SUBMISSION: Lazarus Reborn From: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com (Vickie Moseley) @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Summary: The episode Lazarus from the first season, as it was originally intended. Authors Notes: I've been working my way slowly through the first season, doing fill in the blank stories. To be honest, I dreaded doing 'Lazarus'. In my honest opinion, this episode was awful. It just didn't grab me, I didn't feel drawn into any sympathy for Jack Willis and quite frankly, the whole thing was a big disappointment, especially that whole 'shrug' for an ending. So, I couldn't find it in my heart to fill in any blanks. It was ALL blanks. But then, I heard that Morgan and Wong had intended it to be Mulder who was possessed and not some pseudo-boyfriend of Scully's. After that discovery, the story takes on a whole new meaning. So, without their permission but with undying gratitude to their foresight, I am telling this tale the way I think it should have been told. Disclaimer: 10-13 owns 'em and I didn't ask to play with their toys, but I've very clean and I always use a tissue, not my sleeve. I'll put them all back when I'm done. Category: S A UST/MSR Rating: PG-13 Spoiler: Lazarus (though you might not recognize it) Archives: Please archive this on all X Files archives and newsgroups that want it, just keep my name attached. Finished November 8, 1997 Comments to me vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Lazarus Reborn by Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com First National Bank of Arlington 4:55 pm Dana Scully pulled a deposit slip out of the holder on the desk and moved over to the counter to stand next to her partner. Fox Mulder didn't even acknowledge her presence, he was busy appearing to add a series of numbers on the back of a loan payment ticket. "You want to tell me again how we got stuck with this sucky detail?" Scully asked in a whisper meant only for her partner. Mulder looked up and around, checking for observers and trying to appear nonchalant. "Simple, Scully. Blevins has always hated me. Now, he hates you. He didn't want to waste any 'real' agents on this one because it's a long shot. Ta Da, we're here. Besides, he knows the last time I screwed up in VCS, it was a robbery," Mulder said cryptically. "But this is bank robbery," Scully muttered. "_Armed_ robbery, Agent Scully. And the Dupres have managed to turn it into an art form. Last bank they hit, one security guard was killed and another is still in a coma. Violent Crimes--that is the name of our section, remember?" Scully would have stuck out her tongue if they hadn't been in the middle of a busy bank lobby. "I vaguely remember hearing those words strung together somewhere," she shot back. Just then, she looked over to the doors and saw him. The man walked in with his head down and the hood of his coat pulled up. He carried his arms in a strange manner, as if he were holding something under his parka. He walked over to the line of tellers and in the wink of an eye, he pulled off the hood, revealing a hockey goalie mask covering his face and produced a sawed off ..410 shotgun from under his coat. Mulder pulled his gun at almost the same instant. "Freeze! Federal Agents!" he ordered and time stood still. Scully pulled her own Bureau issued Smith and Wesson 1056 and was bringing it up to range when Warren Dupre and Fox Mulder fired their weapons at the same time. She watched in horrid fascination as the bullets, Mulder's 9 mm and Dupre's shotgun slug, almost collided in mid air on their way to their targets. A split second later, both rounds found their marks. Both men crumpled to the marble floor of the bank and lay there. The bank came alive again. Screams echoed in her ears as Scully ran over to her partner. He was on his back, eyes clenched tightly against the pain in his chest. A wet, red stain was leaking out of the half inch hole in his button downed oxford dress shirt. The wound, from what Scully could see at that point, was dangerously close to his heart. She clamped her hands over the wound and pressed down with all her might. "Call for an ambulance! Tell them 'officer down'," she shouted at the hapless guard who stood staring at the men on the floor. Bile rose in her throat when she realized that it had been less than a year since she'd shouted those same words on a dock in North Carolina. One of the bank customers had pushed his way over from the corner. "I'm a doctor. Can I help?" he asked and tried to move her aside. "So am I. Go see about the perpetrator," Scully said and flashed him a grateful smile, however faint it might have been. The doctor hurried over and knelt down next to Dupre. "Is he alive?" Scully called over the sounds of sobbing and chattering going on around them. "Barely. The bullet hit him in the chest. From the looks of all this blood, it might have nicked the aorta," came the quick reply. The unnamed doctor was likewise pressing his hands firmly on the prone man's chest, an exact twin of Scully's actions. " . . . shit, Mulder, why couldn't you manage to aim at a guy who's a lousy shot," Scully murmured under her breath. Arlington Medical Center 6:15 pm Scully stood next to the gurney on which her partner lay. Two teams of doctors and nurses were hurried working on both men. A voice behind her, one of the doctors working on Dupre looked up at the scream of the alarm coming from the patient's heart monitor. "He's crashing!" he shouted and with assistance, applied the paddles of the defibrillator. Although the body on the gurney naturally reacted to the volts of electricity coursing through it, the heart would not respond. The doctor tried a second time before pulling off his mask. "Call it," he told the nurse standing at his left. "6:15 pm," she replied, noting it on a chart that would later serve to remind the doctor when he filled out the certificate of death. The voices sent chills through Scully's body. Mulder was not faring much better than his assailant. She turned her attention to his face. He was so still, it didn't even look like he was breathing under the oxygen mask. She didn't feel like she was breathing much, either. She didn't want to take up any air that Mulder might need. Didn't want to waste a thought on something other than willing him to live. The alarm screamed a second time--this time from the machine attached to Mulder. Her stomach lurched as she watched the doctor apply the paddles, watched the current of electricity jolt his body off the table and down again with a thud. Nothing. Just the high pitched screech of the machine heralding the end of a life. The doctor was not that easily deterred. He applied the paddles again. The siren continued. No rhythm. No heartbeat. By this time, Scully's own heart had stopped beating--her body was in total suspension. She watched, silent, helpless, screaming within herself for Mulder's heart to cut out the shit and start beating, goddammit! But, as so often in their year and a half partnership, he didn't seem to be listening. "Call it," said the doctor sadly. "NO!" Scully cried. "No--give him one more chance." The doctor looked at her hesitantly, but agreed. The paddles were applied one more time. Again, Mulder jerked, and a fleeting thought passed through Scully's mind that they were probably breaking a few ribs with their efforts. She refused to look at the monitor, prayed that it was lying in it's shrill bleating. She watched his face, hoping against everything that Mulder would cough, wince, blink--anything to show life. "Call it," the doctor said again. "NO!" Scully cried again, but this time, the doctor shook his head. "He's dead, miss. Let him go." "No, goddamn you! Try again! I'm a medical doctor, I know what I'm doing. Either try again or step aside--I'll do it myself!" The doctor glared at her a full second, then angrily picked up the paddles again, and repeat what he obviously felt was a futile gesture. This time, when the body of Fox Mulder rose off the table, suspended by a current of pure energy, the lifeless body of Warren Dupre, now growing cold, rose unnoticed off the gurney in the corner of the ER. "Again," Scully ordered and glared at everyone in case they might object. The doctor shrugged tiredly, and the paddles were applied. Again, Mulder's body jerked. Again, Warren Dupre's body mimicked the body of the man they were trying so hard to bring back to life. The beep started slow and erratic, but in a moment, steadied. The doctor looked over at Scully in amazement, then at the clock. "We'll have to watch his neuros closely. He was without a heartbeat for almost 8 minutes." "He'll be fine," Scully assured him absently. She was too busy touching her partner's hair to discuss the possible consequences of their actions. "God, Mulder--next time you do that, make sure they have a machine set up for me, will ya," she whispered in his ear as the nurses prepared him for surgery. 