Dreams IV: The Brotherhood Well, what can I say, I've discovered that I like Mulderangst and can't get enough of it. So consider that a warning. Lots of the stuff to go around in this one. And, to top it off, Vickie and I actually did some research, so the herbs and home remedies in the story really do exist. HOWEVER, please don't try them at home. We'd hate to be responsible. My sincere thanks to Vickie, one of my favorite fanfic authors, for letting me write this one with her. It took us months to finish it but it was fun getting there. Also, a big thankyouverymuch to LuvPat, Sharon and Taura for their enthusiastic comments and applause and to Windsinger for her comments and editorial review! Vickie's words of wisdom: This story is part FOUR of a much longer work that I've entitled 'Dreams'. It stands alone, but if you are curious about how Mulder and Scully got married and pregnant, just ask and I'll send it along. Or post it if I get enough requests. Strong relationship warning. They are married, expecting and househunting. Esther again, sorry. I don't want to scare those of you off that think this is going to be a Fox is tortured, I'm married, expecting a baby what am I going to do story. There really is an honest to goodness X-File in here and not a lot of time for romance! Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television, et al. No infringement is intended. We love the show and are just borrowing the characters for a little mayhem. Any distribution of this story without the authors' consent is prohibited by law. If you would like to pass it along please let us know and make sure our names remain attached! We love feedback, so please send us some!!! The Brotherhood By Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net and Vickie Moseley,vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com The young Cherokee warrior held on to his prey easily. The white man was exhausted and disoriented from his long journey through the great plains and he barely put up a struggle when the Native American confronted him. As the two rode into the village loud chanting, almost cheering, erupted from every man, woman and child present. The white man squinted his eyes against the sun in a weak attempt to get his bearings and assess his surroundings. Where the hell was he and how the hell did he get here? The young warrior stopped his horse and got off. He surveyed the area slowly, a mixture of pride and determination etched on his lean, muscular face. He raised his hand and waited for the crowd that had gathered to settle down before speaking. When he did, he spoke in his native tongue, leaving the white man to stare at the crowd in search of an explanation. None were forthcoming, although he noted grimly that several of the women in the crowd were spiriting away the children from the scene, much to the little ones' dismay. Before he had a chance to dwell on this he was brusquely pulled off his horse by another Cherokee, slightly bigger and taller than his original captor. He landed hard on his hands and knees and had no time to recover before being dragged to a wide, wooden stake that stuck about six feet straight out of the ground. His two captors held him up swiftly and in no time at all had his hands and feet tied to the wooden stake. The ritual that followed took all of 20 minutes, but for the white man, a trespasser on holy land, it quickly became a blur of unimaginable proportions. The tribe was chanting again, a mesmerizing drone of rhythmic interplay that became the momentum for the drama that was unfolding before his very own eyes. Two young squaws approached him and, without saying a word, tore open his shirt. He could only stare as their nubile fingers wove brightly colored pigments into ageless mystical patterns across his chest. The work was done entirely with their hands and the paint felt cold on the white man's chest. When they were done, the squaws moved aside and the tribe cheered, marveling at their artistry. The women joined the crowd and four young male warriors, dressed in full battle regalia, joined the white man at the stake. Without hesitation, they began chanting and performing a ritual dance that made them circle their prisoner at a frantic pace. The chanting from the crowd grew deafening and was soon mixed in with the chanting of the four warriors. The white man could no longer tell what was coming from where. Which is why, when the chanting suddenly stopped, he didn't notice the four warriors standing on either side of him, or that his original captor was standing directly in front of him, a mere 10 feet away. When he realized what was happening, the arrow had already pierced his chest. ************** Jeremiah Miller woke up screaming. The pain in his chest was unbearable and the fear in his eyes was undeniable. His wife of 30 years, Dixie, was by his side, asking him questions he couldn't hear. Jeremiah grabbed his chest and glanced around the room they had called their own for the last six weeks. Was it really just a dream...? His last thought fell into oblivion as the pain in his chest intensified and he could no longer remain conscious. **************** It took Dixie Miller nearly 20 minutes to convince John Jacobs, the leader of the Yeomen Brotherhood, to call for an ambulance. And even then, he agreed only on the condition that Jeremiah go to the hospital alone. Dixie agreed reluctantly, knowing in her heart that she would never see her husband alive again. Dixie moved to John's side and searched for a pulse. It was weak, but it was still there. She barely heard John barking orders at the FBI agents outside the compound. She was lost in thought, stroking Jeremiah's hair, his chest, holding his hand. Her life with Jeremiah, the only man she had ever been with, had ever loved, was flashing before her. He was a good, hard-working, honest man, her husband. The two of them, like the rest of the Yeomen, didn't believe in the federal government, but that didn't mean they weren't good people. Dixie looked around her tiny room and wondered, not for the first time, how she and Jeremiah had gotten mixed up in such a fiasco. They had worked hard all their lives, never bothered anyone. Never cheated or hurt anyone. Live and let live had been their motto. And yet, here they were. Caught in the middle of a stand-off with the FBI that was getting more out of hand with every passing day. She had warned Jeremiah about John Jacobs. She had never trusted him and she knew that deep down Jeremiah didn't either. But the federal government was starting to ask too many questions, coming around a little too often. Things had started to get bleak and John seemed to have all the answers. A very charismatic man, John could sell ice to the Eskimos, it had been very easy for both of them to follow him to the compound. Even if they didn't trust him, his promises of a better future, his assurance of their freedom, because, after all, they were doing the right thing, had convinced them he was their only hope. At first they felt like they had done the right thing. John vindicated their beliefs like no one ever had. They felt like integral members of the team, secure in their convictions. It was only two weeks after coming to the compound, two weeks after John had barricaded them all from the outside world, that they began to notice inconsistencies in John's personality and behavior. He had always suffered from irrational mood swings, but suddenly, they were vicious and unprecedented. He could be downright mean, with no justification. The situation was exacerbated by bouts of heavy drinking, something most Yeomen were loathe to accept. Much less admire. John was smart enough to know this and during his bouts of drunkenness was particularly vicious and rude, making it impossible for anyone to comment, much less criticize, his intoxication. She and Jeremiah had decided almost two weeks ago that they had to leave the compound, but so far it had proven impossible. Jeremiah had been having nightmares that were leaving him drenched in sweat and shaking. He never wanted to talk about them, either when he woke from them or in the morning. He bacame quiet and reclusive, and Dixie had noticed he was practically fearful of his own shadow. Whatever the nightmares had been about, they had altered the man she had loved almost beyond her own recognition. But it wasn't just Jeremiah who was jumpy and ill at ease. It seemed that everyone in the compound was suffering from some form of stress or anxiety. Dixie closed her eyes and thought back to the first few days at the compound. Everyone was so cheerful and friendly. Comfortable in the belief that they were doing the right thing. It wasn't until about two weeks after they had gotten there, around the same time old man Parker died in his sleep, that things started to change. She had noticed a change almost immediately following Parker's burial within the compound's walls. At the time, she had attributed it to the somber mood a memorial service tends to instill. But now she realized it was more than that. Something changed that afternoon. She could feel it in the air. Just like she could feel her husband's life slipping away from her. She heard John's voice again, this time a little louder. "Put your hands up and keep them up," he said. Dixie left Jeremiah's side to see what was happening. A young paramedic, with a look of sheer terror on his face, was being frisked by John himself. Two of John's goonies, Bob and Henry, had their guns cocked and leveled at the young man. Before allowing him inside John searched the stretcher the paramedic had brought with him. Satisfied, John led him to Jeremiah's room. Dixie moved aside, unable to take her eyes off of her husband. "What happened?" asked the paramedic. "He woke up suddenly, screaming and holding his chest." Dixie tried hard to contain her tears, she was too angry at John to let him see how frightened she really was. The paramedic leaned over Jeremiah and started to feel for a pulse before John grabbed his hand and spun him around. "The deal is," he shouted, "you come in, take him away and do your medical know-how stuff later." Dixie could barely restrain herself. Her dark eyes were cold and she took a deep breath for fear of passing out. The paramedic looked at her apologetically before looking up to John. Although the young medic was almost six feet tall, John Jacobs towered over him. "I'll need some help getting him onto the stretcher," he said quietly. "Bob, get in here." Bob, John's favorite lackey, was in the room instantly. As far as Bob was concerned, there was nothing he wouldn't do for his fearless leader. An orphan since the age of three, John was the closest thing he had ever known to a father. It didn't matter that John treated him like dirt. Bob didn't know any better. John was the first person that ever acknowledged his existence and for this Bob would be eternally grateful. John didn't wait for Bob to speak, this whole mess with Jeremiah had already taken too much of his time. "I need you to help this medic here get old Jeremiah onto that stretcher, pronto." Bob nodded and looked to the paramedic for instructions. The paramedic was eager to get out of there too and gave his instructions quickly. Jeremiah was a big man and it took quite a bit of effort, mostly on Bob's part, to lift him onto the stretcher. The paramedic strapped in Jeremiah and hurried him out of the room. Dixie followed closely, stopping the young man at the door to look at her husband one last time. She took his hand and managed to whisper something in his ear before John pulled her back. "That's enough," he bellowed. "Get him out of here." The paramedic did as he was told, relieved when the door to the compound closed behind him. Dixie Miller refused to look at John Jacobs. The contempt she was feeling would do her no good. She had already lost Jeremiah and if she wasn't careful, she would lose herself very soon. At the moment, she could only hope for such an outcome. *************** Sawyer County Medical Center 4:30 A.M. Jeremiah Miller was precariously close to death when he arrived at the hospital. The paramedics had put him on IV's and oxygen before leaving the grounds of the compound, but his vitals were looking pretty grim. Since Jacobs had allowed the paramedic to ask few questions, the hospital staff had little to go on. The lead doctor on duty assumed Jeremiah had suffered a heart attack, but ordered chest x-rays to rule out any other possibilities. They were pumping nitroglycerin into him when the x-ray technician came running into the ER. "You're not going to believe this..." The young man was out of breath. He had just run down four flights of stairs and was waving the x-rays wildly about the room. "Here, give those to me." The head nurse took the x-rays from him and quickly placed them on the light table above the counter. "Oh my God." The nurse put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. Everyone in the room turned to face the x-rays and everyone reacted in the same manner. Jeremiah's x-ray showed the end of an arrow, at least four inches in length, right through his chest, a fraction of an inch from his heart. So shocked were the doctors and technicians in the room that it took them a moment to realize Jeremiah had flatlined. And although they tried to revive him, they knew all along it was a futile attempt. End chapter one From cenergy@earthlink.net Thu Oct 24 23:15:39 1996 The Brotherhood Chapter Two By Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net and Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net FBI Headquarters Monday 8:45 am Dana Scully sat with her glasses on, pouring over the newspaper open on her desk. Already the page was colored with five or six large neon yellow circles and from the highlighter poised in her hand, it was going to receive a few more. Her partner entered, carrying two mugs of coffee and set one down on her desk. "You can't possibly think we are going to have time to look at *all* those places on our lunch hour, Scully," he grumbled. "Good grief, that one's out in Garrett Park! Why, by the time we get there, we'll have to come back." "I'll narrow the field in a minute. Right now, I'm just looking at what is in our price range and the number of rooms we're looking for," she explained patiently. "Of course, we could just continue to live at my place and the baby could sleep in our room until college," she smiled sweetly. "You aren't funny when you're house hunting, Scully. You know that, don't you?" he shot back. "But could you at least give me the *front* part of the paper. I didn't get a chance to look at it yet." She shuffled the paper and handed him the section he wanted. "If you had gotten up when I did. . ." ". . .I would have had to wait for the shower, anyway," he finished and settled down at his own desk. "Oh, that reminds me. . ." "Two and a half baths, minimum. Yes, I remember," she said, not bothering to look up. He started to say something else and she raised her hand to stop him. "*And* two closets in the master bedroom. You know, the only places that meet your qualifications are pretty far out. I thought you wanted a close commute." "Don't tell me there aren't any places in Georgetown that have two and half bathrooms and decent closet space," he said in disbelief. "Oh, sure, there are tons. Of course, we might have to move into Bank Fraud--on the *other* side of the law, to afford one of them," she chided. They read in relative silence for a few minutes. It had been a long weekend, spent housecleaning and sorting, combining households. Mulder had finally decided paying rent on two places was foolish, especially since the Bureau now officially knew they were married. In order to avoid another month's payment, they had to move or sell everything from his apartment during the previous two weeks. They moved the last box late Sunday afternoon and collapsed in exhaustion immediately after. When Dana woke up, she realized that getting a bigger place, with *more* closet space, was now imperative. Fox got up and started digging through the file cabinet. "Scully, have you seen. . ." "Not if *you* filed it," came the terse reply. Filing had never been high on his list of required office procedures and had long been a sore point between them. In the past, his partner might have felt obligated to help him search for the missing file, an activity she referred to as 'looking for the needle.' But after two weeks of searching for missing items in their own apartment while they were finding places to keep everything, she was not feeling that helpful. He grunted something unintelligible and continued digging. Ten minutes later and he was still digging through drawers, but with such abandon that he was threatening to tip them over. "Mulder, what the hell are you looking for?" she asked sharply. "A date?" he teased and his eyes were twinkling. "Your *dating days* are over, mister," she said dryly. "Come on, I'll help," she added with a heavy sigh. "Just tell me what you're looking for." "A map of Montana," he replied. "USGS?" "Not exactly," he murmured, rifling through a file folder. Finally he held up some stapled pages. "This map." Scully could not contain herself. She got up from her desk and walked over to his. He was pulling apart the stapled pages and laying them across what little level surface he had on his desk. "Mulder, there are no roads on that map," Scully noted, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. It's a map of Indian burial grounds. Or at least a partial map. I got it from Albert Holstein. He has a friend who has a friend. Anyway, I saw something in the paper that got me curious." "Indian burial grounds? Don't tell me we're going to go 'grave robbing', Mulder. And no, I have no intention of trying to perform an autopsy on a 400 year old Sioux warrior," she added for his information. "No, I don't think that's necessary, not yet, at least," he said absently. "I was just reading about one of those 'anti-taxation' groups up in the mountains. Apparently, there has been a death up there. The circumstances are suspicious, and so far, unexplained." "How suspicious? Maybe they're trying to cover up a murder," Scully suggested. "Actually, that's what they're accusing. They think the government is bombarding the place with microwaves, and this guy died of it," Mulder said, handing her the paper. "They took the guy into the local hospital. He bleed to death. But Scully, they have no idea how he received the wound." "A knife fight over the last Bud Light, perhaps?" Scully said derisively, but her attention was on the newspaper article. "According to this, the county Medical Examiner has the death listed as 'accidental'? Maybe he fell on a hunting knife." She handed the paper back to Mulder. "Of course, you don't think it was accidental," she said taunting him. "Well, Scully, if you read a little farther you'll see that the ME also reports that the man died of 'extreme blood loss with no corresponding entry wound'. The man bled to death from inside, Scully." He smiled at her expression of disbelief. he thought. "Mulder, that could have been from an aneurism. They aren't restricted to the brain, you know," she said, turning back to her part of the paper. "Yeah, I know that, but according to this map, there are several burial grounds in that area of Montana" he continued. "It's possible this group stumbled on top of something that should have been left undisturbed." "And you think the ghosts of Indian braves are giving people aneurisms? Keep this up and you'll give *me* an aneurism! Even so, I don't think Skinner is going to agree. . ." She was interrupted by the phone ringing. "Mulder," he said into the phone and as he listened he looked over at her and wiggled his eyebrows. "We'll be right up," he said, hanging up the phone. "Well, my love, we get to have that question answered in person. Our presence is requested." He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on as she headed out the doorway ahead of him. The Assistant Director was ready to see them when they arrived and his assistant ushered them into the office. "Have a seat," Walter Skinner directed them toward the only two chairs near his desk. He was holding a file folder and flipping through the pages. "I assume you are familiar with the 'Yeoman Brotherhood'?" he asked, not looking up. A knowing grin spread across Mulder's face. "I was just familiarizing myself with their latest claims when we got your call, sir." He glanced over at Scully and smiled even wider at the slow shaking of her head. he thought to himself. "Well, as you know then, the situation is growing more tense every day. The latest incident, this death of one of the men, has really put a strain on the negotiations. The Brotherhood are convinced the man, Jeremiah Miller, died of wounds he received at the hands of one of the agents. Of course, that is completely unsubstantiated." "Sir, do we have a copy of the autopsy?" Scully asked. "We do, Agent Scully and that poses a particular problem. I know that the media has widely quoted the coroner's office as saying that the death was accidental. It's a little more complicated than that." Skinner handed Scully the file from his desk. She sat in silence, reading until she hit one line that was highlighted. "That's impossible!" she exclaimed. "Now, where have we heard *that* before?" Mulder muttered with a grin. Then, louder, he asked "What is it, Dana?" Skinner flashed him a glare. It was the first time he had ever known Mulder to call his partner by anything other than her last name. he mused. The AD wasn't sure about the arrangements he had made and this would be the first real test. He was putting his own 'hind quarters' on the line by allowing the two agents to remain acting as partners after they married. All of the Bureau hierarchy was breathing down his neck. Hopefully this case wouldn't be too hot to handle for them. "Mulder, on the x ray they found an *arrow* in the guy's heart! Imbedded there. It caused the massive blood loss, of course." She was talking while she was reading. "But then, upon further examination of the body, there was nothing there. It was like it was a 'ghost' or something," she muttered, more to herself than the two men sitting in the room with her. "Gee, I think I might have mentioned something like this in the office," he said with a bemused expression. "But that was just a newspaper account and it didn't mention the x ray. This is the actual autopsy. The arrow showed up on X rays," Scully whispered. "But that's," "Impossible, yeah, you said that," Mulder replied, taking the file from her and reading through it himself. "So, I take it we get tickets to Montana?" he asked the Assistant Director. "But not for the reason you suspect. You are being added to the negotiation team, Mulder. Seems that some people remember how you handled yourself during the Berry hostage situation," Skinner replied and watched both faces before him for a reaction. To their credit, both agents kept their emotions to themselves. "They want your behavioral background, as well. This John Jacobs character has all the earmarks of another Jim Jones. And Agent Scully, the coroner would like your opinion on the death. The body has not yet been buried, they are holding it for you." "Oh, joy," Mulder mumbled. Scully shot him one of her Looks and shut him up. "But sir, if there is some chance. . ." "Agent Mulder, I expect your hands will be quite full with keeping this from turning into another 'Waco'. If you can find the time *on your own* to investigate the 'paranormal' aspects, by all means, be my guest. I figure that would be sometime between 2 and 6 in the morning." It was almost undetectable, but Scully was positive there was a gleam in Skinner's eyes. "Now, if that's all, you are dismissed." "Can your mom keep the mutt," Mulder asked his wife as they headed back to the basement. "Yeah, probably. We can drop him off on the way to the airport. Tell you what, I'll go pick up the dry cleaning and grab our bags now, you make the reservations," Scully was talking and getting her purse at the same time, not bothering to look up. "Hey, stop a minute," he ordered. "Do you realize what this is?" She looked at him with great curiosity. "What?" "This," he said, moving to her and taking her in his arms, "is our first case as husband and wife." He kissed her passionately on the lips. "The operative word here is 'case', Fox. We can't mix business with pleasure. Not on the job. That would guarantee our separation, and you know it." She reached up and kissed him on the nose. "So get ready to take some nice, cold showers, big guy." She started out the door, but stopped when she saw his disappointment. "Of course, that doesn't mean the 'homecoming' won't be something to look forward to," she hinted seductively. He rewarded her effort to cheer him with a leering grin. Somewhere over Iowa 7:30 pm The only flight available had an hour layover in St. Louis and the meal had been less than hoped for. The inflight movie was 'Jumanji' and as much as Scully liked Robin Williams, it was too close to real life for her liking. So, she decided to use the time to catch up on the Yeoman Brotherhood while her husband snored on her shoulder. One thing married life had accomplished was a decided improvement in Fox Mulder's sleep habits. He was now known to even suggest 'going to bed early', but of course, sleep was not the first item on the agenda. Still, even with the 'marital encounters' aside, he was averaging 7 to 8 hours of sleep a night, a new life time high, if she believed his mother and his own accounts. But by sleeping on the plane, she was sure that he would be awake half the night once they arrived. The idea of separate, but connected rooms was looking better all the time. Besides, she had convinced herself that if they 'needed' to be closer, they could. The idea that they should maintain some distance was a mutual decision, and she was going to try her best to make sure they abided by it. she reminded herself. She sighed, and allowed herself the luxury of rubbing her head against his as it lay on her shoulder. Somehow, she knew this case was going to try her patience, on several levels. She turned her attention back to the material on her laptray. It appeared to Scully that the Yeomen Brotherhood had been pushing their luck for quite some time. The more she read the more she wondered how they had evaded law enforcement as long as they had. Their basic claim, that the IRS and FBI were unconstitutional, gave them the impetus to establish their own common law government a few years back. With the strength of their self-imposed rules, they refused to pay any taxes and developed their own banking system. A system that, for all intents and purposes, was not viable in the mainstream. The Brotherhood, however, seemed to miss this minor detail and started using their own checks and money orders all over town. It was just a matter of time before the local merchants started complaining and the local authorities started asking questions. One thing led to another and suddenly the Brotherhood was threatening to kidnap the local police chief. Enter the FBI. The Brotherhood retreats into their compound, deep in the woods of Montana, 30 miles from the nearest town. That had been four weeks ago. So far the Brotherhood had refused every offer the FBI had presented them with and were now going on about communicating with God. Scully rolled her eyes. Mulder was going to love this. Apparently, God had told the Yeomen not to leave the compound. So now they had a direct line to God himself. Scully closed her eyes. She thought about the dead man and the inexplicable arrow that had shown up in his x-ray and during the autopsy, yet with no puncture or break in the skin. The whole thing was disconcerting. It gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She opened her eyes and continued reading. When she finished the article, the steward was announcing their arrival. It was time to wake Fox and let the games begin. Billings, Montana 6:45 P.M. It was decided on the plane that they would rent two cars. Mulder needed to get out to the compound and Scully to the Coroner's office. The compound was 30 miles from town and Scully didn't want to be left at the coroner's office without a car. Who knew how long Mulder would be gone. If the situation continued the way it was going, it could be days, if not weeks, before anything was settled. It was anyone's guess at this point. The two agents said their goodbyes at the rental car agency. And although Scully tried to remain distant and professional, Mulder couldn't resist stealing a kiss. "Mulder..." Scully gave him a sideways glance. "Come on Scully, just one for the road. Who knows when we'll see each other again." Mulder was pathetically cute and annoying at the same time and Scully couldn't help but tease. "You've already had your quota for today, Mulder. With any luck we won't see each other until you've racked up some more points." She put her hand on his shoulder and softened her expression a bit. "Be careful out there, okay? Don't do anything stupid." "Scully..." Mulder's mock dismay disappeared when he looked into her eyes. "I won't do anything stupid," he finally said. "I'd be stupid to do anything stupid having you to come back to." She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and headed for her rental car. "I'll call you when I'm done," she shouted and disappeared inside her car. Mulder smiled at the image of his wife inside the big Buick Skylark. She was so small he couldn't see her head above the front seat. The image made him smile all the way to his own Buick. ********* It was dark by the time Scully found the coroner's office. Although it was after hours, she knew they were holding the body just for her personal assessment and she didn't think anyone would mind working overtime. This case had come to her attention only that morning and already she was wishing it was over. She could only imagine that the local authorities felt the same way. The pathologist in charge, Henry Adair, was anxiously awaiting her arrival and greeted her at the door. "Dr. Scully, I assume?" Scully nodded, noticing the dark circles under the man's blue eyes, she correctly assumed this case was getting to him too. She guessed he was about 35 years old, mainly by the Levis and workboots he was wearing, along with the Tom Petty t-shirt. His appearance was another matter altogether. Scully knew the look and figured he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, if any, in the last 24 hours. "I'm sorry I'm late," Scully said as way of introduction. "We couldn't get a direct flight and then I got lost on the way here." "We?" The young coroner was only expecting one agent. "My partner and I flew out together. He's been assigned to the negotiation team on the Brotherhood case. He's on his way to the compound as we speak." Scully pictured Mulder in his rental car, listening to some God awful radio station and she suddenly missed him terribly. She gathered her thoughts in time to hear the end of whatever it was Dr. Adair had been saying to her. "...it was quite a shock as you can imagine." Scully nodded absently. Dr. Adair was leading her to the back of the building. No doubt to Jeremiah Miller's body. "I've read your autopsy report Dr. and I've also seen a copy of the x-ray taken in the emergency room," Scully was looking around the tiny room where Jeremiah's body was patiently waiting for her. "What do you make of it, off the record?" Dr. Adair smiled. He liked this woman. Pretty. Obviously smart or they wouldn't have asked him to hold the body for her inspection. Unfortunately, he thought grimly, she's wearing a very nice ring on her left hand. She belonged to someone else. "Off the record," he said, smiling nervously, "I have no idea what to make of it. The x-ray showed what looks like the tip of an arrow, approximately four inches in length. The autopsy, as you already know, revealed nothing of the sort. However, the internal damage was such that I can think of very few other things that might have been the culprit." "Such as?" Scully was putting on a surgical gown and looking for those latex gloves Mulder liked to tease her about. "Such as a knife wound," Dr. Adair answered slowly. "But again, there was no outside damage. No puncture wounds. I'm completely stumped on this one. I can tell you he died of massive internal bleeding and I can tell you it was caused by a sharp object. But beyond that..." Dr. Adair paused and stared at Jeremiah's lifeless form before continuing. "I can't begin to tell you what the object was, how it got in there in the first place and, worse yet, where the hell it went." The young doctor was obviously perplexed and a little embarrassed by his inability to solve the riddle of Jeremiah's death. Under different circumstances he might have resented the big shots in Washington sending in one of their own. But in this particular case, he was thankful. The Brotherhood had been in the news for far too long in this part of town and he just wanted the mystery solved and out of his hair. Scully spent the next four hours going over the doctor's notes, checking and rechecking every step of the autopsy. She practically re-did the entire procedure, only to conclude that Dr. Adair had conducted the autopsy of Jeremiah Miller entirely by the book and extremely well. Unfortunately, the mystery remained, and in the end she was just as perplexed as Dr. Adair. She took off her surgical mask and turned to the doctor, who had been sitting patiently, available to her in case she had any questions. Scully felt a twinge of guilt when she realized the good doctor had nodded off. "Um...I...I'm finished," Scully said, raising her voice a little to get his attention. The poor man practically jumped off his seat before he remembered where he was. The fact that he was in a room with a pretty woman and a dead body didn't escape him and he forced himself to swallow his smile. Just my luck, he thought to himself, I'm up late with a woman like Dana Scully and I can't keep my eyes open. "I'm sorry, Dr. Scully," he said with a half yawn. "It's been a long 48 hours." "I figured as much," Scully answered sympathetically. "No need to apologize to me. Been there. Done that." Dr. Adair smiled in return for the sympathy. "Did you find anything? Solve the mystery?" he asked sincerely. "I'm afraid not," Scully replied. She had taken off her gown and was heading to the front office. She had seen enough of Jeremiah Miller to keep him etched in her mind for quite a while and was beginning to find the autopsy room confining. "I found nothing you hadn't already documented. Massive blood loss, the puncture wound inside the chest cavity. No visible marks of any kind on the outer chest. I'm just as dumbfounded as you." This was an X-File if ever she'd seen one and poor Mulder wasn't there to enjoy it. To postulate his own farfetched ideas and to drive her crazy with them. "Well, I have to say, Dr. Scully," Dr. Adair was smiling, "on the one hand I'm relieved I didn't miss something major, like an ancient Blackfoot arrowhead playing hide and seek behind the guy's liver. On the other hand, I'm sorry you didn't find anything new. This is going to drive me crazy." "I know what you mean," Scully answered, distracted. "Were the Blackfoot Indians native to this part of the country?" she asked. "Yes, they were. It was probably no more than 50-60 years ago since their last village was eradicated. Lots of great Native American lore comes out of the backwoods of Montana and the Blackfoot play a predominant part in almost all of it. And the Sioux Indians too, of course. But the Blackfoot were here first." Dr. Adair looked at Scully curiously. "Why do you ask?" "No reason really. Just wondering." She wasn't sure what made her ask the question. It was a Mulder question if ever there was one. She wrapped up the conversation with Dr. Adair and promised to come back in the morning to compare her findings with his one more time. It was past midnight and she still had to find a motel to check into. Dr. Adair gave her directions to the nearest one and she was soon on her way, wondering, not for the first time that evening, how Mulder was getting along. She knew he would have called her if he was headed back into town so she assumed he was pulling an all-nighter. Once settled in her room she would try him on his cellular. ********** Mulder's trip to the outback of Montana was pretty uneventful. Once he was willing to admit he was lost that is, and pulled into a roadside diner for directions. The elderly man behind the counter was more than eager to give the tall stranger the directions he needed. "Been a lot of stuff going on out there lately," the man ventured, half question, half statement. "Yep. There sure has been," Mulder answered. It was obvious the old man wanted to talk and Mulder, he of the insatiable curiosity, couldn't help himself and ordered a cup of coffee. "Anything new come out of there recently?" It was the invitation the old man needed to pull up a stool and start talking. Unfortunately, none of what he had to say was anything that Mulder hadn't already read or heard about. Until he got to the Brotherhood's activities from earlier that day. Apparently, John Jacobs' blinding accusations had become more fierce and vicious and he was claiming a government wide conspiracy to tear him and his group apart. He had been spouting off at the mouth for most of the day and had sworn he would take down one federal agent for every one of his brothers that died. "I guess that means you better watch your back when you get there," the old man finished. Mulder had already paid and was on his was out when the man's words made him stop. "How did you know..." "I just know," the man interrupted. "My great, great, great grandfather was a Blackfoot healer. My grandmother used to tell me as a boy I had his knack for knowing things. You may look like you belong in these parts, with your jeans and big boots, but you're more out of place here than a penguin in the springtime." Mulder laughed at the analogy and thanked the man for the coffee. He barely heard the old man reminding him to watch his back as the crickety door to the diner closed behind him. Armed with a new set of directions, Mulder made it out to the Yeomen Brotherhood's compound in just under an hour. The last five miles were pretty treacherous, mostly steep, dirt roads along the side of a mountain, and Mulder was glad when he spotted the first roadblock that signified he had found his temporary home away from home. The agent in charge, Spencer Thornley, was actually happy to see him. "Agent Mulder," he said, extending his hand out to him, "I'm glad you're here. We've had a hell of a day. I'm hoping a new face will pump up my men." "Whatever you need me to do, Sir, I'm here to help." Mulder instantly liked the rugged agent. He reminded him of an aging Marlboro man, with a little less hair and a few extra pounds. "Can you fill me in on the day's activities?" he quickly added. Agent Thornley's account was very similar to