Then, when the
 Naval Recon team found you and brought you to the ER at
 Eisenhower, they proceeded as they would have in any hypothermic
 situation." 

"They tried to thaw me out," he interjected. She nodded. 

"Yes, and that resulted in the virus reviving, in some way. Your
 blood began to thicken and . . . " she stopped. It was a memory that
 she didn't like to think about. All too often, it was the nightmare
 that woke her up in the middle of the night. 

"My heart stopped," he said calmly. She shot him a glare and he
 smiled. "Hanging around you, I've picked up a thing or two, Scully.
 I can read my own charts now. Isn't that neat?" he grinned playfully. 

She smiled indulgently. "Yeah, Mulder. Neat. And yes, your heart
 stopped. So the first thing we had to do was get it started again.
 We did that with a defibrillator. Once you had a pulse, I ordered a
 complete transfusion. I wanted to get as much of that virus out of
 you as possible. Then we started you on aggressive antiviral
 medicines, cutting edge stuff, in doses much higher than FDA
 protocols. But at that moment, I didn't care. It saved your life, but
 it almost ended it, as well." 

"The cure was worse than the disease?" he asked. She had never
 told him this, never admitted it to him. He realized for a brief
 moment how terrifying that realization must have been for her--that
 she had tried to help him and had almost killed him instead. He
 could see that even now, she was uncomfortable discussing it with
 him. 

"Basically, sort of. The disease was bad, but the medicines were so
 hard on your other systems. You had gone into respiratory arrest
 soon after we started the transfusion. We put you on a respirator."
 She saw him physically flinch at the mention of the device. "And
 you were already in a coma. You were on full life support, Mulder."
 She stared down at her lap, twisting her fingers together,
 embarrassed, ashamed. "I know, as the witness to your living will,
 that you had never wanted to be in that position, but I also knew, I
 was positive, that it was temporary. I was not going to leave you
 like that Mulder, I swear that to you." He nodded his head and gave
 her a weak smile. If there was anything to forgive, she was forgiven. 

Scully took a deep breath and continued. "It took a couple of
 weeks, but there was gradual improvement every single day. Baby
 steps at first. The level of virus to healthy cells dropped dramatically
 after the first few hours, but there was still enough of the organism
 that we continued treatment. With time, your own body started
 producing the antigen, which was the miracle we had all been
 praying for. By that time, we were able to take you off the
 respirator. It was still almost a week before you regained
 consciousness, and then there was no evidence of the retro virus
 anywhere in your bloodstream. And none in the organ tissue that we
 risked everything to take, just to make sure." 

"My little bitty bikini cut scar," he mused absently. 

She smirked at his term. "Yes, the little scar. We biopsied your
 liver to determine if the virus might be lurking in your organs. It
 came up clean as a whistle. And you made it through the surgery
 with flying colors. It was just a matter of time before you woke up
 and joked about having a bad case of freezer burn." 

"Scully, as much as I love sitting around and talking about old times,
 how does all this relate?" he asked, holding her in a steely glare. 

"It has *everything* to do with what we're about to do, Mulder,"
 she insisted. "I've been reading the research of Dr. Bonita Charne-
 Sayer." 

"The virologist that was murdered," Mulder chimed in. 

"Yes, and she was working on an inoculation for the Black Cancer,
 but she was also looking for a cure. Surprisingly enough, while I
 was looking through her notes, I found some that sounded familiar.
 Very familiar. I found *my* notes, the ones I made during your
 illness in Alaska. I can only guess at how she stumbled on them,"
 Scully said sarcastically, "but there they were. She readily admitted
 that there was a link between the two organisms--the retro virus that
 comes from contact with the alien blood AND the black oil creatures
 from the Black Cancer. They are similar in almost all characteristics.
 Quite frankly, Mulder, we are dealing with a close cousin, here. One
 that takes longer to kill, but reacts in much the same way as the one
 that affected you in Alaska." 

"The one I lived through." He whistled appreciatively. "So, I'm
 home free, right? I mean, I already have the antigen, don't I? Why
 are we sitting here with a room full of stuff from the Spanish
 Inquisition and about a ton of bagged ice, Scully?" 

"You have an antigen, Mulder, but Dr. Charne-Sayer tried that
 already. Your antigen only slows this bugger down, it doesn't kill it.
 It sits in your glands and waits for you to weaken naturally, whether
 through another disease or injury. Then, it attacks full force and the
 end is the same. You die." 

"I'm waiting for the upside here, Scully," he said patiently. 

"I think I can beat it at it's own game. I plan to introduce a situation
 that makes it think you are weak and then *I* attack, with the
 antivirals that knocked the crap out of it's cousins. It's risky, but the
 rewards are worth it in the long run." 

"You're baiting a trap," he said, nodding again. 

"Precisely. I've read all of her research, Mulder. I think this was
 where she was headed. The only problem is she was killed before
 she could take it the rest of the way. And I already went there, the
 first time. Almost entirely on instinct," she admitted sourly. 

Mulder smiled at her and took her hand in his. "I've learned to trust
 your instincts, Scully. That wasn't the only time they've saved my
 ass," he added. "So what will happen? In those old people, the
 organism left the hosts after they died. There's the chance of
 exposure. And why aren't we doing this in some basement suite at
 USAMRID, where they have the equipment AND the containment
 facilities? We're making a biological bomb in the middle of the
 Eastern Seaboard here, Scully," he reminded her. 

"I couldn't take you to USAMRID because the military wouldn't let
 me control the procedure. They have their own way of doing things,
 as they exhibited at Eisenhower Field. And Dr. Charne-Sayer's work
 was on the fringe, Mulder. She was pretty much . . . 'out there'.
 They would never go along with it. So I couldn't go there. And as
 for exposure, that isn't a problem with just the two of us." She
 hoped he wouldn't press her for details. 