6:45 am Scully yawned and stretched and looked over at her partner. His natural color was slowly returning to his face and now that the nurse had removed the respirator tube, he looked almost comfortable. The surgery had been touchy--made even more difficult because he'd already 'flat-lined' in the ER. When his blood pressure had taken a nose dive in recovery, it looked like the 7th Cavalry had been called out--a full team of doctors and nurses were next to his bed in a second. Everyone was on pins and needles--after all that work, no one wanted to have it all be in vain. But Mulder was alive, and he was going to stay that way, if Dana Katherine Scully had any say in the matter. She had been sitting at his bedside for almost 8 hours now. The nurses had attempted to get her to lay down in the lounge, get some sleep, but she'd have none of it. She knew they were bending the rules past the breaking point--she was only supposed to visit 10 minutes out of each hour. The doctor from the ER, still stinging from her orders earlier in the evening, had assured the rest of the hospital staff that they might have to use explosives to get her to leave. It was easier on everyone just to leave her alone, and she liked that idea. She looked up when she heard a gentle tapping on the glass of the ICU cubicle where Mulder was sleeping. With a start, she recognized Greg Levitts, one of the agents from VCS. He called her over with a wave of his hand and she went out in the hallway to talk to him. "How's Spook--uh, Mulder doing?" Greg asked without salutation. "He was pretty bad last night, but he's doing better this morning," Scully replied and decided to take up the matter of her partner's nickname at some other less emotional time. "Good, that's good to hear," Greg said and Scully realized he was being honest. Greg wasn't as bad as some of the men Mulder had worked with. For one thing, Greg had been fresh out of the Academy when Mulder left the unit, so he'd only heard the legends, he'd never had to walk behind the man. "Look, uh, Dana, I just came by because I heard about last night, and well, I thought you should know that we didn't capture Lula." "Lula?" Scully asked, a bit confused. Then it dawned on her where she'd heard the name. "Dupre's wife. His accomplice," she muttered to herself. "How did she escape? She should have been in a car waiting outside the bank. She always drove 'getaway' while he was doing the jobs." "Yeah, I know. And that's why we had the place staked out. But she got away. I don't know how. I think she might have left the scene before he even got inside all the way. Maybe something spooked her--" Greg stopped and bit his lip in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to imply . . . that's not what I meant," he stammered. Scully took pity on the younger man. "Greg, it's all right. Names can't hurt him half as much as bullets. But do you have any idea where Lula would have gone?" "If we knew that, we would have picked her up," Greg said pointedly. "We know she was in on that hold-up." Scully sighed. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." She rubbed her eyes tiredly, only making them ache all the more. "Dana, look, Mulder's not going anywhere. Why don't you go catch some shut eye? Besides, Blevins wants to talk to you, find out what happened last night. And I think I heard him say Skinner was looking into this, too." "Skinner? AD Skinner? What the hell does he want?" Scully demanded. "We did nothing wrong--it was a clean shoot. Why does the Assistant Director--" Greg cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Hey, don't kill the messenger," he shrugged with an embarrassed grin. "I don't know why he wants to talk to you. You realize that a federal officer was seriously injured, not to mention a suspect killed at the scene of a botched bank heist. You figure it out. Stuff like this makes bad PR. We're supposed to catch the bad guys in such a way that no one knows we were there," he added, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Her sour mood lightened a bit at Levitts words. "I suppose you're right," she admitted. "Look, I want to sit with him a few more minutes. In all likelihood, he'll come around for a bit soon and then the drugs will knock him out for the rest of the day. I just want him to know I'm here, OK?" "Hey, Blevins is a nine to fiver--you know that. You've got a couple of hours to sit with Mulder and then make yourself presentable," Greg grinned. "Not to say that you aren't 'presentable' now, but dried blood just isn't your color, Dana," he added and pointed to her blood soaked jacket and blouse. She hadn't even bothered to clean up, she realized. "Oh, gosh, I look like a ghoul," she hissed. "You said that, I didn't," Greg pointed out and smiled again. "Don't worry about it. Oh, and when he wakes up, tell Mulder that we're all thinking about him, OK?" Scully walked back into Mulder's room and was greeted by two sleep heavy hazel eyes regarding her with confusion. "Hey, there," she smiled tenderly. "You're awake." He looked at her as if he was trying to place the face, remember her name. "It's OK, Mulder. It's me, Scully. You're on some heavy duty drugs right now. You need to rest. You gave us all quite a scare last night. When you're up and able I firmly intend to kick your butt for it, too, but for right now, just rest, OK? Are you in any pain? Need anything? Some ice chips?" He nodded gratefully. After swallowing several spoonfuls of ice he cleared his throat, wincing at the tenderness left by the ET tube. "Lula . . ." he rasped. This time it was Scully's turn to look confused. "Dupre's wife?" she asked. He continued to stare at her. "She got away," she said with slight shrug. "Greg Levitts was just by, they don't have any leads on her whereabouts. But don't worry, Mulder. She'll turn up eventually and we'll get her. Besides, Dupre was the mastermind behind the robberies. His wife just provided the transportation." At that, her partner surprised her further by grunting in disbelief. The movement of his body caused a flash of pain to cross his face. " . . . hurts," he complained. She was sympathetic immediately and pushed the call button, alerting the nurse. "You're due for a pain shot, anyway," she assured him. "And then I'll leave you to the nice nurses tender mercies--I have to get out of these clothes before someone arrests me for murder," she joked, pulling out her blouse to show him the blood stains. "Gotta thank you, Mulder. I wanted a good excuse to go shopping this weekend, and you sure provided me with one," she teased. He merely nodded and closed his eyes. Scully stroked his forehead for a moment, and with the nurse's arrival, took her leave. As the presence inside Fox Mulder's body listened to Scully's heels clicking on the tile floor of the hospital, he wondered who the hell that woman was and how she knew his wife. ---------------------------------- Fox Mulder had never felt so . . . detached. That was the only word that fit. At first, he assumed it was the pain killers. He remembered all to clearly the pain he'd experienced lying on the bank lobby floor. It was a mirror image of the pain he'd felt on a North Carolina dock just 8 months before. Gunshot wound. Goddammit, why did they hurt so much? He'd welcomed each and every shot of morphine and later Demerol that the nurses had injected into his IV. But this didn't feel like drugs were the cause. This time, he felt like his mind was not with his body. Like he was separate. He tried to open his eyes. No response. He tried again. Nothing. Even that failure wasn't unknown to him. He'd been forced to make several attempts at opening his eyes during his last serious injury. The body was slow to respond, it was busy with other more mundane tasks, like pumping blood through the heart and getting oxygen into the lungs. Without warning, or even trying, his eyes opened and he saw Scully. His first impulse was to speak, to tell her he was glad to see her, to ask what had happened. Violently, other thoughts invaded his mind. He felt himself being shoved aside by a presence that he could only recognize as pure evil. <> the other thought demanded. >>I . . . I don't . . .<< Mulder stammered, trying to gather his own thoughts, which were scattering before him like dandilion seeds on the wind. <> shouted the other. <> Mulder didn't have time to answer, he was engulfed in the cold hard fury of the other's anger and all consciousness left him. He was trapped in a place that was darker than sleep, more frightening that death. It was the blackness of nonexistence. FBI Headquarters 9:05 am "Glad you could make it in, Agent Scully," Section Chief Blevins nodded gratuitously toward a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat." Scully obliged him, taking a moment to survey the room. Blevins office was far from spacious, but it had suddenly erupted with chairs--all of them occupied. She couldn't identify all the occupants, but was fairly certain most of them were members of the Office of Professional Conduct. One man she did remember, at least from seeing him at a distance. Walter Skinner, Assistant Director in charge of Violent Crimes, was seated next to Blevins behind the desk. Skinner met Scully's gaze and regarded her coolly. She immediately dropped her eyes, breaking contact. A shiver ran down her spine. "How is Agent Mulder?" Blevins asked, and broke the tension that had settled on the room. "He's still in ICU, sir. He woke up for a few moments this morning. He's in considerable pain, but the doctors feel that there is every chance of a full recovery." "This is the second gunshot wound he's received in a year, isn't it, Agent Scully?" The AD's voice was low, almost contemptuous. "Yes," Scully admitted, wondering where in the hell this question was leading. "If you are asking if Agent Mulder was reckless in his actions, sir--" "I don't remember asking any such thing, Agent Scully. But it is highly unusual for an Special Agent to be wounded in the first place. Twice in one year seems even more suspect." "Sir, the nature of our work--" Scully tired to explain. "I am more than aware of the 'nature' of your work, Agent Scully," Skinner sneered. "I'm still trying to figure out if it's worth the expense in medical bills alone." "Sir, let me explain--Agent Mulder and I have been highly successful in our efforts--" "I am aware of that fact, as well, Scully," Skinner said dourly. "And believe me, that will only get you so far. But that isn't why you were called here." "Sir, if I may. Why was I called here?" Scully asked, trying