Title: Prison of Innocents
Author: jrfpatton
Written: September 2001
Feedback: jrfpatton@hotmail.com
Archive: At your pleasure. Just keep these headers with it. OK for awards consideration too.
Rating R, V=3
Classification: X, A, MSR
Spoilers: through "Orison" in season seven only.
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox.

Summary: Mulder returns from an assignment to find a disoriented Scully pleading to a felony. Her imprisonment leads the agents on the torturous trail of ghostly robbers and forces them to confront demons that have always separated them.

The hair on the back of Charlie Duncan's neck stood straight up.

Something colder than air conditioning caused him to shiver. The security guard rose slowly from the table he'd been using to study for college finals and looked down the long corridor of First National Bank of Virginia at his partner. Andy Paige was on his feet too.

Oh hell! Charlie thought he had lucked into an easy part-time job - the best one since he became a temporary security guard. It had been such an easy gig he'd started studying on the job. Easy until now. He took a quick look around hoping to God he saw nothing to be alarmed about.

High arched ceilings, early 19th century marble columns that braced and graced wide corridors, walls that seemed to do nothing more than support a rotating art exhibit - First National Bank of Virginia spared no expense for its customers and staff. All this ambiance and college money too. He'd been thrilled. They paid him to walk the floors of the bank every hour from midnight to six a.m., listen for noises - never anything more than his own breathing or his partner's incessant smoker's cough -- and spend the rest of the night learning managerial economics.

Another sudden gust of cold air on his neck and shoulders had him ducking as though he were under attack. Still he saw nothing. The bank was dark, silent. Okay, he thought with a snort, the air conditioner must be working overtime like his imagination. He started to return to his book when he heard a noise. To his alarm, Andy Paige had drawn his weapon.

"Stop!" Charlie shouted, pulling his own weapon. He looked around frantically for what had surprised Andy. Charlie heard a shot. He thought he fired too then heard the report from a second gun. The young man's knees gave way, but he didn't feel anything even when he hit the floor. His blood soaked into the blue carpet in the hall and he began to burn deep in his chest. Charlie wondered where all the shots came from.

Andy Paige stepped around him on his way to the vault. His lips moved but the voice didn't sound like Andy, "Damn fools! He got away from me." The young man on the bank floor tried to breathe. It was so hard.

An angel watched Charlie. He saw her eyes and knew he was dying. He wasn't afraid. An angel had come to help him, why should he be afraid? The angel glanced in Andy's direction as he disappeared into the vault, and knelt. Everything felt unreal to Charlie and tainted by red-hot blaze radiating from his chest. The angel put her hands out to touch his right arm, but Charlie didn't feel it. He looked into those beautifully kind eyes that seemed shrouded by mist and fog -- and blacked out.

Someone was still in the bank when he came around. The fire in his chest had cooled down and Charlie could feel a presence without opening his eyes. "He on his way out." It sounded like a black woman. The air made a distinctive wheeze. "If he die you die too? Don't go in him then." The young man heard nothing until the woman's voice said, "Why you hate being away? You think yer body so bee-utiful?"

Charlie opened one eye painfully to see Andy in a grotesque dance with the air. "Free air, " the voice from Andy's body said. "I loves it.

Smells different." No one else was around. Andy aimed at a small waste

can by a nearby desk and kicked it down the carpet. The tinny clang of the small can echoed off the walls as it hit another desk. "Damn!" said Andy. He looked at his foot with a painful grimace.

Charlie knew his angel was ashamed of Andy -- of something in Andy. He felt sorry for own angel, she seemed so sad. He wanted to reach out and tell her she was wonderful, thank her for helping him, for being with him. He didn't know where to find her, but she seemed so close.

"Yer weakening me, " said the voice in Andy. The voice had a hint of panic. "I got to take them bonds outside -- then I let the boy go."

The cold settled over Charlie. Just before darkness closed in again, it occurred to Charlie that his great part-time job just got shot to hell.

FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder fidgeted at the airline check-in gate.

Tentatively he moved one foot out of line, then glanced over to see if his partner was still watching.

Special Agent Dana Scully stood next to the desk in the boarding area with her arms folded and his duffel bag at her feet. When she raised one eyebrow slightly to show she was indeed monitoring his progress toward the airline ticket clerk, he flashed an innocent half-smile.

His foot returned to its original position and he shifted his weight to make sure the morning newspaper under his arm was secure.

"Seattle?" said the clerk.

"Salmon capitol of the world. I'm fishing for Big Foot myself, " Mulder said affably.

"Have a nice flight, " said the clerk, pressing on to the next customer.

"Big Foot?" said Scully. She kicked his duffel bag with her toe.

"There haven't been any sightings in the northeastern woods, " said her partner. "But I might get lucky."

"That's the kind of positive attitude we like to see at the FBI, " Scully said.

Mulder tapped the newspaper. "It's safe for you to go to work, a federal judge says the FBI's not at fault for Waco. Ever feel you're out

there alone, Scully?" She answered with pursed lips and a scowl."We should be looking for the phantom bank robber. It says the guard who robbed the bank two weeks ago had a ghostly accomplice, " Mulder said, thrusting the front-page at her. "The wounded night guard said-'"

Scully took the paper, folded it, and handed it back without looking.

"It will be over before you get back."

"I feel like I'm being sent to summer camp so my parents can run around the house naked, " he said.

"That's a terrible thought, " she said.

"Summer camp?"

"The other part, " she said. "Did you pack insect repellant?"

"Insects?" Mulder pulled his mouth down in disgust.

"It's only for a month. Nice cool weather instead of a hot Washington summer-"

"No phones, no television, no radio, no newspaper, no feedback, no take-out Chinese-"

"That's undoubtedly why they call it survival training, " she said.

"They say the forest is beautiful. All those junipers, true cedars, hemlock-"

"I'll poison myself. They'll have to send me home, " he said.

"Why aren't you going?"

Scully rubbed her lips. "They pulled your number."

"Women get drafted."

"Mulder, your flight's boarding."

He turned around to discover he was the only passenger standing in the waiting area. The tunnel into the aircraft gaped at Mulder like a black hole. He shuddered, "Why aren't you going?"

he said again, this time in a wistful whisper.

"You won't have to shave for a month, " she said by way of encouragement.

Mulder took a strand of her hair between his thumb and finger absently, then leaned close to give her his best sad eyed look. "You'll miss me."

That was very true, Scully admitted. She was finding it hard to let him go for some reason. Unable to resist, she kissed his cheek and gave him a quick pat on the arm. The power of suggestion made her believe she could already smell pine on him. "Wrap up your toothpaste and hang it from a tree branch, " she said. "Otherwise you'll attract bears."

"Bears!" He held her at arm's length and their eyes locked. She could feel

her pulse quicken as it always did when he looked at her like that. "I don't want to attract- bears, " he said. Then he did something impulsive, but she thought later, very Mulder. He kissed her. She responded to him before she had time or presence of mind to do anything else.

"They're closing the door, " she said, shaking inside from surprise and the unbidden warmth. What had been so natural now felt awkward, not a part of who they said they were.

"Why would bears want my toothpaste?" Mulder said as she herded him toward the gate. "It's a generic brand." She folded her arms across her chest, but her chuckle followed him down the tunnel.

Still smiling to herself Scully drove back to J. Edgar Hoover building in heavy traffic. Her uneasy feeling of the early morning had lifted with Mulder's plane. Like most mornings that began with air travel, she awakened with a vague feeling that something bad was about to happen. Instead, she thought as two fingers tapped her lips, something good happened. Something probably good.

Mulder fought this last minute training session. He'd even gone to Skinner and returned fuming. She knew he hated to take one minute from the X-Files, although he admitted they had nothing pending right now something might come up. Safe bet.

Personally, she was sorry she hadn't been chosen. Although she normally preferred vacations near water, right now the northwest woods sounded so free, open, fresh and -- she slammed on the brakes to avoid a car --uncluttered. Even survival training would seem like a vacation. As a person who prized quiet and the natural order of things, she would appreciate a deep woods experience more than Mulder, who needed chaos to breathe.

Traffic came to a complete stop. She strained to look over the car in front to see what was holding things up. It appeared to be an accident. Where were the police? Never a cop when you need one. Now she had to turn right and she was too far to the left. Beside her the cell phone chirped. "Scully."

"Hey, that tape you sent-"


He sounded worried. "That tape-"

"What tape?"

"The one you sent last night. Scully, it-"

"I didn't send a tape." She signaled to get into the right lane. The blue Corvette in that lane inched forward, refusing to let her in.

Bastard, she thought.