He dashed her hopes before they were fully formed in her mind.
 "Why not, Scully? I don't want you exposed to this. If this doesn't
 work, if the worst happens, I want you to survive this," he said
 sincerely, squeezing her hand. "It's too dangerous for you." 

"Mulder, I won't have a problem. I'm hoping to kill the virus and the
 organisms before they leave your body. Besides, I have . . . an
 immunity to the organism," she said quietly. 

"An immunity? How? What makes you think that?" he asked
 anxiously. 

"It's something Ms. Covarrubias said to me. I'm not sure, really. I
 would assume that it's one reason I was in a coma when I was
 returned. Maybe the branched DNA was another possible
 inoculant. Whatever, I don't think I'm at risk." 

"What makes you think she's telling the truth?" he asked her, shaking
 his head in suspicion. 

She looked at him like he'd developed a second head. "Mulder,
 listen to yourself. You follow her every word, every word of her
 two predecessors like they were handed down from Mt. Sinai and
 when I get some information, all of a sudden you get suspicious.
 What is this?" she said and threw her hands up in exasperation. 

"We have to quit playing with those radioactive spiders, Scully.
 They bite too often," Mulder joked, but his expression was still
 anxious. "I don't feel I can trust her on this. This is too important.
 I don't want to do this if there is any chance that you could be
 harmed." 

"Mulder! I won't let you stop me if there is any chance that you can
 be cured," she countered emphatically. 

"Don't turn this into a standoff, Scully. The last time that happen,
 the boat almost sank with us on it," he reminded her with an
 indulgent smile. For a second, her mind flashed back to the
 argument they'd had on the USS Argent, when she had searched the
 ship and still could only find a little more than half a liter of drinkable
 'water'. He had infuriated her that day--insisting that she should
 survive, even if it cost him his life. She wanted to strangle him right
 then and there, but hadn't had the strength at the time. 

"I won't be harmed," she insisted firmly and crossed her arms in front
 of her. "Unless you're using this opportunity to take the easy road,
 Mulder. Frankly, I always thought you were above suicide," she
 said angrily. 

He looked like he'd been slapped. "That was beneath you," he said
 tersely. 

"But self preservation seems to be beneath you, God damn it!" she
 seethed. She dropped his hand and stood up to pace the small living
 room in front of him. "When we started working together, I
 thought, my God, this man has survived so much. He can survive
 anything. And I witnessed that over and over again. Ellens Air
 Base, Raleigh, North Carolina, Dead Horse, Alaska, the USS
 Argent, Farmington, New Mexico. Do you know what all those
 places have in common, Mulder? They are places where you
 cheated death. And I've always assumed that you were happy about
 that. Now we can add Tunguska, Siberia to the list. Don't let Death
 win, damn it. Don't do that, not now. Not after all this time." She
 stopped pacing and knelt down on the floor in front of him, taking
 both of his hands in hers and staring into his eyes. "Trust me,
 Mulder. Please. Just trust me." 

He said nothing for a long time, just stared into her blue eyes.
 Finally, he licked his lips, like he'd just made up his mind. He smiled
 wanly. "Scully, how many times do I have to tell you. You're the
 _only_ one I trust." She reached up and hugged him tightly.
 "Apparently, I should capitulate more often," he teased and she
 pulled back and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. He feigned
 greater injury and fell over onto his side. "So when do we let the
 games begin?" he asked, trying to keep the mood light. 

"In the morning, after a good night's sleep. I'm going to give you
 something to help you sleep tonight. I want you to take it, no
 arguments, Mulder. It's a smaller dose of what I'll be using in the
 morning anyway, it will raise the serum level in your bloodstream if
 we get a head start tonight." 

"Exactly how are you going to do this, since that was my original
 question?" he reminded her. 

"I plan on putting you under, nothing heavy, just controlled sleep,
 really. And then, I'm lowering your body temperature," she said,
 sounding more confident than she felt. 

"Just mimicking what happened in Alaska," he muttered with a nod. 

"Sort of. I'll be taking frequent blood tests. When the little bastards
 start to move, I flush you with the same antivirals we used before,
 just a slightly modified dosage." 

"And wait for the side effects," he murmured. She closed her eyes
 and nodded. "Scully, if anything goes wrong . . . " 

"I'll be facing murder charges," she said flatly. 

"No, that's exactly what I mean! I don't want that," he said
 hurriedly. "Not that. Never that. I'll leave a couple of letters. One
 to my mom and one to Skinner. If anything bad happens, will you
 deliver them?" he asked solemnly. 

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "You know I will,
 Mulder." 

It took her about an hour to finish setting up the equipment in the
 bedroom. She didn't want to waste any time in the morning. Mulder
 had changed into his 'pajamas'--cut off sweats and a tee shirt, and
 then sat at the kitchen table to quickly pen three letters. He sealed
 them in some old envelopes he found in a kitchen drawer and
 addressed them, then handed them to Scully when she came in to get
 him. She noticed the one of the letters was addressed to her. 

"Remember, no peeking till X-mas," he chided with a lopsided grin,
 but his eyes cast a haunted look her way and made a shiver go down
 her back. 

"I promise," she said softly. "Here, take this." She handed him a
 small white pill and a glass of water. 

"Do I want to know what this is?" he asked, downing the pill and
 draining the glass. 

"Probably a lot safer than whatever you experimented with in
 England," she teased him, but didn't go into details. 

"I didn't experiment in England," he said seriously, following her into
 the bedroom. She raised an eyebrow at that and he couldn't hide the
 smile. "I only used 'tried and true' mind altering pharmaceuticals,"
 he said with an almost perfect dead panned expression. She smiled
 and silently let him know that his humor thoroughly disgusted her,
 but she wasn't ready to give it up, yet. 

As he settled down in the bed, he rolled over on his side so that he
 could watch her lay down on the bed next to him. "Gee, Scully, just
 like a slumber party," he said with a yawn. 

"Except we are going to actually 'slumber', Mulder," she assured
 him. That brought another smile. 