the old man's, except for the fact that one of the Brotherhood had snuck out two hours earlier and shot and killed a young agent. The Brother was back in the compound before anyone had a chance to react and Thornley had called all his men back, in an attempt to regroup and reassess. "An eye for an eye," Mulder said quietly. "I take it news of the dead agent hasn't made it to the media?" Probably why the old man didn't know about it, Mulder thought. "No, not yet." Thornley answered. They were making their way to a makeshift camp, about 300 yards from the compound. "It's just going to be a matter of time, though. The media has been on this case like vultures since Jeremiah Miller's death." Thornley introduced Mulder to a few other men before continuing. "Agent Mulder," he said, to no one in particular, "has a very fine reputation in these kinds of negotiations. We're lucky the bureau could spare him." "Let's wait and see what you have to say when this is all over," Mulder mused, trying to deflect some of the uncomfortable attention and praise. Thornley smiled, something Mulder didn't think the man had done in quite a while, and sat down, motioning to the younger agent to do the same. Agent Thornley had been the agent in charge since the standoff had started, nearly six weeks earlier, and he had done everything in his power, and by the book, to negotiate a peaceful settlement. Now one of his men was dead and the Brotherhood was threatening more violence. "If it was up to me, at this point," he was saying, "I would just tear gas the place and wait for them to come out." "And the reason you won't do that?" Mulder asked. "My hands are tied, Agent Mulder. So afraid is the attorney general's office of another Waco, remember, this is an election year, that I've been asked to handle this case with kid gloves. Sit and wait is about the only option they've left me." Mulder made a face and thought about the situation. If force was out of the question they would have to negotiate harder, offer more perks, fewer penalties. But beyond that, he would have to get inside Jacobs' head and figure out exactly what intangibles would appeal to and appease the megalomaniac of the hour. It was well past midnight when Mulder felt he had asked enough questions and gotten enough answers regarding John Jacobs and his 'brothers'. He was about to ask another question when his cellular rang. It was all he could do to keep from smiling. He knew it would be Scully but, of course, he answered professionally and without a trace of a smile. "Mulder." "Hi, it's me." "Hi. Where are you?" Mulder quickly glanced at Agent Thornley and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thornley could feel Mulder's hesitancy and decided to leave the young man to his personal call. Probably the little lady checking in, he thought, and quickly excused himself to get a cup of coffee. "I've just checked into the Round Robin Motor Lodge." "Hmm, sounds inviting." Mulder hadn't realized how tired he was until he heard his wife's sleepy voice. "So what's going on?" "Seems like Jacobs and his 'brothers' have had a pretty busy day." Mulder briefly told Scully everything that had happened that day and then listened intently while she described her evening at the coroner's office. "I told Dr. Adair I would go back in the morning to go over a few more things with him. But after that, I'm done. Nothing else for me to do really." Scully was starting to yawn. "Maybe you should fly back to Washington tomorrow afternoon then," Mulder said. "I don't know how long I'll be needed here. Could be a day, could be a week. Who knows." Scully hesitated before answering. Was he being overprotective, not wanting her to put in long hours at the compound with him because she was pregnant? Because she was his wife? Was he just being considerate? Or was he too tired and busy to give it much thought one way or the other? "We'll see, Mulder," she finally said. "I was thinking of driving out to the compound tomorrow afternoon. I take it you're not coming back into town tonight?" "No," he was shaking his head. "There's some cots out here. I think I'll just crash on one of them tonight." "I'll miss you," Scully said seductively. "I thought we weren't allowed any of that on this trip," he argued meekly. "We're not," she answered matter of factly. "But I can still pretend." Mulder smiled. He missed her too. "Call me after you've met with the coroner, *before* heading out here." That was definitely not a request. More like an order. Had she not been so tired she might have responded harshly, but instead, she took his overprotectiveness with a grain of salt, and told herself to discuss it with him tomorrow. When she drove out to the compound. ********** Sometime around two a.m. Mulder found a cot to call his own. He had spent the last hour and a half going over a plan for the next day with Agent Thornley, until it was obvious neither one could think straight. It was decided that Mulder would try and get John Jacobs on the phone early in the morning. At which point the goal was to get Jacobs to trust Mulder to the point of inviting him inside the compound, so they could negotiate privately. After nearly six weeks, the FBI had no idea what was on the other side of the compound's walls. They knew the Brotherhood was armed, but they didn't know exactly with what or how armed they really were. Was it a couple of guns or an arsenal? There was so much they still didn't know. So much they needed to know, if they were going to end this peacefully. Mulder's head was spinning, full of facts he had had to absorb in the last 12 hours. It was after four when he finally fell asleep. *********** Scully was in Dr. Adair's office by eight, eager to compare her notes with his and find her way to the compound. After three hours and another look inside Jeremiah Miller's chest cavity, they still had nothing conclusive. Yes, he died of massive internal bleeding. Probably from a puncture wound. But what caused the wound and how it happened, remained a mystery. By the time she left the coroner's office it was noon. She had told herself the night before she would just drive out to the compound, not let him know she was coming. But now she decided maybe she should warn him. Let him be prepared for her arrival. His cellular rang six times before it was answered. "Thornley." "Hello?" Scully held her breath. Who was Thornley? Was that the agent in charge? She thought she remembered the name from the case file. And where was Mulder? "Yes, this is agent Thornley. Who's this?" "Agent Dana Scully. Agent Mulder's," she hesitated. She wanted to scream, I'm his wife dammit. Where the hell is he? Instead she said, "partner. Where is Agent Mulder?" she added quickly. "Agent Scully, this is Spencer Thornley, the agent in charge. Agent Mulder is actually in talking with John Jacobs right now." "WHAT?" It was getting difficult for her to breathe. "Amazing," Agent Thornley was saying. "We've been working this thing for six weeks, not even getting to the point where Jacobs would agree to talk to the same agent more than once and Mulder gets a personal invitation into the compound after a two hour conversation this morning. He's just as good as his reputation, your partner. If not better. This may be the first break we've had." Thornley was obviously pleased with the situation. Dana Scully was not. If she knew Mulder, he was working on two hours sleep and an empty stomach. Inside some psycho's head, trying to figure out what made him tick. She shook her head and spoke slowly. "How long has he been in there?" she asked. "About two hours." "Have you heard from him?" "He called about twenty minutes ago. Said everything was fine." "Okay, well, if he calls again tell him..." Scully was at a loss for words. Tell him what? That his 'partner' wants to kill him? "Never mind. Don't tell him anything. I'm on my way." She hung up without waiting for a response and practically had to peel her fingers from the phone, so tightly was she holding on to it. If she hadn't been vacillating between anger and worry she might have noticed the beautiful scenery on the way to the compound. As it was, when she arrived, she couldn't remember how she got there. ********** John Jacobs voice was beginning to sound like a drone and Mulder had to admit to himself that he was tired. He wished he had taken Thornley up on his offer of a stale bagel earlier that morning. It's the good married life, he thought wistfully, Dana's spoiled me with decent sleep and food. During his career with the FBI Mulder had met many men like John Jacobs. Little men like Robert Modell, men who craved power at any cost. To themselves or to others. It didn't matter. In the case of John Jacobs, it was obvious his charisma and good looks had played a big part in his current status as the leader of the Yeoman Brotherhood. He was at least 6'5", with the brawny look of a logger. Mulder knew he was 42, but he easily could have passed for someone 10 years younger. He had dark, wavy hair and blue eyes that framed the perfect oval face, right down to a dark, short cropped beard. Not exactly the picture of madness one would expect. Then again, Mulder thought, half smiling, neither is Phoebe Green. None of the other 20 or so members in the compound, men or women, looked like they could kill a fly without asking for Jacobs' permission. Intelligence, of course, was a factor. He may be off his rocker, but he was a smart man off his rocker. Quite a dangerous combination. Mulder looked around him carefully, making sure Jacobs didn't notice. He had managed to scan the place pretty well in the last couple of hours. The compound was roughly 5000 square feet, that much he knew from the plans Thornley had shown him the night before, and he had already figured out where most of the rooms were. The two men were seated at a table that was off to one side of the large living room. There were a few old couches in the center of the room and someone was sleeping in one of them. Other than Jacobs, who was as animated as Daffy Duck on speed, everyone else Mulder had seen in the compound was very low-key. Jumpy almost. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew something was slightly amiss with the Brotherhood clan. Jacobs was going on about communicating with God, repeating "God's exact words" for the third time, when Mulder noticed the man on the couch shifting uncomfortably in his sleep. He was a tall man, who's feet were hanging over the side of the loveseat he was sleeping on. Despite the fact that he was completely bald, Mulder guessed he was in his twenties. The young man was shaking his head slowly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His breathing was becoming rapid and shallow. He was grunting. Fighting to move his arms but unable to. As if someone was holding them down. Jacobs was so caught up in his own reverie about God he was totally unaware of the drama unfolding just 20 feet away from him. Mulder was about to stand up, to say something, anything, that would end the poor man's dilemma, when the man screamed. A blood curdling, high pitched, panic-stricken scream. Mulder was on his feet instantly, on his way to the couch, when he felt a gun on his back. "You move and you're dead." *********** It was nearly three in the afternoon and Dana Scully was getting nervous. Mulder hadn't been in contact since earlier that morning and even Thornley, ever the Mulder cheerleader, was starting to pace. When the phone in the tent rang, they both jumped. "Thornley." He listened patiently before responding. "Let me talk to Agent Mulder." Scully couldn't take her eyes off of Thornley. His expression betrayed nothing. Like a good cop, she thought dryly. "Agent Mulder is this true?" Thornley was listening again. "All right then. Very well. Give us a couple of minutes." He hung up and looked at Scully. "Someone in the compound is ill. Apparently woke up screaming, grabbing his head before passing out. Jacobs wants us to send in a paramedic to take a look at him." "What about Agent Mulder?" Scully was having a hard time containing herself. Keeping her emotions in check. "Jacobs doesn't want him to leave just yet. Says they still have a lot of talking to do." "Is Mulder okay?" "He seems to be, Agent Scully," Thornley was walking past her, in search of a medic. "If you'll excuse me, I have to find someone I can send in." Scully grabbed the agent's arm. "Send me." "What? Agent Scully I need a paramedic, a..." "I'm a medical doctor Agent Thornley. Send me in." Scully was practically pleading and she was hoping her expression wasn't betraying her. "You're a doctor? But I thought..." Thornley was slightly taken aback. He had taken a liking to this agent. What little conversation they had shared, he had been impressed with her knowledge of the case and her concern for her partner. Maybe sending her in would be a good idea. If Mulder was in any trouble who better than his partner to watch his back. And vice versa. "Please send me in. I'm a doctor and a trained agent. You're not going to get a better combination in such a short amount of time." Scully was already handing Thornley her gun, so strong was her resolve. Thornley shook his head. "Okay," he agreed. "If you're sure it's what you want to do." "I'm sure," Scully answered. "Just show me the way." FBI team outside Brotherhood Compound 2:15 pm Agent Thornley stood working his jaw as one of his agents adjusted the bulletproof vest on Scully. "I'm assuming Agent Mulder has one of these as well," she asked, making a minor adjustment at the shoulders. <This is a little tight around the middle,> she noted and wondered how long it would be before this kind of activity would be out of the question. For the moment, no one was going to stop her from following Mulder to hell and back, or to right where he was at present. Thornley rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, to tell the truth, he didn't want one. Said it would show a lack of faith," the older agent said and the look on his face showed that he wasn't sure that was such a good idea. Scully's eyes flashed, but she kept her anger in check. "He frequently has delusions of immortality," she said dryly and added a half hearted attempt at a smile. Thornley shook his head and smiled back. "Should we consider a wire?" one of Thornley's agents asked. "No," Scully answered before Thornley had the chance. "If Mulder was worried about a vest, I think finding a wire would really spook them. I'll be fine. So far, we really don't know what's going on in there. I don't want to start something we can't control." Thornley nodded in agreement. If he had other ideas, he kept them to himself. "Here's a medical kit," a fourth agent said, handing her a small box approximately the size of a toolbox. "It's not much, just what we had around. Mostly bandages, sutures, but no real drugs of any kind. If it's worse than that, we should really get the guy out. They let the other guy out, you know, by ambulance." "Yeah, and he died. I doubt they're going to be as accommodating now," Scully said ruefully. "Well, better get this show on the road." She reached over and took one of the ballcaps that had been lying on the hood of the car, tucking her hair up under it. She caught Thornley's questioning gaze. "No use giving away all of our secrets, now, is there?" Thornley smiled again and shook his head. "Good luck, Scully," he said and waved the rest of the agents back to give her room to move toward the compound. "Luck has nothing to do with it," she muttered to herself and started across the spring grass to the door of the low clapboard building. ------------ Inside the Brotherhood compound "You a doctor?" Jacobs asked as he divided his attention between Mulder and the ailing man on the couch. "No, I just know one really well," Mulder explained calmly. "From the looks of it, that man is experiencing either the worst migraine in the history of the world, or some kind of aneurism. If it's the latter, you need to get him to a hospital immediately. Waiting will only kill him." "Well, it seems the last time we sent someone to the hospital, he died anyway," Jacobs spat out. "I'm willing to let a paramedic look at him, but he's not leaving this compound, understood?" Mulder nodded in compliance and sat watching the door. So far, negotiations were going about as well as he had expected. <This mess has been building up for over a month, it ain't going away in a couple of hours,> he reminded himself when his patience had been wearing thin. But at least, so far, no more agents had died. Then, neither had anyone inside the compound. Jacobs was convinced that the first old man had died of something in the water. Something put there by the FBI. Hence, the 'eye for an eye' philosophy that had led to the death of the agent. Now, another member of the Brotherhood appeared stricken, mysteriously so and that did not bode well for a peaceful completion of the talks. <Thank God Scully hasn't called,> he thought. <She'd be out here in a flash and pounding at the door, guns drawn. Hopefully she's still tied up with the autopsy. Hopefully, she won't have any more to worry about too soon,> he added with more than a little trepidation. "Somebody's coming," shouted the man at the door. "Describe them," Jacobs ordered. "One guy, short fella. Wearing a blue uniform. Looks like the paramedics that were here the other night, took Jer. He's got a first aid kit, from the looks of it," came the reply. "When he gets to the door, pat him down, *outside*. Then search the kit for weapons. If he's clean, let him in. Otherwise, kill him," Jacobs said evenly. Mulder closed his eyes and prayed Thornley was still treating this with kid gloves. He didn't really want to watch an execution in progress, he was fairly certain the one immediately following would be his own. At the approach of the 'paramedic', the man at the door went out. After a few minutes, he opened the door, ushering the uniformed person into the room. Mulder was too preoccupied with the convulsive movements of the man on the couch to notice who had entered. Scully kept her head down, and walked steadily over to the couch. She purposefully avoided looking at her husband. <Partner,> she chided herself. <If he's your partner, you both stand a fairly good chance of getting out alive. That might not be the case if he's your husband.> Once to the couch, she knelt down and began examining the patient. The man was obviously in intense pain. He was also in shock. His pulse was rapid and erratic, his breath coming in short gasps. He had his hands pressing against his temples in an effort to alleviate the pain. When Scully checked his eyes they were dilated. There were no signs of aneurism, no blood around either of the pupils, but Scully was not willing to rule out that possiblity. "This man needs to be in a hospital," she announced and at the sound of her voice all the men in the room turned and stared. Especially Special Agent Fox Mulder, who couldn't hide the panic in his eyes. "Well, he's staying put. That's how you've been managing to kill off my men already. I can see a Trojan Horse. We aren't letting anyone else out," Jacobs commanded. "Then this man is going to die," Scully said forcefully. "There is a very good possiblity that a blood vessel in his brain has broken. Without surgery, he will bleed to death. I have some bandages and aspirin in this kit. Neither of them is what he needs." "He's not leaving," Jacobs shouted, letting his voice echo off the walls. Mulder recovered from his shock quickly and looked around at the other men in the room. They all look frightened. Each one of them wondered what was going to happen next. He needed to get control of the situation and fast. "Jacobs, be reasonable," Mulder said calmly, slowly. "Let this man go to the hospital. He doesn't have to die. . ." Jacobs reacted with lightning speed. He reached into the holster on his belt and drew his gun, raising it up and then bringing the grip down on Mulder's temple with the speed of a rocket. The force of the blow was enough to drop the agent to the floor, unconscious. Then Jacobs turned the gun around and held the barrel at Mulder's forehead. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," he hissed. Then he kicked the fallen agent square in the ribs with all his might. "For now, just shut the hell up!" Scully stood there, stunned. She forced herself to be still, even though the impulse to run over to her husband was almost more than she could control. Jacobs turned slowly and faced her. "Do what you can," he ordered, "and pray it's enough. Because if Bo dies, he dies," he gestured toward Mulder's still form on the ground. Scully nodded in understanding and turned back to the man on the couch. "The Fibbie ain't no use to you dead," a woman's voice said from the far side of the room. A tiny woman, no more than 5 feet tall and probably weighing less than 90 pounds rose from a chair and walked slowly toward Jacobs. "This is no business of yours, Dixie," Jacobs growled. "Just go on back to your cooking." "Look, John. I might not be one of your 'men', but I have a brain. You throw out another dead agent and this place goes up in smoke. Those are Feds out there. They've been holding off up till now, but they ain't gonna stand for this kind of killing," Dixie said evenly, not backing down an inch. "They killed your husband, you stupid bitch," Jacobs yelled at her. "You think I forgot that?" she shouted back. "My Jeremiah's dead," she said sadly. "I have nothing left to lose. But there is no reason that everyone here needs to die. Not like this. Or are you too stupid to handle this without killing all of us?" she challenged. Jacobs' anger flashed again, but he knew better than to hurt the tiny woman. He glanced around the room and realized that his men would follow him far, but not to the point of watching him harm the widow of one of their comrades. After chewing on his lip a moment he slowly formed an evil caricature of a smile. "You might just be right after all, Dixie. He might be worth more alive than dead." He turned his attention back to Scully and pointed to Mulder on the floor. "When you get a chance, make sure he doesn't die on us. Not till we're ready for it, at least," he laughed cruelly. ----------- It was dark when Mulder awoke. His head was splitting and the pain in his chest was all too familiar. <Scully is not going to like my busting more ribs,> he mused. Then he remembered. Scully was here. His anger flared and he tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his body held him to the floor. <Damn that woman, what was she thinking,> he cursed mentally. It came out a groan. "Lie still," a voice whispered in the darkness. He felt, but still could not see, the hand that brushed his shoulder. "Where are we?" he asked, wanting to get at least some information before he let out his anger and frustration. "I think it's a storage closet. They dragged you in here after Jacobs clubbed you. I got tossed in here about an hour ago." Scully reached up and let her fingers lightly touch his forehead until she heard him hiss with pain. "I wish I could see your eyes, but it's a safe assumption you have a concussion. What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded. "Wait a minute," he growled. "*I* am the one who's angry here! What the hell were *you* thinking? Or Thornley, for that matter. You're supposed to be performing an autopsy, not sitting in a closet, waiting to die." He had raised his voice, but it only caused his head to feel like it was exploding, so he was forced to lower it. "And I suppose it was a good idea to waltz in here without a chest protector?" she hissed in return. "Damn it all, Mulder, you make me so mad when you. . ." "Dana," he said, and his voice was deadly calm. "I am not risking our unborn child. You are," he accused. That one hurt. He had never used that kind of tactic on her before and she hadn't expected it now. "He isn't going to kill us," she said, just as evenly. "And how do you know that?" he laughed mockingly. "You finally start believing in crystal balls?" "No," she said, and tried very hard to keep the unshed tears in check and out of her voice. "He's got other plans for you." "For us, you mean. Otherwise, you'd still be out there with them. Or out of the compound completely." Mulder closed his eyes, the effort of talking and all the emotion was causing his head to spin. "I'm sure whatever he has in mind is going to be 'just peachy'," he said sarcastically. Her reply was cut off when the door to the storage closet suddenly opened and they were both blinded by the light from a 100 watt bulb. "Hey, 'Doc', come with me," a gruff voice ordered. It was everything Mulder could do not to grab Scully's hand and keep her close to him. He knew that any action on his part at that moment would only put her in more danger, so he held himself back and watched as another of the Brotherhood half helped, half dragged his wife out of the closet and then slammed and locked the door shut behind them. <Where the hell did he get these guys? Rejects from the NFL?> a small corner of his mind wondered. The men in the compound were all big and burly, men who spent a good deal of time in heavy labor, construction, farming and the like. The thought of what they might be doing to Dana was more than he cared to know, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from straying in that direction. <And your last words to her were in anger,> he thought bitterly. <Damn you, Mulder, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut!> He was still angry that she was here, but he had to admit, he was no longer surprised. And, if the situation had been reversed, he would have come into the compound himself to try and protect her. It was a cheap shot, about the baby. It showed how scared he really was about where this whole mess was headed. He struggled to sit up and scooted back until his shoulders hit the wall for support. The Brotherhood still didn't know of his connection to Dana. Hopefully, that would keep her alive. "Look, I don't believe in you, I know," he prayed in a quiet voice. "But she does. So help her, OK? Just keep her safe. I don't care what they do to me, just don't let anything happen to her, please?" Miserably, he sat and waited for his partner to return. ----------- Jacobs was pacing in front of the man still sprawled on the couch. He was not pleased. The man, whose name was Bo Deakins, was pale and not moving. His breathing was shallow and irregular. In one look, Dana knew Bo was not going to last very long. She knelt down next to him on the couch and listened to his heart, then checked his pulse. "Mr. Jacobs, please. Listen to me. This man is dying. If I could get him to a hospital, there is a fair chance that he might survive. Here, he has no chance at all." Jacobs marched over to one of the small windows of the room and looked out. "They're doing this," he said to all assembled. "The water, the air, whatever. They're filling it with poison. They're killing us one by one." The men looked at each other and the fear was strong on their faces. Everyone was silent, which is why the one small voice boomed so loud in the room. "So why ain't we all dead?" Dixie asked, coming over from the stove with a metal pot in her hand. The frustration was obvious in his eyes, but Jacobs held it in check. "Dixie, they're doing it. I don't know how and I really don't care. But we can't let them continue to pick us off one by one." He turned to Bo and Scully. "Can he be moved?" Dana looked at him, amazed. "No! He's dying, don't you see that. To move him would kill him for sure. He needs an ambulance, and now." "I told you, that is not going to happen," Jacobs growled. We'll wait it out. For now. Watch him, do what you can. Bob, come with me. I think we need to 'talk' to that Fibbie some more," he added menancingly. Scully dropped her head, hoping no one noticed. She wasn't aware of the woman bending down next to her until the large wooden spoon came into her view. "Help me get this down his throat," Dixie said quietly. Dana looked up at her startled. "What is it?" she asked, not sure she trusted the old woman. Dixie smiled warmly. "Oh, a little of this, little of that. It will help the shock. We need to get a half cup down him. Won't save his life, not at this point at least, but it will ease him a might." "How do I know you aren't just trying to kill him?" Scully asked, and then even she realized how ridiculous that sounded. Fortunately, Dixie took no offense. "Child, Bo's a friend. I don't want him to die. But I think we couldn't help him with all the hosptial-ing in the world. Something's going on here. I know it's not those fellas out there. But old John, he'll use that excuse to get his way. He wants these men riled up and he's doing a good job." Dixie turned her attention to Bo, opening his mouth and spooning small amounts of the mixture down his throat. "Your man's in trouble, girl. You need to be careful. I might've stopped him a while ago, but John wants his pound of flesh and your man's the closest thing he's got." Scully caught her breath. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen that man before in my life." Dixie laughed softly. "Then why you wearing his wedding ring?" she asked. "Or carryin' his child?" She put the pot down and let her hand rest on Scully's arm when she saw the young woman go pale with fear. "Don't worry, honey. These men are blind as bats. They don't see it. I always had the sight about things like that. I saw the way he looked when he heard your voice and saw your face, but the rest of them were too distracted to notice." Dixie lifted her hand from Dana and adjusted Bo's blanket. "And I ain't telling no one. So don't you worry, hear?" Inside the compound 4:15 P.M. Scully nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Dixie to offer a warm smile. She was in shock. No other word came close to describing how she felt at that very moment. This very frail, almost invisible woman, had not only known about her relationship with Mulder, but she knew about her pregnancy as well. She wasn't sure if she could trust her, but realized she didn't have much choice. John Jacobs' booming voice from another room brought her back to the present and sent a chill through her body. "Get up, you good for nothin' Fibbie!" Scully took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. It was all she could do to contain her anger and keep from running to Mulder's aid. *********** Mulder wasn't sure how long Scully had been gone. All he knew was that he wanted to see her. Needed to see her desperately. The guilt he was feeling superseded the pounding in his head and the dull ache in his side. When he heard the door to the closet unlock he prayed it was Scully, safe and sound. As safe and as sound as anyone could be around madman Jacobs, he thought bitterly. His hopeful anticipation was short lived when he saw Jacobs' large form towering in front of him. Mulder heard him say get up, but then, suddenly, and without warning, John Jacobs grabbed him by the shoulders and hurled him out of the closet and across the room. Whatever words Jacobs said after that Mulder didn't hear. His head had exploded and he could no longer hear or barely see what was going on around him. Mulder forced himself to concentrate. He needed to get through this. Dana was somewhere in the compound and he couldn't let her down. Jacobs was standing over him, slowly backing him into a corner. Mulder looked around but the slight movement made him gasp. They were in the kitchen, a young woman was standing a few feet away at the stove. She was cooking, wearing an apron. It was surreal, Mulder wanted to laugh. He pictured Marie Antoinette saying, "Let them eat cake" and Betty Crocker at a beheading. The room was spinning again and Jacobs kept talking. Shouting, I think he's shouting, Mulder thought. But what is he saying? Concentrate Mulder, concentrate. "...want you to tell me what the hell is going on here? What happened to Jeremiah and what's happening to Bo? I know you know boy, so you just better tell me now before I feel the urge to inflict any more damage to that scrawny little body of yours." Jacobs' grin was pure mischief and from where Mulder was sitting he could smell the whiskey on the man's breath. Great, a drunken lunatic, Mulder thought bitterly, forcing himself to look up at Jacobs and answer him. But what could he say? He had no idea what he was talking about. "I...we," Mulder took a slow breath, he didn't know talking could be so painful. It would have been easier if Jacobs didn't keep coming in and out of focus. "Speak up, boy, I can't hear you." Jacobs gave Mulder a swift kick in the chest, barely missing the already fractured ribs. Mulder gasped for air. Bob, who had been standing by, afraid of his own shadow, started to laugh uncontrollably. A loud, nervous laughter that made Jacobs turn to him and forcefully push him out of the way. "Shut up, boy," he shouted. "If you can't take the heat, then get the hell out of the kitchen." At that precise instant Jacobs noticed for the first time the woman standing in front of the stove. She was frozen in place, had been since the whole ordeal with Mulder began a few minutes earlier. She was boiling some water for Dixie, to make another tea for Bo, and at the moment was wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. "Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" Jacobs was sparing no one today. "I...I'm boiling some water to make a tea for Bo...Dixie...said..." The young woman was visibly shaken and was pushing her long blond hair subconsciously away from her face. She knew she didn't belong there. Not in the kitchen just then, not in the compound for the last six weeks. Like Bob, she had been a victim of circumstances, negative circumstances, for most of her life. When she met Bob over a year ago he offered her what Jacobs had offered him, an occasional kind word and a place to call home. More than anyone had given her since mother's death when she was six. "I don't care what the hell Dixie said. You just..." Jacobs was cut off by a shuffling sound from behind. Apparently the young agent was trying to stand up, and was nearly on his feet when Jacobs spun around to face him. "Good, I'm glad you're up," he bellowed mischievously. "Now maybe we can take care of this man to man." Mulder was leaning against the wall for support. Forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. "So tell me boy, what is it the bureau has in store for us? Is it the water? Is it something they're pumping into the air?" "I...don't...know..." focusing and speaking was almost more than he could handle. "What you're talking...about...We aren't doing....any...thing." His words were labored and he wanted to slide down the wall until he was sitting again. He couldn't remember why he had wanted to stand in the first place. Dana...that's right. She's here. He wanted to go find her. His eyes were starting to close. He could feel himself drifting away, his thoughts fading. "God damnit, listen to me." Jacobs wasn't done with him. Agent Mulder would pass out when *he* said it was okay. Not a moment sooner. He leaned forward and grabbed Mulder's shoulders with both hands, but the young man's eyelids were fluttering and he knew he was losing him. In a fit of rage, Jacobs let go of the agent and swirled around to the stove, pushing Tenille out of the way and grabbing the pot of boiling water she was tending. Mulder caught a glimpse of something coming his way and instinctively brought up his hand and moved his head. The scalding water reached his right hand and part of his arm, causing the throbbing in his head to feel like a minor ache. *********** Scully was trying very hard to concentrate on Bo and whatever it was Dixie was saying to her. Unfortunately, all she could hear were Jacobs' angry words directed at her husband. She wanted to run to him when she heard Jacobs yelling at Mulder to listen to him. She knew Mulder had a concussion and she could picture him blacking out in Jacobs' arms. She wanted him in her arms so desperately. Just then, a young woman, she'd heard Dixie call her Tenille, came running out of the kitchen. The woman, Scully guessed no more than 20 years-old, was visibly shaken and immediately ran to Dixie for comfort. "Dixie, it's awful," Tenille was sobbing. "John's going to kill him. I know he is." "There, there," Dixie was holding the woman, gently stroking her back. "It's okay, sugar. He's not going to kill him. He's just been drinking again and is a little upset." "No Dixie, I can see it in his eyes," Tenille was fighting for control and looked Dixie straight in the eyes. "He grabbed the pot of boiling water I had on the stove and threw it at him. Caught his hand and arm. He was aiming for his face, Dixie." Dana Scully stood up, determined to go in the kitchen and rescue her husband when she felt Dixie's strong hand on her shoulder. "Tenille, honey," she was saying, not letting go of her grip on Scully. "Please go get me another blanket for Bo. I think he's startin' to feel better and I wouldn't want him to be cold." Tenille nodded quietly and headed in the direction of one of the bedrooms. Dixie immediately turned her attention to Scully, who did not look very pleased or eager for small talk. "Please let go of my arm, " Scully said through clenched teeth. "Child, you can't go in there right now." "I...I have to." Scully wanted to run, to scream, to cry, anything but what she was doing rightthen, which was nothing. For all she knew Mulder was already dead. "I know you do," Dixie said slowly. "But you can't. Your man's gonna need you to help him and if you go in there right now, John will make sure you're in no shape to help him." Dixie paused before continuing. "Or your unborn child." Scully's eyes welled up with the realization that Dixie was right. Now was not the time for her to make a move. But when? When and how was she going to be able to do something? Anything? Her attention was once again drawn to the kitchen and Jacob's angry voice, yelling at her husband words she knew he couldn't hear. She turned to Dixie, eyes pleading. "What can I do? I can't just stand here." Dixie smiled tenderly. This young woman reminded her so much of herself when she and Jeremiah were newlyweds. It made her heart ache. "Let me see what I can do," Dixie said, slowly walking to the center of the room, where she stood silently for a few seconds before letting out a high pitched, demonic wail. She continued alternately sobbing and screaming until everyone in the compound, everyone except for Mulder, that is, was in the room with her. "What's the matter with her?" Tenille was asking, she'd already had enough excitement for one day. Dixie was the only one in the compound she felt she could trust. Even Bob had distanced himself from her in the last few weeks. The thought of losing Dixie was unthinkable. Dixie began to speak slowly, between sobs. "Jeremiah....he was here," the old woman said. "He told me we had to get out of here. He said..." Dixie was shaking. Scully found her to be an incredible actress. Not only that, she'd managed to bring Jacobs out of the kitchen and away from Mulder. "He said...everything that's happening is our own doing...He said we are killing each other...We have to leave here...We can't kill anymore or we will all go to hell and damnation for our sins." Dixie continued to sob, yelling loudly when anyone came near her. "He's here," she kept saying. "Can't you feel him?" The group that had gathered around Dixie was frozen in place. Most of the men and women in the compound had grown up hearing folk tales about the Blackfoot and the Sioux Indians. Tales that created a lifetime of superstition and a powerful belief in the afterlife. Messages from the dead, no matter what form they came in, were always taken seriously. John Jacobs, on the other hand, was not a superstitious man and neither did he believe in the afterlife. But he was smart enough to know his followers did and so, right then and there, he decided what their plan of action would be. He just needed some time to put it into effect. In the meantime, to prevent an all out mutiny, he decided he better get the fibbie in the kitchen some medical attention. He turned to Scully, who had been standing away from the crowd, waiting for the opportunity to make her way to the kitchen. "Hey Doc," Jacobs said, in a voice oozing with warmth. "Why don't you go into the kitchen and see what you can do for our friend, Agent Mulder. We wouldn't want anything to happen to him now, would we?" Scully nodded, her heart in her mouth, and headed silently into the kitchen. The sight of Mulder, slumped against a corner of the large kitchen, one leg bent at the knee, with his head resting on it, the other leg stretched out in front of him, a badly burned hand, lying idly beside him, made her gasp. She clenched her teeth tightly in an effort to control her emotions. He needed professional help right now, she reminded herself. Not a hysterical wife. She leaned down in front of him and gently put a hand on the side of his head. "Mulder," she whispered. "Fox, can you hear me?" Mulder flinched slightly at her touch and slowly moved his head up to face her. The movement was painful, but he wanted so much to see her again. He tried to force a smile, but settled for a slow apology. "I'm...sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean what I said...about the...baby..." "Shh. I know you didn't mean it," she said. "But I need to take care of you right now. Open your eyes for me." Mulder did as he was told, squinting against what little light there was in the room. As she suspected, his eyes were dilated. "Well, you have a concussion," she said matter of factly. "But we already suspected as much. Let me take a look at your hand." Mulder drew back slightly as Scully picked up his right hand. The scalding water had already caused blisters all along the palm of his hand and up his wrist and arm, halfway to his elbow. "I'm going to get you some ice water to soak your hand in," she said before standing up. "Stay put, okay?" Mulder tried to smile. Like he was going anywhere. Scully quickly found a large roasting pan and filled it with ice water, carefully placing it beside Mulder on the floor and gently putting his hand in it. He hissed in pain quietly, but said nothing. After rummaging through the small medical kit she had been given Scully found no creams or ointments for burns. There were plenty of bandages, but nothing to soothe the pain. She took out four aspirin and put them in his mouth, holding a glass of water up to his lips. He gulped the water quickly and she realized it had been a while since her husband had had anything to eat or drink. His breathing was shallow and slightly irregular and Scully was fearful he was close to losing consciousness. "Mulder, where else does it hurt?" she asked, gently feeling his chest and ribs. "Ow," he moved uncomfortably from her touch. "That hurts Scully. I think I may...have broken some...ribs." "Not you, Fox, Jacobs. Jacobs broke some of your ribs," she replied, her voice full of hostility. "Yeah, well. They're mine...They're broken." Scully tried to smile at her husband's attempt at humor. He was very pale, with clammy skin and all the signs of shock. He needed to be in a hospital, but somehow, that didn't seem like an option. "Mulder, you need to get to a hospital," she said anyway, just to make herself feel better. Before Mulder could say anything Jacobs' shadow came over both of them. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Doc." Scully turned and looked up at Jacobs, contempt in her eyes. Mulder went to grab her arm but thought better of it. If Jacobs knew...If he knew what this woman meant to him, it would no doubt be the end of her. Scully stood up in a weak attempt to gain some leverage on the man, who was easily three times her size. "This man needs to get to a hospital," she said. "He has a concussion, some broken ribs, a badly burned hand and is in the early stages of shock. I have nothing here to treat any of those. If he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he may die." "Well, Doc, that's just a chance we'll have to take," Jacobs flashed her a leering grin and she wanted to punch him in the face. If she could only reach his face, she thought grimly. "At least, let me get him to a bed, where I can make him more comfortable and he can rest." It was the most she could hope for under the circumstances. "I'll tell you what," Jacobs answered, grinning once again. "I'll help you drag him into that closet again and you can take that big pot of ice water with you. And hell, I'll even throw in a flashlight, so you can keep a real good eye on him, okay?" It really wasn't a question and Scully realized it was the best they were going to get. She nodded slowly, stepping in front of Mulder just before Jacobs' grabbed him. "I'll help him in the closet, " she said. "If you could please get me a blanket, I would really appreciate it." Jacobs was about to say something, maybe kick the agent one more time for good measure, but thought better of it. A couple of his followers were in the kitchen now, still spooked from Dixie's ramblings, and he didn't want to add fuel to the fire. "Hey, Tim," he yelled to one of the men standing behind him. "Go get the Doc here a blanket." Scully helped Mulder to his feet and slowly walked him to the storage closet that would become their home for God knew how long. She found a good spot for Mulder and sat him down, going back for the ice water and the glass she had left on the kitchen floor. She took the blanket from Tim and the flashlight from Jacobs before closing the door to the closet herself. She waited for the lock to fall in place before joining Mulder on the floor. It took all his strength, but Mulder managed to put his good arm around Scully and bring her close, letting her head drop on his chest. He thought he heard her crying, but said nothing. *********** Outside the compound 7:45 P.M. Agent Thornley was not a happy man. He had been living this case for the last month and today, for the first time, he had felt like they might be getting somewhere. Like there actually could be an end in sight. Agent Mulder had been everything he had hoped for and then some. Intelligent, tenacious, willing to do whatever it took to take care of the situation. His partner had seemed like a Godsend. An agent *and* a doctor. The last medic he had sent in came right out with Jeremiah Miller. There was no reason why this time should have been any different. But it was. Agent Scully had been gone for nearly four hours. He could no longer wait patiently. In spite of Agent Mulder's request that he not call the compound, that he wait for him to call, he picked up the phone and dialed John Jacobs' direct line. Agent Mulder and Agent Scully were good people. That much he knew. He could no longer wait around for the answers. It was time he started asking some questions. The voice on the other end sounded slurred, angry. What little research they had dug up on Jacobs showed a man with a severe drinking problem. "Jacobs here." "Jacobs, this is Agent Thornley. I need to speak with Agent Mulder." "Gee, Thornley. I'm afraid you can't do that right now. Agent Mulder is...indisposed, right now." Thornley tightened his grip on the phone. He could tell from the way Jacobs had said that that he was smiling. Enjoying the conversation and its repercussions. The son of a bitch..."Listen, Jacobs, you already have one murder to contend with on your hands. I suggest you let me talk to Agent Mulder before this gets completely out of hand." What was he saying? It already was out of hand. Jacobs thought for a moment. He needed a few more hours to put his plan into effect and it would do no good to have the FBI storming the compound before he was ready. "Okay," he finally said, "I'll put the Doc on the phone, but make it quick. She's a busy woman." Thornley could hear Jacobs laughing as he dropped the phone. What did he mean by his last remark? And why couldn't Mulder come to the phone? This day was not turning out the way he had expected. Scully quickly moved away from Mulder when she heard someone unlocking the door. Mulder had fallen asleep and she could see when the door opened that he was not doing well. Jacobs reached in and grabbed her hand forcefully, pulling her out abruptly. "Agent Thornley's on the phone, wants to talk to Agent Mulder. I told him you would have to do." He led Scully into his private study and held the phone at a distance before handing it to her. "Make it quick and tell him nothing...or else." Scully took the phone and answered slowly, hoping her tone would convey the seriousness of the situation. "Hello." "Agent Scully, Thornley here. What the hell is going on? Where is Agent Mulder?" "Sir?" What could she say that wouldn't make Jacobs grab the phone from her immediately. "Agent Scully, are you all right?" "No." "Are you hurt?" "No." "What about Agent Mulder? Is he hurt?" "Yes." Thornley took a deep breath. "How badly?" No, no, ask yes or no questions, you fool. It's obvious she can't talk. "Is he hurt badly?" "Yes." Scully looked at Jacobs, who was getting antsy. "How about the other guy? The guy you were sent in to help in the first place? Is he dead?" "I don't think so." "Good, at least we're not at the point of retribution just yet. Agent Scully..." too late, Jacobs grabbed the phone from her. "That's it Thornley. You had your chance. You know she's alive. As well as the other one. They're both alive. For now. You do anything stupid, however, and they won't be for long." Thornley was left with a dial tone and an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. The next call he had to make he dreaded even more than the previous one. He picked up the phone and dialed Assistant Director Skinner's direct line. One ring and the call was answered. Walter Skinner didn't mess around with this line. Very few people had it and even fewer still ever used it. "Skinner." "Walter, it's me, Spencer." "Spence? Hey...good to hear from you. What's going on? Agent Mulder driving you nuts with his theories yet?" "Well, actually no..." Thornley wasn't sure where to begin. "Walter, we have a problem." Walter Skinner sat back and listened to his old friend recount the activities of the last 24 hours. When Thornley got to the part about Agent Mulder being allowed into the compound he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "That's the thing about Mulder," he mused, "he's too good for his own good." Thornley was getting to the part about Scully going in. "She insisted on going in. What with her being a doctor and Mulder's partner, who better to watch his back..." "WHAT? You sent his wife in?" Skinner was hyperventilating. He should have known it would never work. Sending the two agents out on a case together. His two married to each other agents. Even though assigned to separate parts of the case, 30 miles apart, they still managed to end up together. In trouble. Thornley was still reeling from the implications of Skinner's last statement. "His...wife?" Is that what he said? "Yes, his wife. I take it Agent Scully didn't bother filling you in on that minor detail?" Sarcasm would get him nowhere at this point. He wasn't sure what would. "No, no, she didn't tell me that." Thornley was scratching his head. Now what? "How was I supposed to know?" Skinner softened a bit. Thornley was right. Besides, even if they weren't married, if this incident had happened two years ago, both agents would have responded the same way. They had been devoted to each other from day one. Why should he expect anything different simply because they were married? "You weren't supposed to know, Spence," Skinner said, relaxing a little. "They're professionals dedicated to each other, to their partnership. They would have reacted this way before they became romantically involved, before they got married. I would have expected nothing less from them before and I'm a fool if I thought they would behave any differently now. So what's the status now? Where are we? I know this can't be the reason you called." "No, you're right," Thornley said, recalling his conversation with Agent Scully just minutes before. He repeated the conversation to Skinner, who sat silently for a moment before responding. Mulder's hurt and Scully's pregnant, he thought to himself. "What are your options at this point Spence?" he finally asked. "I'm not sure. I have orders to do nothing drastic without permission from the attorney general. I'm calling her next." "You don't suppose this Jacobs character is bluffing, do you?" Skinner asked. Thornley shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Agent Briggs was 29 years-old, shot in cold blood. I wouldn't take anything Jacobs says at this point lightly. For all we know it may be too late to save Agent Mulder." "I hope you're wrong," Skinner said. "He's got a lot to live for these days." He paused and thought for a moment. "Spence, I'm on my way out there. I'll call you from the plane to get an update." Thornley hung up and thought about his old friend Walter Skinner before calling the Attorney General. He had felt these agents were special from the minute he laid eyes on them. Apparently, Walter Skinner felt the same way. He only hoped Jacobs was still unaware of their relationship to each other. That knowledge could be deadly for both of them. *********** Inside the compound 2:00 A.M. Mulder was running, faster than he thought possible. The Blackfoot warrior had been chasing him for quite some time and he was getting close. He could almost feel the warrior's knife on his head when his foot caught a fallen tree branch and he fell. The ground disappeared from underneath him and he kept falling, down a black abyss. Falling...falling...until he felt a hand reach out and grab him, stop him from falling. "Shh. It's okay. Relax. You were having a dream." Scully. It was okay. Scully was there. Slowly, he realized where he was and why his head was pounding, his hand hurt like hell and he was having a hard time catching his breath. Within seconds the guilt came back. He felt guilty for not being there for Scully, when he knew she needed him. If only to offer some comfort. I just can't win for trying, he thought dryly. Scully shifted her position around him, reaching up, feeling his forehead. He held up his left hand and held her hand against his cheek. "I'm sorry Dana," he said quietly. Even to himself, he didn't sound very good. "Sorry for what? It was just a dream." He felt warm to the touch. Not a good sign. The burn was going to need treatment soon, before it became infected. "No, not for that," he said wearily. "For getting you into this mess, for marrying you, for life." "Don't be silly," she whispered. "I married you too, remember. And I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth if I had to." She felt Mulder's smile underneath her hand and it made her move closer to him, protectively bringing the blanket up around his chest. Scully turned on the flashlight and looked at her watch. It was 2 A.M. She looked at her husband's pale skin and offered him some water, which he took obediently, making sure to leave enough for her. "When was the last time you ate anything, Mulder?" she asked, turning off the flashlight. "What time is it?" he asked in return, ignoring the question. "Answer me. When was the last time you ate?" "I don't know. Yesterday sometime. Whatever we had on the plane. What time is it?" he added quickly, hoping to deflect some of her anger. To his surprise, she wasn't angry. "It's two a.m. Just as well you haven't eaten," she added, "you probably would have thrown up all over this damn closet if you'd had anything in your stomach. Imagine that." Fox smiled at his wife's attempt at humor. She never ceased to surprise him. "What do you think Thornley has up his sleeve?" she asked him. "I don't know. I don't think it's up to him. The attorney general is running this show. Thornley's just the figure head. If it was up to him I think he would have busted in here by now." Scully sat quietly for a moment before continuing. "Why do you think Jacobs let me come to you? Look after you?" "Insurance, I suppose. I must be serving a purpose at this point. How was that kid, Bo?" Mulder pictured Bo, sleeping on the loveseat, having a nightmare right before waking up screaming, hanging on to his head for dear life. "Oh my God, Scully..." "What, what is it? Are you okay?" Scully didn't like the tone in his voice. He had just discovered something, she could tell that much just by the urgent tone of his voice. "I'm fine, well, I'm not, really, but no that's not what I'm talking about. My dream," he said, speaking faster than his bruised ribs would let him. "In my dream I was being chased by an Indian, probably a Blackfoot, since that was the tribe indigenous to these parts. He had a knife and right before I woke up he had the knife on my head, just above my forehead. Scully, he was going to scalp me!" Mulder had to lean his head back and close his eyes. His head was throbbing again. But he had to get this across to Scully. "Mulder, relax. Whatever you have to say can wait. You need to get some rest." "No, Scully, listen to me." He was determined to continue and she knew there'd be no stopping him. "Remember that map I was looking for the other day?" Was that only yesterday? "The map I got from Albert Holstein?" "Yes..." Scully was afraid of what was coming next. "On that map, this area, the area the compound is on, was clearly listed as having been the sight of a sacred Blackfoot burial ground." "And?" Scully didn't really want to know, but she felt she should at least pretend. "Don't you see? Jeremiah wakes up screaming, grabbing his chest. A chest X-ray shows an arrowhead. Your autopsy shows he bled to death, from a puncture wound. But there's no weapon to be found and no punctured skin. Bo wakes up from a nightmare holding his head, screaming in pain and becomes almost comatose instantly. Don't you get it Dana? Bo was scalped." Mulder sat back again. He was fairly certain that if the lights were on, he would be seeing double right about now. "Mulder..." For once Scully didn't have a snappy comeback to his outrageous theory. After seeing Jeremiah's chest x-ray and looking inside his chest cavity, she didn't know what to believe. "Why? Why is this happening? Do you suppose the Blackfoot are angry?" She couldn't believe she had just asked that question. Validating his theory in the process. Mulder smiled but said nothing. He knew these things were hard for her to accept and he didn't want to push his luck. "I guess," he answered. "Why else all this torture?" "But why now? Why only in the last couple of weeks?" "I don't know, maybe...hey, wasn't it listed in the case file that one of the men died? A couple of weeks ago?" "I vaguely remember reading that somewhere." Scully thought for a moment. It was a true testament to Mulder's injuries that he couldn't remember everything he had read in the case file the day before. "Parker," she said. "Joe Parker, he was the oldest Yeoman, about 80. The FBI figured he died of natural causes. Only found out about it because Jacobs insisted on having a coffin delivered to the compound." "That's it Scully, they buried the guy in the compound. The Blackfoot are angry. They're mad, they don't want to share their burial ground with the same white men that put them there in the first place." Mulder was giddy, completely sucked into his theory. Scully laughed, surprising even herself. "I have to hand it to you Mulder, this is truly one of your more outlandish claims and I actually, honest to God, think I agree with you." "Will wonders never cease. Now all we have to do is convince Jacobs it's not the FBI and..." Mulder's words were cut short by a loud crashing sound. Like a window being broken. He tightened his grip on Scully's hand. "Thornley?" Scully asked. "I don't think so. I'd like to think the guy would be a little more subtle." All hell was breaking loose. From where Mulder and Scully sat, they could hear people running, screaming, women sobbing. Jacobs' voice came thundering through the kitchen, perilously close to the closet door. "Brothers, it's time to make our move. It's time to get out of here." Inside the Compound 2 AM Dixie had spent the majority of the night calming down Tenille and the four other women in the compound. All of them had seen Jacobs drunk before, but never had they witnessed the maniacal hatred he now possessed, or the cruelty he seemed capable of inflicting on the Federal Agent in the closet. After settling them all down with some chamomile tea, she watched until each one fell into fitful slumber before allowing herself to rest. She had the satisfaction of noting that Bo seemed to be responding to the arnica infusion she had been giving him. The plant grew wild, right outside the back porch of the compound. <Once again, Gran, you knew what you were talking about,> Dixie thought with a smile as she adjusted the blanket on Bo. Her great grandmother had been in her eighties when Dixie had spent a summer with her in the back hills of Tennessee. The old woman was the local wildcrafter, making medicines from the plants and trees that grew in the hillocks and valleys. Dixie had thought it foolishness at first. Sure, her mother had used aloe and chamomile, peppermint and the like. But it would never take the place of a real doctor and hospital. After spending a summer watching her Gran 'cure' any number of ailments of her neighbors, Dixie had started paying more attention when the old woman spoke. "A little more 'tea', a lot more rest, and you'll be up catching me some more squirrels for stew, Bo," Dixie whispered to the sleeping young man. His breathing was much easier and deeper, his color better and the fever seemed to have gone down. She almost went into the kitchen to make up some more of the 'tea', but she didn't want to wake the others, especially Jacobs, who seemed to have drunk himself into a stupor. Dixie wasn't fooled. She knew Jacobs was scheming about something because she had seen him set the battered old alarm clock. He was planning on doing something before daybreak, because the compound was usually up and moving around by dawn. Finally, in exhaustion, Dixie pulled a pillow off one of the other chairs and laid down on the floor next to the loveseat Bo was on. She wanted to be close, in case he had a nightmare like Jeremiah. She startled when she heard the muffled cry from the closet. At first, she was afraid that Jacobs had woken up and gone in to batter Agent Mulder some more. But she looked over and saw Jacobs, sleeping with a rifle across his lap, next to the window. She thought about going to the closet, to see if everything was all right. The only thought stopping her was that of Jacobs waking. She wasn't afraid for herself. She had been honest when she told him she had nothing to lose. But she was afraid for the young couple locked in the closet. If John got angry at her, she knew he would use it as an excuse to hurt them. So far, the young woman had been unharmed. If Dixie had her way, she would remain so. And her husband, though beaten pretty badly, was still alive. <Jeremiah, are you waiting for me?> she sighed, allowing her mind to drift to thoughts of her own husband. <I miss your old bones.> She let a single tear stray from her eye as she tried to find some sleep herself. A tremendous crash brought her immediately to her feet, along with waking most of the compound. Jacobs was on his feet, rifle at the ready, just having missed an untimely death by inches. Glass littered the floor and in the middle of the room, the old piece of granite boulder that had been Joe Parker's headstone sat like some kind of bomb, waiting to explode. Outside the compound 2 AM Walter Skinner got out of the rental car and made his way among the dozen or so vehicles lining the gravel road. He could see his old friend, Spence Thornley, pacing and gesturing toward the compound. "Spence, any word on what's going on?" Skinner asked without greeting. "Walter, God it's good to see you," Thornley exclaimed and grabbed the Assistant Director's outstretched hand. "No, no word." He caught the concerned look on his friend's face. "Of course, they haven't thrown out any bodies, either. I'm taking that as a good sign." Skinner nodded grimly. "What's the word from higher up?" Thornley closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Well, they didn't use the words, 'sit on our thumbs',. but the message was conveyed." Skinner bristled. "Do they know there are two agents being held hostage in there," he cried angrily. Now it was Thornley's turn to bristle. "No, Walt, I think I forgot to mention that," he seethed sacastically. "Of course I told them! But you know Bureau policy as well as I do. We don't negotiate for our own. The exact quote, by the way, was 'they knew the risks'. My hands are tied," he said, letting some of the anger slip away. "And so are yours," he added, not unkindly. "We are not to make a move unless he starts killing innocents." "He already killed a Federal Agent," Skinner said pointedly. Thornley's anger rose again. "Yeah, one of *my* men! But Walt, that doesn't change the orders. And quite frankly, nothing short of a bomb would change them at this point. Everybody's still reeling from the Waco hearings." No sooner had the words left his mouth than Agent Thornley and AD Skinner heard the crash and all eyes flew to the compound. "What the hell was that?" Skinner shouted to the agents closest to the fence around the compound. One of them turned and ran over to the two older men. "Sir, it looked like, . . .this is going to sound crazy," the younger agent was saying, all the while looking back over his shoulder at the clapboard building. "You wouldn't believe what I find crazy, Agent. Just tell me exactly what you saw," Skinner ordered. "Well, sir, the Brotherhood buried some old man over there just to the east of the house. They put him by a big rock, that's about two and a half, three feet in diameter. It was too big to move, I imagine. Looked like they chiseled his name on it and the date, from what we could see. Anyway, that rock just . . . it up and flew through the window! Like somebody threw it. Sir." Thornley had pulled up a pair of binoculars and was scanning the compound. "The lights just went on. They're moving around, but I can't tell if anyone was injured. My God, Walt, look at that window!" He handed the glasses to Skinner. Skinner let out a low whistle. "Damn! That thing broke the sill and everything. How much did it weigh?" he asked, knowing no one around could answer that question. He looked around the ground, noting the distrubed dirt where the rock had laid. "And it must have traveled, what? Twenty feet or more," he said in awe. Inside the compound 2:30 AM Jacobs was furious. Now, the FBI was throwing boulders at the house. Or so he would have his men believe. Secretly, the appearance of the large rock, much too heavy to be lifted by even two or more men, unnerved him completely. But he still had the presense of mind to see an opportunity when it came to him. "Look at this! They could have killed Dixie, or Bo or any of us," he shouted to the assembled Brotherhood. "We have no choice. It's time to leave this place, just like Dixie said Jeremiah told her. We must leave now, before they start shooting, like they did at Ruby Ridge." At the mention of Ruby Ridge, the men grew sullen and restless. It was a nightmare each of them had shared. It was one of the reasons they rejected the interference of the government in the first place. Unlike Waco, the victims of Ruby Ridge were a family, and by most accounts, a law abiding one at that. There had been no indication that they were anything other than people who wanted to be left alone, not unlike the Brotherhood itself. And among the casualities was a 14 year old boy gunned down in cold blood by two agents. At the mention of Ruby Ridge, there wasn't a man present who wouldn't follow John Jacobs off the highest cliff in Montana. Jacobs motioned for the women to come over. "Now, I want you all to gather up as many provisions as you can find. Blankets, food, wood, if you can carry it. And we need to make a litter for Bo, I don't think he'll be walking for a while." Five solemn faces nodded in compliance. Only Dixie had the forwardness to ask a question. "What about the agent and the doctor?" she asked. She wasn't all that pleased that Jacobs was taking to her suggestion so readily. He was up to no good and she knew it. But after the show she had put on the day before, she was hardly in a position to argue the logic of moving. Jacobs thought a moment. He still might find a use for them. The alternative was leaving their bodies to be found by the assault team outside the fence, but he doubted that the men would take kindly to killing the woman. After all, she had tried to help Bo and seemed to be an innocent in all of this. Not that he cared, but he knew his men and they would. "All right, Dixie. You can get them ready. But he walks or he's dead and left behind, understand?" he said gruffly and turned to direct the men in gathering up the weapons and ammunition. Dixie held her tongue and nodded, hurrying off to the closet as fast as she could. ---------- Dana hadn't wanted to fall sleep. She was tired, exhausted really, but she wouldn't allow her eyes to close. Even so, she had dozed, waking with his muffled cries as she held him tight. In the five or so hours that they had been held in the closet, his fever had grown worse. He had been having nightmares off and on. Then, his theory of the sacred Blackfoot burial ground and the ghost of revenge had surfaced. Without hearing it come from his own voice, she was starting to wonder if it was nothing more than just another fever dream. She wasn't happy listening to his breathing, either. It was labored and she was becoming more and more concerned that he might have a punctured lung. The flashlight had revealed that the hot water had scalded his arm to a point of third degree burns. Without treatment, he would undoubtedly have an infection to contend with. The situation was bordering on hopeless. <Hopeless,> she thought bitterly. <Again.> She sometimes wished she had taken a different path. If she had gone into, say, plastic surgery, or obstetrics. . . The rumble of her stomach and the slight dizziness she was feeling reminded her that there was someone else to consider. She hadn't eaten since a hurried breakfast before she had gone to perform the autopsy. <That was a few million light years ago,> she mused. She could hear the Brotherhood outside their door. It had been a while since she and Mulder had heard the crash. It sounded like a bomb had been dropped on the place, broken glass and shouts. Jacobs' voice had frightened her to the bone. But then, nothing happened. They were left in silence to wonder what was going on outside the storage closet door. Her eyes kept sliding shut on her, her body betraying her best intentions. Finally, she dozed. She was standing in a field. A meadow, really, surrounded on all sides by white capped mountains. Flowers bloomed, making the meadow a crazy quilt of colors and scents. As she looked to her right, a man walked toward her. The sun was in her eyes, and she expected it to be Mulder. As he drew closer, she could see that it was not. It was a man, obviously Native American, wearing buckskin leather and trimmed in feathers. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear the words. He lifted a stick he held, and she watched him, mesmerized as he picked up a sprig of the plant at his feet and offered it to her. . . When she heard the lock click, she jumped. Coming instantly awake, she gripped the flashlight, ready to use it as a weapon in case Jacobs planned on using Fox for a punching bag again. When the bright light of the hallway spilled into the closet, though, it was Dixie's tiny frame that was silhouetted. "Dixie," she whispered gruffly. "Are you alone?" "For now, child. For now. How's he doing?" she asked, motioning over to Mulder. Dana gave her husband a hard look in the glare of the hallway light. He was dozing again, too. But he was far too pale and she could see the sheen of sweat on this face. "Not good. He's got a concussion. I'm worried that one of the broken ribs might have punctured a lung. And that burn is third degree, it needs to be treated." She looked past the old woman to see Tenille and some of the others packing up items in the kitchen. "Dixie, what was that noise? It sounded like a bomb went off?" "Almost, but not quite. Old man Parkers' tombstone decided to come through the window, right next to where John was sleeping. Sure made that drunk sit up and take notice," Dixie couldn't hold back a soft chuckle. "But now John's decided that we have to leave here." "A tombstone? Through the window? I doubt that is was Thornley or any of the men outside the compound," Dana mused softly. "Honey, I don't think *any* human could have lifted that stone. Strange things are happenin'. And John's gettin' himself spooked." Dixie didn't notice the slight scowl that crossed Dana's face. Mulder stirred in his sleep, coughing. It was a wet sound and Dixie frowned at the noise it made in the small closet. Dana forgot all about the tombstone and turned her attention to matters more immediate. "Dixie, are there any medicines here in the compound? Neosporin, Tylenol, cough syrup, any of that?" Dana asked anxiously. Dixie chewed on her lip. "All that run out weeks ago, honey. We're down to the bare nubbins, here. The food I've been fixin' is mostly squirrel stew. The only thing we have in good supply is John's Jim Beam and he's hording that for hisself." At Dana's worried expression, she decided to take a chance. "How fixed are you on modern medicine?" she asked. Dana looked at the older woman suspiciously. "Very. Why do you ask?" "You're a *real* doctor, aren't you, then?" Dixie responded. "Yes, I'm a medical doctor. But I don't practice. I'm a forensic pathologist. A coroner, sort of." "And they sent you in to help Bo?" Dixie asked, not hiding the surprise in her voice. "That figures," she added with disgust. Dana fumed a little. "Look, I'm the only one out there who had *any* medical experience at all. And I've taken care of my share of live patients. This one included," she said, gently brushing the sweat soaked hair off Mulder's forehead. "From the looks of it, that probably comes in real handy," Dixie said derisively. "Well, I've done my share of *doctorin* too. But not the Journal of American Medicine way. I can take care of that burn and probably do something for the lungs and his head, if you let me. But you have to trust what I'm doing and not ask too many questions." Dana stared at her. "I can't do that," she said flatly. "Even if it means he might die," Dixie flared. "Listen to me, girl. John says we're packin' up. And I'm supposed to get you two ready to move with us. Now, that's the good news, coz it means John's not plannin' on killin' you. But the bad news is, your man here's gotta walk on his own. Otherwise, John puts a bullet in his head and the rest of us go on without him." Dixie slowed down a little as she saw Dana turn ghostly pale. "I don't want that, and neither do you. Now are you gonna take what help I can offer, or is the alternative that appealing?" Dana's slow shake of her head was all the answer Dixie needed. "Mulder," she said quietly as Dixie started to leave. "What?" Dixie asked, afraid the young woman might have lost all sense of reality. "His name is Mulder. Don't call him 'my man'. Please. Especially around Jacobs," she pleaded. "You got a name, too, or do I just call you 'Doc'?" Dixie let a smile form on her weary face. Dana smiled in return. "Dana. Dana Scully." Dixie looked over at the man sleeping on the floor. "Mulder Scully. His mama must have had a *hard* time in labor," she said with conviction. And for the first time in almost 24 hours, Dana had something to laugh about. ------- Dixie had been gone a while and Dana was beginning to get worried. Mulder was in no condition to stand, much less walk that far. It would have been better if they could carry him, but it was not going to be allowed. The only thing that might save them was the slim chance that Thornley had been given the go ahead to storm the compound. "Fat chance of that," she muttered, staring the door in the darkness. "Of the cavalry coming?" a husky voice asked beside her. "Hey, you're awake," she said, rubbing his arm and shoulder. "How are you feeling?" "We have to find a different pick up line for you, Scully" he gasped, trying to make his voice sound stronger than it was. He tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a sitting position. His groan alerted her to how difficult it would be for him to walk. "Yeah, well, I'm off the market, so I don't need a new line," she shot back, and helped him get comfortable. He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was worried. "Do you think you could walk, if you had to?" "Probably," he lied. "Not far," he added, trying to be realistic. "Jacobs wants to move out. Dixie says he's taking us with them. I guess we're still 'insurance' to him. But you have to be able to walk. I don't know if that's possible, in your condition," she sighed. "If you can walk in 'your condition', . . . I can . . . walk in 'my condition'," he assured her. "Well, Dixie has some, ah, tea I guess, that might help," Dana said unconvinced. <If it doesn't poison you first,> she added to herself. "Tea?" he asked. "You don't . . . sound so sure . . . about this, ah, tea," he said, imitating her hesitation. Their conversation was cut short by Dixie coming in with a cup in her hand. "Here, I want you to drink this. Now, it's hot, and we're out of sugar, but it will help, I'm sure of it," the old woman said, smiling brightly. "What is it?" Dana asked, taking the cup and sniffing it suspiciously. "Arnica," Dixie replied, taking the cup back and helping Mulder sip from it. "Leopard's bane is what some folks call it. Grows wild here, right outside the back door." After the first sip, Mulder made a face and shook his head. She took the cup back and poured a small amount onto a torn piece of flannel. "Here, lift up his shirt," she directed Dana. Hesitantly, the young woman did as she was told. "This is hot, but it will help with those broken bones," Dixie said, pressing the damp cloth onto his side. He hissed with the pain, but said nothing. "What is in that stuff?" Dana demanded, not able to hold her curiosity in check. "Told you, honey. It's arnica. Old Indian remedy. My Gran swore by it. Good for concussions, broke bones, shock, pain, you name it. But just a sip at a time. More'an that and he might not wake up," she said casually. "It's poisonous?!" Dana exclaimed. "It sounds like 'snake bite medicine'!" "Nah, child. You wouldn't use arnica for snakebite. You'd use black cohosh or purple cornflower. Course, out where you folks hail from, you'd use Virginny snakeroot. Can't get purple cornflower east of the Mississippi, Gran always said." She continued to dampen the cloth and gently press it against the ribs. After a few minutes, Mulder took hold of Scully's hand. "I don't know if it counts for anything, but it doesn't hurt as much when I breath," he said, not really wanting to anger his wife, but feeling very relieved that the home remedy was working. "Probably the early stages of severe toxic shock," Scully said in disgust. But she did nothing to stop Dixie's ministrations. Dixie let a sad, warm smile fall on Dana. "Oh, honey, I was just like you once. I didn't buy that stuff Gran told me for a minute. But I saw her do more good with a backyard full of weeds and a couple of old flannel shirts than all the fancy doctors in all the hospitals in Nashville, Tennessee. How do you think the human race survived before they thought up X- rays and che-mo-therapy, and all those fancy computers? People been doctoring *this* way a whole lot longer than your way, Dana," she said gently. "And a whole lot of them lived to tell of it." "He still needs a hosptial," Dana muttered angrily, but neither of the other two people in the room seemed to pay her much mind. Dixie took her hand and pressed it against the cloth still on Mulder's side. "Hold this here, till I get back. Now we'll see what we can do about that burn." And she left them alone in the closet again. Mulder smiled weakly at his wife. "Sorry," he said, his voice full of meaning. "Sorry for what? That you're feeling better? That's the dumbest thing you've said today, Mulder," she spat out bitterly and immediately regretted it. "No, I'm sorry that I'm causing you to lose another piece of your faith, sweetheart. I know that hurts you. That's why I'm sorry," he said, and closed his eyes. Even Scully had to admit that his breathing didn't seem as labored. 