"What's the matter with you - putting funny stuff in your brownies?"

Frohike said.

"I don't know what you're talking about, " Scully said, smiling at the woman in the red mini-van who allowed her to pull over one lane.

"I'm trying to tell you there's nothing on it. It's blank.

A blank white sheet of paper wrapped over a blank tape."

"So we're talking about a blank tape that I don't remember sending you?" Scully said.

"Maybe it was Mulder. Is he there?"

"I just put him on the plane. I'm late for work."

"I don't like it, " Frohike said.

Scully could picture his eyes and jowls drop his face into a serious expression. "I've been late before. They get over it."

"Whatever was on that tape was very important, " Frohike said.

Scully's eyes fastened onto the driver of a green sedan in the next lane. He looked slow, inattentive. The perfect victim.

"Can we do this later?" Scully pressed the accelerator and darted in front of a green sedan in hopes of getting in the correct lane to make a right turn two blocks later. The sedan's horn blared.

"I deserved that, " she muttered to the driver behind her.

"What?" Frohike said.

"I'm a little busy here, " she said. She tossed the phone down and just barely got into the right turn lane in time. Her turn signal clicked, the garage gate groaned mechanically, then clanged open.

As she pulled into the parking garage Scully thought with some envy that in a few hours Mulder would hear the chirp of crickets, the chatter of squirrels, the distinctive whip of wind through tree leaves. He would smell evergreens, earth, wood flowers. She would inhale carbon monoxide fumes. She had to shave her legs every day. He would grow a beard and his face would be scratchy to touch. She decided not to dwell on that part.

Her fresh-air fantasies now completely evaporated, Scully stepped into the underground garage aroma of car exhaust and motor oil. The garage was hot and muggy; her clothes began to stick to her almost at once. After she locked the car she didn't notice the smell anymore, she was thinking about the work waiting for her in the basement and realized she had no clear idea of what to do. Her purposeful steps slowed. She scowled in confusion as she opened the glass doors that connected the garage and the Hoover building.

The hallways in front of the parking garage contained a labyrinth of closets, storage areas, vacant offices and one water fountain. It all smelled like paper -- the odor of woods after being subjected to a bureaucracy. Framed photos of law enforcement officers and gold or wooden award plaques hung along the walls, so familiar to Scully now she scarcely took note of them anymore.

As she leaned down to take a drink from the fountain she focused on one serious photo of a rotund man in a brown suit. Agents were certainly robust in those days.

"Agent Arnold Calvin. Killed in the line of duty, 1948.

One of two killed that month. FBI agents have always been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for duty. You're late, Agent Scully. Come in. Did you have an errand?"

Water dripped from her mouth but she felt all her saliva dry up. "Yes sir." Her feet moved.

"I understand you like tea. I have some special tea brewing for you.

Sit here. This reclines. Put up your feet if you like."

Scully blinked a few times; she felt a little dizzy, uncertain, and her stomach was upset. She had a funny taste in her mouth.

She shook herself from daydreaming, straightened her jacket and glanced about the hallway. Few people appeared in either direction.

She frowned and consulted her watch. It was off. At least she hoped it was wrong. Exactly how late was she? Surely Mulder's plane hadn't been that far off schedule.

Scully was hiding something, Mulder thought as he watched Washington grow smaller beneath him. She was the worst liar he'd ever met and for the last week she'd refused to look him in the eye, avoided close situations where he could quiz her and actually seemed relieved when he drew this wilderness-survival assignment at the last minute.

She was preoccupied and, in typical Scully fashion, threw up a wall that he couldn't penetrate. She even snapped at him twice last week.

He had gone over and over recent events for what he had said - or not said - that might have sent her to the barricades. Maybe it wasn't him.

A case? No. Whatever it was, something was on her mind, something that made her anxious and secretive. Something that she didn't want him to know or share. That hurt.

Yesterday everything shifted. She came into the office as though the problem resolved itself overnight. He looked into the depth of her eyes: blue and clear. No ripples. He had stared in bewilderment.

She cocked her head. Then her face glowed with understanding. "Stop looking stricken. It's only a month, " she had said. Amusement warmed her smile. He was so relieved to have her back he almost wiggled like a puppy.

Mulder opened the newspaper, stared at the front page without seeing, and finally turned the page. Only a month. He hated woods and trees.

He hated being cut off from everything. And he hated -- he didn't want to think it, but the truth was right there on his lips - he hated leaving Scully. He rubbed his mouth. She was too surprised to punch him and, in fact, unless it was wishful thinking, he detected some enthusiasm on her part.

He couldn't imagine why he'd kissed her like that at the gate. Maybe it was the hide and seek she'd been playing. Maybe it was his realization that a month without Scully was 30 days without true vision or sound. Maybe it was the look, the I'll-miss-you-look. Mulder flicked his tongue over his lips to see if any taste of her remained.

He missed her already and the ground she stood on was still visible beneath him. He groaned, squirmed in his seat, moved the newspaper over his lap and straightened his tie. Nobody was looking.

Good thing.

Henry J. Donaldson, assistant attorney general of the United States, served at the pleasure of the Attorney General. She wasn't very pleased right then.

He scurried out of her office and down the hall with her sharp reprimands ringing in his ears. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't an investigator and those he relied on had failed him. That wasn't enough to satisfy the gargoyle, however. Donaldson fumed his way down the corridor.

His pointed nose, wavy gray hair and thin frame, not to mention the furtive way he scurried in and out of the AG's office, earned him the nickname Squirrel among the law clerks. Donaldson would have been mortified if he'd known. He considered himself a sophisticated bon vivant, a decorated war hero, dapper dresser, and intellectual giant whose wit captivated his interns and clerks. His wife and son adored him, his lover waited on him, and the young blonde man in the third floor research office went down on him at least once a week.

His appeal was lost on the Attorney General, however. She only wanted results. Henry Donaldson was short on results. His biggest and most confidential assignment, given him personally by the Attorney General at his request, lay sprawled across the front page of "The Washington Post" and a dozen major dailies.

Now the AG wanted to know why he was no closer to explaining the ghostly robbery that appear on the front pages. And if he couldn't handle this foray into criminal matters would he like to return to tax and security fraud? Revisit Treasury Department legal matters? Look into insider trader schemes? Donaldson had no desire to retrace his career path.

Fortunately, the media didn't know that the bank robbery carried the same MO as a major securities heist five states west just two months ago, a brokerage house robbery in New York four months earlier and God knows what else.

A California bond company lost millions in bearer bonds a year ago and a clerk was killed. In New York a trader died of a heart attack after a robbery there. Each case contained similar facts: office workers or security guards - all solid citizens -- caught flat-footed late at night stealing from employers. None of proceeds had surfaced. In each case the authorities had a suspect and in each case the suspect claimed to be possessed. Rational explanations for all the robberies abounded -arrests made, convictions in one case, plea bargain in another. Until this bank robbery cast a pall over it all. All the same MO except there was a living witness this time as well as the suspect who claimed to be possessed by a black woman.

Furthermore, the witness swore an angel comforted him during this ordeal.

He even had the police artist sketch the face for him. What Donaldson had in his file was a pastel drawing that could be every fine-boned woman with dark hair between 35 and 45 years old in the United States.

Henry Donaldson knew that face.

The first time he saw that picture he had to fight back tears. He felt like he had cramps and nearly doubled over from the pain of longing.

The whole world had suddenly gone mad. He took a deep breath to calm himself, to push back anything inside him that was weak and soft.

The pressure was too much for his feminine side. He was losing his grip. Correction: he had lost it.

That was the source of his current dilemma. He couldn't do the things he had done 30 years - no, even five years ago. Age, distraction, high living and divided attentions cost him his power of concentration and his ability to focus. That was the real problem. Thank God he had always possessed a compartmentalized mind. He always had the ability to shut things off in little boxes until he needed them. He was a natural. Now things were rapidly spinning out of control.

Donaldson wanted a Hershey bar and a shot of scotch, not necessarily in that order.

He had a hunch about these so-called angels or ghosts -- ever since rumors about the robberies began circulating around Justice.

Donaldson had been so shocked by what he found he immediately volunteered to take on the task of resolving the case.

He had no intention of letting anyone else uncover connections, however tenuous, between him and the two ghosts in the Virginia bank. He'd be ruined. Exposed.

Henry J. Donaldson knew the truth of the statement that some people in your life were never meant to leave you.

In his post-luncheon meeting with the AG, Donaldson tried to tell her these cases were just strong coincidences and criminals trying to use the insanity defense. She accepted neither his rational explanations nor the ghostly reports. She wanted something of more substance.