"Good night, Scully. See you in the morning." He pulled the covers
 up to his chin and rolled over with his back now facing her. 

"Good night, Mulder. Sleep tight," she replied. It felt so familiar
 and yet so strange. For a long time, she couldn't relax enough to let
 sleep claim her. So many thoughts were running through her brain,
 she'd had so little time to plan, to think through her actions. But she
 knew in her heart this was their only option. It would work. It had
 to. Finally, as Mulder's breathing slowed and steadied in a soothing
 rhythm, she felt the tension drain from her body and she joined him
 in sleep. 

Day two
 7:15 am 

It had been past 2 in the morning when they had finally fallen asleep
 and Scully had set the alarm for 7. Only 5 hours of sleep, but more
 than she often got on their cases together, so she woke up refreshed
 and ready to get to work. Mulder was still sleeping, which was a
 good thing. She finished the few preparations that she hadn't done
 the night before and then went about recording her partner's vital
 signs. One advantage to Mulder's consistent tendency to end up in
 the hospital was that he usually slept through most examinations and
 this one was no exception. It was just as well. She'd never fully
 examined him when he was conscious and she was not ready to meet
 that particular challenge. She was nervous enough without being
 embarrassed to boot. 

It wasn't until she started the IV that he woke up, rather disgruntled.
 "Shit, Scully! You could have warned me. What happened to 'just a
 little stick'?" he grumbled. 

She was busy untangling the IV line. "You slept through it." She
 handed him the IV bag. "I figured it would be easier this way." 

"Easier for whom?" he asked sarcastically. 

"Me," she said with a big smile. "If you're interested in a bathroom
 break, take it now while I make up the bed," she told him and
 handed him the IV bag. He grimaced at it as he left the room. She
 pulled all the blankets off the bed and laid a cooling blanket, one
 striped with little veins of refrigerant which was activated
 electrically, on top of the mattress. One thin sheet when next. Then
 she went to the kitchen to start bringing in the chests of ice. 

He stood in the doorway and watched her. He was chewing on his
 lip and not looking at all comfortable with the scene before him.
 "I'm _sleeping_ on the damned thing?" There was no need to
 explain what he was referring to. He had christened all medical
 equipment with that title during his first visit to the hospital after she
 had started working with him. He usually fixed the object in
 question with a steely glare as he spoke, so she would know which
 'damned thing' he was berating this time. 

She stopped for a moment and looked up at him. "Yes, you're going
 to sleep on it. And then, I'm packing you in ice," she told him
 calmly, not giving in to her own apprehension. He was looking
 pretty darn healthy, standing there in his Knicks tee shirt and a ratty
 pair of cut off sweat pants, his hair, recently subjected to a comb,
 but still looking fairly mussed. Yes, in her mind, he looked like a
 poster boy for 'Health' Magazine. In fact, only the IV needle, taped
 firmly in the back of his right hand, gave any indication that there
 might be a problem here. But Scully knew that looks could be
 deceiving. She thought of the black worms she'd seen in the
 exobiologist and silently steeled her nerve. 

His eyes roamed over the rest of the tubes and machines she had
 dropped on the other bed. When he hit upon one particular set of
 items, his eyes narrowed and he paled. "Scully, ah, what about
 'bathroom breaks'--when I'm asleep?" he asked hesitantly, not daring
 to look at her. 

She stopped working for a moment and then turned to look at him.
 "I'll be taking care of that after you're asleep," she said pointedly. 

"No," he moaned. "Not one of those . . . " This time, he was
 glaring at the Foley catheter. She shook her head and moved it out
 of his line of sight. 

"Mulder, quit whining. I don't have a choice. When this is all over,
 I'll get you one of those really big lollipops for being such a good
 patient. But until then, you'll be asleep for all of it, so what you
 don't know won't make you tense, OK?" She glared at him and
 waited for him to argue with her. 

He looked like he wanted to, but after a few tense moments, he
 simply shrugged. "You're the doctor," he said evenly. 

She stared at him in amazement. "Watch it, Mulder, or I'll suspect
 you of being a clone," she teased and his expression lightened. 

He chose to ignore that comment. "Are you ready for me to lie
 down, or can I still make a break for it?" he joked in return, but she
 could see he was getting more nervous every minute. It was time to
 start. 

"Hop in, I don't feel like tracking you down like a dog this morning,"
 she said with a grin and motioned for him to get comfortable. He
 complied silently and she pulled a single bed sheet over him. "OK,
 gimme the shirt and the sweats," she ordered. 

"I gotta tell you, Scully, the fantasies I'm having . . ." he started to
 explain, but the look she gave him made him close his mouth. Still,
 he took the opportunity to leer at her with a wicked grin while he
 removed the items. It took him a minute to get the tee shirt
 untangled from the IV line, but he finally freed the shirt and handed
 the clothes to her with a wink. She finally graced him with a smile
 and a shake of her head as she took them and laid them aside. 

She hung the IV bag on a pole she had put by the head of the bed,
 then added a syringe with a clear liquid, checking to make sure
 everything was running properly. After a few minutes, it started to
 take affect. Mulder's eyes glazed slightly and he sighed. 

"This is good shit, Scully. Where'd ya get it?" he drawled. 

She didn't know what made her say it. It was probably all the usual
 banter that they threw at each other. It was probably the fact that
 she knew he wouldn't have much time before sleep cut off any more
 ribald comments. "I searched all over for the perfect combination.
 It's the equivalent of a Long Island Iced Tea, a Sloe Comfortable
 Screw Against a Wall, and Sex on the Beach. Do you like it?" she
 purred seductively. 

"Awww, Scully, you know what I like," he slurred with a lopsided
 grin and his eyelids drifted shut. "G'night, Sc-c-u-lly. See ya . . . in
 th' mornin'," he promised. 

"Good night, Fox," she whispered. 