3:00 A.M. Outside the compound "I don't like it Spence," Skinner was saying, still staring through the binoculars into the compound. "They look like they're moving around with a purpose. Like they're going somewhere." "Let me see." Thornley took the binoculars from his old friend. "Any sign of Mulder or Scully?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be. "No, nothing." Skinner couldn't help the dejection in his voice. "You're right, Walt," Thornley interrupted. "For three a.m. they're awfully focused. Maybe this is our break," he said, putting down the binoculars. "If they're planning on going somewhere there's only a front door and a back door. We've got both of them covered." "You sure there are no other exits?" Skinner was scanning what he could see of the compound from where he stood. "Pretty sure," Thornley replied, a mixture of dread and anticipation on his weary face. 3:00 A.M. Inside the compound "Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" John Jacobs could have used a couple more hours sleep to sober up and poor Tenille was caught in the middle of his current outburst. The young woman was kneeling beside Bo, placing a small, red silk pouch on a string around his neck. "I made Bo an amulet," she answered, almost whispered, to the floor. "A what?" "An amulet. It's kinda like a good luck charm. It's supposed to help him heal quicker." "Oh for God's sake! Get the hell out of here and go do what I asked you." Tenille didn't dare look at Jacobs. She dropped the silk pouch gently on Bo's chest and practically ran out of the room. "We have 30 minutes everybody," Jacobs shouted at no one in particular. "We need to be ready to go in 30 minutes." The big man surveyed the room, the broken window, the stone with old man Parker's name carved into it. He felt a chill go through him. Thirty minutes is going to be 30 minutes too long, he thought to himself. He hurried away from the rock, spooked, in search of his Jim Beam stash. Both Mulder and Scully stiffened when they heard the lock to the closet being opened. Whatever Dixie had given Mulder had helped, but he was still in no condition to face an angry Jacobs and from what they had just heard, he was not a happy man. Both agents relaxed when they saw Dixie's small frame enter the closet. Her arms were full and Dana was relieved to see the first aid kit she had brought with her to the compound. She could think of no other reason why this made her happy than the simple fact that it represented medicine in her terms. The way she knew it. Familiarity breeds comfort, she thought grimly. "How you feelin'?" Dixie asked, touching Mulder gently on the leg. "Better," he said honestly, attempting to sit up a little to prove it. "Good," Dixie said matter of factly, "'cause John just said we got 30 minutes to get out of here. That's how long you've got to get your strength up." "Surely he must know the place is surrounded," Scully said. "He can't possibly think he's going to walk out of here and they're going to let him go. He's already killed one agent..." Her voice trailed off, she knew Jacobs was capable of killing again and it was all she could do to erase the mental image of Jacobs towering over Mulder. "Oh child," Dixie said, resting her hand tenderly on Scully's shoulder. "We ain't going out any door. We're going out our very own tunnel. It's been here for years. Longer than me or you have been on this Earth. Probably ain't on no map either." Realization struck Scully just moments before the panic hit. An underground tunnel. Probably an old mine shaft. Who knew how long it was, how deep. They could be buried alive in one of those things and never be found. And Mulder...he would never survive miles and miles through a mine tunnel. No matter what Dixie gave him. The closet was suddenly too small. She couldn't breathe. By the time Mulder realized what was happening she was hyperventilating. He took her hands into his, forcing himself to turn and face her. "Dana, look at me," he said, demanding his voice to sound authoritative and strong. She was staring right through him. His words were muffled. She felt alone. So alone. "Dana...Scully, it's going to be okay. Slow down and take a deep breath." Panic was slowly creeping into Mulder's voice. Scully didn't crack easily. He blamed himself for all of it. If only he hadn't pursued his conversation with Jacobs into the compound. If only... If only what? His head screamed. He had to bring her back. He didn't care what happened to him, but Scully, nothing could happen to her. He would die before letting anything happen to her. Dixie quickly sensed the situation and left the couple, only to return a minute later with a warm cup in her hand and two slices of bread. Mulder had managed to get Scully's attention and she was taking deep breaths, hanging on to him for dear life. "Here, drink this," Dixie said, holding the brown mug up to Scully's lips. She surprised even Mulder by drinking the liquid without hesitation. "That's a good girl," Dixie was saying. "You just relax and drink this all up. You'll be feelin' better in no time." Scully finished her tea without saying a word. The hot liquid felt good inside her empty stomach. She was just beginning to realize how hungry she was when she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. "What did you give her?" Mulder asked Dixie. "Raspberry tea. Chamomile is better for calming the old nerves, but raspberry helps prevent miscarriage. I thought..." "What?" Mulder sucked in his breath at the pain the sudden movement caused him. "Calm down, son," Dixie said, checking the wet flannel over Mulder's rib cage. "I didn't say she was *havin'* a miscarriage. The tea just helps keep everything in place is all. Mulder wasn't convinced. He looked over at Scully who had opened her eyes and was staring right at him. "I'm okay," she whispered. Mulder read her eyes for any doubt. Any trace she might be keeping something from him. "Really," she said. "I'm fine. I just panicked for a minute. Thank you," she said, turning to face Dixie. "I think the tea worked." Her sudden calmness was unsettling to her husband but he held himself in check, realizing that a panic attack from him was the last thing any of them needed. Dixie smiled. "If only everything in life could be solved with a cup of tea, Jeremiah would say to me. You'd be runnin' the country, Dixie." She looked at the young couple in front of her and felt an overwhelming desire to cry. For her husband. For herself. For their lives. She had a sinking feeling the worst part was still ahead of them. She shook herself out of her reverie and casually wiped her face, surprised to find she had shed no tears. "We better get this show on the road here," she said to Scully. "We need to take care of your man's...I mean, Mulder's burn." Scully nodded and Mulder protectively pulled his hand closer to his body. He had become accustomed to the pain and wasn't looking forward to Dixie's aid, helpful as it might be. Dixie noticed his reaction but ignored it and continued. There really was very little time left. "I've got some aloe here, fresh off the plant just a couple days ago. I've used it all over since I was a wee one. Works wonders." She looked at Scully before continuing, making sure it was all sinking in. Who knew what the next few hours had in store for them, let alone the next few days. She wanted Dana Scully to know what she was doing, in case the time came when she wasn't around to help. Maybe God would be kind to her and let her join old Jeremiah before too long. She noticed Mulder had leaned his head back against the wall and had closed his eyes. Just as well, Dixie thought, this isn't going to be pleasant for him. "I'm going to put the aloe on the burn," Dixie continued, "and then some of this here purple cornflower." Dixie held up a strand of dark purple leaves and Scully nodded. It was obvious to her that Dixie wanted, no, expected, her to pay attention. "The combination of the two will amaze you, my boy." She had caught a small amount of fear creeping onto the young man's face and was hoping her words would soothe him. "I brought your first aid kit, Dana," Dixie continued, wishing she had a little more time to work on her bedside manner and possibly alleviate some of Mulder's fears. "I noticed some bandages in there. When I'm done I trust you can wrap it all up nicely." Scully nodded again. She felt so helpless. And so indebted to this tiny woman. The woman whose husband's body she had been probing not too long ago. Would Dixie forgive her if she knew? Mulder's gasp and quick intake of breath brought Scully out of her stupor. Thoughts of Jeremiah Miller and his bizarre death would have to wait. Dixie was spreading the aloe on Mulder's hand with her bare fingers and even though she was being extremely gentle, Mulder was not having an easy time of it. Scully squeezed his good hand and brushed some sweat drenched hair away from his forehead. She was grateful he wasn't looking at the burn. The red streaks that had surfaced in the last hour were a sure indication that infection was setting in. She caught herself praying that Dixie knew what she was doing. When she had used up all the aloe she had with her, Dixie gently put the cornflower leaves on the burn, making sure to overlap them and not leave any area untouched. "There, isn't that a pretty sight," she said lightly to Mulder, who managed to give her a weak smile in return. Dixie turned to Scully. "Dana, you finish bandaging up this hand and arm, making sure the leaves stay in place. When you're done I want you both to eat this bread." Dixie pointed to the two slices of homemade bread she had brought in earlier. "It's my mama's recipe. It ain't much, but it's all I got. And it's more 'an you two have had in a while. Maybe more 'an you'll get in a while too," she finished softly. She turned to Mulder before leaving. "I hope you can walk out of here, son," she said. "I've done all I can. Now it's up to you. I'll be back for ya both in 15 minutes. She was out of the closet before either one could say anything. Mulder picked up his slice of bread and handed it to Scully. "You have it," he said. "I'm not hungry." "God damn you Mulder. You are so predictable." Scully had been on an emotional see saw for the last 24 hours, not to mention the last 15 minutes and Mulder's chivalry was more than she could handle. More than she wanted to deal with right now. "You need to eat this bread as much as I do. If not more. I guarantee you Jacobs wasn't kidding when he said you would have to walk out of here or stay behind dead. You need your strength..." she knew she couldn't go on without her voice betraying her. She was so close to the edge. So close to falling into an abyss of hopelessness. Mulder looked at her slowly. The throbbing in his head, his side, his hand...had all become a loud pounding. Every hair and fiber in his body told him to close his eyes and just hope the bullet would kill him instantly. He wasn't sure how far he could walk. And through a mine shaft of all things. It would be easier for Scully if he was left behind. "Scully, I...you..." What could he possibly say to her that would convey everything he was feeling in the short amount of time they had left together? The time they had left together alone? He was still feverish and Scully couldn't tell if the moistness around his eyes was the fever speaking or tears he was attempting to hold back. "Mulder," she finally said, almost reading his mind, "eat the bread. We'll get out of this alive. I know it. Don't even think otherwise. Don't even think my life would be worth half of what it is without you." "But Scully, if I hadn't..." "Shut up, Mulder. If you hadn't what? Whatever you were going to say, don't. Just eat the damn bread. We'll be fine." Mulder smiled in spite of himself. He was grateful to his wife for her strength and determination. Two things he was severely lacking right about now. "What makes you so sure," he asked with a mouth full of bread. "I just know." Mulder arched his eyebrows. "That's not like you Dana. You've got my curiosity up," he teased, purposely relaxing a little. "Missy told me," Scully answered slowly, unable to look at him. The conversation with her sister, the ghost of her sister, she reminded herself sadly, just before her wedding, was giving her what little strength she had left. "She told you what? That we would be kidnapped by some alcoholic madman who makes Atilla the Hun look like Peter Brady, dragged through a mine shaft in less than stellar condition and come out the other end smelling rosy? "Very funny," Scully said, repressing a smile. Mulder didn't even question the fact that her sister had been dead for nearly a year. She supposed that was one of the reasons why she loved him. There was very little he *ever* questioned. "She told me about our three kids." Scully said, leaning closer to her husband and looking him straight in the eyes. "So you better get your butt in gear and come out of that tunnel smelling rosy, if you expect another chance to procreate. Much less two more chances." Mulder's reply was cut short by Dixie's voice. When she opened the door and faced them she was grim and sullen. "It's time," she whispered quietly, extending her hand to Mulder. "I hope you have it in you, boy. Something's got John spooked and he's not takin' kindly to anyone right now." 3:30 A.M. Outside the compound "Sir! Sir!" A young agent, one of the men standing guard close to the compound, was frantically trying to get Thornley's attention on the two way radio. "What is it Sullivan?" Thornley was only about 50 feet away and decided to head in the direction of his young agent. Skinner was right behind him. "I can see Agents Mulder and Scully, Sir." "What?" Before Thornley could see or say anything else Skinner had grabbed the binoculars from his grip. "It's them all right," Skinner said. "What are they doing?" It was all Thornley could do to keep himself from pulling the binoculars away from Skinner. Instead he ran the last few yards to Agent Sullivan and commandeered the young man's binoculars for himself. "It looks like they're being led somewhere." Skinner could feel the sweat building on the palms of his hands. He didn't like it "Mulder looks like shit," he said, mostly to himself. "Something's wrong with his hand...it's all bandaged up and...he looks...he looks like he's having a hard time breathing." "Probably broken ribs," Thornley said absently before catching the sense of dread coming from his friend. "Agent Scully looks okay," he added, to reassure Skinner as well as himself that not everything was out of control. "For now," Skinner noted roughly. "Where are they going? What's on that side of the compound?" "Just more rooms. Bedrooms I think." "A back door?" "No, the back door's on the other side. Behind the kitchen." "You sure?" Thornley put down the binoculars and scanned the clapboard building. "I'm sure," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Why is everyone headed in that direction? he wondered. Too many frightening thoughts were beginning to crowd his brain for attention. Maybe it was time to sacrifice someone. An agent? Two agents? The entire Brotherhood? His dread became unbearable when a young woman with very long, blonde hair approached the window and began pulling the curtains shut. The last thing they saw was Jacobs pushing Mulder along with the butt of his rifle. Skinner was furious. "That's it, Spence. We have to do something. I can't just stand here and watch two of my best agents being dragged around by some madman." Skinner was already halfway to the tent, his long strides telling everyone to stay clear. "Walt, we can't just storm in there. If we do that you might as well start funeral arrangements for both agents." Thornley was by Skinner's side. It was Skinner's assertiveness and determination that had gotten him where he was in the bureau and he didn't think there was much that could stop him now. These two agents meant something to him, that was certain. Thornley just had to make sure the next step they took was based on skill and experience and not emotions. "Walt, listen to me." They were at the tent and Skinner was frantically searching the room for something. Thornley ignored his questioning glances and continued talking. "I know you care about these two agents. All the more reason why we need to handle this carefully. We act too quickly, without thinking things through and it might cost them their lives." Thornley wasn't getting through. Skinner had apparently found what he was looking for. The Phone. He held up the receiver and began dialing a number. "What are you doing? Who are you calling?" "The Attorney General. Just as a formality at this point. To tell her we're going in." Thornley just stood there, staring at his friend. He wasn't mad at him. Actually, he admired what he was doing. His resolve. It took a lot of balls to call the Attorney General at three in the morning just to *tell* her what you were going to do. He wished he could be a fly on the wall in Janet's bedroom when she answered the phone. Skinner was waiting to be put through, contemplating his next move, when he looked up at Thornley and appeared to notice him for the first time. "She's pregnant," he said somberly. "Scully's pregnant." Spencer Thornley stared at Walter Skinner's emotionless face for a long time before finding a chair he could collapse into. He barely heard Skinner shouting into the phone. "I don't give a damn about protocol or Waco and even less about the fact that it's an election year. These are two of my best agents. Two people that have risked their lives and lost a lot on a personal level in the name of our glorified country. It's time we take some responsibility here..." Thornley didn't need to hear anything else. He stood up and went outside. Time to gather the team, he thought. He should have done this days ago. Inside the Compound 3:30 am Dana made her way gingerly down the rickety ladder. It looked ancient and she wondered how it had held her partner's weight, much less that of any of the larger men of the group. Only she, Dixie and Jacobs had yet to make the descent and now it was her turn. She looked down, and realized she had a good twenty feet to go before she reached the Coleman lanterns and Mulder waiting at the bottom. The mine shaft was fairly large, at least ten feet across. It's just a basement, she tried to convince herself. A very big, very narrow, very long basement. Damn you, Bill Jr, she cursed silently. If her older brother had never locked her in the basement as a small child, she never would have discovered how horrible small tight places could be. Usually, claustrophobia was the last thought on her mind. When they were on a case, she was always too intent on doing her job to worry about it. But with all the worrying she was currently doing, the fear seemed to rise to the top, like oil on water. She tried to shove it to the back of her mind, but it kept popping up and making it's presence known. Getting Mulder down the ladder had been no small feat. She knew his ribs were causing him a lot of pain and as she watched his incredibly slow progress down, she saw him waver a time or two and feared he would pass out. He made it, though and was watching her descent anxiously. She shook her head at the thought that he was as worried about her claustrophobia as she was worried about his broken bones. We're like a matched set of bookends, she thought. She could see Dixie above her, starting down the ladder. The old woman was an enigma. She looked to be at least 60, but her eyes were much younger, even cutting through the grief that hung about her like a shroud. And agile. She was literally hopping down the rungs of the ladder, and probably would have slid down the sides, fireman style, if Scully had not been in the way. Hope I'm that agile when I'm 60, Scully thought as she stumbled slightly before finding the next rung. Hope I'm alive when I'm 60, she added ruefully. The floor was getting closer, and the small confines were beginning to press in on her again. Dana stepped off the last rung and almost froze for the sheer wave of fear that engulfed her. Sensing her terror, Mulder reached out and touched her hand. He wanted desperately to take her in his arms, shush all the horrifying thoughts running through her mind, but that would only draw attention to them. As it was, the motion looked almost gentlemanly. He looked to be steadying her on the rough mine floor. The faint smile that crossed her face told him that it had been enough. Message received, loud and clear. He had to grin as he saw that business like gaze come to her eyes as she regarded their surroundings. Dixie took almost no time to join them. "How are you doing?" she whispered to Mulder, glancing up the ladder to see if Jacobs was close enough to hear her. "Just like a ride at Disney World," he quipped, but he was favoring the side with the damaged ribs. The old woman gave him a disgusted shake of her head to let him know that his humor wasn't appreciated. Scully gave him a look as well, but he caught the twinkle in her eye in the glow of the lantern. They didn't have time for more conversation as Jacobs jumped the last three rungs and landed on the stone floor beside them. "You up for a walk, Feddie? I could always make arrangements for you to stay behind," he snarled and punctuated his feeble attempt at humor with a grim laugh. "I'm fine," Mulder said evenly. In reality, he hurt like hell, but he was never going to admit that to Jacobs. He had a dull throbbing in in his head. His eyes burned with the fever he was just beginning to recognize. Every breath was agony. It was taking every ounce of strength to stand, much less move, but he kept thinking of a promise he had made not that long ago. My baby girl is going to have a father, no ifs, ands, or buts, he vowed silently. Besides, this bastard would enjoy it too much if he had an excuse to kill me and I'm not going to give him the satisfaction, he added with grim determination. Jacobs jabbed him in the ribs, just to see the reaction. Mulder let out a gasp, but stayed on his feet, glaring at the madman. "Well, then, let's get moving. Those old floorboards I laid in place up there aren't gonna hold 'em off forever." Stooping over, he picked up the last remaining lantern and waved it in the general direction that Bob and Henry had led the rest of the group. At the first wooden beamed support, Jacobs picked up an ax that was waiting there for him, and collapsed the sides and the overhead beam, then made a run for it. Several tons of dirt and rock crashed to the mine floor, effectively sealing off their escape. Outside the Compound 4:00 am It had been silent for too long. Walter Skinner had been gripping the binoculars in his hands so tightly that he wasn't sure he could loosen his grasp on them if he had to. He turned to Thornley. "There's another damn exit," he hissed in frustration. "Where?" Thornley demanded. "Thin air? I tell you Walter, I've been to the Department of Mines and Minerals twice and there are no mine entrances in this area. They must be in the basement or something." "Why would they all go down to the basement, Spence? No, they're escaping. And they have my agents hostage. Tell your men we're going in." Skinner put the binoculars back up to his tired eyes, ignoring the disgusted look on his friend's face. In the end, the storming of the Yeoman Brotherhood Compound was a complete bust. It was deserted, just as the Assistant Director had predicted. Worse yet, it took the FBI over two hours before one of the agents was able to find the ladder leading down into the mine under the false floor in one of the bedrooms. That too, proved to be a useless discovery, since Jacobs had successfully pulled down a mine support structure, closing the shaft just a few feet from the ladder. Regardless of where the shaft might lead the Brotherhood, they would not be returning to the compound by that route, and the FBI would not be following them at any time in the near future. Three hours later Dixie fell back to walk next to Jacobs after having spent most of the march at the head of the line. She made a point of ignoring Mulder, who was obviously having a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other. Scully had taken it upon herself to help him, but even she was looking weighed down by his efforts. "We need to stop and rest," Dixie said calmly. "Why? Your G-man slowing down? Maybe I could put him outta his misery," Jacobs suggested with an evil leer. He lifted the almost empty bottle to his lips and drained the amber fluid down his throat. "No," Dixie said defiantly. "It's Bo. He needs to be layin' flat for a spell. That trip down the ladder over Henry's shoulder wasn't that good for him. And Bob can't figure out how to keep his litter on the level. He keeps raising up his feet higher than his head. Any idiot knows that's not the way to handle a man with a head pain," she spat out. Dixie had grown to hate Bob almost as much as Jacobs, if for no other reason than that the man was dumb and spineless and would do anything he was ordered to do. Jacobs considered this information for a moment. The support he had destroyed back at the ladder had effectively cut off all pursuit. They could afford to rest a bit. "There's a cavern up a piece. Go back up to the front and tell Bob that we'll stop there for a spell, let everyone get some sleep. Tell him to take first watch. I'm needing some sleep myself," he added. Dixie nodded, totally noncommittal and headed off to relay the message to Bob. The cavern was indeed just a few hundred yards up the path. It had a high ceiling, littered with stalactites and was about 50 feet by 50 feet, roughly. Water ran down the walls and collected in small pools before disappearing into the cracks in the floor. Dana steered Mulder over to one wall, which appeared to be relatively dry. He sank to a sitting position gratefully. Without hesitation, he put his hand in the trickle of water and tasted it. "It's OK, you can drink it," he assured her. He cupped his hand and drank greedily. She followed his example, drinking several palmsful of water. "And what would you have done if it hadn't been?" she asked accusingly, when her thirst was satisfied. "Can we wait till we get out of this to fight, Scully? I mean, I'm not in my best form and I really hate to waste my breath arguing over whether I should have tasted the water or let you taste the water." He closed his eyes and shifted until he was lying more or less flat on the rock floor. She glanced furtively around at the others. They all appeared to be settling down, ignoring the two hostages for the moment. She and Mulder didn't merit a lantern, so they were in shadow. She took the opportunity to risk brushing the matted hair from Mulder's forehead. "Don't let them catch you doing that," he whispered, letting her know that he was not asleep. "I won't," she promised. "You get some rest. I'll keep an eye out." "You need to rest, too, you know," he countered. "I thought you said you didn't want to fight, Mulder," she intoned in his ear. Even so, she slid down the rock wall and lay on the floor on her side. He opened one eye to look at her. "Nothing says I can't keep an eye out laying down," she said and was happy to see him grin as he shifted and settled in. 8:25 am Jacobs had been too drunk to dream at first, but gradually the haze lifted and he fell into REM sleep. His dreams weren't worthy of remembering, mostly snatches of his own delusions of grandeur. But his dreamscape began to change subtly. He found himself on a valley floor. All around him were majestic mountains, snowcapped, intimidating in their enormity. The sun was just about to peek out behind one of the ridges and the shadows it cast gave the valley meadow and it's early morning mist a ghostly glow. Jacobs was just looking, coming to understand where he was when he heard the first sound. It was horses hooves. Many horses. They were sounding closer with each passing second, they were at a full run. He looked up in front of him and saw them, coming through the pass between two mountain ridges. Horses. At least 50 of them. Each with a rider. As the horses and riders approached, he began to distinguish them better. The riders wore rough brown clothing, buckskin adorned with feathers. He could gradually see faces, marked with color. Angry. Screaming, waving their arms, the riders were obviously on the attack. At that moment, John Jacobs knew fear. The attack was centered on him and him alone. Jacobs' own scream brought everyone in the cavern awake. He bolted up and paced the floor, ignoring the repeated questions of his men. Jacobs was an arrogant man and saw any weakness in another individual as a chance for him to gain an upper hand. He did not appreciate the fact that his men had now seen him in a weakened position. It fed his anger even as the dream continued to feed his fear. Since he could not take his frustrations out on any of his men, he turned to the only outlet available: the FBI agent lying on the floor, groggily coming awake. Jacobs strolled over to where Mulder was laying and with a gleam in his eyes, viciously kicked the weaker man as hard as he could in the back. It felt so good, Jacobs did it again and again. Scully shouted a protest, but Jacobs couldn't hear her. He was too deep in enjoyment to hear anything but Mulder's gasps of pain. Then something was in his way and Jacobs started to kick out at it, only to find Dixie clutching his hands in a vise-like grip and screaming at him to stop. "You stupid bastard, you're killin' him!" she was shouting and everyone in the room was deathly silent, wondering what John would do next. He stopped kicking and stared at her. Slowly, he balled his fist and raised it to strike at the tiny woman before him. Her grey-blue eyes glared icily at him, but she didn't back down an inch. If anything, she drew herself up even straighter and as much as dared him to take a swing. They stood that way for an incredibly long time. Finally, Jacobs got control of himself. "Get out of my way, you dumb bitch," he hissed. But he lowered his hand to his side. "I said, GET OUT OF THE WAY!" he roared. "NO!" she roared in return. "I will not let you kill this man! He has done nothing to you. And he ain't worth nothing dead," she added loudly, for the benefit of all those assembled. Although none of them spoke, there were many silent nods in agreement. An eye for an eye was one thing, and the agent that had been killed had been armed. His life for Jeremiah's, that was a fair trade. To kill a second agent in cold blood, that was more than many of the men were prepared for. Jacobs stared at her, utterly confused that she would dare stand up to him. Slowly, his befuddlement was replaced with hatred, but he held it in check. "One of these days, old woman, you gonna loose that luck you been carryin'," he purred for only her ears. He was even more angry when Dixie met his glare with one of challenge in her own eyes. "Too late, John. It run out the minute I met you," she hissed in return and then knelt down to examine the damage that had been inflicted on Agent Mulder. "We're moving out after we get some food in us. Get him moving, too, Dixie," Jacobs growled. "Otherwise, I still got a bullet with his name on it." Dixie glared up at the towering man for a second, but nodded slowly. At this point, it was just a threat, but not entirely an idle one. Jacobs might not have the full support of his men when it came to killing the agent, but with a little thought, he could find an excuse to sway them. Dixie didn't let her eyes leave Jacobs until he had wandered over to the opposite side of the cavern to confer with Bob and a few of the men. "How bad is it?" she asked, letting her attention snap back to Mulder and Dana the minute she was sure Jacobs was occupied. Dana was running her hand gently over his back, noting his reaction. "He probably bruised the kidney. I don't think it's bleeding, but there's no real way to tell in here," Scully seethed, wanting no more than to have her gun and have it out with Jacobs. "Don't let him get to you, honey," Dixie instructed. "He wants you two to make a wrong move. Right now, you're just a girl who walked into the wrong place at the wrong time. If you let him get you riled, you risk losing Mulder, here, as well as yourself and that baby. Don't make that mistake." Dixie's voice was soft, but controlling. Dana nodded her head once in understanding. "Now, to answer my other question: is he gonna be able to walk?" A soft groan escaped Mulder, who rolled onto his back. "Yes," he said in a strained voice. "But how much longer are we going to be in here? Dixie, do you have any idea where we're being taken?" "Not really. Jeremiah helped John chart these tunnels. It was an old 'mom and pop' copper mine that never really panned out. Mostly just tunnels connecting caverns, like this one. There are a couple of airholes that Jeremiah talked of, but I couldn't tell you if there was more than one entrance. We could wander these tunnels for years and never be found, but the food'll more'n likely run out by tomorrow morning. These men don't go too far on empty stomachs. I 'spect John's figuring on going out the entrance and then making a run for it in the mountains. At least there's food to be found out there and we'll be far enough from the compound that the Feddies won't find us." Dixie sat for a moment, silently thinking. "He's running scared, that's fer sure." "Running scared of what? The FBI?" Dana asked, never looking up as she wrapped Mulder's ribcage in bandages, covering the almost dry flannel cloth. "No, something else," Dixie said softly. "If'n I didn't know better, I'd say ole John's got himself a ghost chasin' him. That nightmare he had, it was more fear than meanness that he was kickin' at you with," she said, gently patting Mulder's leg. "Actually," Mulder started, but caught Scully's disapproving glare. He chose to ignore it and plowed ahead. "Dixie, did you know the compound is on the site of a Blackfoot Indian Burial Ground?" "You believe in that nonsense?" she asked, shaking her head. "You believe that plants can cure people," he countered pointedly. "Only because I've seen it, boy. Not because I listened to a bunch of superstitious nonsense that's only to scare younguns into goin' to bed at night," she snapped back. Mulder couldn't help but notice the faint smile on Scully's lips. Score one for the women, he sighed. "Then how do you explain the rock?" he asked, first looking at Dixie, then at Dana. Both women exchanged nervous glances. "I thought so," he nodded, satisfied with this small victory. "Well, when you two come up with your 'reasonable explanation', please let me in on it," he sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Till then, Dixie, you got any more of that snakebite medicine on you? It's the only thing that helped." Dixie smiled and pulled out a beat up old thermos. "I filled it up before I left. Just for you and Bo. You might look in on Bo in a bit, Dana. He's feeling better, but I don't want him off'n that litter till you look him over." Dixie didn't miss the look of hesitation on Dana's face. "It's all right, child. This uns too skinny for me. I'll keep the other women folk off him for ya, though" she joked. It was enough to make Dana smile and go over to check on Bo. "So what's in this stuff again, Dixie?" Mulder asked after he had sipped the requisite amount under her supervision. "Arnica. It's wild. Now, I don't want you thinking you can just pick up any ole leaf and start chewin' it, ya hear," she said sternly. "My Gran, she spent a whole summer teachin' me the right ones and the wrong ones. Just like with mushrooms, the wrong one can kill you and it looks just a purty as the one that won't. But arnica shouldn't be taken too often. It can kill you, too." "And the stuff on my arm?" he asked. His arm was starting to itch unbearably, but so far he had managed to leave it alone. "Purple cornflower. Indians swore by it. Best thing to ward off an infection. How's the arm feelin'?" she asked, taking it and squinting at the bandages in the dim light of the distant lantern. "It itches," he admitted. "Good! It's healin'," she replied. "Don't scratch it," she ordered. "You get banged up quite a bit, don't ya?" Mulder was glad the light was low so Dixie couldn't