hard to keep her anger in check. "There is a fugitive at large. Lula Phillips. There is a manhunt underway. But we felt you should be aware that we will probably be posting a guard at Agent Mulder's door. There is the possibility that Lula will go after Mulder. He did kill her husband, as you know," Blevins explained. "And her husband almost killed Agent Mulder," Scully let slip angrily, then reigned herself in. She swallowed. "I think a guard is a good idea, sir." "One is on the way over. And I would like to offer you the opportunity to work with the Violent Crimes Section a little longer and assist in the manhunt for Lula Phillips. The file--" "Agent Mulder has a copy of the file in his office," Scully interrupted. "Thank you, sir. I think I would like to see this one through to the conclusion." "I expected you would, Scully," Blevins smiled. "You can report to Agent Levitts later this morning. I believe a briefing has been scheduled for 10:00. Until then, that will be all." Scully was reeling as she made her way to the stairwell and ran down to the steps to the basement. Only once she was seated behind Mulder's desk did she allow herself the luxury of a deep breath. What the hell was that all about? she demanded silently. She'd never been in such a strange meeting since-- No, wait, she admitted silently. She had been in just such a meeting, almost 18 months before. The meeting where she'd been assigned to Mulder in the first place. The memory gave her a sad smile. She picked up the magazine from Mulder's desk. _Lone Gunman_ it's bold type heralded. She barely glanced at the cover, it was one of the more tamer subscriptions her partner received and it had no bearing on this case. This was simple case of robbery and escape and it was only a matter of time and good police work that would lead to it's resolution. Under the magazine, she found the file on Warren Dupre. Arlington Medical Center 9:47 pm Mulder awoke, still trying to focus on his surroundings. He'd dreamt--something about another presence, an evil presence, invading his thoughts, taking over his mind. Not all that unusual, he reminded himself. After all, he had just undergone surgery. That fact was painfully obvious, even if no one was there to tell him about it. He looked over at the IV pump and the heart monitor, felt the pull of the stitches in his chest. The dull ache of a pain calmed only with large quantities of narcotics echoed against his ribs. The nurse appeared, and graced him with a brilliant smile. "Agent Mulder! You're awake. How are you feeling?" He forced a smile--he didn't really feel as chipper as this woman was acting and didn't want to encourage her too much in that area, either. " . . . my partner?" he croaked and swallowed painfully. "She was by earlier, but you were still asleep. She said she'd call in the morning and come by about lunchtime--probably somewhere around 12:30. Poor thing, she looked pretty bedraggled when I came on at 7. She'd been here all last night, you know, and was working all day today from the looks of it" the woman prattled on. "Dr. Davis thinks you could start with some liquids. Do you have a preference in juices? I have apple, cranberry and grape at the desk." " . . . apple," he rasped. She smiled brightly again and left to fetch the juice. He closed his eyes for just a second when the whole world went black. It was darker than just his closed lids--the blackness brought a coldness that poured into his very being. <> a growl emerged from the blackness. <> the words echoed in his mind until he was nowhere, feeling the depths of nothing. When the nurse came back to the room with his juice, Agent Fox Mulder was nowhere to be found. 11:30 pm "He was right here, Agent Scully! I swear, he was right in that bed!" The nurse, Jackie Bensen was close to tears. "I came back with his juice and thought he might have gotten up to go to the bathroom. I checked in there and his clothes were gone! I was only gone for about 5 minutes. Mr. Martin, in 368 was calling for the bedpan and you just can't let that man wait, if you know what I mean." Scully was quickly losing her patience, but realized it wasn't this woman's fault. The agent who had been on guard duty was standing next to her, toeing the tile floor. She fixed him with a steely glare. "And where were YOU?" she demanded. "Look, it's not my problem if Spooky Mulder decided to go chase a ghost or two," Dan Hines bristled. "His clothes are gone, his shoes are gone--he probably took off for his apartment. I hear he's known to do that a lot." Scully knew he was referring to the time in North Carolina when Mulder checked himself out of the hospital and was all the way to the Raleigh airport before someone caught up to him. He'd pulled six stitches, getting into and out of the taxi cab, but in the end, he'd won the fight and she'd escorted him home on the next available plane. "Look, that was different. There is a woman on the loose, one who's been directly linked to a number of murders during robberies. Mulder killed her husband. Now, my guess is that Lula Phillips Dupre is not feeling too fond of Agent Fox Mulder right now," Scully hissed. "If she was here and she took him--" "Agent Scully, I looked at the security camera tape. It clearly shows Mulder sneaking out of the room and heading down the fire escape. Save your righteous indignation for the nursing staff--they're the ones who let him get out without telling anyone," Hines fired back. Scully glared at Hines and did a slow burn. Her gun was dangerously close to jumping out of her holster and into her hand, firing of it's own volition. She damped down the feeling viciously. "Look. I don't care if Santa came and got him in his sleigh," she seethed. "He is missing. And that woman is on the loose. We have to find him. NOW!" she shouted. Her cell phone started chirping before Hines could make a comment. "Scully," she answered. "Agent Scully? This is Jeri Franklin. I'm a resident down in the morgue. I was told that I should contact you. Something weird is going on down here." Scully forced herself to take a deep breath. "Yes, Dr. Franklin, what can I do for you?" "Well, somebody has come in and messed with one of the bodies. I mean, it's not exactly a federal offense, but it's pretty creepy." "Which body, Dr. Franklin?" Scully asked, trying very hard to regain her now missing patience. "It's the body of Warren James Dupre. Someone's chopped off his fingers." --------------------------------------- "Creeped me out!" exclaimed Jeri Franklin as she lifted the sheet off the body. "I mean, the drawer was wide open, the body was just laying there--and the fingers . . ." She grimaced and shook her head. "Weird stuff!" Scully was bending over the body, then lifted the left hand. The little, ring and middle digits were severed. The bone and muscle, long since devoid of blood, glistened in the florescent lights. A pair of surgical shears, identical to the ones that she used in autopsies to remove the ribcage, lay at the side of the corpse. "Hines," Scully said evenly, "bag these shears. I want them dusted for prints." "Scully, this is hardly a capital crime here," Hines objected. "On the contrary, Agent Hines," Scully said, barely refraining from poking the taller agent in the chest. "I am fairly certain that we'll find the fingerprints of Lula Phillips on those shears. I think the grieving widow came to pay her last respects, and figured out that the wedding ring was going to get buried with the rest of her husband." "That's gross," said Franklin and shivered. "More than that, it means Mrs. Dupre was in the hospital this afternoon, not long after Mulder turned up missing. I think we have enough to go on--unless Mulder really is at his apartment, I think it's safe to say he's been kidnapped by the widow Dupre." 1424 Walnut Ave. Alexandria, VA 2:15 am Tommy Phillips was having a very nice time. So nice that he was pretty certain he wasn't going to have to pay for it. The young woman doing her best to keep his mind directed on various parts of his anatomy was extremely skilled, but also a bit on the dumb side. He'd flashed the cash when they'd come up to his apartment, but that didn't mean he couldn't throw the bitch out on the fire escape the minute she demanded her compensation. They were pretty close to the edge of the universe when the door to the apartment blew open, sending in a howling tornado of dirt and dead leaves. Right behind that came a man who Tommy had never seen before in his life. "Get rid of the bitch!" the man shouted and the blond managed to find the fire escape on her own, tugging on her leggings and overly tight tee shirt as she ran. Tommy grabbed under his bed, but the hand of the other man stopped him. "Uh uh, Tommy-tom. Not this time." "Who are you?" Tommy demanded. "What do you want? Look, I paid the rent. I told that old bastard, the super, I put the rent check under the door. It ain't my fault the son of a bitch lost--" "Tommy, shut your yap!" the man ordered. Tommy looked hard at him. His eyes were a dark brown, but there were gold flecks--flecks of what? Insanity? And on the dirty cotton sweater that man wore there was a dark red stain spreading on the left side of his chest. Tommy didn't like this one bit. "I don't know you," Tommy said, inching his way up the bed so that he was in a sitting position. "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. How soon they forget, eh? It's me, Warren. I'm looking for Lula, Tommy. Where the hell is that sister of yours? I looked at our old place but she's cleared out. Where is she, Tommy?" It was the last question Tommy Phillips would ever answer. Phillips Apartment 9:15 am "Death is attributed to a gunshot wound to the head," Officer Willis droned from his notebook. "We didn't realize the need to call this into the FBI until somebody figured out this was Lula Phillips baby brother," he smirked derisively. "Wow, what a leap of investigative skill," Scully muttered as she surveyed the scene. The coroner had already retrieved the body, but the bright red stain and tiny pink flecks still decorated one wall and the pillows and sheets on the bed. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to get in the groove. She was still terrified for Mulder, she wanted nothing more than to be out looking for him. She'd been up almost all night, searching all the places she could remember finding him in the past. He hadn't gone back to his apartment, there was now a team of agents staking it out in case he were to show up. He was missing and here she was, reliving the last seconds of Lula's brother's life. What would Mulder do? she finally asked herself. He'd solve the fucking crime and find the fucking bitch, she berated herself angrily. But he's not here, so I guess that just leaves me, doesn't it, she sighed. Her eyes were drawn to the television. "Has this been dusted for prints?" she asked suddenly. All eyes turned toward her. "No, ma'am. Any prints would probably belong to the dead guy," said a uniformed Alexandria cop dusting the window to the fire escape. Scully worked her mouth in concentration. "Look where the body was found. He'd have been staring straight at the television set. Was it on or off when you came in?" "Off," came the quick reply. "Then dust it. The murderer might have turned it off." The young officer shrugged and stepped over to dust the knob of the television. Scully watched silently until she heard a disturbance in the hallway. "I'm a federal officer--I just don't have my ID on me," an all too familiar voice intoned breathlessly. "Mulder?" she asked, incredulous. She hurried out into the hallway to see if her suspicions were true. Sure enough, her errant partner was standing in the hallway giving grief to the uniformed cop on guard. "Scully, tell this creep who I am," Mulder begged plaintively. "Officer, I can vouch for this man. He's my partner, an FBI agent," Scully said evenly as she walked up to Mulder and took his arm. She noticed that his trench coat--complete with bullet hole and blood stain on the inside lining--hid his shirt and she was tempted to rip it open and examine his wound. When she had led him a short distance away, she started on him. "Mulder! Where in the hell have you been? My god, you're supposed to be in the hospital! Do you know how frightened I've been?" He held up his hand weakly. "Scully, enough, OK. I'm sorry, I just couldn't stand the hovering there, so I left." "Where did you go, Mulder? You didn't go back to your apartment," she accused. Mulder looked a little confused, a little lost. "You're right, I didn't go back home. I was tired, I wanted to go home but I guess I couldn't get all the way there. I woke up at a motel a few blocks from the hospital--my VISA card was in the inside pocket of my rain coat. Really, Scully, I'm fine. I just needed some rest." "Mulder, you need to be in the hospital! And that is exactly where you are going," she growled. "Let me see the crime scene," he pleaded. "Mulder, you are lucky I don't cuff you and sit on you till the ambulance arrives," she growled in return. "Ooh, Scully. You do that, and I'll NEED an ambulance," Mulder leered with a grin. Then he sighed and tried for the reasonable approach again. "Scully, I am less than ten feet from a crime scene. It's not going to kill me to walk into that apartment and give you my thoughts on what happened there, is it?" She glared at him, ready to tear him apart. In the end, she knew he was right. So she didn't say a word, she just stepped aside and let him walk into the apartment. Greg Levitts looked up and dropped his jaw open in amazement at Mulder's sudden appearance. He moved over to the older agent immediately. "Good to see you back among the living," he joked lamely. Mulder nodded, pale and with a slight tremor going through his body. "Good to be here," he smiled weakly. "What have we got?" "Tommy Phillips, Lula's brother. Dead by gunshot wound. Neighbors say they heard the shots about 2:30 this morning." "Did they see anyone leaving the building?" Mulder asked, circling the bed, taking in the scene. "No. Of course, this isn't exactly a Neighborhood Watch community, either. I think the majority of people in the building are crackheads and the rest are dealers. I didn't expect to get much out of them. Although Scully helped us get a print off the TV. She thinks it might be the killer's." Levitts smiled in Scully's direction. Mulder smiled as well, a look of pride falling on his partner. Scully blushed at the praise. "It was nothing, just checking all the bases," she protested. "No, it's far from nothing, Scully. Good work. Hey, you keep this up and you'll make Director yet," Mulder teased gently. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder, but pain streaked up his arm and he doubled over, clutching his chest. "OK, Mulder! That's it! We are going back to the hospital, now!" Scully ordered and took his arm. Greg took up the other side and between the two of them, they practically carried Mulder down to Scully's car. "Are you sure we shouldn't call an ambulance?" Levitts asked, worry lining his face. "This is faster. Besides, I'm a doctor. But please call the hospital and tell them we're on our way--I don't want to have to use my cell phone while I'm driving and keeping an eye on him unless I have to," Scully requested. Levitts nodded in agreement and rapped on the hood of the car, signaling and end to the conversation. Scully sped off. "Scully, I'm OK," Mulder protested. He was still pale, the pain lines near his eyes were like valleys on his face, but his eyes were clear for the moment as he stared at her. "You don't have to kill us getting us there," he added, tossing a glance at the speedometer. "I can't believe you were so monumentally stupid, Mulder! How could you just get up and walk out of that hospital? And why didn't you call me? I was worried sick, I thought Lula Phillips had you--" "Scully, I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "Really, I didn't mean to scare you. I just got tired of being stuck in the butt all the time." "But you were on medication, Mulder. Pain killers, antibiotics. It's not like you scraped you knee, goddammit. You were SHOT in the chest--they were filling out your death certificate in that ER," she yelled and Mulder cringed beside her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I really never meant to scare you. But when I woke up, I knew I had to find you. I knew where you would be," he pointed out. "How?" she demanded, glaring at him. "Late breaking news, Scully. Lula's picture is all over the TV and there was a report that her brother had been shot. I knew you'd be there. I was right," he added. He turned his gaze out the window. Suddenly, he put his hand on her arm. "Scully, stop the car!" he ordered. "What? Are you going to be sick?" she asked anxiously. "No. I just saw Lula Phillips. She just went into that apartment building," he answered excitedly. She didn't even bother to ask if he was sure, Scully pulled the car over without thinking. "Which building?" Mulder pointed to a six flat in the middle of the block. All the buildings in the neighborhood were old and many of them looked abandoned. "That one! 1508," he said evenly. "Scully, call for backup--I'm going in after her," he directed and started to reach for the door handle. Scully grabbed his arm. "No way, cowboy!" she growled. "If anybody's going in, it's me. You stay here, and call Levitts for me and an ambulance for _you_. Immediately!" she ordered. "Yes ma'am," he said, giving her a mock salute and a indulgent grin. The glare she tossed him was the only way she could hide her smile. Scully's looked up and down the hallway. It was empty. She quickly found the manager's apartment on the first floor and knocked. The manager, a middle-aged man with very little hair on his head, identified the woman in the picture Scully showed him as the new renter in apartment 302. Scully ran up the two flights of stairs to reach the third floor. At the other end of the floor, going down a separate flight of stairs was Lula Phillips, a laundry basket on her hip. "Freeze. Federal Agent," Scully called out and wasn't too surprised when Lula decided to take off down the steps. Scully was quickly hot on her heels. Lula ran into the basement, a low ceilinged space filled with clothes lines and long forgotten boxes. Scully dodged packing crates and wet clothes as she continued to pursue Phillips. Finally, as they reached the back of the basement, Lula slipped and Scully caught her, bringing the woman down on top of a heavily soiled and discarded mattress. Scully pulled out her handcuffs and was about to cuff Lula when she heard a voice behind her. "I'll get that," Mulder said. "Mulder," Scully growled. "I told you to stay in the car. Is the back up here, yet?" Mulder had taken the handcuffs from Scully and looked like he was going to restrain Lula when he shifted and encircled the cuff around Scully's right wrist. "No," he answered her question. Then pulling her gun out of her holster, he held it to her head and said "and I don't think it's going to be coming." ======================================== Lula Phillips glared at Fox Mulder, slowly wiping the dirt from her cheek. Mulder reached over and touched the same cheek tenderly, wiping away the dirt. "Did she hurt you, baby? Are you all right?" he murmured lovingly. "Who the hell are you?" Lula hissed. "I don't know you." "Yes you do, baby. It's me. Warren. I can't tell you how much I've missed you, baby. I've missed you so