"I heard that," he said softly, but couldn't open his eyes. She smiled
 and took hold of his wrist, waiting for his pulse to slow to the target
 rate before placing a thin sheet of waterproof nylon over the top
 sheet and packing him in ice, starting the process of slowly freezing
 him, almost to death. 

Day Two
 12:01 pm 

It had been four hours. She'd taken a short cat nap on the bed next
 to where her partner was laying, looking more like Frosty the
 Snowman than an FBI agent. She had time, not a lot of it, but
 enough. She didn't want to rush this, it was all too tricky. Scully's
 mind kept drifting back to the time in Alaska. It had been the most
 harried month of her life. From the moment she stepped off the
 military transport that one of her many Naval Dutch Uncles had
 arranged, she had hit the ground running. She was a pathologist, she
 kept screaming to herself, virology was NOT her field. The closest
 she came to it was documenting the details of the body's battle, after
 the fact. But she had motivation for this action. The body lying
 there, depending on her to save his life, was Mulder. 

By the time she got to the Emergency Room, she already felt she'd
 let him down. When she dropped him off at his apartment after he'd
 been treated at Good Samaritan Hospital for smoke inhalation, she
 should have stayed with him, talked to him. But it was so much
 easier to allow him to put up his walls, to shut her out. She couldn't
 imagine his pain. He felt he'd found her, found Samantha. He
 thought he had finally succeeded in attaining his heart's desire. But
 he didn't even have a minute to enjoy that feeling before events had
 crushed his dreams. 

She would never forget the moment she saw him standing at the
 railing of the bridge, looking anxiously down into the water. His
 first words, after berating her for not staying at the hospital, were a
 testament to his indomitable spirit--"Do you think she could have
 survived?" Even when all evidence stacked up against that fleeting
 hope, it still lived, he still guarded it, nurtured it, refused to let it die.
 She couldn't tell him what she really believed. She tried to soften the
 blow. Sure, it was possible. She'd seen too much to think
 otherwise. But likely, that was another matter. She'd kept that to
 herself, though. She'd been afraid of his reaction if she, too, had
 conspired to extinguish his hope. 

She saw that same spark later, at the hospital at Eisenhower Field.
 He was hypothermic, his blood was thickening, he was comatose, in
 full cardiac arrest and the complications were too many to count. It
 took two applications of the defibrillator to jump start his heart, but
 once started, it kept beating. He wanted to live. It didn't matter
 what the damned Navy doctor thought, or what the odds against
 recovery were, or even if she had a clue as to what she was doing to
 treat his ravaged body--all that mattered was that Fox Mulder
 wanted to live. And by God, he did. 

She was counting on him to do it again. 

His temperature was almost an even 95 degrees when she last
 checked it an hour ago. He was passing through moderate
 hypothermia, heading toward severe. She was trying to get to 93.6,
 exactly 5 degrees below normal. That was the temperature that the
 other virus started slowing down. So far, the blood samples were
 still clean, but she had already seen the little black worms, entwining
 themselves around Mulder's pineal gland, just as they had in Dr.
 Sykes. But Mulder wasn't paralyzed, as the exobiologist had been.
 She wondered how much his own body's immune system had to do
 with that. Or had the virus introduced in Siberia been a different
 form than what had exposed from the rock? 

It irked her that she had such sketchy details from Siberia. Dr.
 Charne-Sayer had been totally in the dark about the experiments in
 Russia. And apparently, from what little she could gather, the
 reverse had been true, as well. She wondered just how much of the
 rantings the imprisoned militiaman was truth, or close enough to it.
 Was the Black Cancer actually now showing up as Desert Storm
 Syndrome and was it really more lethal than Agent Orange from a
 different war, a different age? 

Her mind was wandering and she knew it. She looked down at her
 partner, as she drew another blood sample. Gratefully, he slept,
 oblivious to her actions. If he'd been awake, he would have bitched
 about her insensitivity, telling her that the reason she was a good
 pathologist was that there was no one alive to complain about her.
 She noticed that he was shivering heavily now, that the gooseflesh
 on his arms was more pronounced. She checked the IV flow, to
 insure that he would continue to sleep. It also allowed the
 temperature to attain lower levels without damage to the cardiac
 muscle. And all her tests were beyond his comprehension, and his
 level of pain. 

She'd seen him in enough pain not to want to repeat the process,
 much less contribute to it. He was always so stoic, once he was able
 to move about and mingle with others. She'd seen him cruise the
 halls of the Bureau with a set of crutches like they were sky poles
 and he was a finalist in the Olympic sholom. Crack jokes with
 broken ribs. Make disgusting noises even though he had a headache
 the size of Montana from a concussion. 

But she'd also seen him when it was just the two of them and he
 wasn't 'hamming' it up for the audience. She'd seen him so weak that
 to lift his arm was almost impossible and the frustration had caused
 him to break down into tears. She'd seen him doubled over with
 pain and begging for anything to stop it. She seen him try to walk,
 only to find that he just did not have the strength and refuse to try
 for two days afterward rather than face another failure. She wasn't
 looking forward to that time, this time around. But she was more
 than willing to go through it for the rewards on the other side. 

She wouldn't let her mind ponder life without him. She'd lost too
 much already for the sake of her career. She wasn't about to lose
 her best friend on top of all that. She picked up the notes she'd been
 reviewing from Dr. Charne-Sayer's studies and waited, like a hunter
 waiting for her prey. 

She stepped over to the small bedside table that she had set up with
 a microscope and slides for the blood test. She took a smear from
 the last vial and placed it under the lens. She almost jumped at what
 greeted her. 

The virus was on the move. It was proliferating, even under the
 scope. She looked frantically toward the heart monitor just a few
 feet from her and saw that Mulder's heart rate had gone up from the
 previous time she'd looked. He'd been staying steady, in the low
 40's. Now it was rising and becoming erratic. His blood was
 thickening and in the weakened state caused by the cold, his heart
 wasn't going to survive the exertion. 