see him blush. "I've had my share of work related injuries," he said with dignity. "No wonder she married ya. Probably figgered it was easier to take care o' ya that way," Dixie whispered with a gentle laugh at his expense. FBI Regional Office Billings, Montana 8:45 am "Furthermore, there will be no more 'middle of the night' phone calls to the AG, am I making myself clear?!" the disembodied voice fairly shouted out of the speaker phone. Walter Skinner cringed. "Crystal clear, sir," he answered. It took every ounce of strength he had to resist faxing his resignation. This assignment had gone from bad to worse to hell in a handbasket, and now *he* was getting called on the carpet for calling the Attorney General. She said she didn't want another Waco, he thought angrily. She said she wanted to be kept informed. The Director's words were ringing in his head. Proper channels. He, Walter Skinner, Mr. I Know the Chain of Command, had failed to use proper channels. Fat lot of good it did me, he mused. It still took too long and Jacobs still slipped away. That's it, he decided. If we find them alive, Mulder and Scully are both being shipped off to Bank Fraud and they'll become someone else's nervous breakdown. He stared down at the half empty, bone cold coffee cup and in a fit of self flagellation, gulped it down. Another twelve hours of this slop and *I'll* go to Bank Fraud and let Mulder take *my* job in VC. A knock at the door interrupted that thought. "Walt," Spence Thornley said stepping into the office. "You all right?" "Yeah," he lied. "No holes that weren't already there. They're just a little larger now," he quipped and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "What's the word on the helicopters from the state police?" "They'll be ready to go in a half an hour, but there's a storm front moving across the mountains. Could make the weather dicy for the better part of the morning. And Walter, you know we're still talking a long shot here. They could be all the way to Canada before they surface," Thornley sighed. Skinner closed his eyes. He was so tired. "Then I suggest you import some coffee, Spence. If I have to drink anymore of this mud, I'm liable to turn homicidal." His friend gave him a sympathetic smile. "Oh, by the way, you've gotten a couple of phone calls," he said, handing over a small stack of pink sheets. "Remember, it's two hours earlier in DC. "Shit. These are mostly reporters! I don't remember. . ." "Yeah, well, neither do I. Apparently though, the 'raid' was on CNN this morning. Unbelievable, but the bastards actually stayed out of the way this time. Maybe Waco *did* teach them something. But there's one toward the bottom of the stack that you might want to return." "Damn it," Skinner cursed when he say who the message was from. Margaret Scully. And she had been calling every hour since the first report on the television. "I recognized the last name. Dana's mom, I take it?" Thornley asked. Skinner nodded and picked up the phone. He looked up at his friend, apology in his face. "Spence, can I handle this one alone?" Skinner's eyes begged his friend for indulgence. "Sure, Walt. I'll go see if I can put a fire under those birds," he said with a wave of his hand. "Good luck, Walt," he added as he shut the door. In the Mine Cavern Day two, 9:00 am John Jacobs had called a meeting. That meant that the men all gathered around him and listened to his edicts and then nodded in agreement and did exactly as they were told. The women waited patiently by themselves. This time, they were joined by one male, Special Agent Fox Mulder. "Any clue as to what he's talking about?" Mulder asked Dixie quietly, while she applied more cornflower petals to his burn. "Where we're headed, I 'spect. The boys were hungry this morning. There's not enough food for another meal. We gotta go to ground to do a little huntin'. I think John wants out of the caverns, too," she added, chewing on her lip. "You've been good, so far. Just stay clear of him, OK?" "Dixie, I need to talk to him. If we leave these tunnels, you can bet that we'll be walking into an ambush. They probably consider you women to be unwilling hostages at this point. And kidnapping a Federal Officer, *two* Federal Officers, is a major crime. The FBI is not going to let us walk to Canada, no matter what Jacobs thinks. Maybe, if he lets me go first, I can at least make sure nobody dies," Mulder said anxiously, his eyes flashing over to Scully for a second before turning back to gaze at Dixie. Dixie thought about it for a moment. "He's sober. But I don't know that's much of an improvement. I think that dream last night has him spooked so bad, he'd kill just out of frustration. I don't want that on my head," she said flatly. Dana caught Mulder's look and made a decision. "Dixie, please. Mulder's right. He's done this kind of thing before, talking to men who were scared. He may not look like it now," she said with a wicked grin, "but he's actually a fairly decent psychologist when he isn't in traction. Let him try, Dixie. It might be our only chance at resolving this peacefully." Inside the mine Day Two Noon They had been walking for over two hours along the dark, cavernous mine. Dixie was right, Scully thought wearily, we could walk around this mine for years and no one would ever find us. Every turn they encountered looked just like the previous one. There was no way of knowing which direction they were going or even if they were walking in circles. Only John Jacobs seemed to know where they were headed. He had been leading the group since shortly after the meeting with his men had ended. The two agents had tried in vain to convince Dixie that Mulder should at least attempt to talk to Jacobs. But the old woman had relented only slightly in the end, saying she would think about it. It was obvious to both Mulder and Scully that they needed Dixie on their side, they were sure Mulder would be dead by now if it wasn't for her. For that reason they decided to go along with her wishes. She seemed to know Jacobs pretty well and if she felt now was not the time for an FBI heart to heart with the madman, then now was not the time. Even so, Scully was fairly certain Mulder couldn't keep walking for much longer. She was amazed he was still on his feet. Although Dixie's snakebite medicine, as Mulder had decided to call it, had helped, it couldn't heal the broken bones and only God knew what damage Jacobs had caused during his early morning outburst. She looked over at her husband and, for the tenth time in as many minutes, tried to offer some support, urging him to lean on her. He shook his head and pushed her away, refusing to look at her. It was an automatic reflex, she knew that, but it still hurt. He could barely carry himself but he was only concerned with her well-being, worried Jacobs would make the connection between the two of them. She took a deep breath and felt her stomach, if only to reassure herself that life goes on. The thoughts of the baby growing inside of her led to thoughts of her sister and the message she had conveyed on her wedding day. Oh Missy, if only I could be sure, Dana thought to herself. If only I could be sure that this baby will come to term and Mulder will be there to see it. She was so deep in thought she didn't notice Tenille had slowed her pace and was beside her until the young woman took her hand. Instinctively, Scully jumped, startling Mulder in the process. Scully looked around and relaxed when she realized the rest of the Brotherhood was a few feet in front of them, obviously not very concerned that the two agents might make a run for it. "I'm sorry," Tenille whispered. "I didn't mean to startle you." Scully noticed the young woman was shaking, probably more scared than she was. She was at a loss for words and said nothing, letting her expression show that no harm was done and urging Tenille to continue. "I have something for him," Tenille said under her breath, visibly terrified that one of the Brothers would see her speaking with the enemy. She quickly handed Scully a soft white pouch. From the feel of it Scully guessed it was made of silk. "It's an amulet," Tenille said quickly. "I was working on it right before we left." Scully looked at Tenille carefully, not knowing what to make of the gesture. Tenille misunderstood the expression. "An amulet is..." "I know what an amulet is," Scully interrupted. "I'm just wondering why..." Scully stopped herself before continuing. She didn't want to insult this young woman, who was obviously risking something by even speaking with them. "It ain't fair, is all," Tenille said sadly. "What John's done to him." Tenille looked at Mulder, only to avert her gaze the instant he made eye contact. "It's an amulet to ward off fever," she continued, staring at the ground as she spoke. "Inside the sack there's a white rose, a nickel and a penknife. When the fever breaks you need to bury the rose." She looked at Scully for confirmation, approval. Scully nodded. First snakebite medicine and now amulets. It was all more than her scientific mind could handle on a good day. But Tenille meant well and what the hell, she thought, it couldn't hurt. Mulder looked over at Tenille and whispered the words thank you before the young woman scurried off to join her two female friends in front of them. Scully looked at Mulder and smiled. "Seems like the womenfolk have taken a liking to you," she joked, handing him the small pouch. "I guess you should put this in your pocket. We wouldn't want to hurt Tenille's feelings..." Her words were cut off when Mulder reached over for the pouch and she felt his hand on hers. He was very hot. One look in his eyes confirmed her fears, he had a perilously high fever. "Mulder, you're burning up," she whispered. "Then this amulet came just in time," he mused, shoving the silk pouch deep inside the front pocket of his Levi's. "Look at that, I feel better already." Scully was not amused and could barely hide the contempt she was feeling. "Not funny, Mulder. I'm scared. I'm worried about you." She softened a little bit, reminding herself he was the one suffering physically. "You don't look like you can go much further and Jacobs isn't about to slow down because you're not up to the task at hand." "Dana stop worrying about me. I'm fine. If the time comes when I can't go on, we'll deal with it then. Right now I seem to be putting one foot in front of the other quite nicely, thank you." Scully was about to say she didn't believe him when she became aware that the group in front of them had stopped. She could make out Jacobs' form about 40 feet in front of them, talking to some of his men who had gathered around him. They were having an animated discussion, as animated as any of the Brothers dared to be in front of their leader. Were they arguing? Whatever they were saying was in hushed tones, but a few of the men were gesturing feverishly, indicating a battle of the wills was taking place. It was no surprise to either agent when the men around Jacobs retreated back into the group and began talking to the rest of the followers. After a few minutes Dixie casually inched her way back to Mulder and Scully, who had kept their distance, hoping to disappear into the walls. "What's going on?" Mulder asked. "It seems that we're about 50 yards from the exit," Dixie whispered. "John wants us to wait right here until it's dark before we make a run for the border." "And the rest of the men are having a problem with that?" Scully asked. "These men think with their stomachs," Dixie mused. "Seems John wants to wait until it's really dark, midnight at the earliest, and the men are claiming the women can't go that long without proper nourishment." Dixie laughed at her own statement. "Suddenly they're thinking about the women," she said absently. Her mind drifted for an instant, remembering how Jeremiah used to take such good care of her, before she caught herself and quickly brought herself back to the present. "In any case," she said, looking at Mulder, "this is probably a good thing for you. You look like you could sit for a spell." Mulder nodded weakly, attempting a smile in appreciation of Dixie's concern. "Dixie," Scully interrupted, "Mulder's burning up. I've got a few aspirin left, but I hate to give them to him on an empty stomach. Do you have anything else we can give him?" Dixie reached up to touch Mulder's cheek. "Don't need to touch you, really, my boy," she said. "As Gran used to say, I can see the fever dancin' in your eyes." She looked around and noticed the Brotherhood was starting to make themselves comfortable on the cold mine floor. "I ain't got no food left. Nothin' to help line his stomach, if that's what you mean." Scully nodded and Dixie continued. "Peppermint and parsley are both good for fevers," she said slowly, thinking out loud. "I have some peppermint with me but I would need to heat up some water. Let me think about that for a minute. In the meantime, you two sit down, it's going to be a long 12 hours." Before she could walk away Mulder held her arm gently. "Dixie," he said, "I really need to talk to Jacobs. It's our only chance. Possibly the entire Brotherhood's only chance." "My boy you can barely stand on your own two feet right now, you think you've got it in you to talk to John?" Mulder nodded. "It's now or never Dixie. In a few hours I may not be able to do it." Dixie looked at him carefully before looking at Scully. "Is he always this ornery?" she asked, only half joking. "You should see him when he feels good," Scully shot back. Although she knew Mulder was right, talking to Jacobs probably was their only chance of getting out of this alive, she had her doubts as to Mulder's current state of mind. She hastily decided she had no choice but to trust her husband's judgment. "I agree with Mulder, Dixie," she finally said, not quite as convincing as she was hoping to come across. "Okay," Dixie reluctantly agreed. "Let me see if I can do anything about the peppermint tea first and then I'll talk to John. In the meantime, keep that amulet close to you boy." With that she walked away into the crowd, her slight frame easily disappearing out of sight the minute she sat down and began talking to some of the Brothers. Overlooking the Brotherhood compound 7:30 P.M. "It's getting too dark to see anything, Walt." Spence Thornley had to shout to be heard above the din of the helicopter. "We need to get back to camp and start again in the morning." "One more time around." Skinner shouted, not bothering to wait for a response. After all, it wasn't a question, it was an order. He had promised to call Margaret Scully that evening, whether he had any news to report or not, and he wasn't prepared to call with no news. They had been circling the area around the compound for nearly six hours. Stopping only once to refuel. They had estimated the most the Brotherhood could have walked since their escape was roughly 15 miles. And that was assuming they had been walking non-stop since three in the morning, which was not likely. Certainly if they had gotten that far Mulder would have been left behind. From what Skinner had seen of the agent the night before he didn't look like he could have walked a hundred yards, much less 15 miles. The more accurate guess was anywhere between five and 10 miles, but they were taking no chances. They were scouring every inch in every direction in a fifteen mile radius. As time went by they had ventured further out, not willing to rule out any possibilities. Skinner finally put down his binoculars and sat back. Spence was right. It was now too dark to see anything. Even with the high powered lights coming from the helicopter the visibility was lousy. The area surrounding the compound was dense with trees and brush. In some parts the ground was hidden for hundreds of yards at a time. Tomorrow he would join the foot patrol, he decided. At least on foot he would feel like he was contributing more than he could sitting in a helicopter, staring at the tops of trees. It occurred to him, certainly not for the first time, that the Brotherhood could have been planning their escape into the tunnel for a very long time, storing supplies and food to last them indefinitely. It could be days, weeks or even months before they ventured outside. Before they needed to venture outside. He closed his eyes and thought about his two most infuriating agents. How long would it be before Scully started showing? Margaret Scully would know. The thought of Margaret Scully, waiting by the phone, waiting for his call, made him nauseous. He leaned forward and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "Take her back," he shouted. He couldn't even look at the old friend sitting next to him. He would join one of the foot patrols as soon as he had made the phone call. Inside the mine 8:15 P.M. The old Blackfoot Indian was standing in front of her smiling. He was holding a handful of colorful leaves and was urging her to take them. Dana Scully looked around and saw nothing but an open field for miles. The brightly decorated Indian took her hands and placed the leaves he was holding in them, carefully closing her fingers around them. Dana opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. She looked up at the old man, who was still smiling, and questioned him with her eyes. He took her hands, and the leaves, and gently pressed them against her heart. The leaves felt warm to her touch and she felt an overwhelming desire to press them tightly against her chest. Wisps of billowy smoke surrounded her and it took only an instant to realize the heat was coming from her. From her heart. She let out a gasp and dropped the pile to the ground. The Blackfoot was gone. She woke with a start, feeling her hands for a burn that wasn't there. Mulder was asleep with his back against the wall beside her and she looked around before allowing herself to touch his cheek and forehead. He was still warm but not nearly as hot as he had been a few hours earlier. At one point he had started to talk about the baby and she could have sworn he was delirious. Dixie had come through once again, having had one of the Brothers start a small fire on the pretense she needed to make some tea for Bo. The women had packed what provisions they had and luckily had included a couple of small pots and some drinking water. Sneaking a cup of peppermint tea back to Mulder had been no small feat, but Dixie had managed that as well. Unable to read her watch in the darkness, Scully sat back and closed her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, or how much longer before John mobilized the group again. She covered Mulder's hand with her own, throwing caution to the wind, before falling asleep again. *********** Dixie had agreed to talk to Jacobs right after they made their exit from the tunnel. No use getting him riled up while they were still trapped inside. She didn't think John was going to take too kindly to Mulder wanting to talk to him, but she had seen the determination on the young agent's face and had come to the conclusion he was going to do it whether he had her blessing or not. She looked over at the young couple, barely making out their forms, and said a silent prayer. Something about Agent Mulder reminded her of Jeremiah. She had a feeling the young man had a stubborn streak, just like her husband. And Dana...Dana reminded her of the woman she wished she had been when she was younger. It wasn't until recently that she felt the courage to stand up for herself, for her beliefs. She had been lucky Jeremiah never took advantage of her timidness, or her meek countenance. It was men like John Jacobs that took advantage of people like that. Something inside her had kicked in the night Jeremiah died. Something she didn't know was in there. Whatever it was it had given her a strength she didn't know she possessed. And although she felt it was too late to help herself, she was damned if she wouldn't do what she could to save this young couple. Dixie closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep slowly, dreaming of the children she and Jeremiah never had. Inside the mine Sometime after midnight John Jacobs had not been able to relax for the better part of the day. So fearful was he of having another nightmare, of showing weakness in front of his men, that he had refused to let himself sleep. It wasn't until he had downed half a bottle of Jim Beam that the decision was taken out of his hands and he was left with little choice than to pass out on the stone floor. His sleep was fitful at best, with many ghosts from his past paying him a visit. The Blackfoot that had so haunted his earlier dream didn't make an appearance this time, but they didn't have to. Jacobs had enough skeletons in his closet to be spooked easily. He had caused enough damage and killed enough people in his lifetime to fear the afterlife. An afterlife he had managed, throughout his life, to convince himself did not exist. That was just what cowards pretended to believe to avoid taking any meaningful action in their lives, he told himself. But lately, maybe because he was getting older, maybe because things had started to go sour, he was starting to give the afterlife some thought. It had occurred to him when he had thrown the scalding water on the G-Man that maybe now was the time to reverse some of the bad he had done. The thought lingered for an instant before he realized it was too late for him. Too much water under the bridge, so to speak. Being good to one man wasn't about to turn his fortune around. It certainly wasn't going to stop him from going to Hell. At that precise moment in the kitchen he accepted the grim fact that his soul was beyond salvation. The acceptance gave him the freedom to do his will. Until that stone came flying through the window and the Blackfoot started hunting him down like some animal. He had accepted the fact that he would suffer the unmentionable, the unfathomable, in the afterlife, but he wasn't prepared to face it now. While he was still alive. Only Jim Beam could save him now. John Jacobs was unraveling and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before he did himself in. Now it was just a question of how many men he would take with him when he went. With that ominous thought he stood up and started to rouse the Brothers. It was time to make a break for the outdoors. *********** Mulder had been awake for a while when he saw Jacobs stand, unsteadily. The fact that the man was already drunk, or was it still drunk, didn't bode well for the conversation he wanted to have with him. Mulder couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Jacobs had changed in the last couple of days. The arrogance was still there but there was uncertainty as well. Something he hadn't seen when he first entered the compound. Maybe Dixie was right, maybe something had spooked him. But what? Jacobs had turned on his lantern and was looking around the room slowly, almost methodically. Like someone surveying his prize cattle, Mulder thought bitterly. He smiled inwardly when it occurred to him that John Jacobs was suffering from mad cow disease. Jacobs' booming voice was enough to startle anyone and Dana Scully was no exception. She came out of a sound sleep practically shaking when she heard the big man yelling out orders. "Shh," Mulder whispered, stroking her hand. "It's okay. I think it's time. It must be after midnight." Scully allowed herself the luxury of holding her husband's hand for only a moment. Long enough to get her bearings and build her strength. "You're not as warm," she finally said, not daring to touch his face. "How do you feel?" "Okay." Mulder was grateful the lanterns were still far enough away that she couldn't see him clearly. He was sure his expression would betray his pat answer. As it was, he knew she didn't believe him. The fever was gone, but the pain in his ribs and his back was intense and once again he was having a hard time breathing. If it wasn't for Dana Scully, that remarkable woman that had so penetrated his existence, he would already have given up trying to stay alive. Scully squeezed his hand and looked up to where John Jacobs was standing. He was barking orders and no one dared to move a muscle. "Listen up, everyone," he was shouting. "It is very important we do this as planned. One false move and we all could die." He looked around the room, letting his words sink in before continuing. "I will give you each a number and you will stand in a line behind the exit according to that number. You will go out one at a time. Once outside I will direct you to another location. I will go first, with the G-Man and the Doc, our insurance policy," he added with a snicker. Jacobs held his lantern up and looked to the back of the mine, in search of his two hostages. "Hey G-Man," he shouted, "you still alive?" Mulder didn't answer him, instead he chose to stand up and make his presence known. He used the wall for support, refusing to let Scully help him in any way. Scully stood beside him. "Come on up here, you two," Jacobs shouted. "It's show time." The two agents began walking slowly to the front of the group. Mulder ahead of Scully, refusing to let her walk in front of him. Dixie brushed his arm as he walked past her and whispered the words, "not now." A caution to wait before attempting to talk to Jacobs. Mulder couldn't agree more. Something about Jacobs wasn't right. More so than before. Jacobs was leering at them by the time they reached his side. "Good," he said sarcastically, "I'm glad you could join me." He callously shoved Mulder out of the way and began shouting out numbers to his people. Instinctively, Mulder reached out for Scully as a wave of nausea washed over him. He closed his eyes and tried to ground himself, fearing he was going to pass out. Fortunately, Jacobs had his back to them and didn't notice how badly Mulder had reacted to the simple shove he had given him. A couple of the Brothers standing nearby noticed but they were too busy waiting for their numbers to care. Dixie saw what happened, as well as the other women in the group. Women who forced themselves to look down for fear the anguish on their face would give away the contempt they were feeling. After a moment Mulder opened his eyes and quickly let go of Scully. "I'm okay," he said, not waiting to be asked. Every breath was painful and speaking only made it worse. He looked at his wife, his eyes trying to convey everything he was feeling. Everything he felt for her, for their situation. She understood and simply nodded. "Okay, does everyone have a number?" Jacobs shouted. His followers nodded. "Then get in a line like I asked you to damnit!" The Brotherhood stumbled around each other until they had made a haphazard line that stretched for several feet along the side of the mine. "Good," Jacobs said, surveying his group. Now follow me." He took Scully by the arm and led her towards the exit. "Stay close, G-Man," he said to Mulder. "We wouldn't want to leave you behind now would we?" Jacobs laughed, a loud haunting laughter that echoed off the walls of the mine and reverberated garishly throughout the building. Outside the compound 9:00 pm "Hello?" answered the weary voice over a 1000 miles away. "Mrs. Scully? This is Walter Skinner," he said quietly. "I promised to call if there were any new developments." "And have there been any?" she asked, trying to match the calm in his voice. "I'm afraid so, and not exactly for the better." He paused and heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Mrs. Scully, as far as we know, both your daughter and her partner are still alive." "As far as you know. When was the last time you saw anything?" Maggie Scully was quickly losing her patience with Skinner and his bureaucratic doublespeak. "At 3:30 this morning, both Dana and Fox were sighted in the compound." He hesitated a fraction of a second before continuing. "Dana appeared to be fine." Maggie drew in a breath, that had been over 17 hours ago. She caught both the hesitation in Skinner's voice and the absense of any comment on the condition of her son-in-law. "And Fox?" she asked, letting her impatience drip from the words. "He is alive, of that we are certain. More than that, I can't really say, Mrs. Scully." "So you can't see into the compound now?" she asked, pulling each answer from him. "Mrs. Scully, the Brotherhood has abandoned the compound. They are no longer in the building. I'm sure it will be headline news soon out east. We've kept the media hounds at bay, but that only lasted 24 hours. It appears that they have escaped through an abandoned mine tunnel. We are currently conducting an extensive search of the area. We aren't sure what caused the departure, but we are doing everything in our power to get your daughter. . ." "And her husband," Maggie interrupted, pointedly. "*And* her husband out alive. Believe me, I have no intention of losing either of them or any more of the men here in Montana. I am supervising this operation personally." Skinner knew that this was hardly enough to satisfy Dana's mother. But under the circumstances, he hoped she would at least attempt to understand his position. "I guess I should call Ann. She hasn't tried to contact you, has she?" Maggie asked. Chances were good that Ann was oblivious to her son's danger. But that was the way the woman preferred it, after all. "I haven't heard from Mrs. Mulder, no. If you would be so kind as to contact her, I would appreciate it." Skinner was anxious to get this conversation over with so he could get back to the search. "I know you want to get going, Mr. Skinner. And I do appreciate the fact that you took the time to call. Please let me know if anything else develops and if I'm needed out there." "Of course, Mrs. Scully. I'll let you know the minute we find them. Or I'll have Dana call herself." The mine entrance Midnight It wasn't the best conditions outside the mine. A bitter wind had kicked up, common in late spring in the mountains. The quarter moon was hardly enough to light the path, had there been a path. Perfect conditions to make an escape, Mulder thought grimly. He closed his eyes and tried to detect any sounds of possible rescue, a helicopter or a plane. It occured to him the irony of listening for a helicopter, considering how many times he had tried to outrun one. Jacobs had decided that the group would stay together, at least for the time being. It would become necessary to split up before daybreak, unless shelter was available. His plan, or so much of it as Mulder had been able to overhear now that he was closer to Jacobs, was to head for the border, some 15 miles to the north according to one of the men. The hours spent in the mine had left Mulder stiff and more sore than when they stopped. Sometime during the last few hours, he had picked up a cough that he was trying to supress. A nice stay in a hospital was looking relatively good, but he would never admit that to Scully. He looked over at her, when he was sure none of the others was watching. Even in the dim moonlight, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. He didn't want to leave her, no way, no how. But he was becoming more and more concerned about what Jacobs was planning to do with them once they all arrived at the border. Once into Canada, Mulder knew Jacobs would have to 'dispose' of his 'insurance policies'. It only made sense. If he were to let them go, they could bring the authorities right down on top of the Brotherhood. Canadian extradition was a simple process and the RCMP's were rather good at tracking down fugitives in the wilds of Western Canada. The only way the Brotherhood could really be free of pursuit is if they could get farther up into the Canadian wilderness, away from the border, and free of any hinderences. He and Scully were the biggest hinderences Mulder could think of. He looked hard at Jacobs. Mulder had seen plenty of madmen in his day, from simple killers to genetic mutants. They all had a certain emptiness in their eyes, like their souls were not in attendence. Jacobs looked different to Mulder. Jacobs looked scared. Once again, Mulder wondered what Jacobs was afraid of. It certainly wasn't the FBI. He had nothing but disdain for the government, not fear. His mind kept returning to the Indian Burial ground and the tombstone that had crashed through the window. Jacobs was haunted. Something was chasing him, pushing him further and further, making it difficult for him to think. Difficult for him to sleep. That was it. Mulder remembered the nightmare Jacobs had had in the middle of the night. He couldn't be certain, but he didn't think Jacobs had slept a wink since that time. When was that, Mulder tried desparately to remember. His own pain was making his mind foggy. It seemed to be not long after they had settled down to rest the first time. And really, Jacobs had rested only a little in the compound. The man was running on pure adreneline by now. It wouldn't be long before he dropped from exhaustion. But before then, he would have a very short fuse and a very hot temper. The men trudged off into the darkness. Bob and Henry took point. Mulder noticed that someone had remembered a set of night vision goggles and they were sharing them as well as lead position. So much for hoping the group would have to find shelter sooner than later. Jacobs made his way over to where Mulder was leaning against a tree. "Hey, Mr. FBI, how're ya holding up?" he sneered. Mulder tried to straighten as much as he could, he didn't want to give the man a target for his anger. He decided now was as good a time as any to have that talk, fearful that waiting for Dixie to arrange it would take more time than they had left. "Look, Jacobs, you don't need two hostages," Mulder said calmly, evenly. "And from the looks of it, your man is feeling much better. Why not let the paramedic go now. It's dark, she has no way of knowing which direction you're heading or your destination. Let her go. You've got me for a hostage," he reasoned. He was grateful Scully was taking a look at Bo, certain his request would have made her furious had she heard it. Jacobs chewed on his lip. It didn't seem like that bad of an idea. Leaving the woman behind would probably save time once they were at the border. And she was an innocent. The men were getting pretty scared and didn't want more trouble. That damn Miller woman was stirring up a ruckus among the women as it was. "Let me think on it," Jacobs said with a nod and walked back over to direct the others. "It's the Burial Ground, isn't it? Or didn't you know the compound was built on a Blackfoot burial ground?" Mulder called after him. Jacobs stopped short and his shoulders tensed. "The rock through the window, the men getting sick, it's all connected, you know. I've seen it before, or at least, I've read about it. That's why it's considered sacred ground. It's also dangerous to disturb them." Mulder really didn't know why he was risking his life by confronting Jacobs with this information. Maybe he felt he could get through to him. Whatever made him do it, he was not quite prepared for the result. "What do you know about it?" Jacobs growled angrily. "Just that it's pretty obvious that FBI agents didn't throw that tombstone through the window. It was something else, some other power. The compound was built on sacred ground, to the Blackfoot, at least. I don't know why their spirits weren't disturbed before, maybe it was when you buried your dead with theirs that they got angry. Whatever, they're haunting you still, aren't they?" Mulder was speaking so fast that he was having trouble catching his breath. It was coming in short gasps and the effort of standing was starting to take its toll. Spots were swimming before his eyes, but he held them steady, not wavering from his gaze on Jacobs. "You don't know nothing!" Jacobs shouted. "You talk too much!" He covered the ground between them in a single step and punched Mulder with all his might right where the agent's damaged ribs were. Mulder let out a yelp and crumbled to his feet. Seeing the younger man prostrate before him only served to give Jacobs a focus for his fear and anger. He kicked, hit, punched the agent with all his force. A couple of the men ran over to him, but refused to try and pull him off. They just stood there, open mouthed and watched. Dixie and Dana were several feet away, checking out Bo, when they heard the ruckus. Dana looked up and saw that Jacobs was in a frenzy. It didn't take a psychic to know the target of the attack. She jumped up to run to Mulder, but Dixie shoved her roughly into Tenille's arms. "Keep her here," Dixie whispered hoarsely and ran over to the fight. By the time Dixie arrived at Mulder's side, the young man was covered with blood but still conscious, protecting his battered body by curling into a fetal position. Jacobs continued his onslaught, his anger fueling his efforts. So intense was his rage he was literally blinded by it, and was no longer aware of his own actions. He was in a terrifying stupor, his hands and feet no longer connecting with Mulder's limp body. Dixie tried to grab him and pull him off, cognizant of the fact that Jacobs would indeed connect with Mulder's broken body again if left to his own volition. But Jacobs tossed the small woman aside like so much driftwood on a rough sea. Not deterred by his assault on her, Dixie scrambled to her feet. Looking around desparately, she spied a fallen limb a few feet from her, and, using it as a club, brought it down on Jacobs right across his broad shoulders. He let out a roar and turned on her, his former prey forgotten. By this time, Dana had torn herself away from Tenille's grasp and had run over to stand as close to Mulder as the group of men around him would allow. She had to jump up and down to get a good look over and around the men's shoulders. By some miracle, one of the men turned and she finally had a good look. But at that moment, it was a sight she really wished she hadn't been able to witness. Jacobs was roaring with anger, his face red, his eyes bulging. No man had the nerve or the stupidity to step forward and try and protect the tiny woman now standing in the eye of the tornado that was John Jacobs. Jacobs lifted Dixie off the ground, shook the old woman violently and then threw her as hard as he could against the boulders that lined the mine entrance. Dixie hit the rock with a sickening crack of bone and slid down to the ground, eyes open, unseeing. Dana let out a shriek and ran to the little woman, Jacobs finally coming out of the fog that his anger had induced. A momentary panic flashed across his eyes and he glanced around at the others, all staring at him, open mouthed, incredulous. Not one of them needed to hear Dana's announcement to know that the old woman was dead. That much was obvious. And what was worse was the fact that their supposed leader now stood in the center of their circle, shamefaced, and guilty. No one did anything for a long time. They stood, some accusing Jacobs with their eyes, others confused and questioning with gazes that the big man refused to answer. Finally, Jacobs took