much I had to come back." Scully stared in horror at her partner as he spewed forth those words. "Mulder," she whispered, "Mulder, what are you talking--" His hand whipped out in a flash and caught Scully across the face. "Shaddup, bitch!" he growled angrily. He turned back to Lula, his eyes now filled with love and devotion. "Sweetheart, I know this is hard to understand. Hell, I don't even understand it yet, but it's true. I'm back. I was dead, but I'm back. And I'm never gonna leave you again," he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Lula Phillips first instinct was to rip the gun out of the guy's hand and blow a hole in his obviously deranged head. Then, after a second thought, she began to see the opportunity that was presenting itself. This guy was nuts, that was for sure. But for some crazy reason, he was nuts _for_ her, and she could use that to her advantage. As soon as the time was right, she could lose this nutcase, but in the meantime, tagging along with him was a far sight better than sitting it out in a federal jail. Her grimace at his advances quickly changed to a slimey smile. "Baby, is that you?" she cooed. "In the flesh, baby. In the flesh. And I'm sorry about the looks--but hey, won't make no difference in the dark," he said with a knowing leer. "Come on, the cops will be here, soon. We need to get someplace safe," he added. "Safe and secluded." Next to him, the cuffed Dana Scully felt like she was in the middle of a terrible nightmare, and couldn't figure out how to wake up. "What do we do with the extra baggage?" Dupre/Mulder asked Lula. "I say we don't need the weight. I can kill her right here, right now." Internally, Scully screamed. This could not be happening, this wasn't happening to her. Lula thought about it for a moment. "No, baby. She's insurance. And besides, we can make some money off her. I'm sure somebody would pay to get her back. We need money, baby. You didn't get much out of that last job," she grinned. "Just a bullet," Dupre/Mulder agreed. "Yeah, you're right. But we need to get someplace. How about your old man's place. It's fairly deserted?" "Perfect," Lula nodded, hiding her confusion that this loser knew so much about her life. "Great. Let's take the red head's car and get over there," he said and pulled down a dish towel from one of the lines of clothes. "Here you go, lady fed. Can't have you seein' where we're goin', can we?" Scully cringed at his touch, but didn't say anything. The words of the doctor in the ER kept echoing in her mind. "We'll have to check his neuros"--Mulder had been without oxygen to the brain for almost eight minutes. He very possibly had suffered brain damage. That would explain his bizarre behavior. But he was still Mulder. Regardless of how he was acting at the moment, he was still her partner, her friend, the only person she could trust. He was sick, and he needed her help. For that matter, she needed to help both him and herself. Arlington Medical Center 11:30 am Greg Levitts was beside himself. He'd watched them drive away. Two agents, one instrumental to his search for Lula Phillips and the other seriously injured and in need of medical attention--and now they were missing. It didn't take an hour and a half to get to Arlington Medical Center, no matter how slow you took it or how heavy the traffic was on the Key Bridge. He didn't like the idea, but he knew he was facing the very real possibility that Scully and Mulder both were now in the clutches of Lula Phillips. If they were still alive. With a heavy sigh of resignation, Levitts pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and sticking one finger in his exposed hear to block out the sounds of the busy hospital, he called his superior. "Mr. Blevins office," came the clipped reply of his bosses secretary. "This is Greg Levitts, Terry. I need to speak with--" "Oh, gosh, Greg. He had left at lunch--he's gone for the day. I could leave a message," Terry said happily. "Shit! No. I need--ah, hell, transfer me up to Skinner's office. I need some action, quick." "Will do, Greg," Terry replied and made the necessary connections. "Assistant Director Skinner's office," came a voice that Levitts couldn't readily identify. If the matter had not been so grave, there is no way he would have called this high up the organizational chart. "This is Special Agent Greg Levitts, and I need to speak with the Assistant Director," Levitts said, cringing at the high pitched squeak that had suddenly entered his voice. "And may I tell the Assistant Director the reason for this call?" Greg should have known Skinner would screen his calls. Good grief, he didn't have time for this shit. "Look, tell Skinner he has two agents missing, possibly in the hands of a known felon and he better talk to me quick or we'll only get corpses back," Greg growled into the phone. The next voice he heard was a very attentive Walter Skinner. Lula Phillips was getting just a little freaked out by the nutcase beside her. The guy kept prattling on, and that wasn't so bad, but the part that caused her skin to crawl was the way he knew so much about her. "Just think, baby, we can have it all. We get out of town and away from here--maybe go to Rio like we've always dreamed," Dupre/Mulder said wistfully. "We demand enough money and we can both get face jobs--no one would ever recognize us. I'd love to get rid of this honker," he added, grimacing in the vanity mirror of sunvisor. "Dumb fuck, and ugly, too." Lula's spine straightened at the talk of Rio. It had been her secret fantasy and no one but Dupre knew of it. So how come this joker did? Was he crazy AND psychic? She decided to give him a little test, just for the fun of it. She was winding through the back streets now, not far from her father's old dilapidated shack. She purposely made a turn back the wrong direction. A hand shot out and grabbed the wheel. "Baby, you missed the turn back there," came Mulder's calm voice, but the eyes didn't belong to the Special Agent. They were dark and foreboding. "Want me to drive? You're probably dead on your feet." Lula bit her lip. "No, baby. Thanks, but I got it. You just rest. Oh, shit, baby, look! You're bleedin'," she said, distracting him enough to regain control of the wheel. Dupre/Mulder looked down at the sweater under the trench coat. "Damn," he hissed in pain, and leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes. "He needs to be in a hospital," Scully heard herself saying. She strapped into the back seat, blindfolded, with her hands cuffed behind her. "If he's bleeding, there could be internal bleeding, as well. And he look flushed before. He's probably getting an infection. He needs antibiotics." Lula glared into the rearview mirror. "You know a lot about it for a cop, bitch," she sneered. "I'm a medical doctor," Scully answered quickly, then regretted the slip. "Good. Then you can fix him up just dandy when we get you to Dad's old place," Lula smiled and turned the car down another residential street. Lula had to decide how much she could trust Scully not to leave this loser behind. It was obvious from the conversation in the basement that the woman fed knew the nutcase, and from the looks she kept shooting over at him, knew him pretty well. Even so, Lula was ready to risk her insurance policy by uncuffing the agent and letting her help move the now unconscious man up the rotting front steps and into the house. Lula cursed the dead weight the entire time, but was grateful that he wasn't really Dupre, who was a good 20 pounds heavier. Once in the house, Lula took the blindfold off Scully. "I'm gonna have my gun on you," Lula hissed in Scully's ear. "And your imbalanced little friend here. So don't do anything funny, got it?" Scully nodded mutely. "Now, I'm gonna let you loose and you can fix him up. I don't want him bleedin' all over. Meanwhile, I'm gonna make a few discrete phone calls," she grinned evilly and pulled Scully's cell phone and ID wallet out of the agent's pocket. She punched in a few numbers and put the phone to her ear. "I'd like a number in DC, please. Get me the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Scully moved over to Mulder, laying a hand on his forehead. He was warmer than she liked, running a fever. She pulled up the sweater and winced as it stuck to the dried blood near the wound. The careful stitches of the surgeon who had patched him back together had been mercilessly pulled, and were weeping bright red blood. She swallowed hard to keep from screaming at Lula but she knew it would be useless. " . . .Scully? . . ." Mulder moaned and shifted away from her gentle probing. He blinked his eyes slowly and finally focused on her face. "Yes, Mulder, I'm right here. Shhh, you're hurt. And Lula has my gun." "Lula?" Mulder looked at her, glassy eyed and confused. "Dupre's wife?" "Yes, Mulder. Remember, you--" Scully stopped herself. If it was brain damage that had caused his earlier strange behavior, calling his attention to it would do no good. "She's kidnapped us," she said sadly. "She won't take you to the hospital," she added. "No much of a humanitarian, I guess," Mulder hissed and coughed. "My chest hurts," he moaned. "You've got a fever," Scully admitted. "I had this weird dream," Mulder continued, not really hearing her anymore. "I felt like someone had taken over my body--" "It's OK, Mulder. You're sick, but don't worry. I'll figure a way out of this. I promise. You just rest." " . . . just rest . . ." he repeated and drifted off into darkness again. FBI Building "Sir, there's a call coming in. Woman claims to be Lula Phillips," an agent manning the phones said to Skinner. The Assistant Director picked up a headset and nodded, then pointed toward another agent who was working the trace. "This