So far the attorney general's office had succeeded in keeping most of the information about the crime spree out of the newspapers. That would not last, the AG warned. Donaldson had a plan. It was solid and scary. He outlined it for her. Plans did not impress the AG. Plans are not solutions - her favorite phrase.

At least he bought more time, a few months. He convinced her the crimes had a pattern and that pattern would buy them months -- the time they needed to set up a trap. He skirted the details of this trap: the AG wouldn't have believed him if he'd told her anyway.

He hardly believed it himself. He thought it was all behind him. Far behind him. Perhaps it could still be. No, he had to stay the course or else all the sacrifices - everything was in vain.

God, Donaldson hated the air of superiority around that woman, the AG.

Where others saw competency he saw politics and affirmative action at their worst. He stopped outside his office to straighten his French cuffs and make certain his trousers had maintained their perfect crease through this ordeal.

Now that he thought about it, he hated a lot of women right then, including but not limited to the treacherous ones he hunted, the tight-assed one who could flush them out, and the weak one who failed to produce for him. Women had taken over his life, Henry Donaldson thought.

He despised being under a woman's control. And he wouldn't stand for it. He never had and he never would. He would not be his father and smile while a woman emasculated him.

The Attorney General had no idea how badly Donaldson wanted this bank robbing angel in his hot hands. He felt his career, his life, his experience, his training all pointed toward this one defining event in his life. He was equal to the challenge. He took another deep breath.

He may have lost a step, but he was smart. He thought ahead, planned.

He was still strong. His handmade shirt suddenly felt tight.

Donaldson pursed his lips and his green eyes narrowed into slits. Stupid women jeopardized everything he had worked toward.

He pictured himself putting his thumbs on the cartilage in this so-called angel's neck, squeezing slowly until her eyes bulged out, the bones crushed and she struggled uselessly for air. He could do that; he'd done it to grown men in the Vietnam War.

That had been 30 years ago when he and a Marine named Walter Skinner served in the same combat zone. Skinner served with the grunts in country; Donaldson was a spook.

Now they would be in arena together again and, as before, on the same side with different purposes. Donaldson smiled to remember what this day held. His gloom dissipated somewhat.

Walter Skinner had an agent under him that Donaldson planned to grill and he couldn't wait to burn her lovely little butt. Her self-assured fagade would crack; she would be scared and confused, sick. His spirits lifted and he felt a measure of control return.

"Good morning, Mr. Donaldson, " said a clerk in his office.

"Morning, Miss Ames, " he said. "I read your brief on Mann v. Ohio. I have a question about the appropriate role of the police in the search, but otherwise, excellent." The clerk's eyes widened. She started to say something, but he held up his hand. "It's nice to have a bright young person like you working with me. Now, where the heck is that black FBI personnel file?

It was just here..."

He noticed he needed a manicure.

Mulder smelled so badly he disgusted himself. He pushed aside the soup of roots and berries his survival team of FBI agents made for dinner. His stomach was in revolt. What he wouldn't give right now for a steak. His feet hurt, his hands were raw from rope burns, and his stomach growled. He wished a bear would venture into the camp. After almost three weeks of nuts and roots, the half dozen men assembled around the campfire would make short work of the largest grizzly.

What he wouldn't give to try out Scully's theory, brush his teeth and attract a bear. But he had no toothpaste.

All the trainees had been allowed to keep was their dignity and a canteen of water. He couldn't shake an uneasy feeling about Scully.

The incident today with an agent from Dallas only reinforced it. As Mulder's life went, the drop had been a minor scare. Mulder stood atop a cliff with the group leader, tethered to the agent from Dallas who was climbing up a cliff face. The Texan lost his footing, and tumbled down the cliff. Mulder leaned against the rope just as it pulled taut, nearly dragging him off the edge.

"Mulder! Don't let me go!" The voice over the cliff sounded hollow, far away -- and very familiar.

The rope cut into Mulder and burned his hands as he attempted to pull the Dallas agent over the top. As the man's hands appeared over the edge Mulder leaned down and held out a helping hand. Instead of the burly Dallas agent, the face that appeared over the cliff was Scully's. He grabbed for her with both hands and yanked her up. She was light as a child.

"Okay, I'm fine!" the Texan said, panting. He sat up and wiped his brow. "Partner, I sure am glad you were there..."

Mulder peered over the edge. No one there but the rest of the team standing several feet below and looking up anxiously.

Some shielded their eyes; others shouted "what happened?" None of them was a woman, he noticed.

That night with the stars and the small campfire as the only light, Mulder folded his hands behind his head and thought about it. He knew what Scully would say: she was on his mind and he projected her image onto the man. Mulder tried to find a comfortable place in the needle and leaf bed he'd made for himself on the forest floor. The Texan, who snored loud enough to register on a seismograph, settled nearby.

Maybe Scully was right. Maybe she worried his subconscious because he knew he'd crossed a dangerous line with her at the airport, an unspoken line. Kisses in stress and on New Year's Eve were not like sweet kisses in airport gateways. That was stupid of him. But unless he mentioned it, Scully would overlook it. She must tire of always being the strong one. Mulder smiled into the blackness of the forest. He was going to mention it.

Campfire discussions ignited a new restlessness in Mulder.

Two of the married men missed their wives and didn't mind sharing after the first week. One conversation lead to another to fend off boredom. He refused to talk about his partner - he only said he was teamed with a redhaired woman. It seemed a betrayal to say more-- but the men had already begun to kid him.

"Man that closed mouth is protecting something real important, " the Dallas agent had said and the men around the fire laughed. Mulder liked the Texan, but he didn't care for that laugh.

Lying a thousand miles from temptation he admitted he wanted something more from the partnership than she did-than he thought she did. He never asked what she wanted. She never initiated anything between them, but Mulder knew in his soul that all they had to do was reach out and it was all there for them. Lovers, friends, partners. The question in his mind was not if but when. And who. As with most aspects of their lives, it was a contest of wills - who would prove more needy? Who would break first? Who would put the friend and partner at risk to have it all?

Any other time his thoughts went to Scully this way his hand went to his crotch. But this time, this time he broke out in a cold sweat of fear. Now that he'd decided to approach her about it, he dreaded it.

He could talk to her about spaceships, alien invasions, and mutants while they were knee deep in blood, but he couldn't tell her that he wanted a close encounter of another kind. He could paint vivid pictures of universal destruction, evil and darkness, but didn't know how to show her all that she brought into his world.

He could be professional, but not personal -- not that personal, anyway. Maybe this far along in the game he didn't have the right to anything different. For years he'd been so obsessed with finding his sister he had no clear vision of anything beyond the X-Files.

She'd accepted that as a condition of their partnership, embraced his mission and, fascinated by what she could not explain, made it her own at huge personal cost. He'd already taken so much from her, maybe asking for something more was obscene.

The belly-tightening undercurrent of sexuality that ran beneath the surface of their partnership was one of the staples of his life. Somewhere along the line he'd grown fearful of pushing it beyond talk, beyond a quick touch or a comforting embrace. Initially he thought she'd come to take his work and possibly his life from him. Then he wallowed so deep in selfpity and doubt he could scarcely see her.

After that he feared to trespass on her innocence - she seemed to him innocent of the darker forces of nature at work in the world. Life as his partner initiated her quickly and painfully. Now he feared she'd vanish if she knew how he felt.

Through the hiking, repelling, fishing and daylight hours of survival training, Mulder had little time to think of anything but the task at hand. At night, looking through the trees at the stars, he thought about food with no fiber, a beer, and a comfortable bed with Scully in it.


(Headers and disclaimer on Chapter One)

Prison of Innocents Chapter 2

Scully knew she'd been drugged. Her eyes burned blurry and her limbs seemed disjointed, like they didn't belong to her. Her mouth tasted like burnt leather. She wasn't frightened; she knew she was in a safe place, but there was an annoying chirp in the air.

Her alarm sounded far away and -only it wasn't the alarm, it was her cell phone. "Where are you?" It was Ichabod - no, a man who looked like Ichabod Crane. Her attorney. Waters. Her attorney's name was Bobby Waters. No, Byron Waters.

Her head ached and her dry mouth creaked when she spoke.

"Overslept." It was a lie. She'd been drugged. She couldn't tell him that. He wouldn't believe her and her credibility would suffer with one of the few people in the world who still thought she had any. Yet the unmistakable signs of it dragged on her body.

It dawned on her she wasn't in her own bed. She was in Mulder's. She lay naked in Mulder's bed.