a deep breath and blew it out. His composure was back and with it, the guilt he had previously felt vanished. "I told that damn bitch not to interfere. Now look what she made me do!? If she'd left me be, this would never had happened!" By this time, Bob and Henry had made their way to either side of Jacobs. Bob's eyes flicked nervously over to Tenille, but he said nothing to her. He just flanked Jacobs, with Henry on the other side, in case there was a sudden revolt among the men. Both Bob and Henry hefted their weapons as warning against anyone who might question Jacobs' actions. Dana wanted more than anything to go to Mulder, but the men made an effective wall between them. She stayed by Dixie's body, holding back tears as she gently closed the grey eyes. There was nothing she could do. Tenille and a few of the other women, casting furtive glances toward the men, came over and covered the body with a blanket. "C'mon!" Jacobs shouted, more loudly than necessary since everyone was standing so close and all eyes and ears were on him. "We're wasting time. Leave the body. We don't have time to bury it and try and make a run for it. The rest of you, get a move on. We got 15 miles to the border and the hounds will be out before light. We move now." Jacobs turned and began walking, leading his weary followers into darkness, too preoccupied with his own haunted thoughts to hear Tenille arguing with Bob. "We can't just leave him here." She was holding on to Bob's arm, the one that held the rifle he had become so proud of. So reliant on. "This agent is innocent. Like Dixie. How many more people are we going to let him kill?" Tenille's voice was trembling, her fear impossible to mask, but she would be damned if she would let Dixie die in vain. The closest thing to a mother Tenille had ever experienced, Dixie had lost her life trying to save the man that was struggling to stand up just a few feet from them. "What do you want me to do Tenille? Risk my life to save *him*?" Bob pointed at Mulder with his rifle, the irony of the situation not entirely lost on him. He was the one with the big gun, after all. Tenille glared at him. For the first time in her life, after she met Bob, she had dared herself to dream, to fantasize of a future with a man she loved and maybe even a family of her own. The crashing of those thoughts, that dream, only intensified her resolve to validate Dixie's death. "If you don't do something, I will." She let go of Bob's hand, disgusted with the feel of his skin on hers and began walking towards Mulder. Dana Scully had already made her way to his side, so disoriented were the Yeomen, it hadn't occurred to any of them to stop her. Bob was in a quandary. He felt an undeniable loyalty to John Jacobs. A loyalty borne out of fear and respect. It was that fear that had him frozen in his tracks. The respect he had started to lose a couple of days earlier, when it was obvious to Bob something had clicked in John's head the instant he threw the scalding water at the federal agent. He was so used to following John's orders, no questions asked, rarely allowed a free thought, that he was now at a loss. Deep down he knew Tenille was right. They couldn't just let the agent die, not without trying to save him. But he had no idea where to begin. Tenille's disgusted glare fueled his own desire to remedy the situation. It wasn't until that moment, the moment when she turned her back on him, loathing in her eyes, that he realized how much she meant to him. Her disdain for him, of his actions or lack thereof, made his stomach turn and his heart ache. He reached for her, to stop her, but instead turned in the direction John was headed and yelled out to him. "John," he shouted, waiting for the big man to turn and face him before continuing, "what about the federal agent? He needs help." It wasn't much, but it was a step in the right direction. Tenille turned and looked in his eyes. The contempt from a moment earlier was gone, replaced by...was it pride? Bob couldn't tell. He was scared to death of what might happen next. "Leave him," John shouted back. "If he's not dead already he will be soon. Besides, he was right. One hostage is all we need to get us to the border." No sooner had the words left John Jacobs' lips when a sudden burst of lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating everyone in an eerie burst of light before crashing down on the tree where Dixie Miller's body was resting. The Yeomen scattered as the massive tree was split in half, sending bark and branches flying in every direction. When the dust had settled, only Dixie's body remained in its original position. Upright, without the benefit of a tree to support her. The mine entrance Just after midnight The pitch of one woman's scream only served to further jar the Brotherhood. The last 72 hours had taken their toll and there wasn't a Brother left that wasn't spooked in one way or another. John Jacobs was no exception. If anything, he was more distraught and frightened than his followers. That realization alone sent shivers down his spine. He felt like a hunted man. Or was that a haunted man? Loud, ominous laughter left his mouth before he could retrieve it. Some of his men turned to face him, but none could look in his eyes. It was the hesitation Jacobs needed to regain some of his composure. They were afraid of him. Good. He was afraid of himself. He laughed out loud again, but this time, if only to his ears, the sound of nerves echoed in the background. Bob, unnerved like the rest of them, managed to seize the moment, albeit slowly, and approached Jacobs, making sure to keep a healthy distance. "John," he said, breathing deeply before he could continue. "I didn't hear what you said. What should we do about the federal agent?" John glared at Bob, but before he could say anything he felt the eyes of his men on him. This time, their own fear had given them the strength to look their leader in the eye. They had seen the lightning and the tree and the image of Dixie, as if suspended in air, as the omen they were sure was intended. They could not and would not let the agent stay behind. John Jacobs regarded his group slowly, a mildly successful attempt to hide his own fears, before speaking to Bob. "I said," Jacobs spoke evenly, with the enormous control he knew was necessary to keep his team at bay, "to bring him along. We need both hostages until we can get to the border." With that, John Jacobs turned around and began walking, slowly, making sure he heard footsteps behind him before picking up his pace. Bob went back to Tenille and Scully, who had managed to get Mulder into a sitting position. One of the women had given Dana a wet washcloth and she was slowly wiping the blood off his face when Bob came up from behind. "Can he walk?" he asked. "Probably not on his own," Scully answered. Bob had just moved up a couple of notches in her book and she was trying to relay her appreciation by not coming off as angry as she really was. She put her hand under Mulder's chin and held his head up for inspection. His left eye was already swollen shut and his right cheekbone was badly bruised, possibly broken. She moved his jaw easily and was grateful that that too hadn't been broken in the last attack. Mulder tried to smile at her but winced with the effort and she was amazed he had it in him to even try. She kissed the top of his head, no longer caring who knew what. "It's time to stand up, G-Man," she said, and, with the help of Bob, lifted him onto very unsteady feet. Mulder felt a wave of nausea and was forced to lean heavily on Scully until it passed. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently. "Just close your eyes and let it pass." When the dizziness tapered he opened his eyes slowly, allowing himself to focus on Scully before speaking. "Scully, I..." his breathing was labored, like it had been back at the compound, and Scully found herself wishing for some of Dixie's snakebite medicine. "I don't think...I can...make it..." Before Scully could open her mouth Bob took over. "Sure you can," he said. "You lean on me as much as you have to and we'll get you out of this mess, together, okay?" Mulder nodded weakly at the tall stranger before him. Tears welled up in Tenille's eyes as she reached over and gently squeezed Bob's arm. He responded by handing her his rifle, effectively freeing himself to fully help the man on his left. They began the arduous trek behind the Brotherhood, in search of the Canadian border. Mulder was barely conscious, gradually forgetting why he was there or why he was fighting to stay alive. Every inch of his body ached and every step he took made breathing more difficult. After an hour of walking through the uneven terrain Scully was certain Mulder wouldn't last much longer. He could no longer control the cough he had been suppressing earlier and every time he coughed his fractured ribs moved, causing more pain and more difficulty breathing. The man she loved more than anything in the world was dying before her very own eyes, and there was nothing she could do. Or was there? "Bob," she said quietly, although they were well behind the rest of the group, she wasn't taking any chances. "Hmm?" Bob wasn't taking any chances either. "He's not going to make it if we keep walking. He needs to lie down, to get to a hospital." For an instant Scully felt guilty for talking about Mulder as if he wasn't even there. And then, sadly, she realized he really wasn't. He was in too much pain to be aware of much. "What do you suppose we do Ma'am?" Ma'am. Scully suddenly realized just how young Bob was. He was just a kid, in his early twenties, if that, caught up in a mess he had very little to do with. "Is your gun loaded?" "Yes..." Bob wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Maybe we can shoot Jacobs..." "I don't think so." Bob wanted to scream. What had he gotten himself into? "I know it sounds like a good idea, but you do that and someone else is bound to shoot you in return. Whether they mean to or not, they'll just get caught up in the moment. I've seen it happen." He may be young, Scully thought, but he's right. She wondered what kind of life Bob had shared with Jacobs that gave him the insight he seemed to possess. "Any suggestions then?" Scully was at a loss. "If we don't do something soon, Agent Mulder is going to die." Agent Mulder. She wanted to scream, my husband, the father of my child, but she didn't. Instead, she listened to his breathing, the short gasps punctuated by the wheezing and the coughing and the shuffling of his feet as he dragged them along the dirt. "Let me think about it," Bob said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He had done a lot of thinking in the last hour and had come to the conclusion that he wanted out of this mess in one piece, with Tenille by his side. Another dead federal agent would not bode well for his future plans. Even if he wasn't directly responsible for his death. It struck him as funny that he was more concerned with having to live with himself if he did nothing, with his conscience of all things, than with the fear of going to jail. He supposed he had Tenille to thank for that. Somehow, in spite of how hard he had tried to keep his distance, he had grown very fond of this woman, her beliefs and compassion making more than a mild impression. It occurred to Bob that they could purposely slow down, eventually lagging so far behind they would be on their own, but that didn't seem right to him. He counted a lot of the men in the Brotherhood as his friends and deserting them with the madman that had become John Jacobs was not an option he was comfortable with. Loyalty went deep in the backwoods of Montana. The FBI man was leaning on him pretty heavily and he was amazed the agent hadn't collapsed altogether. He would have to come up with a better plan. *********** John Jacobs didn't like being set up. Worse still he didn't like being set up by a ghost. No matter how many swigs of Jim Beam he took he couldn't erase the memory of Dixie's blank eyes looking right through him. At another juncture in his life he would have regarded the lightning as an act of nature. But not any more. Not now. Dixie was haunting him. Finishing in the afterlife what she couldn't accomplish while she was alive. He was beginning to wish he had made the escape through the mine by himself, without his team of losers tagging along, when Henry came up beside him. "Uh...John," the young man was clearly uncomfortable. "Speak up boy," John bellowed. "What is it?" "It's Bo, John. He seems to be taking a turn for the worse. Mary says he has a high fever and is startin' to say things that don't make much sense." John thought about Henry's words, their implications. What he wanted to do was shoot Bo in the head, like a wounded animal, and put him and everyone else out of their misery. But he was smart enough to know he wouldn't get away with it. Hell, he was surprised he'd gotten away with killing Dixie. But he knew that was different, Dixie had interfered with a man on a mission. Bo hadn't done anything wrong. "Okay," John finally answered. "We'll stop here for a bit. Go an' get the doc woman and see if she can do anything for Bo. But we stop for no more than 20 minutes. And then we move on, with or without Bo." He added the last part of the sentence for good measure. John Jacobs was still in charge and no one better forget it. *********** Bob was practically carrying Mulder, most of the agent's weight resting on the young man's shoulders, when he saw Henry approaching. "It's Bo," Henry said by way of introduction. "He's gettin' worse. He has a high fever and John wants her to look at him." He motioned towards Scully, unable to make eye contact with the woman he viewed as an innocent bystander caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bob looked at Mulder and then back at Scully. "Let's get him over to that tree," he said, pointing to a large oak about ten feet away. "Tenille and I will stay with him while you go check on Bo." Scully had no choice and merely nodded. She was grateful for the opportunity to stop walking. For Mulder as well as for herself. The situation was definitely taking its toll on her, on her body, and she was beginning to worry about the baby. How long could she go without food or water before adversely affecting the baby? She denied herself the answer, refusing to think about the possible complications. Bo settled Mulder down carefully, stepping back to let Scully bend down and take a closer look. "Hey," she whispered, "you hanging in there?" Mulder attempted a smile, failing miserably. "I'm hanging," he answered between gasps for air. "You okay?" Scully smiled, forced but sincere. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm fine. And so is the baby," she added, reassurance for both of them. "I'm going to go check on Bo and be right back. Tenille and Bob will stay with you, okay?" Mulder nodded, closing his good eye while Scully felt his forehead. He could feel the effects of the fever ravaging his body and shivered slightly as a chill cursed through him. He vaguely remembered telling himself to stay awake. To keep trying. To hold on. But even sitting was a major effort. Never mind breathing. He felt Scully move away from him and heard her say something to someone. He wanted to open his eyes, to listen, to contribute, but couldn't. He heard the words fever and pneumonia and warm. Was that Bo she was talking about? Or was it him? Mulder had a sinking feeling it was him, but he lacked the energy to ask. Or the will to stay awake. *********** Bo was running a low grade fever, nothing that would make him delirious, and for all intents and purposes Scully found him to be reasonably healthy. "I'm fine," Bo growled, pushing Scully's hand away from his forehead. "It's Mary, she started all this. I think she's goin' crazy." Scully recognized Mary as one of the women that had been so attached to Dixie. The young wife of one of the Brothers, she was no more than 25 years-old with very long, blond hair and blue eyes that were permanently clouded with bitter memories. "I guess I'll go talk to Mary, then," Scully said, leaving Bo and walking to where the young woman stood, alone, about ten feet away from where everyone had gathered. Mary was rubbing her arms vigorously, rocking herself back and forth as if cold, but Scully realized right away that Mary was shaking. She was terrified of something. "Mary..." "There ain't nothin' wrong with Bo," Mary whispered, a low sob punctuating her words. "What?" Scully didn't understand. "Your man, he's dyin'. He needed to stop walkin'." Mary rubbed her arms harder. Scully wanted to take her in her arms, to stop her from shaking, to tell her she would be okay, that she had done the right thing, but instead she just stared. The right words escaping her. "I...um...thank you," she finally said. "You're right, he did need to stop walking but unfortunately, short of hitting Bo on the head, I don't think I can make him rest for any length of time." Mary smiled for the first time in days. "I wish you *would* hit Bo over the head," she said. "He's been driving us crazy ever since he started feelin' better." Mary turned serious again and looked in the direction of John Jacobs. "John," she whispered, "he's really drunk. I sorta thought if he sat down for a few minutes he might doze off and you two could make a run for it." My man is dyin', Scully thought to herself bitterly. He's not going to be doing any running in the near future. "I appreciate that, Mary, but..." "No, look," Mary interrupted, eyes bulging with excitement. "He's nodding off." Scully stared at John Jacobs' prostate form in disbelief. Mary was right. Jacobs had found a tree stump and had fallen asleep. "But won't the men wake him, urge him to keep moving?" Dana though out loud. "No one would ever dare wake up John Jacobs," Mary said ominously. "They woulda never done it before and they surely ain't gonna do it now." Scully nodded, understanding. She touched Mary's shoulder gently and smiled her appreciation. Mary smiled in return and went to join her husband. Scully stopped by Bo before making her way back to Mulder. If only for the sake of appearances. "Bo, from what Mary tells me, you had a pretty high fever," she said in her irritating doctor mode. "You're lucky it's gone down. If you don't want a relapse of what ailed you in the first place I suggest you take it easy for a while." Bo didn't flinch, instead he looked at John's sleeping form and replied sarcastically, "I guess I ain't got much choice now." Scully didn't bother to respond, choosing instead to turn her back on him and join her husband as quickly as she could. The sight of Mulder made her choke back tears. He was asleep and covered with a blanket, but his face spoke volumes as to the pain and agony he was going through. Bob and Tenille were sitting on his right, holding hands. Scully chose to sit on Mulder's other side, but not before checking his pulse and feeling his cheek and forehead. She took his hand in hers and held it, not trusting herself to speak without breaking down. All she wanted was to put her head on his chest and go to sleep. Hoping that when she woke up, the nightmare would be over. "How's Bo?" Tenille managed to ask. "Fine," Scully answered quietly. "I told him he should rest for a while." She paused. She needed a plan of action. No, they needed a plan, she thought ruefully. There was very little, if anything, she would be able to do on her own. "John's asleep," she said softly, pausing for effect. "We need to come up with a plan of action. Right now, the way I see it, Jacobs is the one looking at a life sentence without the possibility of parole. The rest of you might serve some time for aiding and abetting, but that's minor. Kidnapping two federal agents is a major offense. If you work with me, if you help us, chances are most of the big charges will be dropped." Bob was letting it all sink in. "Are you a federal agent?" "Yes." "You're not a paramedic?" "No. I was trained as a medical doctor but I work as a special agent for the FBI." She looked at Mulder before continuing. "This is my partner." She had begun to trust Bob in the last few hours but still wasn't comfortable telling him everything. If Mary knew Mulder was 'her man' she assumed Tenille did as well. Bob would find out soon enough. As was his style, Bob didn't answer right away, letting the information sink in, a possible course of action develop, before speaking. Scully knew from experience the situation was a delicate one and she needed to act accordingly. Any plan, in order for it to be successful, had to come from Bob, from one of their own. It would have to benefit the Brotherhood and be for that purpose, not for the purpose of freeing the federal agents. And although she had several suggestions she wanted to make, she held her tongue. For all his kindness in the last couple of hours, Bob had still been John's sidekick for many years, in a man's world where a woman's opinion didn't carry much credence. Scully knew she had to tread carefully. After a few minutes, Bob finally spoke. "I think I might have an idea," he said slowly, still thinking. "I'm going to go and run it by some of the guys. I'll explain it when I get back." With that he stood up and walked away. Scully wanted to stop him, to yell after him, but didn't. Instead, she looked over at Tenille, who was intently watching him disappear into the crowd. "I hope he knows what he's doing," Scully mumbled. "Me too." Was all the young woman could say before finding a comfortable spot on the ground where she could sleep, and possibly dream of a better future. Scully leaned her head against Mulder's shoulder, grateful that Tenille had nothing to say to her either, and closed her eyes. Only for a second, she told herself. Every instinct told her to run. She was fairly certain no one would go after her. Just as certain as she was that Mulder would die where she left him. She didn't know the backwoods of Montana and in the dark she wouldn't get very far very quickly. No, she would rather die with Mulder than alone trying to get help. The desire to sleep was overwhelming and Mulder's steady wheezing was a difficult lullaby to resist. Against her better judgment, she dropped her guard and slept. Outside the compound 4 A.M. Walter Skinner leaned over the makeshift table, his eyes scanning the map in front of him, looking for anything he might have missed the first 20 times. "Walt, you're not going to do anyone any good if you don't get any sleep." Spencer Thornley looked like he had been to hell and back in the last two days. And trying to keep up with Walter Skinner wasn't helping. "I thought I told you to get some sleep," Skinner didn't bother looking up from the map. "Come daybreak I'm out of here, with or without you." "I've already told you you're not going into those backwoods without me, A.D. Smart Ass." At last Thornley got Skinner to look up. "Now, what the hell is it you keep looking for on that map?" Skinner sat down and took his glasses off, rubbing his tired eyes while he spoke to his friend. "I don't know, really. I keep thinking there must be a trail somewhere, a path, something to enable the Yeomen to quickly and easily make it to the border. I'm sure that's where they're headed." Thornley shook his head. "I know what you're saying Walt, but there's nothing there. That's as comprehensive a map as you're going to get and we've been over it a dozen times. We'll just have to get in there, on foot, and look for them that way. For all we know they may still be in the mine." "You're right," Skinner sighed, putting his glasses back on and glancing at the map one more time. "I just wish we knew where to begin. The weather forecast doesn't look good, so our window for getting in and out is a lot smaller than it was." Thornley nodded. The thought had already crossed his mind an hour ago. A severe rain storm was predicted for later that day and if they were in the middle of the forest when it hit, they would have to wait it out before a helicopter could come back in for them. "We'll find them," he said, in a distant, not so convincing voice. "In the meantime, why don't you get some shut eye. Daybreak is less than two hours from now, you'll be lucky if you can catch an hour's sleep." Skinner nodded as Thornley walked past him and out of the tent. When his friend was out of sight, he looked at the map in front of him one more time. *********** Somewhere in the backwoods of Montana 5:30 A.M. Dana Scully was running, running as fast as she could from the Blackfoot Indian that was chasing her. He was carrying a handful of leaves and plants and he was trying to give them to her. But they had started to smoke in her hands the last time she had held them and she was afraid. She didn't want them but he kept insisting. She ran and he ran after her, shouting words she couldn't understand, throwing leaves into the wind, in the hopes that she would catch them. Dana was out of breath, out of energy to keep running, and she had to stop. When she did, she felt an uncontrollable urge to turn around, to face the Blackfoot that had so haunted her dreams. What she saw gave her a staggering sense of peace and she nearly lost her balance and fell. The Blackfoot was gone and Dixie was in his place, holding the same leaves and plants the surreal Indian had tried to give her. Dana could hear Dixie's voice, distant and soothing. "Take them," she said. "He needs them." The old woman's outstretched hands reached Dana's and she handed her everything she was holding. Dana marveled at the beauty of the leaves as she turned them over slowly. She was going to ask Dixie what they were for and how to use them when her hands started shaking. They were shaking so violently everything fell to the ground. "Ma'am, Ma'am," wake up." Tenille was whispering, shaking Scully by the shoulders in an effort to wake her up. "What...where?" Mulder's coughing immediately brought her to the present. His fever was up and his cough was now thick and wet. Scully didn't like the sound of it. "He's not soundin' so good," Tenille said softly. "I'm sorry I woke you, I thought you'd want to know." "Don't be sorry, Tenille. I appreciate your waking me. It was the right thing to do." Scully looked around and noticed that a few lanterns were still on about 30 feet in front of them. "Where's Bob?" "He's still talking to the guys. He came back about an hour ago, said he thought they had figured out a way out of this and he'd be back with the details as soon as he could." "It's going to be daylight soon," Scully muttered. She was going to say something else when she felt Mulder shifting beside her. "Hey, sleepyhead. How you doin'?" Scully couldn't help but notice she had picked up the native's habit of dropping the g off of everything. "I think I've been better," Mulder replied honestly. "What's going on?" Scully filled him in, pausing every time he had to cough, stroking his forehead tenderly while she spoke. "Don't talk now," she whispered when she had finished. "You need to conserve your energy." "What energy?" Mulder mused. Once again his inappropriate sense of humor amazed Scully. It also reminded her of why she loved him as much as she did. "Ma'am?" Tenille was looking at Scully with big eyes, wondering if it was okay to interrupt. "Dana, Tenille. Please call me Dana." "Okay, Dana," Tenille began, picking up speed with every word. "I've got Dixie's Thermos and there's a little bit of that stuff left she made for him earlier. You wanna try givin' him some more?" "I'll try anything at this point," Dana answered sincerely. "How 'bout some of that snakebite medicine?" she said to Mulder with a wink. "Mmm." Mulder forced himself to sit up in anticipation. *********** John Jacobs thought he had outpaced them, outsmarted them. The Blackfoot posse that was after him had ridden right by and didn't see him hiding behind a clump of trees. He was laughing out loud when he saw the shadow across his eyes. He reached for his gun, but it was gone. With lightning speed he was hurled around to face the enemy. What he saw made him scream. The blood curdling, high pitched scream of a man marked for death. *********** The arnica tea Dixie had made was still warm, thanks to the vacuum flask she kept it in, and Mulder drank it eagerly, anticipating a full recovery. "That's enough," Scully whispered. "Remember Dixie said too much can kill you." "Too much...of...anything can...do that,... Scully," Mulder mused. "Hey,...where's Dixie? I don't remember...seeing her...for a....while." Tenille gasped and Scully stared at Mulder. He didn't know. He didn't see what had happened. He was probably unconscious when Jacobs had killed her. "What? What...is it?" Panic was creeping into Mulder's voice. But before Scully could answer him John Jacobs' scream woke up the forest. Montana woods, 12 miles from the Canadian border Just before Daybreak John Jacobs' eyes flew wide open, but he couldn't focus on anything but the last vision of his dream. Dixie, dressed in full Blackfoot leathers, her dress resplendent with feathers and beads, her face dark and angry, coming after him with what he could only assume was some sort of war club. His heart was still racing as he rubbed his eyes, trying to dispell the image from his mind. He jumped a foot when Henry's arm touched his own. "John? What's the matter, John?" the younger man asked anxiously. He was obviously frightened at the sight of his leader so shaken by a mere dream. Maybe whatever had killed Jeremiah Miller and afflicted Bo was now working on Jacobs, too. Henry was certain they would all be lost if that ever came to pass. It took a few minutes, but Jacobs gathered his wits and looked around. "Where the hell is everyone," he barked, ignoring the confused look on Henry's young face. "You fell asleep, John. Everybody tried to get some shut eye. We've been walking all night, John," Henry tried to reason. "Folks are gettin' tired. Besides, it's almost sunup." Jacobs looked up and to the east. The faint tinge of purple on the eastern horizon spoke to how close sunup really was. Then he looked straight up and noticed that the sky no longer sparkled. The stars, even visible at this hour of the morning, were hidden behind clouds. As he watched, the sky in the east took on a reddish hue. "We're headin' for some bad weather. That should keep the dogs at bay for a while. Can't get a good scent in the wind, the storm will keep the 'choppers' grounded. Looks like we have a bit of good luck, Henry," Jacobs said, a humorless smile on his lips. In his opinion, it was about time for a little good luck. "Where's Bob?" Henry looked around for a minute. He hadn't seen Bob for quite a while. He smiled leacherously. "Off playin' hide the sausage with Tenille, mor'n likely," he replied. "Those two are like rabbits when left by their lonesome," he added with a snort. Jacobs leveled a cold glare at Henry, shutting the young man up immediately. "Bob needs to learn where to place his priorities," Jacobs said menancingly. "You can't run very far with your pants around your ankles." Henry swallowed hard and nodded meekly. Mulder looked at Dana's pale face at the sound of Jacobs' scream. Nothing happened for several minutes and everyone relaxed. "OK, Scully . . . give it up . . . what happened . . . to Dixie?" he asked with ragged breaths. Even with fevered eyes, his gaze cut straight to her soul. "She's dead," Dana said with more calm than she felt. "She stopped Jacobs before he had a chance to finish you off. He turned on her and killed her." Dana took a deep breath and looked away. "We had to leave her body by the entrance to the mine." Mulder closed his eyes and let out a hissing breath. "Bastard." Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at his wife. "When we . . . get out of this, . . . Scully, we go back . . . for her. We have to . . . She saved . . . my life." It was everything Dana could do to keep from screaming at him. Here he was, barely able to breathe, and he was talking about coming back to this Godforsaken country and disposing of a body! At that moment, she wanted to tell him that she would be the one coming back for a corpse--his, and taking it back for burial. But she wasn't going to say that. She wasn't even going to allow herself to think that for very long. She had to focus on something else, on helping him. The area they were resting was mostly forest, a small meadow just a few feet from them. In the lightening sky of early dawn, she was beginning to make out the trees above her, the grasses and plants around her. Suddenly, a spire of a flower caught her eye. It was on a pale green multi-leafed plant, topped with bright yellow flowers "Lobelia. Indian tobbaco." The words sprung from her lips without her knowledge. She recognized the plant as being one of the ones in the Blackfoot Indian's arms. In Dixie's arms during her last dream. Much to Tenille's dismay, Dana jumped up and started grabbing handfuls of plants. "Lobelia, we need the roots, and the herb of the flowers," Scully muttered, more to herself. Tenille put a shaky hand on the agent's arm, causing Dana to look up into the young girl's eyes. "It's OK. Dixie told me about this. It will help with the pneumonia, but we need something else. Another plant. Coltsfoot. Have you ever heard of it?" She waited while Tenille thought for a moment and then nodded. "We need to gather some of it, too. Then we have to use the roots and the herbs diluted with water. I think there's a little stream over there. Quick, find something to get water in. We don't have much time." Dana was amazed that Tenille jumped to her feet and ran off toward the stream, returning with an old goatskin flask full of water. She handed it to Dana with a smile. "You scared me there for a minute," Tenille admitted sheepishly. "I thought I lost you, too," she added with eyes downcast. "I'll gather some more of that stuff for you. You go make the tea, or whatever." Quickly, she started picking up various plants, roots and all and placing them in the crook of her arm. "What else do we need?" she asked after dropping her load next to Dana. The agent looked at the plants before her. "Ah, didn't I see a cherry tree somewhere near here? Wild cherry bark. It's for coughs." She almost couldn't believe she was doing this. But she had come to trust Dixie and something inside her knew that Dixie wouldn't steer her wrong. She couldn't let herself trust the Blackfoot Indian, who she now realized had been trying to help her as well. But trusting Dixie was another matter. And Mulder's time was quickly running out. She put her hand to his forehead and her heart sank when he didn't even try to bat it away. If Mulder was letting her check him, he really was feeling bad. His head was hot, his eyes were closed, the lids dark with almost black circles under them. He wasn't coughing at all, just wet, ragged breaths that were way too shallow to be effectively giving him oxygen. If she were in civilzation, she would have him on a respirator by now. With IV's and antibiotics and 'real' medicine. She wouldn't be sitting in some forest, trying to 'brew tea'. She didn't have time to 'brew tea', even if she could have started a fire. She took two rocks and ground the leaves and roots between them, coming up with a sick smelling yellowish-green paste. It was just foul enough to be considered medicine, she thought wryly. She had no idea how much to add to the water. Suddenly, in the very back of her head, she heard Dixie's voice. **Just a smidge, child. This is potent stuff. Mix it up with the water, about a cup full, and then give him just a couple of sips. And don't lick your fingers or get it near your mouth. You don't need this stuff in ya. He does.** Dana smiled at the voice and nodded. This was all so crazy, but suddenly a thought occured to her. *Dixie, what do I watch for? What will this do?* **Indian tabbaccy'll clean him out. He'll cough up a storm. What comes up, well, you know what comes up with pneumonia. You need to be on the look out for some mayapples. That'll help with the fever. And snakeroot. After the Indian tabbaccy clears him out, you'll want to get some snakeroot down him. The Senecas used it. It looks like this.** A vision of a plant formed in Dana's mind spontaneously. It had a long stem, 8 to 12 inches in height, with many leaves and tinged with red. There was a small group of tiny white flowers with five petals, at the tops of the spires. **That'll help with the lingerin' cough. We done all we can for the brok'd bones, but a little more arnica will help with the pain. He'll still need some 'doctorin', but we can keep him with you 'til help arrives.