is Assistant Director Walter Skinner," he said in the phone. "Hi there, Walt. Good to talk to you. I have a couple of friends of yours here and there just 'dying' to help me out." Lula was obviously enjoying her little prank. "Phillips, if you harm either of those agents," Skinner growled. "Hey, one of them was messed up when I got him. And he ain't doing so good right now, so you better listen and listen good if you want him back still breathing," Lula ordered. "I'm listening," Skinner hissed. "Good. I want one million dollars, unmarked bills, non sequential and none of that funny paint shit in the packages," Lula rattled off, examining her nails. "You should know, Phillips, that the FBI does not negotiate with kidnappers," Skinner said evenly. "That's too bad, because there will be two less of you in 12 hours unless I get the money," Lula laughed. "How do I know they're still alive?" Skinner asked angrily. "I'll put little red on," Lula said and held the phone up for Scully. "Sir?" Scully said breathlessly. "Sir, Mulder's hurt--" "Scully, can you give us your location?" Skinner asked, but knew it was probably a long shot. Lula pulled the phone away and put it up to her own ear. "There you go, you talked to her. Hope you had a nice chat, because unless you get me that money, it's the last talk you'll have. I'll call you in four hours and tell you where to bring the money." She punched the button and ended the call. Skinner huffed out an angry breath and glared at the assembled men and women. "OK, people, tell me what we have," he ordered. "I have a trace," the young black agent said excitedly. He punched a number in a receiver and rattled off the phone number that he had discovered. His face was a mask of impatience while he waited, then, it promptly fell into bitter disappointment. He hung up the phone. "The call was placed on Agent Scully's cell phone. They could be anywhere," he said dismally. Skinner stood there a moment, concentrating. There was a sound during the phone call, something he should have been able to identify. "Take the tape and and filter out the voices. There's a sound in the background that might give us a clue." Anxious to do anything to help, three agents grabbed the tape, and headed out the door. Unknown location 6:30 pm Dupre/Mulder moaned and a restless Lula moved over to him. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded of Scully. Scully was now handcuffed to the radiator, wishing it was in working condition. The house was freezing cold and a bitter wind blew in through the cracks in the window sills. She looked over at her partner, and tried to damp down the worry in her voice. "He's sick. He probably has pneumonia. The bullet punctured a lung--" "So he ain't gonna make it, huh?" Lula asked, eyes narrowing. "Not without antibiotics," Scully answered honestly. Lula leaned over and Dupre/Mulder caught her shoulder. "Baby, you gotta help me," he begged. "Remember our promise," he hissed, his voice cracking as the pain in his chest increased and coughed, bloody spittle spraying on Lula's shirt. She recoiled in disgust. "What promise?" she growled. "I don't know nothing about no promise." Dupre/Mulder glared at her. "You know the one I mean, baby. On our wedding night. The promise we swore." Lula was intrigued. "When? When did we make this promise? What happened?" "You mean after you gave me the best head of my life," the presence controlling Mulder leered. Lula actually blushed. "After that," she shrugged. Dupre/Mulder shifted, coughed again, then gained control of his voice. "We walked out on the beach. It was nighttime and a billion stars were above us. I took out my pocket knife and we both cut our hands, then we joined hands and let the blood drip into the oceans, so that we'd be married in all the oceans of the world. Then we promised that we'd never leave each other. That we'd always be together, even if we died. That's why I came back, baby. I had to keep my promise." Lula stared in amazed horror at the man laying before her. He couldn't know such things--there was no way he could know those things. She had to get out, she had to buy some time. "What kind of antibiotics would help him?" she asked Scully. "Keflex. He needs it IM, uh, in a shot. I'd need a bottle of Keflex and some syringes." She'd do anything at this point to keep Mulder alive and with Lula away, she'd have a chance to free herself and Mulder and get away. Lula must have read her thoughts, because she roughly grabbed her, unlocking the cuffs from the radiator. "Come on, Red. We're going on a road trip." =========================================== Fox Mulder was cold. Cold and hurt. His chest hurt and his head hurt and his chest and his arms and his chest and his-- But all the pain was preferable to the terrifying blackness and soul-chilling void that he'd been experiencing until he'd broken through to consciousness. As long as he hurt, he knew he was alive. As long as he was cold, he knew he still existed. As long as he was miserable, there was hope. He blinked his eyes and tried to focus. His vision wavered and he thought he'd be sick. The cold was replaced by wave upon wave of Mojave desert heat. He feebly tore at his sweater in an effort to get the offending garment off him and allow his skin to cool. But before he had his arms half way out of the sleeves, his body started to shake with the chills that alerted him to the heights of his fever. He shoved his arms back through the sleeves and shivered all the more. Where was Scully, his mind finally processed. And that woman--Lula. He remembered all too well the file on his desk and the data on Lula Dupre. She was a guard at a women's prison and Dupre met her during a parole hearing. They'd had a torrid affair that ending in an elopement, somehow made twisted and ironic in that the honeymoon was funded by their first joint robbery. If Dupre had pulled the trigger on those guards in their bank jobs, Lula was equally guilty of their deaths and injuries. She was a very dangerous woman. His head hurt and it was difficult to process thoughts, but he vaguely remembered the presence that was still within him. The cause for the void that he found himself locked in--a malevolence that he could hardly register, much less identify. All he knew was that when the evil presence was in control of his body, Fox Mulder was pushed aside like so much garbage. But as his body weakened with the fever and the blood loss he was experiencing, he knew also that the presence was weakening. It was a matter of time. The only question was if he would survive once the presence left, or even if he could outlast the presence. He thought of Scully. If he let the presence win, he wasn't sure what would happen to her. Lula Phillips wasn't stupid, at least not from what he'd seen of her file. He suspected she was the mastermind behind the robberies. Warren Dupre had been a petty thief before he'd hooked up with Lula. So if Mulder wasn't around, there was a better than even chance that Lula would kill Scully just to make her getaway easier. He had to keep Scully safe. It was his job, to provide back up. But more than that. He thought back to the dock in North Carolina, the last time he'd been shot. She hadn't left him, even when the ambulance came. She'd been right beside him, holding his hand when they'd let her, moving next to him when they wouldn't, but always near, always within his line of sight. That kind of loyalty was almost unknown to Fox Mulder. Only Reggie Purdue had ever come close. With Scully he felt something deeper than his friendships of the past. He wasn't ready to define it or try to analyze it, but he knew he had to protect it, and her, even if it cost him his life. It hurt so bad! The constant pain in his chest was mild compared to the pain that assaulted him every time he coughed. He tasted blood now, after coughing and knew that was a bad sign. He was cold and he had to admit, more than a little scared at how bad he felt. But this battle, at least as he saw it, would be fought in his mind. As long as his mind remained clear, he would win. He simply didn't have a choice. Savon Drug Store Reston, VA 8:05 pm It was an older drug store in a run down neighborhood. The bars on the glass windows gave it the look of a castle under siege. Lula pulled the car into an alley just a few yards from the door, leaving the keys in the ignition. She reached over and removed the cuff that was tethering Scully to the door handle and snapped it on her own wrist. Then she removed the blindfold from the agent's eyes. "Remember, Red. You cause any trouble and your little friend back there dies choking on his own blood, 'cause they'll never find him--got that?" Lula threatened. "Now we're going in there and we're gonna get this 'flex' stuff you keep yappin' about. And then when we get back, you can fix him, up--got it?" Scully pressed her lips tightly and nodded. She didn't want to say or do anything that might endanger either she or Mulder until she could figure out a way to escape. Lula pulled her out the driver's side door of the car and together they walked into the drug store. The pharmacy in the back of the store was closed, but Lula 'unlocked' the door with a slug from Scully's PPK. The narcotics and other controlled substances were locked away in a safe, but Scully ignored them and instead searched the shelves until she found the antibiotic. Grabbing some syringes from a box under the counter, they hurried back to the car. As they stepped over the unconscious male clerk, Scully glanced up at the ceiling--hoping the security camera was catching her 'good' side. FBI Headquarters 9:35 "Sir, we just got a call from the Reston PD. Appears there's been a robbery of a drug store," a young agent explained