She sat up, brushed the hair from her face and tried to remember how she got here. The more she tried to recall last night's events the sicker she became. An image of Walter Skinner flashed through her mind. Beyond that she couldn't imagine nor did she have time to think before nausea ripped through her.

She barely made it to the bathroom. She hadn't eaten much yesterday and the greenish bile that came up was acrid. Her stomach heaved again. She finally collapsed on cool tile under the sink and opened her swollen eyes. She realized from what she saw that she'd vomited before in this bathroom, on her clothes.

She had to brush her teeth; she needed a drink of water.

Struggling to her feet Scully splashed water on her face and flung open the medicine cabinet to see if Mulder kept aspirin, an extra toothbrush. Only aspirin - she took several - and a dried up tube of toothpaste. Her head felt ready to explode out the front of her eyes. She had to content herself with putting crusty toothpaste on her finger. Scully looked at it with distaste, stuck it in her mouth to rub her teeth and tongue vigorously.

She splashed her face over and over. The cool water felt good on her hot face and it fell across her neck and chest, spilling down onto the floor. She frowned, noticing small bruise on the left side of her abdomen. From? She couldn't think.

Scully grabbed a towel lying over the side of the tub. The towel smelled faintly of Mulder. She buried her face in the towel and rubbed hard. She missed him so much her skin hurt. Mulder. She'd gone looking for him last night.

No, not him. Someone else. She had gone looking for someone to find Mulder. That could only be Skinner. Had she arrived at his apartment?

She must have. She noticed another mystery bruise on the inside of her right arm. It didn't look like a needle mark. It looked more like a thumb print.

She staggered in her efforts to turn her body this way and that in a search for needle entry. Scully couldn't remember how she came by that bruise or the one on her abdomen. Her mind refused to focus. Ideas and random images bounced off her head like rapid-fire laser lights.

Only one notion remained constant. Drugs. Skinner. A seething fury began in her toes, burned its way through her loins into her chest and incinerated the cobwebs in her head.

She wiped off the dark skirt of her suit and examined the blouse. Beyond immediate repair, she could see. She tried on the jacket without a blouse and decided it would pass if she kept it buttoned. Her pantyhose was still in one piece, thank God, but she'd thrown up on her shoes. She washed them off in the bathroom sink, and pulled them on her feet as she waited for the elevator.

She would kill Walter Skinner. She would rip him apart with her bare hands and once they heard the facts no jury of her peers would convict her. They might even canonize her.

Where the hell was her weapon? She didn't have one. Skinner took it. That's why she was meeting with Ichabod - no, Waters. Skinner took her gun and her badge. She would kill Skinner. Saint Dana of Washington. It had a ring to it.

"This is what angels look like, " one of the survivalists shouted to Mulder. The Army helicopter began its descend to the rendezvous site in the clearing beside them. He clapped Mulder's shoulder. "Hell, I hope not, " the man from the Dallas field office, drawled. "I had something a little-softer in mind." And he illustrated with the wave of his hands. All the men laughed.

Mulder wondered if they were half as anxious

to get out of the woods as he was. What had he learned from his month in the wilderness-that he hated eating tree bark?

That your partner could be trusted to haul your ass out of trouble? That keeping your powder dry was good advice? He already knew all that. So he'd learned nothing. One of the men punched him in the side. It had served to reminded of what it was like to feel accepted.

He'd known that once, but he'd lost it in the many years after "Spooky" Mulder had been born. He appreciated the camaraderie of his survival school buddies and found himself enjoying their company. They talked of football, baseball, women, their partners, their jobs. He hadn't done that in a long time. They liked and respected him now. In a month these men would probably laugh at any Mulder or X-Files jokes they heard.

They listened politely around camp and a few even seemed to think his work was worthwhile. The Texan in particular asked intelligent questions. Still, he knew the agents did not understand how tightly his life and his self-worth remained tied to the X-Files. No one did.

Correction, he thought. One person understood. Mulder wondered what had happened in the basement while he was gone.

Idly he speculated on how Scully would handle any anomalies that might have filtered down the stairs. He was amused to find he had no idea - she was constantly surprising him.

Mulder grinned. He'd turn up the heat a little. It was time.

Somehow he didn't think it would surprise her.

The men climbed aboard the helicopter for the ride to base full of good spirits and fell silent as the bird lifted off, each anticipating his return home. The married ones smiled, the single ones grinned. Mulder floundered in the middle. "How are the Yankees?" he shouted at the pilot. The man gave the thumbs down signal and that broke the tension - the trainees began to whoop and stomp, reveling in their survival, their freedom.

"Agent Mulder?" A corporal holding his cap down on his head took Mulder's arm the minute he alighted from the chopper.

The corporal guided Mulder toward the military airport terminal.

When he could speak in a normal tone the soldier said: "I've got orders to wrap you in cotton and bring you to Washington."

Mulder understood. He wasn't to communicate with anyone but this soldier or have contact with the outside world until he landed in Washington where, presumably, someone would pick him up with further orders. "Corporal, could you send someone to the PX for me? I promise to stand in the shower for the next two hours."

The soldier, who'd been downwind of Mulder, grinned.

"Yes sir, I believe you. What do you need?"

After he told the corporal what he wanted, Mulder smiled with the first anticipation of his homecoming reception.

He was, therefore, bitterly disappointed and somewhat embarrassed to find Skinner instead of Scully at the base airport when he arrived.

He felt ridiculous carrying a fuzzy brown bear under his arm.

He tried to hide it with his duffel bag. Skinner gave no sign that he noticed. He merely ordered Mulder into the car.

"How was the trip?" Skinner said, nodding to the soldier who waved them off the base.

"I am tired of picking leaves out of my shorts if that's what you mean, " Mulder said.

Skinner's smile was small and vanished quickly. They drove on in silence until Mulder said: "Why the secrecy?"

"We have a situation." Skinner reached onto the seat and put a thick envelope in Mulder's lap.

Mulder took the envelope. "What's this?"

"Came up while you were gone." Skinner focused on the road.

"What's the mystery?" He pulled out the case file and laughed. "The names, dates, places are all blacked out, " he said. "Are you joking?"

"It pertains to a law enforcement officer. I wanted your take without any prejudice."

"Do I know this guy?"

"Read the file."

Mulder read. Finally, he said, "Okay. Who is this? The only mystery I see is why this man isn't in custody.

Circumstantial evidence alone it's a slam-dunk embezzlement, dead to rights on the grand larceny, and little iffy conspiracy.

Is that what you wanted to know?"

"There's been an arrest. It's not that simple, " Skinner said.

"It looks that simple. Not an X-File."

"You of all people should know that things aren't always what they seem."

"This is one for the Stupid Criminals Hall of Fame, " he said and dropped the file on his lap.

"There's another case. I suspect you'll find this one more challenging."

"You don't waste any time, do you, " Mulder said. "I still have dirty socks in my bag."

"I can't wait for you to do your laundry, Agent Mulder.

I'm short-handed, " Skinner said.

Skinner was right. This case was more challenging. It was a bank robbery that he'd read about the morning he left, the one Scully said would be cleared by the time he got back. The most interesting aspects of the case were the statements of the two witnesses: bank guard Charlie Duncan, the victim, and his former partner Andy Paige, the accused in the robbery. None of the stolen bonds recovered, ghostly women, millions of dollars.

Mulder lost his place. His eyes drooped from jet lag and exhaustion.

"I know what Scully says- that the guard shot his partner, what are we doing on this case, no such thing as ghosts-" Mulder said.

"Safe to say she doesn't care, " Skinner said finally.

Mulder leaned back in the passenger seat, yawned again, and scratched his stomach. It felt so good to be clean and full of red meat. He fantasized about soft pillows, clean sheets, Scully, a hot meal, and a 24-hour nap - not necessarily in that order. He smiled to think how domesticated he'd become - sheets wouldn't have occurred to him a few years ago. A bed didn't occur to him. That was her doing. Before he even realized she'd done it. He wondered idly what other cases they had pending, then considered how little he cared about the answer. He didn't care about the files that lay in his lap. Mulder hardly recognized himself. Had to be all that fresh air, he thought.

When Skinner pulled up in front of Mulder's apartment he looked up to see a light burning there. He wanted to say something, knew he should. He couldn't. Initially he felt he should be the one to tell Mulder about Scully. He intended to tell him what he could until he saw the bear. Scully was right.

Mulder would never believe her guilty.

Skinner knew what Mulder been like before he partnered with Scully. He had a feeling that things would be infinitely worse for a while and he wondered for a moment if Mulder would even be salvageable. Skinner had done his best for the man - and for Scully too, though they might never believe it. Now it was up to them.