** Dana blinked and realized she had just had a conversation with a ghost. she vowed. He would never let her hear the end of it. Some secrets were better kept to herself, no matter how close she was to her husband. Bob had managed to assemble seven or eight of the Brotherhood that he thought he could trust. They had been just as rattled by Jacobs recent actions as he was. He decided not to tell them that Dana was an FBI agent, he didn't know if that would really help her cause. So he told them what she had said, but said it came from Mulder. Some of them had scoffed, but none of them denied that it was more than likely that only Jacobs would be held responsible for his actions. Not one of them still believed in the Justice System of the United States, but Jacobs had crossed the line when he killed Dixie Miller. Still, acknowledging that Jacobs was now a liablity was a long way from actually doing anything about it, and every one of the men before Bob was scared of Jacobs. They knew for a fact that the others still believed in the cause, regardless of what had been happening. Some of the others were as bloodthirsty as Jacobs, they just had managed to hold themselves in check. Given the right circumstance, there would be open warfare within the Brotherhood itself. And no one wanted that. "OK, then hear me out," Bob said in a rough whisper. "What if we take the FBI agent and the lady doc and head out on our own." There were some mutterings from the men. "Look, we can't just sit back and let him kill that fella. He's gonna do it. That man is a Fed. A Federal Agent. The last one that died, that was mostly accident. There was crossfire. This man will die of a beating. They'll find that body and they really will come after us, all of us." He stared hard at the men around him. It heartened him to know that none of them stated the obvious--they could kill the agent and bury him where no one would ever find him. The men before him weren't killers. They distrusted authority, but would only kill in self-defense and killing Mulder at this point would only be like torturing an animal and killing it for spite. This was a human being they were talking about and none of them had the stomach for that. A few dozen yards away, hidden by the clump of tall trees, Dana lifted Mulder's head from where he was reclining against the gnarled roots of an ancient oak. "Here, drink this," she said in a loving voice. He didn't even bother to open his eyes, she suspected he didn't have the energy. The mixture smelled as bad with water as it had without. Mulder wrinkled his nose and shook his head weakly. "You're . . . trying to . . . poison me . . . for the insurance," he joked. But finally he opened his lips and let some of the mixture slide down his parched throat. "That . . . sucks, . . . Scully," he hissed and screwed up his face to prove the point. "Sorry. Dixie mixed sugar in with her tea, I suspect. But you need this stuff, Fox. So don't argue with me, OK?" He opened his one good eye at the use of his first name. This must be serious. He nodded and dutifully drank another mouthful, gratefully drinking down the water she offered as a chaser. She sat back and rubbed his hand, checking his pulse as she did so. It was rapid and that worried her. She wished she had some idea of all of his problems. "Mulder," she whispered. He turned his head toward her in answer. "Can I examine you?" "Thought . . . you'd never . . . ask," he whispered and tried for a leer that failed miserably. She hadn't had a chance to get a good look at him while it was still night. Now, in the light of the gloomy day, she could see that his injuries went a lot farther than she had already imagined. His skin was still covered with blood in spots, places where Jacobs boots had make cuts and gashes. What wasn't bloody was pale, almost pasty. When she pressed on it, her fingerprint left an even paler impression that didn't fade for several seconds and his skin had no resilience. He was dehydrated, severely, from the looks of it. she thought to herself and made him take several more sips before continuing the examination. Carefully, she ran her hand down his sides and cringed as he jumped and moaned in pain. It was no longer just the left side of his ribcage that was broken, the right side had some fractures, too. She pulled back his loose shirt and looked at his stomach and back. There weren't several bruises, as she had initally thought she'd find. There was one big bruise. It extented from just above his naval half way around his back on the right side of his body. Gently, she pressed on it and again was horrified by the pain her touch inflicted. "I know you haven't gone to the bathroom for a while, but when you do, I want you to look for blood in your urine. And I want you to tell me if you find any. Hear me, Mulder? Don't hide that from me. It's important," she said in her fiercest voice. "You know . . . my mom thinks . . . you're a lady. . . Just shot . . that image . . . to hell," he gasped. She flashed him an icy glare. "I'll tell you . . . I promise." She nodded in satisfaction and continued her search for additional injuries. His left knee was swollen, but fortunately there were no more broken bones that she could detect. She had suspected as much when he was able to walk as far as he had. Finally, she finished and covered him again with the blanket Tenille had left for her. She looked around for Tenille. The girl had finished collecting the leaves, roots and bark and had then gone off in search of Bob. Scully still wasn't sure of what Bob was trying to accomplish, speaking with the other members of the Brotherhood. She figured it was hopeless, since none of them seemed to have the courage to confront Jacobs. She really wished she had her gun or could get Bob to let her have his. The thought of killing Jacobs didn't bother her at all at this point. Suddenly, she heard Tenille scream. Tenille had been looking for the arnica that Dana had mentioned and Dixie had once shown her. It tended to grow in the forest and she had noticed a patch of it near a stand of long needled pines. She was stooping over to pick the stems and flowers when Jacobs had come up behind her. "Where's that old man of yours, girl?" Jacobs demanded. He had still been drinking, but the look in his eyes wasn't from alcohol. It was a madness that comes from the death of a soul. Tenille straighten up and just looked at him, saying nothing. "You deaf and dumb, girl? Or just dumb?" Jacobs cackled. "Where is he? Where's Bob?" Jacobs' voice was growing louder and sounded more like a roar with each word. Tenille was terrified. She had just seen Bob, talking to a couple of the other men. Of course, they weren't talking loud enough for anyone else to overhear, but from the looks on their faces, Tenille was fairly certain that they were trying to figure out a way to save the FBI agent's life and possibly, get away from Jacobs in the process. All the men with Bob were known to be less than fervent in their loyality to Jacobs. If Jacobs found the group, huddled together without his knowledge or approval, he would know what was up and would kill them all on the spot. So Tenille continued to do the only thing she could think of, keep her mouth shut. By this time, Jacobs noticed the plants in Tenille's hands. "What you got there, girl?" he growled. "You eatin' grass and weeds, now?" He reached over and grabbed Tenille by the hair at the back of her head, pulling her head back with a cruel yank. "You wouldn't be gatherin' that for that Fed, now, would you?" His voice was deep and menancing. "Taken a fancy to him, have you?" Jacobs accused. "Maybe you don't care *who* you lie down with, huh, bitch?" In an earlier part of her life, Tenille would have simply let the tears fall down her cheeks and continued the silence. But now, after seeing the one woman in the world who had ever shown her kindness murdered before her own eyes, something in Tenille snapped. The anger in her eyes burned right into Jacobs brain. Then, suddenly, Tenille spit right in his face. That was all it took to push Jacobs over the edge. With the same fury that he had inflicted on Mulder and Dixie, Jacobs pulled back his massive fist and punched Tenille in the face. Her head snapped back with the force and she screamed. His next punch landed on her shoulder, throwing her back against a rock. By now, Tenille was over the shock of the first punch and it was survival taking over for any common sense. She ducked her head and ran head long into the big man, as hard as her weight and anger could carry her. Tenille had a good 20 to 25 pounds on Dixie, and she was much younger. Jacobs never expected the 'rag doll' in front of him to fight back. A cruel sneer formed on his lips. Maybe this was going to turn out to be fun after all. Jacobs swung his foot around and dropped Tenille to the hard rock floor of the forest. It knocked the breath out of her and he took the opportunity to straddle her, pinning her arms with his knees. After a few seconds, Tenille was fighting back again, although she was fairly ineffective in her current position. Her hands tried to claw at Jacobs' thighs, tantalizingly close to her nails, but just far enough out of reach to infuriate her. When he leaned over and brushed the hair out of her face, she nipped at him with her teeth. The fury was in her eyes and she was mad enough to kill. Unfortunately, Jacobs had other activities on his mind. Jacobs leered at her and then ripped her shirt open, buttons flying in all directions. Nothing else mattered to him at that moment. Having his way with the girl was the only thing on his mind. That was why he didn't hear Bob come up behind him. It didn't take Bob long to figure out exactly what was going on. And it took less time than that for him to make his decision. He raised his rifle and took aim at Jacobs' head. Just as he pulled the trigger, Henry slammed into him from the side and the shot went wild, hitting Jacobs in the left shoulder. Jacobs howled in pain and fell to the left, allowing Tenille a chance to escape. She picked herself up and ran as fast as she could toward a rock overhang a few dozen yards away. Henry and Bob were struggling for the rifle Bob was still holding tight. After a few minutes, Bob was able to push Henry off him and club him once with the butt of the gun, knocking him unconscious. Jacobs pain slowed him down, but only for a moment. Now he was furious and murder was the only action that would satisfy him. He shook off the fog growing around the edges of his vision and saw Tenille, climbing up the side of the rock face, headed for the overhang. He snarled and rose to his feet, grabbing his shoulder, but running after her all the same. Tenille was fairly light on her feet, and unharmed for the most part, so she had little trouble making it to the overhang. From there, she could see the floor of the valley below, over 50 feet down. She wasn't really sure at that point why she had gone there, but some voice inside her head pointed her in that direction and she wasn't going to question it. Now that she was there she was all too aware of how easy it would be to fall over the edge and be killed on the rocks below. She drew in her breath and looked fearfully around her for a safe way off the cliff. Jacobs might have been hurting, but that only helped pump the adreniline through his veins. He was up the side of the rock face almost as quickly as Tenille. Once on the top, he sneered at the young girl, letting loose with an inhuman laugh that made her tremble to her very bones. Bob heard him and took aim with the rifle, certain that he wouldn't miss this time. But he never had a chance to fire the weapon. Jacobs was moving toward Tenille, a menancing smile plastered on his face, cooing words he never meant as he got closer and closer. His intent was to shove her over the edge and watch as her slim body bounced off the rocks below. He was only three feet from his goal with the skies above grew suddenly black and once again, lightning streaked through the air. Time stood still for John Jacobs. At the flash of light, his attention left Tenille and turned to look over his left shoulder. There, riding on the clouds, came the Blackfoot war party, whooping and screaming their anger and fury. In the lead was the same Blackfoot warrior who had haunted his dreams for the past two days and nights. He cringed when he felt the rumble of the horses hooves as they jumped off the clouds and clattered onto the rock overhang. Sheilding his eyes, Jacobs spun around to jump off the rock on the side he ascended. It was only 10 or 15 feet to the ground and he would surely make it. But as he took a step, Dixie appeared out of thin air, dressed as a Blackfoot warrior, with the war club in her hand. She swung at him and he felt the blade of the club slice the air near his right ear. She swung again and he felt the sharp sting as the blade sliced into his right shoulder. The next swing would take his head off, he knew that. Wild eyed, with the warriors bearing down on him from one side and Dixie effectively blocking his path on the other, Jacobs ran headlong off the cliff, past a horrified Tenille. As his body hit the floor of the valley 50 feet below, the storm broke open overhead. The wind was blowing at gale force and hail the size of quarters was pounding everything not under some sort of shelter. It took only a second for Bob to reach Tenille. He didn't have much time to look over the edge and see the Yeoman leader, crumbled in a mass below. He hugged Tenille tightly to him and half pulled, half carried her off the overhang. The storm was growing in intensity, with lightning striking trees all around them. Bob looked around and could see that the rest of the Brotherhood had already taken flight, some heading toward the Canadian border, from the path they made through the trees and underbrush. He leaned over and shouted something to Tenille. "We gotta make a run for it, baby," his voice was just barely heard above the fury of the storm. Tenille shook her head emphatically. "No! Dana and that agent. They'll never make it back. We gotta help 'em," she shouted in return. Bob flashed her an exasperated look. "Babe, we can't help 'em. We'll jest git ourselves killed. Or jailed. Either way our best shot is Canada. The border's only 12 miles. When we git there, we'll call somebody, tell 'em where to search." He pleaded for her to understand him. "I promise, Tenille. I swear to God we'll call and git 'em help. Now c'mon." He pulled at her arm and she stood firm. She glared at him as he stood before her, illuminated only by the lightning that was striking all around them. "NO! I'm gonna help. If you're scared, go on. Run. Jest don't expect me to follow." She pulled her arm out of his grasp and started off toward the oak tree where Mulder had been resting. "Tenille!" he shouted. "Tenille, you get your sorry ass back here and come with me! Tenille, Goddammit, I'm leavin'! I mean it!" he yelled and yelled until he was sure she couldn't hear a word he was saying over the noise of the storm. "Goddamn you, woman! I don't need your sorry ass hangin' off me! I kin make it on my own, Tenille!" He stood staring after her, but finally ducked his head and started for Canada. Dana was pretty much oblivious to all that had happened after she heard Tenille's scream. She wanted more than anything to run after the young girl and help her, but the mixture she had given Mulder was starting to take effect. The first coughs were rough, his ribs burned like fire. They were nothing compared to what quickly followed and she found herself hugging him tightly from behind, supporting his ribcage as he coughed and hacked up the phlegm and fluids that were clogging his lungs. There was almost no rest between the spasms of coughing, and Dana began to feel that the pain and the shock might kill him if he wasn't able to get a deep breath soon. He was growing weaker by the moment. She was focused on Mulder and didn't notice the growing storm until they were pelted by the hail that fell like bottlecap sized snowballs around them. Snowballs that stung and cut with sharp edges. Realizing they were under a very large, tall lightning rod in the form of the ancient oak, Dana searched around frantically for some better location. It would have to be close, she didn't think she could carry her partner very far. "Mulder," she shouted over the thunder that was ringing in her ears. "We have to move." "Yesh, . . . , Move . . . now! Go!" he said and tried to push her away. "No way, Mulder! You're coming, too," she shouted back and pulled harder. She was amazed at how easy it was to move him. Suddenly, she realized it was because she had help. She looked up and saw Tenille's bruised face smiling at her. "Tenille, what . . . ?" "I'll tell y'all later. Right now, we gotta git over t' that pile o' rocks over there," Tenille shouted. Dana nodded and together they pulled Mulder into a safer position in a crag of rocks and boulders. The two women positioned him as best as they could. Dana sat holding him as he continued to cough, still bringing up the phlegm. Desparately, she tried to remember which plant Dixie had told her would work for the cough. It seemed to be dryer than it was and not as much fluid was coming up. **Snakeroot, child. Snakeroot. And the cherry bark. The inner bark ain't so rough, have him chew on it some. It'll help.** She blinked her eyes and shook her head. This was definitely getting to be too much for her limited belief in the paranormal. But she didn't feel she had any other options. "Mulder. Mulder. Fox, can you hear me?" she said right in his ear so she could be heard above the storm. He nodded imperceptively. "I want you to chew on this bark." He turned his head and gave her a worried look. "I mean it. It's OK. It's cherry bark. It might ease the cough a little." She gave him an encouraging smile and he gave her a dubious look, but accepted the slivers of inner bark she had pulled from the pieces Tenille had collected earlier. He coughed several more times, but the bark did seem to be helping. "Tenille, what happened to Jacobs?" Dana asked anxiously. "He's dead. Fell of the cliff. Jumped, really, if you believe that," she answered bitterly. What now?" Tenille whispered as the coughing fits subsided and Mulder lapsed into an uneasy slumber. "He ain't goin' too far like that," she pointed out. "I won't leave him," Dana shot out angrily, then at the stricken look on the girl's face, she softened her tone. "I'm sorry, Tenille. I just can't go. Could you find your way back to the compound? I'm sure the FBI still has the mobile headquarters there, conducting the search. You could bring back help." Tenille looked out into the storm and thought hard. "I don't know the way back," she admitted sadly. "I don't have much sense for directions. Besides, we were underground most of the time. I don't even know which way the compound is at this point, do you?" Dana thought for a moment. It would naturally be south, but then again, it could be southeast or southwest of their present location. And a miss was in reality as good as a mile out in the forest they were in. With the storm raging, it would take nothing to turn a person around and they could wander for hours in circles. Sending Tenille might actually only get the girl lost or killed. Dana fought the angry tears in her eyes. "Then I'll go," she said with resignation. Tenille's eyes grew wild. "No! You can't! Your the doctor, here. He needs you to stay. What could I do? I don't know anything about this stuff. He'll die, we both know that. Besides, I don't think you know the way back any better'n I do," Tenille said with a gloat. "We have to do something," Dana hissed and just then noticed the figure coming through the trees, searching around the area of the ancient oak. "And the rest of the Brotherhood?" Dana continued as the stranger started making his way over to the crag of rocks they were in. "What happened to them?" "Scattered like mice. Some went to Canada. No, not mice, rats," she said angrily, thinking of the taunts Bob had hurled at her as she walked away from him. "The rats went to Canada." "Well, one of the rats is back," Dana said, pointing out the opening between two boulders. Tenille looked where she was pointing and jumped up in excitement. "Bob!" she shouted, getting his attention. "Bob, we're over here! Bob, in the rocks! We're here! We're here!" she shouted happily. *********** FBI mobile headquarters, Yeoman Brotherhood Compound Daybreak Walter Skinner hadn't slept a wink. He had spent the last two hours scouring the maps he had, bullying the helicopter pilots and generally making an ass of himself. he thought to himself. he realized. Spence Thornley picked his way through the crowd of men and found Skinner. "Walt, I just talked to the the National Weather Service out of Billings. There is a massive cell of storms heading this way. It'll be rocking and rolling here in just a little bit, probably off and on for the rest of the day." He saw the AD frown and clench his hands into fists. "Then we go without 'choppers," he barked in response. "Walt, there have been men searching the ground all night. They were underground, the dogs can't pick up a scent. We need those choppers to give us any kind of an idea where they might be. You know that. This storm might have a bigger break than they're expecting. But to try to find those people otherwise would be nothing more than a cluster fuck and you know that. And to put those choppers up in the middle of a frigging thunderstorm would be criminal." "So what do you suggest we do, Agent Thornley?" Skinner growled. "The same thing you would suggest if you let yourself use your head instead of your heart, Walter," Spence said, putting his hand on Skinner's shoulder. "We wait. And we take every opportunity that comes our way." *********** Montana Woods 12 miles from the Canadian Border 1 hour after daybreak "Well, there ain't no way we're gonna carry him out, not in this," Bob sighed ruefully as he looked out on the torrents of rain coming from the sky. The lightning and thunder had subsided, but the wind was still strong enough to blow a man over and the rain was coming down in sheets. Bob could barely make out the oak tree just some ten feet from where they were sitting. The rocks made a makeshift cave, but a wet one. There were rivulets of water washing down the rocks and puddling where they sat. It had taken some maneuvering to get Mulder in a tiny corner where the rain didn't reach him directly, but with the wind blowing and no real roof, he was still quickly getting soaked to the skin. "We can't stay here," Dana pointed out for the fourth time in the last hour since Bob's arrival. "Somebody has to go for help." Bob looked at her and then at Tenille. He had decided about 15 minutes after seeing Tenille walk off without him that he wasn't going to let her get out of his life that easily. Walking into a compound filled with FBI agents had not been on his list of things he would consider doing to get her back. Walking off a cliff, walking to the end of the earth, walking to the moon, maybe, but walking into a nest of Federal vipers, no way. He could see the wheels turning in Tenille's little head and he immediately put up a protest. "Stop that thinkin' right there, girl!" he commanded. "I came back because you're hell bent for leather to help these two and truth be told, they need it. But there is no way in hell I'm walking back to that compound. First off, they're liable to shoot first and ask questions later. Second off, who says they'll believe me if I told 'em I knew where this clump of rocks was, anyway. More'n likely I'll get thrown in some hell hole of a county lock up and left to rot for God knows how long," he sputtered angrily. Tenille looked at him calmly. "He can't walk, Bob. Any fool can see that. She's a doctor. She can't leave him here. I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of finding my way back, *alone*, but if you were to guide me, I could go into the compound first. They'll listen to me. They think all us women were hostages, anyway. They figgered we were being held against our will. So they won't shoot at me. By the time I get 'em started back here, you can come outta hidin' or run for the hills or learn to fly, for all the good it'll do 'em. All's they care about is their own, we both know that." She put her hand up to his cheek and caressed it gently. "Now, quit being such a sissy and let's git a move on before that storm really starts up agin," she said with a mocking grin but love in her eyes. Bob saw the look she was giving him and leaned into her hand to kiss her palm. "I ain't no sissy, woman," he growled affectionately. "Ah, hell, c'mon. Let's not take all day to do this." He pulled her to her feet and together they squeezed out between the two rocks at the opening. Tenille turned back for just a second. "We'll bring help as fast as we can, Dana. I swear it, . . . on Dixie's life, I swear it," she said in her quiet voice. Dana couldn't be sure if it was rain on her face, or tears that had fallen from her eyes. Then, they were gone. They were out of her sight almost immediately. All that was left was the rain and the wind and Mulder's ragged breathing. He did seem to be breathing easier, now that the congestion had cleared up a bit. But it was very apparent that these backwoods home remedies were stopgap measures at best. What he really needed, and quickly, was a nice, warm, dry hospital with all the medical technology the late 20th Century had to offer. Her own stomach grumbled and threatened to rebel. She hadn't eaten anything in so long, she couldn't remember. She was not so afraid of dehydration at the moment, if anything, the opposite was the problem. But no food for so long was making her weak and she feared for herself, the baby and Mulder. If she fell asleep now, and he needed her, would she wake up? She was exhausted, but forced her eyes open. When sleep threatened again, she started talking. "Mulder?" she asked, shaking his shoulder gently. "Wake up. You need to drink some more." Groggily, he turned toward her. She had ripped a corner from his shirt and had used it to make a compress for his black eye using the arnica that was at the bottom of the thermos. The swelling had gone down enough for him to open it a slit. He took a while longer than she had hoped to come awake and he had difficulty focusing on her, but finally he made contact. " . . . thirsty . . . " he agreed and she lifted the goatskin up to his lips and gave him a drink. "Tenille and Bob went back to the compound to get help. The cavalry's on the way, Mulder. We just have to hold out till they get here," she said with a reassuring smile. " . . . if we don't . . . drown first," he rasped and coughed hard. He drew in a ragged breath and closed his eyes against the pain. "What happened . . . to Jacobs?" he asked after a moment. "Tenille said he jumped off a cliff," Dana said with wonderment in her voice. "I think he attacked her. She has a black eye and a bruised cheek and her blouse was torn. I can't understand why Bob didn't just shoot him. He had the rifle and I'm sure I heard gunfire." " . . . maybe that's . . . how he fell," Mulder reasoned as he shifted to find a more comfortable position. It was a futile effort. Every way he moved just left him aching even more. Finally he gave up. "Dana?" She looked at him in answer. "You were . . . concerned . . . about . . ." he stopped to cough again and finally caught his breath. " . . . there's a sharp pain . . . bad . . . in the small of my back." He moved his arm to show her. When she pressed, he let out a howl. " . . . that's . . . the place all right," he said through gritted teeth. Dana closed her eyes tightly. "OK, Dixie, now what?" she whispered. There was no soft country accent in the back of her mind. "Dana? Who . . . are you talking to?" Mulder rasped. "Shhhh," Dana said to quiet him. She sat absolutely still again for several minutes. When she opened her eyes, it was as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head. The rain had let up a bit and she quickly hopped out between the rocks and was back in a moment with some leaves of a plant that were large and course, hairy with shiny edges. " they teach you this . . . at Georgetown?" he asked with a half snort, half cough. "No," came her sharp reply. "And if you try and tell anyone I'm doing this, I will deny every word of it, Fox Mulder. For some reason, this stuff is helping and I'm not going to question." Again, using two rocks to serve as a mortar and pestal, she ground the leaves into a paste and added some water to the paste in the palm of her hand. He sipped it and made a face. "So that's . . . what *hemlock* . . . tastes like," he quipped and leaned back with his eyes closed from the effort. "It's not *hemlock*, Socrates! It's *comfrey* and if you *are* bleeding internally, that might help. Now lie quiet. We have a long wait ahead of us." She moved over so that she was holding him in her arms and his head was resting on her chest. "Better?" she asked. "Ummm," came the reply. "Good," she said, kissing his forehead as she stroked his hair. "Rest, Fox. I'll take this watch. You can have the next one," she murmured into his ear. She kept placing soft kisses on his forehead even after his breathing had settled into a steady rhythm and she knew he was asleep. Montana Woods 10:30 A.M. In the four hours since they had left the FBI agents, Bob and Tenille had covered very little ground. If anything, the storm had intensified since its auspicious beginning and had made every step treacherous. Tenille had slipped and fallen several times and was covered with bruises and scratches, not to mention mud, to prove it. Bob had slipped only once, but it was enough to pummel him down a steep ravine and cause substantial damage to his left shoulder. He had stopped walking and was rubbing his shoulder absently when he felt Tenille's hand on his back and heard her voice in his ear. "Bob," she was shouting, barely able to hear her own voice above the din of the storm. "Bob, are you okay?" It was the third time she had asked since he had fallen and for the third time he nodded. "I'm fine," he shouted back. "I just don't know where we are. I don't even know if we're headin' in the right direction anymore." He looked at her, a mixture of exasperation and anger on his face. "I don't even know what the hell we're doing, Tenille. Risking our lives for the very people I've hated all my life. The same people that are going to throw us in jail the minute they git a chance." He was out of breath, wet, cold and tired and the pain in his arm was only making him angrier. "Bob, don't talk that way," Tenille pleaded. "Dana and the other agent, they'll die out there if we don't get help." She wasn't getting to him. Bob's shoulder was throbbing now and he was beyond feeling sorry for anyone but himself. His stare was transparent and it was obvious his mind was somewhere else. "God damn you," Tenille shouted, tears blending with the rain that fell from her face. At a loss and feeling a surge of pent up anger, she did the only thing that came to mind, she shoved Bob's battered shoulder with so much force, he fell to his knees. "What the...hell?" His words came in quick gasps as he stared up at Tenille, blinking the rain out of his eyes. Slowly, no longer feeling the adrenaline pumping through her body, Tenille bent down in front of him and held his face in her hands. "I want you to think about the pain in your shoulder, Bob." He didn't understand. Her voice was strong, authoritarian, and even to her it sounded foreign. "Think about how it feels. How much you're hurtin'." "Tenille, what the...?" "Shh," she answered quickly, covering his mouth with her hand. "Think about it, Bob. Think about the pain from one lousy fall." She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in. When he could only stare at her, unable to say anything, she continued. "Now picture John throwing the scalding water at the FBI agent, kicking him in the ribs until you could hear the bones breakin', beatin' him until he was out cold. Now picture him sittin' in that pile o' rocks, next to his pregnant wife, wondering if he'll live long enough to meet his baby." Tenille stopped to take a deep breath. It was hard for her to continue, but she wasn't finished. "Can you feel your pain, Bob? Can you feel it?" she shouted. "Can you feel his?" It took a moment for her words and anger to register, and when they did, she was no longer in front of him. She was on her feet, with her back to him, wiping the tears she didn't want him to see. Even in the pouring rain, with her hair soaking wet and matted to her face, her clothes tattered and filthy, Tenille managed to elicit feelings in him he didn't know existed. He didn't quite understand how she did it, or what it was she was doing exactly, but he suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of guilt and an overwhelming desire to make it all better. Unfortunately, words were never his strong point and by the time he had managed to get on his feet he was no closer to knowing what to say. "Tenille, I..." he stammered, resisting the urge to lash out when she brushed his hand away from her shoulder. "What do you want me to do, woman? What more do you want from me?" he begged. Tenille stared at him blankly. If he didn't know by now... "Okay, look," Bob had decided to take another tack. "We're lost. Ain't nothin' I can do 'bout that." He looked at her sheepishly, hoping she would say something, anything. But she said nothing. They stood in the rain for a long time, in a stalemate, until Tenille was ready to speak again. When she did, her voice was so low, Bob had to strain to hear her. "We have to keep moving," she said matter of factly. "Even if we don't know where we're headed, we have to keep moving until we run into someone that can help, or until...until we die tryin'." She allowed herself to look at Bob, whose eyes were unwavering in his response. "You're right," he said, taking her by the arm. "Let's go." Tenille suppressed a smile and let him lead her through the rain and the brush that surrounded them, finally letting herself laugh out loud when she heard him mumble under his breath, "God damn woman. I can only imagine what's in store for the rest of my life. However short it may be..." 12:45 P.M. Montana Woods 12 miles from the Canadian border "No, no...don't take her...take me....please..." Mulder's delirium, coupled with a coughing fit and subsequent gasping for air, was enough to wake Scully in a panic. She had resisted sleep for as long as she could, comforting him every time he moved and winced in pain, every time he coughed and couldn't breathe, until staying awake was no longer an option. Until she had no fight left in her. She had caught the tail end of his nightmare and realized at once his fever had gone up. "Shh, it's okay. I'm right here. Shh." She stroked his hair gently, wiping the sweat from his forehead until he opened his eyes and saw her, a forced smile on her lips. "You were having a nightmare," she whispered. "It's okay. How do you feel?" "Been...better..." he coughed, gritting his teeth to prevent from screaming. Scully held him tightly, feeling a chill go down her spine when she felt him shiver underneath her arms. She wrapped the blanket Tenille had left behind tightly around him, ignoring the fact that it was soaking wet. "I'm...cold...Scully," Mulder rasped and it was all she could do to keep from crying. From experience she knew Mulder would have to be near death before he complained to her about anything. She moved in closer, hoping to provide some warmth while acknowledging the sheer futility of the effort. They were both soaking wet and cold. Scully looked up to the blackened sky for answers, for hope. Now what, Dixie, she said to herself. He's burning up, he's got chills. I don't think he can hold on much longer. "Find some peppermint, child," Dana heard Dixie's reassuring voice and it made her cry. "Cayenne pepper plant'll work with the chills too, but it might bring on more aggravation than that one's worth. Peppermint'll help with the fever too, as will mayapples." Before Dana could speak, before she could express any fears, Dixie spoke again. "Don't be scared, child. I'll guide you. You just tell your man you'll be right back and come with me. I won't steer you wrong." Dana looked at Mulder. His breathing was erratic, but at least he was able to catch deeper breaths since getting rid of all the phlegm that had been clogging his lungs. But the pain in his ribs had only intensified with the coughing and he was clearly in distress. And now, every time he shivered his ribs moved, adding to his overall discomfort. "Mulder, I'll be right back. I need to find something for your fever. For the cold," she whispered in his ear. She felt his hand on hers, with a grip she was sure he didn't have the strength for. "No," he said, eyes barely open. "Too...windy...you'll get....hurt...I'm...okay." But his body betrayed him and he started to cough again. "Here," Scully said, bringing what little water was left up to his lips. "Drink this." He drank slowly, savoring every drop, and when he was finished he found a piece of cherry bark in his mouth. "Now chew on this," she said sweetly but firmly. "It helped with your cough earlier." Mulder attempted a smile and settled for a pathetic expression of gratitude. At least he hoped that's how she saw it. "Scully..." He took the bark out of his mouth. "Sorry...about....all this." "It's not your fault, Mulder. You were just doing your job. Who knew John Jacobs was insane?" "I...should've...known..." he coughed again and immediately started chewing on the bark, before Scully could say anything. "There was no way of knowing, Mulder." Scully reassured him gently. "Now sit still and I'll be right back." Before he could protest, before he could stop her, she disappeared from the rocks and was out of his sight. Mulder laid his head back and closed his eyes. Speaking, breathing, thinking, staying conscious in general was taking more effort than he had in him. Reflecting on his life with Dana and their future as a family was the only thing keeping him alive. But even those thoughts were losing their grasp on him. "Don't let go, Fox." "Melissa?" "Yes, it's me. Dad wanted to come but I convinced him I should do it, since you never met him and he can be pretty intimidating on a first run." Melissa was on the ground beside him, trying to secure the blanket around his still body. "This thing's useless," she muttered. "It's soaking wet." "Don't...tell...Scully," Mulder mused. "Hey, I'm really proud of my little sister. She's taken to this backwoods doctoring pretty well." "She...had a good...teacher." "Yeah," Melissa smiled. "Dixie's a hoot. I think dad's taken a shining to her." "What?" Even for Mulder, Melissa was sometimes way out there. "Made you think," Melissa replied mischievously. "Dixie's too happy to be with Jeremiah to notice anyone else right now. But she did find me and send me here. She would've come herself except she's busy helping Dana take care of you. She's even got Jeremiah working." Mulder raised his eyebrows. "She sent him off to guide Bob and Tenille. You might be here long enough to see a change of seasons if those two were left on their own to find help." Mulder coughed hard and Melissa held him tightly, just as her sister had done not so long ago. When he had caught his breath, he looked up at her, his eyes glassy with fever. "Melissa...I..." "I know," she whispered. "It hurts. And if you give up the pain will go away. But please believe me when I tell you your baby girl is worth everything you're going through to survive. She's beautiful, Fox. You don't want to miss her." "I'll...try..." he gasped, using all his strength to bring the cherry bark back up to his mouth. "But..." "But nothing," Melissa replied sternly. "You'd have no fun with us, Fox. There are no mysteries up there. Everything's solved. You'd go crazy playing Parcheesi with dad all day." Mulder smiled. The first smile he had managed in a long time. "Oh...no...not...Parcheesi." Melissa stood up and kissed the top of his head. "I hear the dice now," she smiled. "Hang in there, Fox. Dana would make a lousy single mother." With that she was gone, leaving Mulder feeling warmer than he had in a very long time. Outside the compound 2:15 P.M. "Hey hotshot," Spencer Thornley could barely hold back a smirk when he entered the tent in search of Walter Skinner. The last 72 hours had been hell, but being able to volley snide remarks back and forth with his old friend and colleague had at least alleviated some of the tension. This time, he really had some ammunition. At the sight of Skinner, still hunched over the makeshift table, poring over the same maps he had been staring at for 24 hours, he almost held back, but in the end he decided they both could use some ribbing. "Your shipment's arrived," he said. "Oh good," Skinner said, standing up slowly, the metal chair he had been sitting on most of the night reminding him he wasn't as young as he used to be. "Where is it?" "*They*, good buddy," Thornley answered with amusement. "Where are they?" Skinner raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean they? I only ordered one." Thornley laughed. "That's so like you, Walter. You decide you want to have some fun, go four wheelin' in the rain and you don't want to share your toys. That's why I got my own. Now we don't have to share." Skinner