excitedly. "So?" asked Greg Levitts, who had gotten to the end of his rope about four hours previous and was not in the mood to play games. The younger agent smiled. "So--the robbers didn't take cash or heavy drugs. They stole Keflex," he said. "That's an anitbiotic. And you can get it at any public health clinic for free if you don't have any money. Not exactly hot on the black market." "Security camera pictures?" Skinner asked, mentally crossing his fingers. "They faxed it while they were still on the phone. It's definitely Agent Scully with Lula Phillips, sir. Too bad it's black and white," the young agent grinned and handed the picture to Skinner. "That means they're in the Reston area. That's not that far." Skinner stared at the picture. He could see the cuff around Scully's wrist and where it was attached to Lula's. At least that would clear Scully of any charges once he was able to get the two agents back. But if they were purchasing antibiotics, Skinner knew it probably wasn't for some STD Lula might have picked up from Dupre. Mulder was in bad shape for Lula to take a risk of capture. "Where the hell is that tape I asked for?" he bellowed across the room. "Sir, if you could come down to the lab, I think I might have found something," said an agent from the doorway, holding a reel of magnetic tape. Skinner hurriedly followed him to the sound lab down the hall. The desk plate said 'Steven Victors' and Skinner remembered seeing the name. He was an expert in sound technology and if anyone could get the weird sound Skinner heard off the tape, he could. "I filtered out as much of the voice as I could, so it's going to sound pretty tinny. But in the background, when I enhance the sound--you get this." Victors flipped a switch and the sound booth the two men were in was filled with the very distinct sound of a motor. "That's an airplane," Skinner said, frowning with concentration. "That's a Briggs Stratton engine on a bi-plane," Victors corrected. "And from the sounds of it, he needs to check the carburetor. It's got a hitch," he add with a smile. "Planes that small don't land at either of the big fields," Skinner was talking more to himself than to the man sitting next to him. "No, they don't sir. And from the sounds of this, what little we have, I would say he was getting ready to make his decent. There's a small airfield outside of Reston--north of town on the Fairfax County Road 10." Skinner looked over at the young agent, who was pleased that he'd found the missing link. "What did the pilot have for lunch?" Skinner deadpanned. That wiped the grin right off Victor's face. The younger agent started to stammer and then noticed the almost imperceptible grin that flashed on the Assistant Directors mouth. "Good work, Agent Victor's. This has been a real help." Skinner left to focus the search in the two mile area around the Reston Airfield. Unknown Location Reston, VA 10:03 Dupre/Mulder startled awake when the front door opened. It was getting harder and harder to gain the upper hand. At first, when he'd awakened in this body, it was easy to cast the little wimp who inhabited it aside, throwing him into the same frightening void that Dupre had entered into at the moment of his death. But now it seemed the little shit was actually fighting back, holding onto consciousness with a steel grasp. This stupid body is wearing out, too, Dupre groused silently. He had hoped that with it, he and Lula could get away, make a new life together. As it appeared, he really was going to die. In order for them to remain a couple, Dupre was going to have to make other plans. "Hi, uh, baby," Lula crooned as she shoved Scully into the room and secured her to the radiator again. "Miss me?" "Always, baby. You know that. I always miss you when we're not together," Dupre/Mulder cooed in return. "We just have to make sure we're never apart." Lula missed the darkening of the eyes that came to the weakened man, but Scully didn't. She saw it as an opportunity. "Lula, I need to change the bandage over the wound. Those stitches are bleeding and I'm certain that's the source of infection. I'll need clean sheets or towels, something I can use as bandages," Scully said, trying to sound reasonable. "I'm not your slave, bitch," Lula growled. Then she looked over at Mulder and visibly shivered. "Oh hell, it's not like it's gonna make any difference," she muttered and left the room to search for something suitable. As soon as Lula was out of hearing, Scully looked over at Mulder. "Mulder? Mulder, answer me." "He's not here, bitch. It's just me--get used to it," Dupre/Mulder hissed, jaws clenched against the pain. "I'm in the driver's seat and I intend to stay there." With trembling hand, he shoved up the sleeve on his sweater, revealing an ugly red burn that he scratched absently. As Scully stared at the almost foot long mark on his arm, she could faintly detect the form of a Chinese dragon. The bottom dropped out of her stomach when she remembered seeing that same dragon, in red, black, and blue ink, tattooed on Warren Dupre's right arm as he was covered with a sheet in the hospital ER. "Mulder, you have to listen to me. You are Fox Mulder, you are an FBI agent. I'm your partner, remember? Scully--you remember me, don't you, Mulder? Remember, our first case, we went to Oregon? We were investigating the deaths of four teenagers, all members of the same graduating class. Mulder, you have to remember," Scully pleaded in a hoarse whisper, hoping desperately to get through to her partner and still not alert the woman holding them at gunpoint. The man sitting across from her narrowed his gaze. A confused look replaced the animosity of a moment before. He licked his lips, coughing a little. "Scully?" he whispered. For the first time in days, Dana Scully breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, Mulder. It's Scully. Dana Scully. I'm your partner. Your friend." The confused look turned wistful. "It was raining in Oregon--" It took Scully a moment to place the reference. Then it came to her. "Yes, in the cemetery. We were standing in the rain. Arguing." "Your hair was in a pony-tail," Mulder said, eyes drifting shut then quickly blinking open. "Yeah, yeah I think it was. The rain was coming down so hard, I couldn't see five feet in front of me. And the motel had burned down--we didn't have a change of clothes. I thought we'd both be sick by morning--" "You were afraid. There were mosquito bites on your back--" Scully blushed. "I knew you'd remember that part, Mulder," she chided gently. "But yes, you're right. I was afraid. I was scared out of my wits. But you held me. You made me feel better. Please, Mulder stay with me," she begged as his eyes slid shut again. "Fox! Wake up, please!" Mulder jerked, and his face twisted, but this time not in pain. It was the undeniable look of anger--the look she'd seen on his face before when they'd faced a threat or enemy. His eyes were still closed, but now they were clutched shut and he seemed to be struggling for his very life. Just watching him undergo such a transformation kindled in her the overwhelming sense of danger at hand and her need to fight it or get the hell out of it's way. "Mulder, I'm right here, partner. I'll help any way I can. Just tell me what do to," she urged him, instinctively knowing he needed to hear her voice. "Don't talk, bitch!" a voice that was Mulder's but in a tone Scully seldom heard her partner use shouted at her. "Leave him alone!" Scully retorted, anger now fueling her efforts. She'd be damned if she was going to let anyone--living or dead--take her partner from her without a fight. At that moment, Lula walked in, an old thin cotton towel and a butcher knife in her hands. "What the hell is going on here?" she demanded, looking menacingly at Scully. "Nothin', baby," the voice from Mulder replied, easing back, erasing the look of anger with a look of triumphant. "Nothin' to worry that pretty little head about." He lay back again, rubbing the area on his chest and coughing softly. "I need that medicine, baby. I need it now." Lula nodded and laid the knife down on the table near the chair where Mulder was sprawled. "I got the bandages, baby. Right here." She looked at the man before her coolly. "But I don't think I'll be needing the medicine right now. I think we'll just wait on that." Confusion spread across Mulder's face. "What are you talking about, baby? Lula--I gotta have that medicine. I'm dying here, baby. I'm dying," he rasped and coughed long and hard to prove his point. "I know, baby. I know. See, I was sort of hoping that would happen this time. I'm tired of you hangin' all over me, baby. You're a liability. You think too small. I got bigger fish to fry and I can't do that with a loser like you. As far as I'm concerned, that fed just did my job for me. Almost wish the dumb bastard would live long enough for them to give him a medal," she chuckled. From her viewpoint on the floor, Scully couldn't see what happened next, but she was close enough to hear it. Mulder lunged forward and pulled Scully's gun out of Lula's belt. He then grabbed the woman's head, entangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her down toward him. "Baby--you don't mean that. Tell me that you don't mean that?" the voice of Warren Dupre growled at his wife. Scully couldn't see Lula's face turn white, but she could see the woman's hands tremble uncontrollably as she slowly reached over to the table and grasped the butcher knife. "Mulder--the knife!" Scully called to her partner, but he wasn't listening. "Don't worry, baby. It won't hurt. I promise. And then we'll be together--forever," he crooned into her ear. Scully heard his gasp of surprise when Lula plunged the knife into his stomach. A half second later, the gun