"I'll remember what you said about this first case, " Skinner said. "Keep the files. Bring them in tomorrow. Take your time coming in."

Skinner had to proceed very slowly.

What he really wanted to do was twist Henry Donaldson's neck off his shoulders. Why hadn't the man stayed dead? He thought when Donaldson, his aide, and his jeep driver disappeared across the Cambodian border that was the last anyone would see of him. And for two years they were right. But Donaldson came back - drifting down the Mekong River in the bottom of a boat to safety. Now 30 years later he shows up on the Attorney General's staff. Skinner's boss again.

Skinner peeled away from the Mulder's curb like a teenager.

Mulder stood at the curb with a small smile and tightened his grip his duffel. He took the front stairs of his building two at a time. Slipping the duffel bag onto his shoulder he had a smile on his face that didn't show his teeth, but his anticipation shone through.

Scully stood at the window overlooking the street; the only light in the apartment was a desk lamp that had no bulb in it when he left a month ago. She had, in fact, been sitting in his apartment, staring into his fish tank and thinking since an afternoon visit with her mother. She listened there to the silence, the creak of the boards, the slamming of doors in the hall, and one telephone call. She let the answering machine pick it up.

It was a man with a Southern accent in an airport or other public place.

"Mulder? It's Dallas. Ah, listen, I'm here with some of the other guys - just heard about your partner. It's been all over the news. Anything we can do, uh, call-Uh-h, bye." Sounded like Mulder made some friends. She couldn't say the same.

When she heard a car pull up and a door slam in the street below her heart jumped. She instinctively knew Mulder was home. She watched him alight from the car with a spring in his step. He hadn't called from the airport, hadn't called when he got back from training.

Skinner drove him straight home, no stops at the office or her apartment. Glad to be back too, she thought, and followed his leap up the front stairs. What's going on, Mulder?

He dropped the duffel just inside the door.

"Scully?" Half-hidden in the shadows, he could only see she wore dark slacks and a light shirt - and wore them well. Her fingers played with the cross on her neck as she did when she was nervous or thinking. He was a little on edge himself.

"Home is the hunter. Thought you might like to see the bear that wandered into camp." He handed her the stuffed toy.

Scully examined the bear at arm's length. "Hm-m. No external injuries." She came into the full light and the sight jolted him back a half step. She looked ravaged: thin, sunken dark circles around her eyes, pale, high cheekbones.

His stomach hit bottom first then he thought: cancer.

"You look-fit, " she said. "Forest air must agree with you."

Her gaze wandered to the files under his arm and her lips parted slightly in dismay. Mulder followed her eyes and he knew.

All of it made sense now --the training, the special ride home, the blacked out file on the corrupt officer. They were after Scully.

He cursed himself for a fool and threw the folders across the room.

He lost his focus for one minute, relaxed for one second, and they had gone for his jugular.

The papers made a series of fluttery noises in

the silence and scattered across the floor. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her over and over how sorry he was, that he didn't know. His muscles ached he wanted it so badly.

She looked to be hanging on by her last thread of dignity. The comfort and reassurance he wanted to bring would only please him and break her.

So he didn't move. He stood there clenching his teeth, seething.

"What's going on?"

Her shoulders lifted and fell. "Anything they want, apparently." Her voice sounded strong. She appeared to be all business; the bear caught in the crook of her arm was an incongruity.

"As you probably read, I've been arrested on

charges of grand larceny, embezzlement, and conspiracy.

Signatures forged. Witnesses bought and paid for. Since leaving the bureau I've been working with a private investigator to crack some of their stories. He's thorough, but not imaginative.

My brother Bill's choice." She smiled without mirth.

"Langly coaxed some words off a sheet of 24 pound, all cotton fiber official government stationary that you'll find interesting. And there's a blank VHS tape. Messenger service delivered it to Frohike from me. I don't remember sending it. Messenger's gone."

For the first time she seemed to notice the bear in her arm. "Not much, actually." The fish tank air filter gurgled in the stillness.

Her control slipped a little and Mulder couldn't be sure if she was talking to him or the bear. "I always thought justice moved slowly. On the other side, it moves fast, very fast."

"Why didn't you find me?"

"Byers and Frohike flew to Seattle and spent a few days hiking around.."

"We were in deep. We even got lost - a first in that program by the way, " he said.

"No convenience stores to consult?" A flash of the old Scully blazed by, flickered, and went out.

"Skinner could reach me."

"He's protecting you."

"I don't need anyone protecting me from you-" Mulder kicked his duffel bag across the floor with a vicious grunt. "-or anything about you."

The bag twirled across the wood floor; his words spun in the air.

Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound.

He sighed, looked to the ceiling for inspiration. "Sorry. I'm sorry - never there when you need me."

She laid a hand lightly on his arm. After a few deep breaths he covered it with his own. He grasped the bear's ears, eased it out of her arms and tossed it on the couch. "That's supposed to be a souvenir, not a substitute, " he said, pulling her into a hug.

Scully slipped her hands around his waist and laid her head against his chest. He could hear what he knew must be the hallmarks of this ordeal-- emptiness relieved only by sweaty outbreaks of blinding panic

- ease out of her in a long, low sigh. His body close to hers felt solid, safe.

"We've been in worse places." His voice resonated through his chest.

"Lackluster, Wyoming comes to mind, " she said.

"Frayser, Minnesota."

"Rabbit Hutch, Ky."

"Oh, yeah, a lot worse places, " Mulder said. He drew her down beside him on the couch and waited. They sat in identical poses, hands folded, touching knees, touching shoulders. She told him what she knew, what she suspected - but he wondered if she could bring herself to say the worst of what she feared.

"I seemed to have lost time again, " she said.

"Sounds like a normal reaction, " he said. When she didn't say anything, he added: "It's not an alien quickie. That would be my last thought."

"That was my first, " she said.


She surrendered her first real smile. "Until the a few days ago I wasn't sure. Then I knew. They drugged me. Two weeks after all this started. I was sick. I attacked Skinner the next day..at a hearing.

I accused him-nearly assaulted him. I don't know why. I must have had a reason."

"Skinner's not the bad guy, " Mulder said.

"I'm inclined to agree. How can you be sure? You're always so sure of him."

"It's logical."

"Logical?" One of her eyebrows shot up.

"Skinner has nothing to gain and everything to lose by all this."

"I thought so too, at first."

"He put me on the case, and he may have pointed me in the right direction, " Mulder said. Scully looked confused. Mulder nodded toward the scattered papers. "That's not just your file.

It's that bank robbery. The suspect says he is possessed by-"

Scully groaned.

"-Skinner must think they're related, " Mulder finished.

"That case -that's diversion, " she said. "It's nothing."

His pulse picked up -- his body's unconscious testimony that it wasn't nothing. He decided to drop it and come back later. "You said you were missing time. Those blank times..do you think you were hypnotized?"

"I believe we've been through the question of hypnotism before.

I can't --"

"--because a post-hypnotic suggestion could lead to-"

"Successful hypnosis is voluntary process, " Scully said sharply.


can hypnotize you against your will. And before you say it, no one can give you a post-hypnotic suggestion that compels you to do anything against your nature. I can promise you that prison is against my nature."

"Psychosis-inducing drugs?"

"That's what I suspect. I'm having trouble identifying it.

There are some, not many that can be ingested without taste. Of those, fewer still that produce these symptoms. There are no needle marks -- that I can find."

"Did you do a full drug screen right after these..episodes?

Blood work? Urine test?"

"My attorney discouraged it, " she said.

"So what did you find?"

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "Nothing. All the tests returned as expected. I even did a hormone test and all that showed were markedly increased levels of testosterone.

That worried me at first. But as it developed, it was nothing. I did a re-test a few days ago and all hormone levels were back to normal." She smiled to herself, then at him in a curious manner.


"There would have to be way of administering these drugs that I wouldn't notice-or recall. How is that possible?"

Mulder grinned. "You attacked Skinner? Leave any marks?"

She rolled her eyes. She turned to him and he realized they were so close

her nose was almost touching his face. He should have moved away; she should have. He was clean-shaven. She leaned over just a little closer and touched his cheek as though inspecting the sharpness of his razor.

His mouth nearly watered at what - logically - came next. She dropped her

eyes and rubbed her lips. Now she looked embarrassed. Scully would.


or not, it would rankle her to appear as randy as an adolescent in heat.

Her cheeks colored as evidence of Mulder's theory.

Mulder put the bear in her lap. "Hey, don't worry."

"I've assembled what I've got in files on the desk. I don't know what Skinner gave you.." She glanced at the scattered papers across the room.

"Ideas mostly, " Mulder said.