She grabbed two small bottles that she'd kept in their packing box
 and pulled up a substantial dose each. Wasting no time, she injected
 it into a port on the IV. In seconds, twice the normal dose of
 ritonavir, one of the newest and strongest antivirals, and heparin, a
 strong anticoagulant, were entering his blood stream. 

"Come on Mulder, don't crap out on me now," she begged and
 watched helplessly as the heart monitor continued to show the
 efforts that his cardiac muscles were straining through to keep the
 now thickened blood flowing through his veins. She waited five
 minutes, which seemed like hours to her, and took another sample. 

This time the worm like viruses were seen at the cellular level and it
 appeared that they were multiplying even faster than before. She
 noted in mild relief that the anticoagulant was having some effect,
 but the virus was destroying as many red blood cells as were being
 made by his body at this point. The blood was no longer thickening,
 but the virus was gaining the upper hand. 

She checked his temperature. 94 degrees. Still not cold enough.
 She had to get his temperature lower and quickly as possible. It hit
 her in a flash what was needed. A fan. Something to provide
 enough convection to lower his temperature quickly--and knock the
 virus out. She had seen one in the little closet in the bedroom and
 ran over to pull it out. It was old and dust covered and she prayed it
 would work. She started to plug it into the power strip and realized
 there were already 6 machines plugged in. Growling in frustration,
 she dropped to the floor and scanned the baseboard until she found
 an outlet. She plugged the fan in, and set it on high. In seconds, a
 strong breeze was generated and she directed in at her partner's bed. 

Not trusting the fan to do all the work, she pulled over another ice
 chest and started adding ice to the area around his head and neck. In
 minutes, he had gone from pale to almost blue around his mouth and
 eyes. She smiled ruefully. She was turning him into a popscicle and
 doing it on purpose. She wondered if this could be considered more
 or less severe than shooting him in the shoulder. Brushing that
 thought aside, she reached for the thermoscan and put it in his ear
 while keeping an eye on the heart monitor. 

The good news first--his temp was now 90.2. The bad news, his
 heart was still struggling and it was getting more erratic. And the
 rate at which his red blood cells were being devoured by the virus
 meant he wasn't going to be getting enough oxygen soon, either.
 She put the O2 mask over his face and started the tank that had been
 resting next to the bed. She knew this wouldn't solve the immediate
 problem, but she hoped that the higher oxygen mix would kick in
 when she finally got the virus under control. 

Another wait, just five more minutes and she took another blood
 sample. Her heart skipped a beat. His temp was reading well below
 the target rate of 93.8, but the virus was still moving. It seemed to
 be replicating at a lower ratio, but it was still alive, still destroying
 healthy cells. Scully broke out in a cold sweat. Something wasn't
 working. In the meantime, although his heart was no longer
 pumping the equivalent of molasses through his veins, it was starting
 to react to the hypothermia and the lack of oxygen. 

Her instincts told her she needed him colder, but her medical training
 was starting to kick in and remind her that he would die just as
 surely that way as from the virus. It was toss up. 

"Mulder, I want you to listen to me. It's not working, yet. But it
 will. This is the real test. Everything is riding on this. Mulder, you
 are the only one who will ever find Samantha. You are the only one
 who will ever discover the real meaning behind the 'project' and
 whether we are being colonized right under our very noses. So you
 have too much work to do to give up. It's real important that you
 remember that, Mulder." She brought the little fan closer, blowing
 directly on his face. More ice was added under his arms, around his
 thighs and she even plunged the IV bag in the half empty ice chest so
 that it would be delivering near freezing fluids to his body. 

When he hit 86 degrees, she fearfully drew up another blood sample.
 She steadied herself, closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer.
 Then she looked at the slide and a wide grin broke out on her face.
 What few virus remained were completely dormant. She had
 succeeded. She laughed out loud and let out a joyous self
 congratulatory cry. 

It was interrupted by the high pitched squeal of the monitor as
 Mulder's heart gave up the fight. 

The cry died on her lips as the cold grip of fear took hold of her.
 Fortunately for Mulder, it held her for only a second. It was thawed
 to oblivion by one hot Irish Temper. 

"God damn you, Mulder! When in the hell are you going to quit
 trying to DITCH ME!" she shouted and tore into the defibrillator
 unit that was setting on the floor beneath the heart monitor. Water
 proof sheet and ice cubes flew through the air as she stripped all
 coverings off the body on the bed and wiped him dry. A syringe
 filled with epinephrine was taped strategically to the monitor and she
 ripped it off and jammed it into his chest and further into the cardiac
 muscle itself. 

"You are NOT getting out of this," she growled as she worked. "I
 have fought too damned hard! Do you honestly think for one moment
 that you can just walk out of here without a by your LEAVE!"
 Even as she berated him, her hands were a flurry of activity as she
 placed the receptive pads on his chest on either side and hit the
 button on the machine to charge it. "God damned egotistic MALE!
 Always trying to make all the decisions. Well, this time, Mister, I'M
 in CHARGE," she yelled at him and watched as his body jumped in
 reaction to the electricity coursing through it. She watched the heart
 monitor continue it's solid even line. "SHIT, MULDER!" she
 screamed. "I am not going to write this one up, you piece of shit for
 a partner. I'm not going to let you get out of this month's expense
 report. And you still owe me dinner!" she puffed and recharged the
 machine, then placed the paddles once more on his chest. The jolt
 was higher and his body jumped and landed. She held her breath and
 looked at the monitor. 

At first the peaks were small and erratic, but soon they fell into a
 steady rhythm. She let out the breath she had been holding, dropped
 the paddles to the floor, stumbled over to the other bed and
 collapsed into tears. 