went off, the bullet blowing clean through Lula's body and embedding somewhere in the ceiling. As she died, Lula collapsed in a heap on top of him. In the corner, still cuffed to the radiator, Scully prayed someone would hear her screams for help. ============================================= Scully thought her voice was going to give out when she heard the boom and the crack of wood that indicated the door being broken open with force. The voices of several men came next--one clear voice yelling "This is the FBI." "I'm in here," Scully rasped hoarsely. "Bring a medic--now!" She almost didn't recognize Greg Levitts, he looked exhausted. Behind him were several men dressed in FBI flack jackets, all with standard assault weapons. Levitts was beside her in a second, pulling out his own handcuff key to unlock her wrist. He started to help her up, but she was already on her feet, crossing over to Mulder in two steps. "Get her off him," she demanded and two agents moved Lula Phillips dead body off Fox Mulder. She dropped beside him, putting her fingers to his throat and searching for a pulse. "Don't go there, Mulder," she ordered. "Not twice in one week, goddamn you." She closed her eyes and frowned in concentration. "Son of a bitch, you never listen, do you?" she growled, and dragged him off the chair and on to the floor where she started cardiac massage. "Paramedics are here, Agent Scully," Greg said kindly, and pulled her away from her partner. She stood, licking dry lips, as the EMTs took up her efforts. It was taking too long--again. "Pulse is faint, but we got one." She almost collapsed with relief. They had respiration, as well, and were able to start oxygen and prepare for transport. Arlington Medical Center 2 days later Mulder was being wheeled back into the ICU cubicle after yet another trip to the x ray department. It was the second MRI since their rescue. The doctors could not explain his unconsciousness. The knife had missed major organs, but had nicked an artery and caused extensive blood loss. That, coupled with the infection and a case of pneumonia, were enough to land him a stay in the Intensive Care Unit, again. But he should have regained consciousness sometime after the first 24 hours, when the antibiotics kicked in and his blood volume was back to normal. Instead, he remained unresponsive. She'd taken to talking to him. First she read him the paper, even purposefully mispronouncing the names of his favorite players in the sports section, hoping that would tick him off enough to wake up. Then, she brought a medical journal and read to him the newest techniques in liposuction. Finally, she brought in a couple of files from his in box and read him the case notes. But through it all, she refused to believe that her partner was not still there, just waiting to wake up. Dr. Chambers had been assigned to Mulder upon admittance. She was a neurologist and very respected in her field, but beyond that, Scully liked her. She was a tall, leggy blond and Scully secretly wished that Mulder would open his eyes, if just to ogle his doctor. "Dana, we got the results back," Chambers said gently. "And?" "They still come up negative for a cause. Dana, I'm afraid it looks irreversible. It's a coma. There is almost no brain activity--" "He's just tired. He's been through hell the last week. He'll be fine," Scully shook her head emphatically and reached over to take her partner's hand. "He won't leave me." Dr. Chambers stood there a moment more, trying to find words to break through the denial. None were forthcoming and sadly, she left the two of them alone. "Mulder, I know what you're doing. You're hiding, because you think I'm mad at you. Well, I'm not. I know you didn't mean to stop breathing--you were hurt and tired. I'm sorry I said those things, sorry I called you a son of a bitch. I didn't mean it, Mulder. Really. If you wake up, I'll buy you dinner--your favorite spot. My treat." Seeing that she was having no effect, Scully laid her head down on the mattress and let her tears float her off to sleep. Fox Mulder was coming out of the darkness. He could remember all too well the moment when Dupre's existence had left his body. It was the moment Lula had died, and just after the knife had cut him. When Lula Phillips' spirit left the earthly plane, Warren Dupre had followed it, to where ever it went. Then Mulder felt himself floating away, leaving his body. The last thing he remembered clearly was Scully's frightened scream for help. Right now, he was tired. His whole body ached with a bone deep exhaustion. His chest hurt, his head hurt, even his arms and legs were in pain. Just one small spot on his person didn't cry out for relief. His arm--where a tiny hand was wrapped around it, keeping it warm. Scully's hand. She was there, holding his arm. The relief he felt in his arm spread to the rest of his body and although he knew he'd have several days of painkillers and bedpans ahead of him, Fox Mulder decided it was time to wake up and smell the coffee. Coffee. Something else they would deny him. He groaned at the thought of the bland 'soft diet' he was sure to be facing when he opened his eyes. "Mulder?" Scully's voice whispered. Now he'd gone and done it--there was no turning back. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, surprised to find not blinding sunlight, but the soft nightlight that signaled the presence of night in the hospital. The only brightness in the room was Scully's smile. But that was more than enough. "Hey, you're awake," she stated happily. He cleared his throat. " . . . coffee?" he asked. She grinned and held up a Styrofoam cup. "Ice chips," she offered instead. He grimaced, but opened his mouth to accept a few chips, letting them melt on his tongue. "I hate to do this to you, but I need to know. What is your name?" Scully asked, and he was slightly amused at the breathless anticipation written on her face while he fought to find his voice. "Fox William Mulder," he rasped. "Born October 13, 1961 to Elizabeth and William Mulder of Chillmark, Massachusetts." Scully closed her eyes in relief. "But I don't know you from Adam," he added, motioning for another spoonful of ice. She froze, and for a moment he thought _she_ would need a defibrillator. Then, she saw the gleam in his eyes. "I'm the woman who is gonna kick your ass from here to next week," she said tersely. "Oh, then you must be my partner--Dana Katherine Scully, born February 23, 1964, third of four children to William and Margaret Scully of--where did they live when you were born?" "Portsmouth," she replied with a grin. "Ohmigod, Scully. I had no idea you were a Jersey chick!" "Remember it, Mulder, if you ever decide to test your luck and mess with me again like this," she instructed. It was wonderful to have him back. But there was so much of that last several days that was nagging at her. "Mulder, when Lula had us--" "I don't remember much of it, Scully," he assured her. "You said some things, Mulder," she said, confusion and hurt warring for a place in her eyes. "You said--" "He was there, Scully. In my head. Taking up residence in my body. I tried to fight him. I think I did fight him, in the end, or I would have followed them across--" She held up her hand. "Mulder, I can't believe that you were possessed by a . . . an evil spirit. I'm sorry, I just can't." At this point, she couldn't tell him that there was evidence that just didn't add up. The fingerprints on the shears found next to Dupre's body had been Mulder's. Dupre's wedding ring had been on Mulder's ring finger when Lula's body was lifted off him at the shack. The fingerprints on the television set in Tommy Phillips apartment, likewise had been Mulder's. He had been there before the police had shown up. The angry welt in the form of a dragon which Scully had seen on his forearm had slowly disappeared while Scully was working to get him to breathe. By the time he was out of surgery later that night, all trace of it was completely gone from his arm. But did any of that prove that Mulder's body had been possessed by Warren Dupre? To answer in the positive frightened Scully more than she was willing to admit. No, she'd stick to her skeptic convictions on this one, for the while at least. As for Mulder's duplicity in the events of the last three days--she was more than willing to chalk it up to emotional and physical stress resulting from his injuries, and make sure he was fully recovered before he was allowed back to work. He frowned at her, but internally, he hadn't expected her to believe him. "Then what are you suggesting happened to me, Agent Scully?" he asked, and his voice betrayed his disappointment. Scully thought about it. The doctors had assured her, and she had seen the test results herself. There was no brain damage. Aside from the prolonged unconsciousness, they would check his neuro responses every three hours for the next 24 to make sure he wasn't masking something, but he was responding well to her now. She looked in his eyes and couldn't find a trace of the darkness, the evil, that she had sensed there before. Whatever it had been, it was over. "I don't know, Mulder. I really don't know," she answered, honestly. "Then what am I supposed to believe?" he asked, a little surprised. She reached over and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and gave him a tender smile. "Believe what ever you want to believe," she replied. the end. All Comments and Cyber-Roses to: Vickie Moseley "Poems, prays and promises, Things that we believe in. How sweet it is to love someone. How right it is to care. How long it's been since yesterday, And what about tomorrow, And what about our dreams and All the memories we share." Goodbye John. John Denver, 1944-1997 Singer, songwriter, poet