"You haven't said a word about demonic possession, body snatching, doppelgangers, transcendental states, or the possibility that I'm guilty of these charges."

"Some ideas are so far-fetched they aren't worth discussing." She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and nodded.

Mulder thought he saw a genuine smile waiting to break out. His fingers under her chin turned her face up to him to be sure. Her eyes shone, then faded into something dusky and sensual. Mulder had the distinct impression he was about to get luckier than a man deserved.

Scully's lips closed on his and her fingers slid between the buttons of his shirt. Mulder moved to bring her closer, but the bear lay wedged between them. Scully didn't notice; she appeared too preoccupied with his lips, his teeth, and his tongue. Her other hand wandered up his back, a fingertip teased his spine. Mulder's entire body sprang to life.

"I did miss you."

"I noticed, " he said, bending to take her mouth again.

"I have to go." One minute she was afire in his arms, the next she was gone. "I have an errand to run." She strode to the door and paused long enough to fling back: "Welcome home, Mulder."

He sat on the couch stunned. Smooth line -"I noticed". He nearly smacked himself in the head. He couldn't have handled that worse. The brown bear beside him agreed. "Shut up!" Mulder growled.

He slumped back on the couch into something hard. He'd stabbed himself in the ass with the corner of one of Scully's medical school textbooks. When he flung it on the floor, several note cards fell out.

Odd pieces of paper floated off the bed. Mulder lay squirming uncomfortably between the sheets. He wasn't enjoying the comforts of a civilized bed as much as he expected. He had, in fact, just finished going over the material scattered across his apartment when he heard a scrapping noise outside. It didn't recur so he dismissed it and tucked the bear under the sheets next to him as an afterthought.

Scully generated a lot of paperwork - she appeared to have written down everything she saw or heard in the month-long course of her investigation. Her attention to detail was, as always, impressive and this time, excessive. He saw a connection immediately between what was happening with Scully and the ghost in the bank guard's story.

He wondered why she hadn't mentioned it. Surely Scully would notice the same thing he did --unless she hadn't seen the second file. Or, unless her mental state had been compromised.

He didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking. He had just made a grab for another pillow on the bed when he heard the apartment lock catch with a sharp click. It was after midnight.

Mulder only had time to register a faint perfume on the pillow in his hand when the intruder propelled him into action.

He pushed back the covers and grabbed the gun on the nightstand.

In the living room he heard rustling, a crack at the coffee table, followed by a sharp "shit!". He eased cautiously to the bedroom door and peered into the dark. His eyes took a moment to adjust.



Prison of Innocents Chapter 3

Scully left the door open. Her shoes, blouse and bra were gone. In the light from the hallway Mulder saw them strewn just inside his door. Scully herself was in the process of ripping off the rest of her clothes on the way to the bedroom when she staggered into a nearby chair and knocked it over. He caught her up in his arms as she fell.

"Sick-" That's all she managed to say before she was. He helped her into the bathroom, sat her on the toilet seat and dampened one end of a towel to clean her up. He had to hold her - the bear had more stuffing.

She shivered, goose bumps covering her bare flesh. Finding nothing else convenient to put on her, he peeled off his own t-shirt and pulled it over her head.

"What happened, " he said, angry with himself for letting her go alone.

She tried to put her hands on his shoulders but failed. "Sleep-" she murmured and fell against him. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. She nestled down and sighed into his pillow as though snuggling there was the most natural thing in the world. Before he could decide what to do next, she was asleep.

Mulder grabbed up the pillow beside her, intending to go to the living room, then tossed it back on the bed. It seemed absurd to sleep on his couch after a month in the woods and toss and turn there while he worried about what was happening with Scully in here. He went into the living room to clean up the mess. When he returned, he stopped in the bedroom doorway with his heart in his throat.

Her bare legs and arms glistened in the light from the outside windows.

He could see one perfectly smooth cheek peeking out from under his tee shirt. Hair lay across her face, the pillow and her arm. She curled up

across her side and most of his. He groaned.

Her breathing was shallow and labored, the way he would expect from someone ill and asleep. The muscles on her legs rippled and she moved them slightly. Her arm clawed at the pillow and her breathing remained rapid and difficult as though she had to drag in air from a great distance.

She inched over to cover more ground on the free side of the bed.

How could such a little body take up so much room, he wondered.

He slipped into his side of the bed, nudged her over gently, and threw the covers atop both of them.

Only then did it strike him that his woodland fantasies had come true - he was in a comfortable bed with a nearly naked Scully. Not quite how he pictured it, however. Mulder propped up his pillow lengthwise and rested against the headboard. His hand caressed her forehead, her hair, and her shoulders. His fingers traced her hairline, pushed the hair off her face, trailed down to the softness of her shoulders. He slid his hand under the neck of the big shirt and sprayed his fingers across her back.

She was beautiful and her hot skin slid beneath his touch. He wondered if she had a fever. He teased the hair on the back of her neck. This was not a good idea, he thought, not a good idea at all. He was all dressed up and nowhere to go for the second time since he got home. He sincerely hoped this was not a harbinger of days to come.

He should never have let her go out alone. He should have noted her behavior was erratic, her judgment impaired. She had surprised him by announcing she had an errand and leaving in the space of one minute. Now she was ill, hurting, and he could have stopped it. He leaned down, pulled the neck of the shirt aside and kissed her bare shoulder. Sorry, Scully. Again. Still.

The depth of his feelings for her surprised him - and would probably shock her. He wouldn't have many chances like this, Mulder thought, to be tender with her without the fear of ridicule or rejection, to enjoy the feel of her on his hands, to comfort her without trespassing on her strength, to love her without jeopardizing what she held dear.

He shouldn't be doing this, Mulder thought with a stab of guilt.

She would think him some kind of pervert if she caught him.

Probably not, since she already thought him a pervert.

He groped for the bear in the bed and tucked it under her free arm. She took it in next to her left breast with a murmur.

He wondered why she couldn't take him in as easily.

He could be - wanted to be -- a gentle, considerate lover for her. She might be surprised to find he aspired to be those things for her. He surprised himself. He could do it, since that's what Scully needed, deserved. Maybe a month in the woods had been good for him after all. Put things in perspective. Allowed him some space to examine what had been a pretty sad life until she came along.

Mulder traced the length of one bare arm. Maybe she had tired of waiting for him to take the first step. Or maybe he didn't measure up to her expectations. Maybe today was an aberration, a stress-related passion. Definitely he should slide out of bed and sleep on the couch before he went too far. She moaned and he pulled his hand away from the nape of her neck.

He adjusted his pillow and caught her scent on his pillowcase again. He realized she'd slept on it before. Wondering how that played into the larger problem, he thought about what he did know, what he had read.

Scully wasn't drunk, though she acted like it in many ways. She'd thrown up enough to get most drugs or alcohol out of her system-unless they were injected instead of ingested as she thought this afternoon.

Mulder switched on the bedside light and began examining her arms and legs with a professional eye. He saw what might be a faint bruise on the inside of her right arm, but no needle mark anywhere. He pulled aside her hair and checked behind her ears, down her neck. Her breathing eased somewhat, becoming not quite so desperate. Her color had gone from winter white to slightly pink - that was a good sign.

Satisfied that she was all right, Mulder switched off the light, pounded his pillow into submission and prepared for a long night clutching the side of the bed. Still better than the forest - or his floor. There was always the couch...

Mulder had almost drifted off when Scully found him. He flipped from his side to his back, nudged her over, and realized that was only a temporary solution to the problem. Presently she began a slow ascent up his body until she nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She sighed and her breath fanned across his bare chest. He gave in. This was the way she wanted it; she had him. He tucked her up between his chest and shoulder, brushed his lips against hers, then closed his eyes, decided to enjoy what he'd been given, and damn the rest.

Scully woke slowly. She didn't want to wake up at all, she was so comfortable and warm. Wiggling a little she found her body tingled with a sense of pleasant ease. Safety. She drew in a deep breath, let it go slowly and realized she had to go to the bathroom. This was such a nice dream she didn't want to wake up.

She was sleeping across Mulder. Okay. Very. Still groggy she allowed herself to rest awhile in the first peaceful sleep she'd had in many nights, to revel in what it must feel like with Mulder under and around her.

In this dream Mulder slept with his mouth open, his perfect mouth.

He stirred and a slow, sleepy smile started. She could now feel the heat of him along her full length, the warmth of his arm across her back, his possessive hand on her bare..

A shock went through her. God, god, god..what happened here?

What happened that she couldn't remember?