That didn't last long either. Once the flush of relief was through her,
 she picked herself up and wiped her eyes and nose with the tail of
 her shirt. Gingerly, she walked over to the still body laying on the
 bed and checked him over. Heart was beating. Extremities were
 close to frost bitten. His basal temp was now 89 and would slowly
 go back up on its own, though not fast enough to suit her. Still, the
 one sample of blood she took confirmed that the virus was in check.
 Now all she had to worry about was the hypothermia. 

She sighed to herself. Was that all? She almost laughed. Oh, yeah,
 and the antiviral overdose she'd given him. He could start bleeding
 internally and without a supply of whole blood, she would be
 helpless to save him. But at the moment, that was buying trouble,
 and warming him up was a greater priority. 

First, she unhooked and discarded the near frozen IV solution,
 replacing it with some she had kept warm. Then, carefully, she
 rolled him to the side, bunching up the cooling blanket under him.
 Then, just as if she were making his bed when he was hospitalized,
 she rolled him off the blanket onto the fitted sheet of the bed. She
 pulled the cooling blanket off and unplugged it, placing it on the
 dresser. 

When she turned back to him, she saw them. The little oil like
 creatures were laying like dark tears under his eyes on his cheeks.
 As she watched, they came from his nose and his ears and tumbled
 onto the pillow. Swallowing her revulsion, she grabbed a pair of
 forceps and picked one up. It seemed to have substance now, but it
 was lax, almost wilted. She winced and dumped it in a glass petri
 dish. Once she had all of them gathered, she set the glass aside,
 turning back to Mulder. 

She'd already prepared a couple of electric blankets to cover him.
 The key to warming a body out of moderate to severe hypothermia
 was not to warm the extremities too quickly because the warmed
 blood would be a shock to the heart. In Mulder's case, his heart had
 already taken one terrific workout. "Well, we'll deal with that later,"
 she told him aloud. She needed to warm his core, first She pulled
 out several small 'hand warmers'--little sacks of chemicals that
 generated heat--and packed them around his body under his arms
 and around his groin. She wrapped two of them in towels and
 tucked them on either side of his neck. Finally she stuck one in a
 wool watch cap and pulled that over his head. He looked slightly
 ridiculous, but at that point, she wasn't going to take any pictures. 

She pulled one of the pre-warmed blankets up over him and tucked
 it around him, followed by a thick comforter. She switched the
 blanket setting from high to low. Satisfied that he would begin the
 slow process of coming back to his normal temperature, she reached
 over and shut off the joint in the IV that contained the sedative. She
 didn't expect him to wake up any time soon, but didn't want to
 hinder him when he awoke naturally. 

She was just settling in to keep watch over him when her stomach
 growled loudly. She glanced at her watch and noticed that it was
 already 2:30 in the afternoon. The 6 ounces of yogurt she had
 allowed herself once Mulder had fallen asleep was now completely
 out of her system. She gave each monitor and tube one last check
 and walked out into the kitchen to fix a sandwich. 

She hadn't brought a lot of food. She would call later in the day,
 once she knew Mulder was stable, and arranged to have food
 delivered to the cottage. At the moment, the peanut butter and jelly
 sandwich tasted as good as any seven course gourmet meal she had
 eaten. A glass of reconstituted apple juice washed it down and she
 went back in to sit with her partner. 

As she was getting comfortable, she noticed what a mess she had
 made. The ice had gone in all directions when she pulled the
 waterproof pad off him during his 'code blue'. It now lay in melted
 puddles all over the room. With a grimace, she saw the three letters,
 water soaked, the ink now bleeding through them. 

She snatched the letters up out of the puddle on the table and tried
 to dry them off. The top two, the two addressed to his mother and
 Skinner, remained relatively unscathed. The bottom one, the one
 addressed to her, had sat in the water too long and the envelope fell
 open as she wiped it dry. The letter, a single page, floated to the
 ground. 

It was a strictly moral dilemma, whether to look at the letter or not.
 Mulder was unconscious and would remain so for quite some time.
 Given the hell his body had been through in the last week, he would
 probably remain unconscious for the next day or two at the least. So
 there was no danger of being caught. Her curiosity was strong, and
 her recent tirade against him had left her feeling more than just a
 little guilty. She needed some reassurance from him. Seeing his
 handwriting, so familiar, so comforting, made her ache to her very
 bones. She picked the letter up and sat down on the bed. Chancing
 another look to Mulder, just to make sure, she unfolded the letter
 and started to read. 

>> Scully, 

Bet you're pissed at me, right? Well, I probably deserve it. I
 know this isn't the first time I've run off and left you. I'm afraid it's
 most definitely the last, though. I'm sorry, Scully. I never meant to
 leave you. 

I know you are feeling guilty. I know this because, if the
 situation was reversed, that's what I would be feeling. But that's
 really counterproductive. And totally inappropriate. You have
 saved my life more times than I could ever count. The odds were
 against us from the beginning, Dana. It was only a matter of time. 

Enough of this crap. I need your help. I have some affairs to
 settle and I guess since you are the only person I trust, that falls on
 your shoulders. Don't worry about most of it. I made out a will not
 long after I got back from Raleigh, after Luther Henry tried to give
 me a limp. It's in a safe deposit box at my bank, the key is on my
 key ring. The long and the short of it is this--the stuff from Dad all
 goes to Mom and eventually, Samantha. Everything else is yours. 

I have a trust fund that my grandparents left me that has enough
 money to keep you comfortable for the rest of your life. How else
 do you think I could afford my wardrobe? I have no idea how much
 is in it, I have a nice accountant--his name is Steve Nelson and his
 number is in my phone book. He'll be more than happy to handle
 everything. 

But don't turn in your resignation, yet, OK? I would really like
 you to request a new partner and stay in the basement. I've already
 laid this out to Skinner. Don't think he's gonna have the guts to deny
 my 'last request'. If he does, I hope you sue his ass for something--
 make it up, I don't care. I want you in charge of the Files. Get some
 young punk to help you who looks good in speedos and is more
 skeptical than you are (good luck finding him) and pretend you're
 me. I would like that, a lot. 