smiled, in spite of himself. "What the hell do you know about all-terrain vehicles, Spence? From the looks of you the last thing you sat on for any length of time was a stool at the lunch counter in the commissary." "All I know is I want you in front," Thornley said, leading the way outside. "In this storm it's hard to tell if it's day or night. I'll need that beacon at the top of your head to light the way." Once outside the tent the sight of the armed agents posted everywhere rapidly brought both men to reality. That and the storm, which had quickly escalated to near hurricane status and had turned the ground to sludge in some parts and small rivers in others. The clapboard building that was the compound was no longer visible from where they stood. "Where are they?" Skinner asked, planting his feet firmly in the ground to avoid being swept away. His actions made him think of Agent Scully, a very small woman, caught somewhere beyond his reach in this howling nightmare. "Around back," Thornley replied, waiting for his friend to catch up to him. "You have a plan?" Before Skinner could answer, both men were struck by the sight of the two pick-up trucks that had been commandeered to deliver the all-terrain vehicles to this part of the world. A part of the world generally difficult to get to, but near impossible in the middle of the worst storm in a decade. The trucks were easily three feet off the ground, with tires bigger than any the two officers had ever seen. The two drivers were about as big as their trucks and were having a hell of a time getting the first vehicle down the ramp. Skinner and Thornley wasted no time in helping the men with the three wheel vehicles. It took some maneuvering, mostly because everything around them was slippery, but eventually the four men managed to get both vehicles off the trucks and onto the ground. "Who's going to be driving these?" asked one of the truckers. "We are," Thornley answered, before Skinner could bat an eye. The truckers looked at the two men in front of them suspiciously, obviously surprised at the response, but quickly ignored whatever they were thinking and began giving instructions. "These are the most powerful ATV's made," the first trucker continued. They'll get you where you're going, even in this kind of weather and terrain, but you need to know what you're doing or you can easily get yourself killed." Skinner nodded, unsure of what he intended to do now that transportation had arrived. He had hoped by the time the vehicle got there he would have come up with a plan, a way to locate his agents, but no such plan had evolved. He was no closer to finding his two agents now than he had been yesterday, when the weather was complying and he could see ten feet in front of him. He sighed quietly, listening intently to the trucker's instructions. This ATV seemed a lot bigger than the one he had crashed back in high school. Montana Woods 3:05 P.M. Tenille thought her words were coming back to haunt her. "Until we die trying," she heard herself telling Bob. How long ago had that been? Five minutes or ten hours? She had no idea. And frankly, she no longer cared. The events of the last three days, not to mention the last five weeks, had taken their toll. The previous ten hours, fighting the cold, the hail and the mud, had nearly broken what reserve she had left. It was only her promise to Dana, the promise that they would return with help, on Dixie's life, that had gotten her this far. Bob had said very little in the last few hours and she knew he too was operating on pure adrenaline. He held his left arm close to his chest and she could only assume he had done some serious damage to it when he fell. She had stopped asking him about it hours ago, cringing slightly whenever he stumbled and she saw him grit his teeth in pain. She had questioned Bob only once, when she felt they were headed in an odd direction, and his answer had kept her quiet throughout the rest of the ordeal. "Somethin's tellin' me this is the right way," he had said. "I can't explain it. You'll just have to trust me." She heard Bob swear under his breath and her contemplations ended abruptly. "What is...Oh my God..." The hail and the wind were so fierce, neither one had noticed the back of the compound until they were a mere 20 feet away from it. "We found it, Bob. We did it. We found it." Tenille couldn't contain herself, she was so elated. She threw her arms around Bob and gave him a hug. Bob hugged her back with his good arm, at the same time searching the area for the armed guards he knew would be posted everywhere. Tenille let go when she noticed his body tense. "What is it?" she whispered. "There's a couple of guards up yonder," he whispered. "Over there on the right." "You go back Bob," Tenille said bravely. "You hide until you can get away. I'll go talk to them." Bob didn't hesitate with his answer. "You listen to me, woman. You may have a way with me that I didn't think was possible up until now, but if you think I come all this way to see you walk away from me, while I go runnin' with my tail between my legs, well...you got another think comin'." "But Bob..." Tenille was touched. "They're likely to throw you in jail. They won't do anything to me." "Let's go, woman," Bob said, taking her hand and pulling her with him. "We're in this together." They made their way to the guard closest to them, both of them throwing their hands up in the air when the agent finally saw them and pointed his rifle directly at them. The sudden movement didn't help Bob's shoulder, but he kept his hands up just the same. "Who are you?" shouted the agent. "Farrell. My name is Bob Farrell. And this here is Tenille Harris. We have information on the two FBI agents that are missing." The agent looked at them dubiously. He couldn't remember ever seeing anyone more filthy and ragged. They had obviously been to hell and back. "What kind of information?" he finally asked. "We know where they are," Tenille chimed in. "Well, sort of," she added, realizing she would be hard pressed to pinpoint the exact steps they took to get to the compound. The agent took a compact radio out of his raincoat's pocket and pressed a button before speaking. "Thornley," he said. "Come in Thornley." After a moment Thornley's voice cut through the static. "Yeah, this is Thornley." "Sir, this is Agent Broward. I'm standing guard behind the compound and I've got two people in front of me that say they know where the missing FBI agents are." "What?" Thornley was on his feet, with Skinner immediately at his side. "Who are they?" "A man and a woman, sir," the agent answered. "Say their names are Bob Farrell and Tenille Harris." Thornley and Skinner both recognized the names as those they had seen on a list of people inside the compound. "Bring them in," Thornley shouted, praying that it wasn't too late to help Mulder and Scully. Skinner was outside instantly, pacing back and forth until he could see Bob and Tenille emerge from the storm, Agent Broward holding his rifle to their backs. He was at their side in no time, briefly introducing himself and then prodding them with questions, forcing himself to ignore their appearance. He didn't want to feel anything for these people, certainly nothing that would cloud his judgment. "Where are Agents Mulder and Scully?" Was the first thing he asked. "They're sheltered in a pile of rocks, a few miles from here," Bob replied. "Are they alive?" Skinner wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "Yes," Bob answered hesitantly, unable to elaborate. "Are they hurt?" Skinner was losing his patience. He wanted all the answers and he wanted them now. "The man is hurt," Tenille answered, sparing Bob the gruesome details. "He's hurt...pretty badly." They had reached the tent and Skinner led them inside, motioning to Agent Broward to stay outside and stand guard. "How badly?" Thornley asked. "What are his injuries?" Tenille answered again. "John beat him pretty bad. Several times. He burnt his hand. In the beginning I think I heard he had a concussion and some broken ribs. I, um..." she hesitated, trying to think of what both Dixie and Dana had told her and what she had overheard. "I think he has a lot of broken ribs and Dana said he had pneumonia. He had a fever when we left and was having a hard time breathing." Skinner cringed. "What about Agent Scully?" "She's okay," Tenille answered, "but she's afraid he's dyin'. He needs to get to a hospital." "Where's the rest of your group?" Thornley asked. "And what made you two come back?" "We came back to get help for the FBI agents," Tenille said defiantly, meeting Thornley's stare. "Why?" "Because John went insane," Bob answered evenly. "Because those two agents didn't deserve what they got." Because he killed Dixie, he said to himself. "You still haven't answered my question," Thornley continued. "Where's the rest of the Brotherhood?" Bob and Tenille quickly explained the events of the last three days, ending with Jacobs' death and the scattering of the Brotherhood. "Can you lead us to them?" Skinner asked, anxious to get going. "I think so," Bob said, wincing when he accidentally swung his shoulder. "What's the matter with your arm?" Skinner asked, relaxing a little. He had realized during their brief conversation that Bob and Tenille had not only risked their lives getting help for his two agents, but were prepared to do it again. "Nothing," Bob answered stoically. Or stupidly, as Tenille saw it. "He fell down a hill," she volunteered. "I think it's hurt pretty bad." Bob glared at her, but softened a bit when he saw the expression of concern on her face. Even covered in mud she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Spence, can you get one of the medics in here. Have him bring his case in. He can help us figure out what we need to get out to Mulder and Scully while he takes a look at Bob's shoulder." Spencer Thornley nodded and headed out in search of a paramedic. I guess I'm going to get a chance to try out that ATV after all, he mused. Not quite sure if the nerves he was feeling were eager anticipation or trepidation. *********** Bob had dislocated his shoulder in the fall and the paramedic was able to put the bone back in the socket in no time. The young man was able to contain himself while the excruciating procedure was taking place, but slumped into a chair, in a cold sweat, the instant the paramedic let go of him. "I can give you a shot for the pain" the paramedic said, "but it's bound to knock you out." "No," Bob answered quickly. "I need to stay awake. I'm fine." Tenille sat by his side, holding his hand, while Skinner and Thornley relayed Mulder's injuries and how he got them to the paramedic. "It sounds like you'll need a respirator," the paramedic was saying, "and some heavy duty antibiotics. He's probably dehydrated, so I'll give you something for that. If he was beaten that severely he might be bleeding internally too." The paramedic paused. "Will either of you know what to do with all this stuff once you get to him?" Skinner and Thornley shook their heads. "No," Skinner answered, "but Agent Scully will." "Why don't I come with you. I'm trained in emergency medicine and based on these injuries it doesn't sound like he's got a lot of time." Thornley spoke first. "It's a dangerous mission, son. A.D. Skinner and I aren't prepared to risk anyone else's life on this." "I'm prepared to take the risk, Sir," the young paramedic answered. "I would hope someone would do the same for me if I ever needed it." Thornley looked at Skinner. They had already had an argument with Bob and Tenille over the fact that they refused to lead them to Mulder and Scully unless they stayed together. And it was obvious Walter Skinner would not be willing to stay behind. He would sooner walk to the agents than stay put for another minute. "Can you ride an all-terrain vehicle, son?" "Can't grow up in Montana and not know how to ride one, Sir." the paramedic answered with a smile. "Okay then," Thornley agreed. "You take my place. Just keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times. A.D. Skinner will be carrying a radar beacon that'll enable us to track him at all times. And a radio in case he needs to relay anything back to us. With that we'll be able to send a helicopter to your location as soon as the weather permits." Skinner turned to Bob and Tenille. "Ready?" They both stood up and nodded. Tenille was praying silently. Praying that whatever had guided Bob to the compound was still around to guide him in the other direction. 6:20 P.M. Montana Woods 12 miles from the Canadian border Scully felt Mulder's forehead for the tenth time. It had been a couple of hours since his fever had broken, but she didn't trust the peppermint to work miracles. Or to keep it down indefinitely. "How...am I...doing?" Mulder asked, startling her. "I thought you were asleep," she answered, moving a little closer to him and letting his head rest on her chest. "Who can...sleep...with...Marcus....Welby by his...side." Mulder settled back and tried to catch his breath. "Very funny. Marcus Welby would have drugged you into submission by now." "Oooh. Scully...I thought...you'd...never...ask." "Not tonight honey, you have a headache." Mulder tried to laugh but instead found himself coughing. "I'd forgotten....I had...a....headache." "Shh. Stop talking and try and rest. The cavalry should be here soon." Scully's concern was growing with every passing minute. It had been nearly 12 hours since Bob and Tenille had left in search of help and there was still no sign of a rescue effort. To complicate matters the storm was still raging all around them and in her heart of hearts she knew no helicopter would be sent in to rescue them in this weather. There had been a lot of turns when they were walking in the mine and she had guessed by the time they came out they weren't that far from the compound. But what if Bob and Tenille had gotten lost? What if they were walking in circles? What if they had changed their minds and headed to Canada after all? Mulder felt her shivering. "Scully...you...okay?" "I'm fine, Mulder. Just a little cold." "You think...Bob...and Tenille...changed...their minds?" How did he do it? How did he always know what she was thinking? "What are you, psychic?" Scully thought of lying, but realized it would do neither one any good. There was only so much weight she could carry and the pressure was starting to take its toll. Mulder shifted his position so he could look at her, immediately regretting the action. The effort to move required more strength than he had and he found himself gasping for air. The pain in his lower back was excruciating and forced him to close his eyes tightly in an attempt to make it go away. "Mulder? Mulder what's wrong?" Scully was in front of him, one hand on his shoulder, one on his face. "My...back...." he gasped, clenching his jaw against the pain. "Your lower back, where you showed me earlier?" Scully could barely hide the panic from her voice. Mulder nodded. The pain had been building for hours and although he had managed to keep it from Scully, this last exertion left him virtually paralyzed, unable to hide anything from her. Worrying about Scully and her emotional well-being only added to his distress level, until he felt himself slipping away from her. Away from the rain and the cold. Away from the pain. He felt his body relax under her touch and forced himself to open his eyes, to look at her one last time. "Mulder, talk to me. Don't leave me here. Fox, please, hold on." Scully had felt his body go limp, the tension that had kept him alive slowly releasing him. She was in a frenzy, her terror beyond comprehension, as she shouted words he couldn't hear. Mulder could see Scully, see her lips moving, but he no longer wanted to hear what she was saying. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words. His lids grew heavy, his eyes started to close, but they were jolted open by a hard slap across his face. "Mulder, damnit, don't do this. Help is on the way." Hysteria was taking over and Scully found herself sobbing uncontrollably as she spoke. "Fox, she's right. Help is on the way. Closer than you think." He felt Melissa's presence but couldn't see her." "Hurts...too...much...Me...li....ssa..." "What?" Scully was shaken to her core. She felt a chill and looked around. Was Mulder talking to her sister? Was Missy there to help? To keep him alive? Her sense of calm was shortlived. When she looked back at Mulder his eyes were closed and she realized he had given up. 12 Miles from the Canadian Border 6:45 pm "No, son, you don't want to do this," a strong hand on his shoulder forced Mulder to turn around. Before him stood an older man, nearing 60, but with eyes that looked much younger. His receding hairline left only a fringe of grey around his head, but when Mulder looked closely, he could still see a hint of red there. Still, it was the man's eyes that struck Mulder the most-- they were the same eyes he had just looked into, the ones he searched for a thousand times a day. They were the eyes of his wife. "Captain Scully?" Mulder asked. He had never met Dana's father, had only seen a few candid pictures that Dana had on the mantel in their apartment, but this was definitely the partriarch of the Scully clan. His very bearing spoke of his years at sea, the men he had commanded, the risks he had taken and won. "Son, Fox, you don't want to leave her. I know. I didn't want to leave my Maggie and we had a much longer time together than you two." Bill Scully wouldn't let go of his shoulder, so Mulder put his hand on the other man's arm. "But even you have to admit that you didn't have a choice, sir," Mulder said sadly. "I don't want to leave her. I'll never want to be anywhere but right beside her. But I can't hold out any longer. I'm tired. I'm hurt. There's nothing that is my choice here. I just don't have the strength." "Let me show you something that might give you a little help in the strength department, Fox," Bill said with a gleam in his eye. "Follow me." Mulder didn't think they had walked more than a few feet, but he saw they were now in a yard. The backyard to a house. It had a large sycamore tree to the left, and an oak tree to the far right. Near the house were magnolia and dogwood with a small rose garden bordering a patio deck. In the center of the yard was a large wooden jungle gym complete with two swings and a circular slide. Three children, two boys and a girl, were playing happily on the swings and slide. The children were shouting at each other. Mulder listened closely and heard their names, Meggie, Willie and Sam. They were fighting over who was their parent's favorite. "Meggie is Dad's favorite," the older of the two boys said with a sneer. "He lets her get by with *anything*!" "Not true, Will-i-am," the little girl drawled out her brother's name in a taunt. "Besides, Sammy is Mommie's little angel. He never gets in trouble!" "Am not!" said the youngest boy, all of about 4 years of age. "Mommy loves us all. She says so when she kisses us 'night." That seemed to be all the evidence needed to support his claim. "But Meggie is still Daddy's favorite," Willie said with a triumphant smile. "It's a complexion." "That's 'complex' you doof," Maggie jeered. Now that he was looking closer, Mulder figured the girl was about 9. "And no it's not. Daddy loves us all. He always has. That's why he comes home to us every night. 'Cause he loves us and wants to be with us." Mulder's heart ached. Something inside him told him who these children were. They were his, his children. He wanted so much to run to them, take them in his arms. But then, he realized that unless he survived, he would never see this bright young girl, and the two boys would never even come to be. He closed his eyes against the pain at his loss. "You want to go back, don't you, son?" Bill asked. Mulder couldn't speak, he could only nod. "Then fight a little harder. You have it in you, Fox. Just fight a little harder. I know you can do it," the older man smiled and shrugged. "Starbuck wouldn't have given you a second look if you were a quitter." ************************************ 7:00 pm Dana was sobbing so hard, all the while trying to keep up the rhythm of CPR, that she didn't hear the all terrain vehicles making their way through the forest. It wasn't until she felt a small hand on her shoulder that she even knew anyone was near her. She looked up and into Tenille's face. "He's gone," she sobbed and started to go back to her fight to bring him back to her. Tenille gripped her shoulders and pulled her away, leaving room for the paramedic to take over. He went to work immediately, frantically taking up the efforts that Dana had already begun. "Agent Scully, here," Skinner said gently, enfolding her in a woolen blanket. He could see her shivering and noticed that her lips were tinted blue. "You don't want to catch . . ." He stopped himself from going any further with that train of thought. At that moment, he had no doubt that Dana Scully couldn't have cared less for what might or might not happen to herself. All her thoughts were on her husband. After what seemed like an eternity, the paramedic jumped back, searching through his bag. "I got a pulse, and some pretty faint breath sounds. Now, we gotta get him back pronto, before we lose him for real," he spat out to Skinner. "He's bleeding internally, his right kidney," Scully said, instantly moving over to help the paramedic. "And he has a concussion. Pneumonia's been a problem for a couple of days. I've been treating with, ah, some local remedies," she said, not expounding on what those 'rememdies' might be. Now that there was something to do, she shoved all emotions to the back of her mind and became the professional again. "How are you going to transport? Chopper?" The paramedic and Skinner both looked at the sky. Although the rain had slowed somewhat in the last 15 minutes, the wind was not abating at all. The two men exchanged dubious looks. "I don't think so, Agent Scully," Skinner said steadily. "Well, we sure as hell aren't *walking* him out of here," she said with disgust. "Hold up, let me see if the cavalry can get here," Skinner said, pulling out the radio he had hastily clipped to his belt before taking off on the ATV. "Spence. This is Walt. We need an evac. I repeat, we need an evac. Do you read me? Over." There was static as he pushed the button and all four conscious people held their breath collectively. Then a voice burst through the static. "Walt! We're here, buddy! And it looks like it's lettin' up toward the west. We're down to a drizzle here. I got a chopper fired up and ready. Just give us your location and we'll be there in a jiffy." Skinner smiled as he heard the three others with him start breathing again. It took the chopper just 20 minutes to be at their location. Mulder was loaded on a stokes and placed in the chopper to be delivered to the nearest hospital. There was just enough room for Dana and the paramedic to come along. That left Skinner, Tenille and Bob to take the ATV's back to the compound. Thanks to the let up in the rain, they were able to push through to the compound in a little over an hour and a half. Once there, Skinner handed Tenille and Bob over to Spence Thornley, grabbed the first available rental car and took off for the hospital, over forty miles away by back country roads. Sawyer County Medical Center 2:14 am After much argument, Skinner and two nurses had convinced Dana to change into dry clothes and a blanket was now wrapped around her shoulders. Even in the warmth of the small hospital, she still couldn't get warm. A bowl of soup sat on the table between chairs in the waiting area, having gone cold without being touched. A cup of coffee, light, no sugar, was full except for the three sips Dana had taken before sitting it down and forgetting it existed. Mulder had been taken into surgery almost immediately upon his arrival and had been there for nearly five hours. The floor wax was showing signs of wear from her pacing. "Sweetheart. Dana, how are you?" Maggie greeted her as she took her into a big hug. "Not so good, Mom," Dana said and finally let the tears fall. "Fox. He's . . ." Maggie held her as Dana sobbed against her shoulder. "He's made it through before, sweetie. He's not going to give up on you, now. Besides, we're going to give him all the reasons we can to come back to us." She steered Dana over to a chair and sat down next to her. "I have something I want you two to look at when we get you back home to DC." ********************* 5:00 pm Dana had been curled up in the chair so long that her back was hurting. There was an empty bed just on the other side of his bed, but she didn't want to go even that far away from him before he woke up. So she squirmed a little and tried unsuccessully to get comfortable. The combined efforts of her mother and the Assistant Director had forced her into a 6 hour slumber after Mulder was moved to recovery. When she woke up, he was settled in his own room and she had been there ever since. She wiggled and tried to settle once again. A strange flutter hit her stomach. It was almost unnoticeable--if it had not been such a distraction from her discomfort. When it hit her a second time, she put her hand to her stomach. It felt funny. Like the flutter of wings on glass. "Butterfly wings," she said a loud, without realizing. She remembered a talk she'd had with her mother just a week or so before, after her monthly visit to the obstetrician. Finally, a knowing smile graced her lips and she bit her lip at the wonder of the experience. Beside her, the man lying so quietly on the white hospital bed moved and groaned softly. She reached over and took his hand in her own, smiling expectantly at his face. "Hey, sleepy head. Time to wake up. She watched as his eyelids fluttered slightly, but stubbornly refused to open. "C'mon, wake up, Fox. I have news," she said, tempting him to look at her. Mulder took a deep breath, then regretted the action. He hurt, all over. Even through the dull fog of pain killers, he was still very sore, from his ribs, his lungs, his arm and his back. He was almost afraid to wonder how long he would be hooked up to IV's this time. It had definitely been a close one. But there was a very good reason why he had come back and she was squeezing his hand, insisting that he open his eyes. He opened his left eye, it was blurry. He opened his right eye and discovered that, although it was clearer, his vison was still hazy. "News?" he croaked. He swallowed, but found there was no moisture in his mouth. Instinctively, Dana raised the water glass and drinking straw next to his lips and he drank, then nodded when he was finished. "Sure enough," she said with a smile. "Here, give me your hand, maybe you can feel it." She took his left hand, the one without the IV and stood up so that he could place it on her stomach. She pressed it firmly in place with her own. It took some concentration, and he had no idea what she was trying to get him to feel. Finally, he detected something. "You're hungry," he whispered in a raspy voice. "No way, Jose. Mom and Skinner have been bringing me food for hours. I'm not hungry." He closed his eyes and concentrated harder on the feeling of her warm stomach against his hand. There, he felt something. "Then you have gas," he reasoned, a little confused by her behavior. He was used to having her there when he woke up in hospitals, but she usually didn't act so strange. "There, feel that?" she asked excitedly. He seemed confused, but nodded, then shrugged. "That, you dear man, is your baby daughter," she said with a loving smile. "I felt her move, Fox. Just now. When you were waking up. I think she's trying to get your attention," she added, tears glistening in her eyes. "I knew there was a reason to live," he said as a single tear slid down his cheek. "Much better than a video, Scully. Thank you." Sawyer County Medical Center two days later Mulder was shaking his head fiercely. "That's not what I said, sir. I didn't say the Indians burned the compound. I said the *spirits* did." He was emphatic. And he was convinced he was right. The Assistant Director of the FBI looked woefully at his agent. "Well, I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but I won't accept that in your report. We've had arson teams go over that compound with a fine tooth comb. We might not be able to determine the cause, but it's obvious that John Jacobs followers are likely to want to torch the place. I mean, after all, their leader is gone, what use do they have for it?" Mulder crossed his arms and winced when he hit the bandages still covering his burns. "Fine. Think what you want. The place is in ashes and if everybody is smart, they'll leave the place alone in the future. It's better left undisturbed." He shifted and then took on a less combative stance. "Did you have any one go look for Dixie?" "To be perfectly honest with you, Agent Mulder, we have been more concerned with rounding up the few remaining 'living' members of the Yeoman Brotherhood. We did find a mine entrance, but there was no *body* in the vicinity. Of course, it might not have been the same mine entrance you were at." thought Mulder. He had already decided that he was going to go back and look for her the minute his doctor/wife let him. "Speaking of which, what's going to happen to Tenille and Bob? They saved my life, you know," Mulder said pointedly. Skinner nodded. "I'm well aware of that fact, Mulder. And Agent Scully has already made a formal statement to that effect. I'm sure the judge will take that into consideration when he hears their cases. The fact that Bob is willing to testify to exactly what Jacobs was doing in there will go a long way to help his cause. I see very little jail time for him, none at all for Tenille. For that matter, I think Bob has plans." "Plans?" Mulder asked. "Yeah, career plans from the sound of it. I overheard him asking questions of the EMT that helped bring you out of the forest. Apparently, the young man sort of enjoyed all this search and rescue activity. With his survival knowledge and his natural abilities, he would be perfect for the job. With the proper training, of course," Skinner added. "We wouldn't know of anyone that might help him out on the score?" Mulder asked, half jokingly. He had been pretty much out of it, but at one point, when Bob and Tenille had snuck in to visit, Tenille had mentioned how helpful Agent Thornley had been to them since they had arrived back at the compound, finding them shelter and clothing, taking their statements. Even Bob had seemed grateful for his assistance, quite a step for a young man who had spent the last several years dispising his government. "Spence seems to have taken them under his wing, you're right on that one," Skinner assured him. He got up to leave, looking down at the prone young man before him. "Agent Scully tells me you'll be able to leave here in four or five days. But I've spoken to your doctor and you're on medical leave for a month to six weeks. At the rate your going, Mulder, you are going to have to live to be 100 to make up all your sick days." "I've figured that out, sir. I've decided that Dana and I are going to enlist all our kids in the academy and I'll just use their sick days. They're not going to get banged up as much as I do. Hopefully they'll have their mother's good sense." "*All* the kids, Mulder? More than the one I know about?" Skinner asked. Mulder grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "Three of 'em, sir. One girl, and two boys. And watch out for Sam, the youngest. I have a feeling he's going to be a handful." 'With one half your genes in him, I have no doubt of that, Mulder. None at all." BWI Airport a week after their rescue Maggie waved at them as they departed the gangway. They were moving slowly, in deference to Mulder's pace and the cane that he was leaning on heavily, but they both looked happy to be home. Maggie swept them into a hug and kissed them both before taking Dana's hand and leading them through the airport to her car. Their luggage had flown out earlier so they avoided the baggage claim area. Mulder sighed as he lowered himself into the car seat. He was still sore, and had been told to take it easy for a while, but he was feeling better than he had in a long time. "Are you all right, Fox? Do you need a pillow to support your back?" Maggie asked him with concern. "No, thanks, Mom. I'm fine. Now, what was this surprise you kept talking about all the time you were out with us in Montana?" he asked, catching Dana's smile in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, Mom," Dana chirped in. "You promised to tell us when we got back. What is it? Bill Jr. and Karen expecting again?" Maggie laughed. "No, sweetheart. Nothing like that. Only one little grandbaby in my immediate future, at least that I know of . But I would love to show you my surprise, if you are up for a drive." Dana put her hand on Mulder's shoulder and he shrugged in approval. "We're game," Dana said and settled back to enjoy the scenery. 49th Street, NW, Washington, DC Just one block from Tenley Circle Maggie pulled up in front of the two story house. A 'for sale' sign stood in the yard. Smiling, she ushered the couple up to the front door and produced a key from her purse. She opened the door and let them in. The door led to a hallway, with a staircase leading to the second floor to the left. To the back, they could see a formal dining room and into a large, eat-in kitchen. Off to the right, through a large archway, was the living room complete with a big bay window that let in the late afternoon sun. Dana walked through the hall and opened a closet in the dining room. It was nice and spacious, recently outfitted with a closet organizer unit. On the opposite wall, between a second archway to the living room and the hall, was another closet. "Lots of closet space," she said to Mulder. His eyes twinkled merrily. He stepped into the kitchen and opened a door to the left of the windowed back door. It was a pantry and laundry room. "Lots and lots of closet space," he shouted back and heard her laughter ring against the bare walls. It was a wonderful sound. "Let me show you the upstairs," Maggie said with a huge grin. At the top of the stairs was a full bath, done in reds, blacks and whites. The club footed tub had been renovated to enclose a shower head. There was a small, built in linen pantry behind the door. Turning to the right, and going to the front of the house, there was a good sized bedroom with windows that looked out on the front yard and the side. Directly across the hall from the bathroom was a slightly smaller bedroom with another bay window, this one with a window seat. To the back of the house was the master bedroom with a bathroom containing two sinks. All three bedrooms contained walkin closets. "I love it," Dana sighed. "Mom, it's perfect. But what are they asking?" "I already thought of that, sweetie. I asked the realtor. They're only asking 2 thousand over your target price and she thought they might go lower. Seems like the owners are transferring out of state and need to get this one sold before they can buy their next home." "Mulder, what do you think?" Dana asked. When she got no reply, she looked behind her and saw that he was nowhere in the room. "Mulder?" she called and searched the top floor, then through the first floor. Finally, she went out the backdoor and found him standing on the deck, admiring the roses planted around it. "Mulder? I asked you what you think of the place. I mean, it's only 2 over what we were thinking of. Of course, you wanted 2 and a half baths . . ." "I'll make an offer when we get back to the apartment," Mulder said confidently. "Are you sure? Don't you think we ought to look around a little first?" Dana asked, now not quite so sure she liked the look in his eyes. It was like he knew something she didn't and that bothered her. "Nah, I'm done looking," he said cryptically. "The only thing this place needs is a swing set." And with one glance at the sycamore and the oak trees, he took his wife into a hug and kissed her deeply. "It's just what I've always wanted," he sighed when he released her. All Dana could do was smile. The Montana Forest, three weeks later Dana rubbed her back and stretched. It was a beautiful summer day, and she finally had a chance to view the area they had been in just over a month before without the terror of that moment clouding her vision. Mulder had made his usual rapid recovery, which was good, considering that they would be moving to the new house immediately upon their return from Montana. Logically, Dana knew that they probably would never find Dixie's body. It had been six weeks since the murder and in the wilds of Montana, any number of scavangers would have already disposed of the old woman's body. The searchers had personally assured both Mulder and her that they had found no trace of a body near any mine entrance. All of these facts did nothing to deter her husband from making the long journey to give his 'guardian angel' as he now called her, a proper funeral. They had made the majority of the journey on ATV's, but the last mile they had decided to walk, so that they didn't miss any clues. Finally, Dana recognized the mine entrance and soon found the boulder that Jacobs and thrown Dixie against. She shut her eyes tight against the painful memories. ** None of that, child** a soft, sweet voice whispered in her mind. **I'm happy, Dana. Make no mistake of that. I'm happy and I'm at peace.** Dana opened her eyes and smiled at the image of Dixie that swam before her tear filled eyes. Then, in a blink, she saw them. "Mulder. Look. Over there by the boulder." Moving quickly, she got to the boulder almost before he had a chance to see where she was pointing. She knelt down and reached out to cup a small white flower in her hands. The tears were flowing freely now, but she had a smile on her face. "Lady slippers," Mulder said softly, kneeling beside his wife. "You know the legend?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Every Girl Scout knows that legend, Fox," she smiled at him. "The Indian maiden who was so beloved of her tribe, but got sick and died on the trail. They couldn't give her a proper burial, so they vowed to return as soon as the winter broke. When they came back in the spring, they didn't find the body. Just these little white flowers, that looked like the slippers she wore on her feet." She let a quiet sob escape her lips. "Dixie was truly a 'lady'," Mulder said softly. "I never got the chance to thank her for taking care of me." Dana pulled him into an embrace, and felt his own tears wet against her shoulder. "She knows, Fox. She knows. And she's happy now. She's with Jeremiah." He pulled back a little and wiped the tears from her cheeks, but they were quickly replaced. He nodded, not having any words, just expressing his agreement with his eyes. Together they cried, sad for their loss, but happy that Dixie was where she wanted to be. the end. Let us know what you think!