"Morning." His voice was thick. His hand tightened on her ass, the reflex of a sleeper awakening. With a small, strangled cry she scurried back off the bed, dragging the covers with her.


Her eyes darted around the room then settled on him. She was righteously indignant, panicked, no --- more stricken. All those things. Her body shook and her words sounded like the crackle of ice on windows. "What happened?"



"I like a naked woman in my bed as well as the next man, but even I have standards. She has to be conscious -minimum."

Her eyes flashed. "That doesn't tell me what happened."

He shoved the remaining covers off, sending her into a more defensive posture. He yawned, stretched and made a great show of nonchalance.

"You staggered in last night after midnight, shedding clothes as you came and leaving your dinner on my living room floor. I put you to bedeven gave you the shirt off my back."

Scully plucked at the baggy shirt and saw it for the first time. The fire in her heart and eyes went out, replaced by confusion. She sat down heavily on the bed. Her shaking hands rubbed her cheeks.

"Can you remember --?"


Scully cursed under her breath and wished that were the whole truth.

She remembered waking up content for the first time in so long she could barely identify the feeling. She remembered feeling happy - now she

was bereft and frightened of how powerfully Mulder affected her. No, she told herself. Not now when she wasn't sure of anything. Shit! Her disloyal body let her down, her heart followed meekly, and her mind abandoned her when she least expected it. He might be the enemy. No, that wasn't right. This was Mulder. Then the problem was..Scully moaned.

The problem was she slept with him and couldn't remember. Like a drunken

college kid.

Drugs. She was drugged. This happened before. She wanted to tell him, turned to do just that, but he stood there with such a hurt expression that



She'd lie - or at least it was a perversion of the truth -- he saw that much. Scully never lied to him outright, but over the years with him she became skilled at misdirection.

Mulder became more annoyed than angry. Her obvious relief that nothing happened between them last night pierced him to the heart. Waking up in his arms was clearly not as nice as for her as it had been for him.

It inflamed him to find her so willing to make something ugly out of what

had been a sweet experience for him.

"I felt sick, " she said. She mumbled something else into her chest.

He couldn't hear what she said, but it sounded melancholy.

"Don't you think it's time you told me-"

She picked up a nearby pillow and flung it at him with a ferocity that stunned him. "That's how it works, isn't it? I tell you everything and you say nothing!" Her lips, pulled back, revealed her bared teeth. She looked like a wild animal backed into the corner of his bedroom.

Slacked jawed, Mulder walked around the bed and she threw up the palm of her hand-- a warning. For a moment she skewered him with an expression that promised more pillows or whatever else came to hand. He rocked back on his heels, relaxed and waited. At last she drew her knees to her chin and stretched his t-shirt over them to her ankles, clasped her hands around her knees and stared at the wall. She sat stone still in silent mourning until he couldn't bear it anymore and disappeared into the bathroom to do some grieving of his own.

Mulder showered quickly and opened the door to find his bedroom empty. Pulling out a little used bathrobe he followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen. She had dressed in her filthy clothes of the previous evening. Her lips, pressed into a thin line, matched the tension in her face, the stiffness of her entire body. He had never seen Scully so defensive. The air in the stuffy apartment crackled.

"What's is this?"

"What?" His heart dropped along with his mouth.

"Why weren't you here? You're never here! You go on some training mission where no one can reach you on the same day I'm accused of corruption, " she said in chipped tones. "Now you're back on the deadline for signing a

plea bargain- no call from the base, no call from the airport-no need for

a ride since Skinner picked you up. Why is that?"

"I'm a victim -- "

"--a victim, Mulder, is someone led from her mother's house in handcuffs. A victim is someone locked in jail by colleagues."

His eyes rolled away from the heat in hers. He was so off-balance.

He felt as though he walked into a movie that was half over.

"I mean, surely is this-this isn't some scheme concocted to prove a point about ghosts or goblins or-" she said.


"However much the end result might be positive for the X-Files-" She stopped, the last visage of color leeching from her face. Her hand covered her mouth as though she were going to be sick again.

"Skinner tied me up from the moment we left the woods until I got out of the car, " Mulder said. His was not the role of rational partner and he felt uncomfortable opposite someone who spouted unbelievable ideas then became irate when he tried to refute them. "They're trying to keep us apart."

After a moment she said, "They've done a good job." Her eyes pierced him.

"But why? What did you do in the woods besides hunt bears?"

"Nothing. It was useless - to me anyway." His shoulders sagged.

"I never know what you're doing. You never tell me any --"

"Not this." For a long, interminable minute she searched his face. "You know that. Not this."

Her eyes darted back and forth across him as though reading him page by page. She walked across the room -- carefully keeping tables and chairs between them. She did not seem to be afraid, merely gauging his worth, searching inside herself for some shred of evidence that what was solid had become vapor. His gaze followed her, pleading.

At last she stopped and grabbed onto the back of a chair. Her shoulders slumped. "It doesn't matter." Scully dropped her head and rubbed her eyes.

"If you know any part of this, I'm betrayed at my very core."

"You're playing into their hands, " he said.

That stopped her in mid-flight. He held her in the room by sheer force of

will. The silence between them deepened and he allowed her the space.

Finally she said, "I had to think - to be -- like both of us. It's been-difficult."

He wanted to bring her fully back to him, but he didn't know how.

"Scully, is-is it like the television thing - you thought I'd betrayed you then. You had elevated levels of serotonin."

Her head snapped around and he could see her thinking it over. "I checked that."

"It doesn't seem the same?"

"That was fantasy. What is happening now is-" She shook her head.

"This is real. You have no idea how real. There are signed documents, statements--" She stood as unyielding as the wooden chair she clung to and said, "I made coffee. I'm going home to clean up. Where do you want to work? Here or my apartment?"

"You have better food, " he said. "I read over the files. I think we should stop looking at the specific charges against you and focus on where this all comes from."

"I've got some thoughts on that." She checked her watch. "I have a 10:30 meeting with Waters." She realized he didn't know that name. "My attorney. Byron Waters. One of Byer's friends."

"I'll go with you."

"No need."

"You shouldn't go out alone, " he said.

She thought about it. "I'll wait until you have some coffee then. You look like you could use it."

"Did you want tea?" he asked after a silence. "Or am I out?"

"I bought more."

He poured a cup of coffee and sipped, waiting. She fidgeted with the kettle, a cup of tea and a spoon, then reached in the refrigerator and came out with some strawberries. They looked fresh. He wondered when she put them there. She looked at the berries, then at Mulder.

"I've been sleeping here. I hope you don't mind. I woke up here two weeks ago." Her brows knitted. She spoke slowly, speaking as if some memories had returned. "I was deathly sick, headache, vertigo. But not as severe as last night. That morning I chased Skinner --" She blinked and turned to Mulder with an "oh" of understanding on her face. She put the strawberries down. "The drugs. It's happened twice now, followed by mild paranoid or psychotic episodes. The first time the psychosis wasn't as bad, but the physical symptoms..."

Mulder saw she had figured something out. She knew, as he did now, that there must be a pattern to what was happening to her. She had come up with that on her own. He knew that would be as important to her as the knowledge she'd acquired. He watched the tension in her shoulders ease further. With it, some of the electricity in the room also drained away.

They were back, Mulder thought. Something was lost, but something had been gained. She reclaimed some confidence. And he had lost any illusions about his place in her life.

"What happens after those nights you can't remember?

Temporary insanity aside, what do you do?" he asked.

"Residual effects?" She shook her head. "None beyond the physical, the paranoia and confusion I noted earlier."

"No, I mean, do you act-" Mulder groped for words "-contrary to your own interests."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That the drugs - if it is drugs -- are designed to make you say or do things until you can't help yourself in this investigation, to keep you from seeing the truth."

"What else could it be besides drugs?"

"Mind control-"

"What mind control!" Her burning cheeks told him how the idea enraged her. "You can't just take over someone's mind without weeks and months of psychological work - work predicated on trust, I might add. To do it by force you have to have optimal conditions to keep the subject in stress, disorientation, or use some fairly serious drug therapy - it just isn't possible in this case."

"Unless that person was willing."

"That's insulting."

"Unless they offered you something you wanted very badly."

"I don't want anything badly enough to make this kind of sacrifice, " she said.

"What if you started out a willing participant, but changed your mind? That might explain why you are physically ill and tense after they-do whatever it is they do. You're fighting now, but you weren't in the beginning."

She hesitated. It seemed to make a certain amount of sense to her.

"You said yourself you can't remember- it could be a combination of things such as drugs, psycho-hypnosis, " Mulder said. "Just as you said: powerful stuff."

"Most of the time I'm fine." She massaged her temple.