When you find Samantha, tell her I love her. 

Tell yourself that, too. You mean more to me than I ever
 thought another person could. I'll be watching out for you. 

Till the next time, Scully. 

Mulder >> 

She went out to the kitchen and found another envelope. Carefully,
 she put the letter in it and sealed it shut. Then she walked back into
 the bedroom and sat down on the bed. She watched him for a long
 time, until the relief and exhaustion caught up with her. She set her
 small travel alarm clock for four hours and laid down. Once settled,
 she sobbed herself to sleep. 

DAY FIVE
 9:40 pm 

The deli in the tiny town of Quonochontaug, Rhodes Island was the
 only one to deliver. She ordered some salads, some soup and sliced
 turkey with bread. It wasn't much, but tasted pretty good and she
 hadn't had much to do but eat and watch her partner. 

His body temperature had steadied at 98.4 just after midnight on the
 third day, almost nine hours after he had gone into cardiac arrest.
 He remained unconscious. As far as Scully was concerned it was
 just as well. He needed the rest. He'd been hard enough to keep in
 bed once he woke up. 

Over the last two days she'd had the chance to realize exactly how
 lucky they had been. Unlike Alaska, Mulder hadn't developed the
 respiratory problems, and avoided the need for a respirator. He'd
 had no problems with the antiviral, either, which was a miracle since
 there was little she could have done to help him. He'd had no
 complications connected with the hypothermia, circulation to his
 hands and legs had returned to normal relatively quickly--another
 bullet missed. And each subsequent blood test showed an absence
 of the organism in his body. 

Most startling had been the incident just minutes after he'd flat lined.
 Just like in the nursing home patients in Florida, the organism had
 vacated Mulder's body through any available facial orifice--tear
 ducts, nasal cavities, even his ears. When she had the time to return
 to them later, all that was left was the same volatile green ooze that
 she'd witnessed with the Samantha clone and the Gregors. By the
 next morning, even that was gone. There would be no chance of
 researching it or finding out anything about it. 

She pondered that for some time. In her notes, she recorded it,
 postulating that it might have been the 'death' signals that are sent
 from the brain when the heart stops beating that 'tricked' the Black
 Cancer in to leaving it's host. If that was the case, she was grateful
 that Mulder had arrested. It hadn't been a pleasant experience for
 her, but if that is what it took to get rid of the bastards, so be it. It
 was worth it at any price. 

The equipment she'd brought was painfully inadequate to run the
 kinds of tests that she needed to perform to determine what damage,
 if any, had been caused to Mulder's system. That is where her
 problems began. She had done all of this with the help of the Lone
 Gunmen, and totally without any formal approval. The cover story
 to Skinner had been sketchy, at best. Now, she was forced to call in
 the 'cavalry', she'd need a hospital and a staff of specialists to
 examine Mulder before they could determine the proper course of
 treatment and recovery. It was going to take time, and she would
 also be cornered into fully explaining their disappearance to AD
 Skinner. She'd asked for a couple of days off, following his trek to
 Russia and her stint in the Federal Prison system--but a prolonged
 recovery was going to be harder to finesse. Skinner was very good
 at asking the hard questions: how, why, what on earth were you
 thinking? 

She sipped her instant coffee and tried to think through the events of
 the last week. She had nothing--no rock, no organism, no evidence.
 She had nothing to show for all the trauma of the last week. Sadly
 enough, she was getting used to that. She had documentation.
 She'd taken care in trying to identify the organism/virus, made
 copious notes on the treatment of her partner and his condition. If
 paperwork meant anything, she had it in spades. She smiled when
 she recalled that paperwork, and her love/hate relationship with it,
 had saved both their lives upon their rescue from the USS Argent.
 Perhaps, someday, the journal she now kept would save some other
 lives, maybe even their own, again. 

She shut down her laptop and stretched out on the bed. She'd set
 her alarm, it went off at four hour intervals during the night. Plus,
 she had pushed the bed over so that no more than a few inches
 separated them. It was like a big king sized bed now. If Mulder
 moved, she'd feel it and wake up immediately. It was the only way
 she'd managed to let herself get any sleep. She knew they couldn't
 continue here in isolation. In the morning, if he had come around or
 not, she'd call for an ambulance and have him taken to the hospital in
 Providence. 

DAY SIX
 6:14 am 

It was such a pleasant dream. She was walking on the beach,
 barefoot. The waves were lapping at the sand and occasionally, they
 would reach her and kiss her feet. She smiled and lifted her face to
 the warm sun and let the sound of the surf carry off all the worries
 that might threaten to cloud her mind. She stooped playfully and
 batted at a particularly big wave. It felt so warm and soft as the
 saltwater ran through her fingers. 

Then the saltwater moved and grasped her hand. Her eyes flew
 open and she looked directly into the eyes of her partner. 

"Scully . . . thought we'd . . . at least talk . . . before we slept
 together," he rasped with a weak but wicked half grin. 

She was up and around the other side of the bed almost before he
 could let go of her hand. She checked his vitals before settling down
 in the chair and taking hold of his other hand. Silently, she offered
 him a few sips of water to moisten his dry throat. He hadn't had any
 fluids by mouth for five days. He swallowed and nodded gratefully. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked when she thought he'd be able to
 answer. 

"Like crap," he replied and gave her another half grin. "Tired." He
 closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows. "Woke up and
 thought we were back here on vacation," he explained. He cleared
 his throat a bit and continued. "For a minute, I thought you were... 
 Sam," he said, his voice catching for a second on his sister's name. 

"I'm sorry," she said, not quite knowing how else to answer that. 

"S'okay. Something tells me Sam wouldn't have been able to do
 what you've done for me," he assured her. "It's gone, isn't it?" 

"Yes, as far as I can tell. But it wasn't easy. You flat lined on me,
 Mulder," she said, trying hard not to let the emotions creep into her
 voice. 

The look he gave her was all the apology he could muster. "I had
 this dream. You were yelling at me because I was about to ditch
 you again. You were really pissed, Scully. God, I was afraid for my
 life," he said and then closed his eyes again. Just a little conversation
 had sapped all his strength. 

"Well, remember that dream next time you even think about leaving
 without me," she warned him seriously. Then she squeezed his
 hand. "Take a nap. I have to call the ambulance. We need to get
 you to a real hospital where they can do some tests. I want to make
 sure we didn't break anything in our efforts." 

"Not another hospital," he moaned. That got him a laugh. 

"I knew I liked you better unconscious, Mulder," she teased. "Stop
 whining or I'll freeze you again," she threatened. 

"Shoot me, freeze me, what's next, Scully? Blow me up?" 

"I'm not touching that one, Mulder," she said hautily and almost lost
 it when he blushed in embarrassment at his own bad pun. "Go to
 sleep. If you're good, I'll give you some jello before the ambulance
 gets here." 

"You're too good to me, Scully," he yawned and let his eyes slide
 shut. In just a minute, he was fast asleep again. 

"Nothing's too good for you, Mulder. Someday I hope you figure
 that out," she whispered and went out of the room to call for the
 ambulance. 

Epilogue
 One week later 

Dana Scully sat ramrod straight in the chair, her gaze holding on the
 nameplate on the desk in front of her. This was it, she was sure of it.
 Only the fact that she did have a medical license had saved her from
 another visit to a correctional facility--as an inmate. Treating her
 partner outside of a hospital, by herself, without proper back up
 procedures in place had been totally irresponsible, life threatening
 and incredibly stupid. But, as far as anyone could assess, completely
 successful. However, the ends didn't always justify the means, as far
 as the Federal Bureau of Investigation was concerned. It was time
 to face the music. 

Assistant Director Skinner was looking through an inch thick set of
 papers and did not look happy at what he was reading. He took off
 his reading glasses and looked at her with a steely glare. 

"I hope you have some kind of explanation here, Agent Scully,
 because as far as I can see, I should be requesting your gun and
 badge and putting you on a three week suspension, without pay," he
 said low and tersely. 

She nodded, expressionless. Actually, that was less punishment than
 she'd expected. 

"What you did, putting Agent Mulder's life in jeopardy--do you have
 ANY idea what you were thinking at the time?" he demanded. 

"Sir, the medical records in my possession led me to the conclusion
 that Agent Mulder's life was ALREADY in jeopardy. I was
 attempting to _save_ Agent Mulder's life. And by all accounts, there
 is no sign of the virus in his system. Sir, I admit my methods were
 on the fringe and outside of normal medical protocols, but they did
 succeed. I don't apologize for that. However, I understand that I
 did proceed without proper notification to all parties, and that, I do
 regret." She drew in a deep breath and tried to avoid biting the
 inside of her lip. 

Skinner fixed her with another glare. "How did you get these . . .
 these medical records from a gulag in Siberia, Agent Scully?" he
 asked gruffly. He frowned when she didn't answer. "Scully, I'm
 getting a little tired of the insubordination that seems to be escalating
 around me," he said wearily. 

"Sir, I think I can clear that up," another voice said from the
 doorway. Mulder stood there, looking like a fashion ad for Saks
 Fifth Avenue. He flashed Scully a grin as she shot ice daggers at him
 for an instant but then they melted in relief that he'd shown up in
 time. He took his customary seat next to his partner, straightened
 his jacket and folded his hands on his lap. It was everything she
 could do not to burst out into hysterical laughter. 

"Very well, Agent Mulder. Please, proceed. I can't wait to hear this
 one," Skinner said with a distinct note of sarcasm in his voice. 

"I believe that Agent Scully found those papers on her doorstep, sir.
 At least that's what she told me when she brought them over to me.
 I then asked her to use them to . . . to help me eliminate the virus
 from my system," he said flatly, not daring to look her way. 

"So this was all your idea?" Skinner asked. His disbelief was all too
 apparent. 

"Well, sir, I was the one infected with the organism," Mulder pointed
 out reasonably. 

"So you asked your partner, a PATHOLOGIST, to treat you?"
 Skinner demanded. His patience had snapped with an almost audible
 click. 

"I figured that it would definitely save time if the worst case scenario
 came to pass, sir," Mulder said evenly and heard his partner choke
 beside him. 

Skinner growled. "I don't remember seeing your medical discharge,
 Agent Mulder. Are you even supposed to be in the building?"
 Skinner asked, deciding to redirect his anger to the other half of this
 troublesome pair. 

Mulder smiled and handed him a business envelope. "All signed this
 morning, sir. Clean bill of health. I'm officially fit to return to duty." 

Scully sighed gratefully beside him. She'd been dreading his
 appointment with his primary care physician almost as much as her
 own meeting with the Assistant Director. If there was any sign of the
 virus, all bets were off and they were back to square one. Even with
 that terror aside, his doctor could have decided he needed more time
 to recover from the hypothermia. She hadn't been at all sure that she
 could keep him in his apartment another day. She'd only let him
 have his shoes and car keys last night because he had the doctor's
 appointment this morning. 

The Assistant Director regarded them both for a minute, obviously
 weighing his options. He shook his head just slightly, once his
 decision was made. "Well, I think we've wasted enough of the
 Bureau's time on this matter," Skinner sighed and flipped the folder
 closed. "You are dismissed," he said sternly. 

Scully hid her initial shock at their good fortune. Together, they
 rose to leave and Skinner caught Scully's eye. "Good work, Scully,"
 he said, just low enough to be out of Mulder's earshot. She smiled
 at him in return. 

They met up at the elevator. "Well, that was another quick save you
 can thank me for," Mulder teased as they got on the elevator to head
 down to the basement. 

"I'd say that just about makes us even, Mulder," she shot back. 

"Not by a long shot, Scully," he muttered under his breath. Not by a
 long shot. 

the end.