"Perhaps the selective memory loss is a screen - a way to mask the identities of the people behind this, " he said.

"I know who's behind it. Skinner." The way she massaged her forehead her

head must be pounding. Her pallor showed her nausea had returned with renewed

virility, and her squinting told him the lights must be unbearably bright


her. "I-I have to get some aspirin."

He barred her escape.

"Tell me about your tenth birthday, " he said.

"What? Now?" She put her hand on the kitchen counter to steady herself. She stiffened and swayed.

"Humor me. Did you have a party?"

Scully regarded him as she would a madman. She had to think a minute, to come up with a vision of that day. "Yes. My father was home on leave and he took me fishing afterwards. Just me. Melissa didn't care, but my brothers were so jealous."

"Did you catch anything?"

"A big one. My father had to help me reel him in." She illustrated. "We threw him back."

"Because you felt sorry for the fish."

Scully smiled.

He clucked and shook his head. "Such a girl."

She stuck out her chin. "I bait my own hooks."

"I bet you do."

She folded her arms in front of her, but she seemed more relaxed. "Why are you so curious about all that?"

"Just wondered. Ever talk to Skinner about this case?"

She nodded. "I tried. I went to his apartment."


"Shortly after the arraignment." She suddenly seemed deathly sick.

Mulder watched as all the color left her face. She tried to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Was there anyone else there when you went to visit?"

"He was anxious to get rid of me, then suddenly he pulled me out of the hall and into his apartment." Her eyes widened in apparent surprise at what she remembered so easily.

"I'd call that a clue."

"He called me Agent Scully."

"He pulled you in his apartment and didn't even call you Dana?" He watched her carefully.

"He called me 'agent.' He treated me as an active agent, " she said.

Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed slightly as if she weren't feeling well.

"Who else was there?"

"I-I--" Her will snapped. She fled to the bathroom; he could hear her retching.

Mulder learned something from his experiment. Every time she tried to think of a conspiracy her physical symptoms escalated. He worried that pressing her memory too much might trigger a more virulent response and decided he didn't want to find out. At least he thought he had an idea that might help her control it.

When she came out of the bathroom looking more dead than alive, Mulder explained his theory.

"Direct my thoughts elsewhere to something non-threatening when these symptoms appear?" She didn't sound like she believed it.

"The closer you come to remembering, the worse the physical symptoms see to be, " he said.

"That can't be any drug I know, " she said. "Mulder, your idea makes no sense."

"It worked."

"For a time."

"Better than nothing, " he said.


"How does it happen? How do they administer the drugs?" he asked.

"And who exactly is they?" Scully said.

"I thought you knew."

"I have an idea - no proof. Skinner is involved, Mulder.

I'm sorry to shoot down your logic, but he is. I can't think why."

Mulder shelved that for the time being. Scully's forehead furrowed, marking the return of pain and nausea as the physical symptoms of the drugs took over again. She must be right: Skinner was involved.

"How's your mother, Scully?" Mulder grasped at the first thing inane topic

that came to mind. "Still trying to get you to taste rhubarb pie?"

"Actually she hasn't tried once this summer."

"Have you seen her lately?"

"I visit quite a bit. This has been hard for her. She's ill. I've tried to get her to see a cardiologist." Mulder watched the pain in her eyes recede slowly.


"I'm concerned. I can't get her to take it seriously and this-"

Her cheeks reddened and her posture became unyielding. "They came to her house. Two agents. They threw me against my mother's dining room wall, searched me, handcuffed me--at the dinner table. With a dozen news cameras on her front lawn."

Mulder felt all Scully's humiliation, rage, her impotent fury rise up in him too. "The circumstances of your arrest-isn't that a bit extreme for a simple non-violent felony?"

"It's by the book - you should check that out."

"Why didn't they just call your attorney and have you surrender? Why all the fuss? All the media?"

"The bureau is making a point."

He scoffed. "The bureau wants something like this to go away quietly."

"Perhaps. The strings go all the way up to the Attorney General's office. Langly was able to pull up a seal.." She couldn't finish.

Mulder watched the nausea slam into her again. Her hand few to her forehead as though she'd been struck. She barely seemed to hear his words anymore. The heels of her hands ground into her eyes.

"The Attorney General's office? That explains some things. When was the last time you saw a felon go down in less than four months? This is four weeks, " Mulder said. "Why is the AG in such a hurry?"

"It might be best-for my mother, " she said. He watched her knuckles clutching the counter turn white.

"To have a convicted felon in the family? Every mother's dream."

"To have this over and done with, " Scully said. "To have some peace from the stress, the reporters on her sidewalk, the tension of the process."

Mulder scoffed. "You don't believe that."

"Sometimes I think I do." Scully took a couple of shallow, even breaths to beat back the nausea. For a moment there was silence in the kitchen.

Mulder sipped his coffee, brought her tea over to the table and motioned her to follow. "What kind of tea is that?"

"Herbal, " she said, taking the seat opposite him. "Peppermint, I think."

"Peppermint?" He made a face. "Not Earl Grey? Go away for a month and the whole world changes."

She swallowed a little tea and made a feeling better sigh. "Whoever is doing this, I know there's some urgency. The speed of this-case.

There must be a reason."

Mulder was glad to hear she felt better, but her pallor worried him.


face still had no color at all, making her hair seem even redder. "Are you


"Do I look okay?"

"You look fine to me, " he said.

She grunted her disbelief.

His eyes flitted around the apartment searching for a new topic - a safe one. "You left one of your medical books here.

It's on the floor over there."

She must have recognized it, realized why she'd brought it over and felt sick again. He watched the flee/fight response take over.

She pushed back her chair, picked up the book, tucked it under her arm and started out the door. "Are you coming?"

"Shouldn't I put on pants?"


Chapter 4

Scully thought she'd feel better in her own apartment, but she didn't. She thought a shower would wash away the feeling of dread, the helplessness, the panic. Mulder's clever mind-over-matter parlor trick didn't work when her self-generated fears and doubts created the upheaval. The sickness of doubt, guilt, regret, resentment, fear never left her no matter what thoughts she put into her head.

This morning she discovered a new torment: the more she depended on Mulder, the more she needed distance between them; the more she realized how much he meant to her, the harder it was to be around him.

She knew it was not the case -- that was her nature. When she finally emerged from the bedroom, showered, dressed and ready for her appointment with Waters, Scully felt no better than when she arrived.

Mulder met her outside the bedroom door tossing a couch pillow between his hands. "You said slept at my apartment - why?"

To be near you, she thought, to be somewhere close to you. God, to smell you on the bed and feel safe for one minute. "I thought someone was in my apartment, " she said aloud.

"Were they?"

"I don't know, " she said.

"That's what we FBI agents might call another clue, " he said.

"To what?"

"That's the question."

On the drive over to Water's office she said, "Mulder, on the face of it do you think there's enough evidence to convict me?"

"I don't think that's the face you should show a jury.

We've got lots of time before it comes to that."

She didn't, Scully knew. She felt as she had with cancer, as though time was being pulled away from her like the weave of a sweater. Her level of dread rose with the elevator to Water's office.

They sat for a time in the dusty waiting room. Water's secretary worked on her computer and filed a broken fingernail.

She worked on the nail under the desk where no one could see such unprofessional conduct. Scully concentrated on the potted plant in the corner of the office. It needed water. It needed sunlight. It was probably already dead. A crash followed by a howl of fury startled the three in the outer office. Almost immediately the buzzer on his secretary's desk rang. "You can go in, " she said to Scully.

Mulder whistled under his breath. Water's untidy office looked ransacked. Waters nursed the fist he'd obviously slammed into the desk. "Who is this?" he snapped to Scully.

"My partner. Fox Mulder."

"Out, Fox Mulder. You're too damn late to join the party."

Scully scowled and Mulder put his hands on his hips.

Waters had black circles under his eyes. "Anything said between client and attorney is privileged. Anything said between us in the presence of a third party is not. Your partner goes."

Skinner had expected Mulder all morning. He even thought about warning his assistant, then discarded the idea. But he knew he made a mistake the moment Mulder threw open his office door and Skinner saw his assistant's frightened face. He should have told her. As it was he only shook his head at her unspoken question.

"I forgot the files, but I'll bet you guessed that, " Mulder said. "You want to fill me in here? I know you didn't do this to Scully - but I bet you know who did."

"Sit down, Agent Mulder."

"Gee, I'd like to stay and talk, but I have to pick her up at her attorney's office. Did you know your playmates drugged her again last night?" Mulder came at Skinner head on. The AD ducked and locked Mulder's arms down in an embrace.

"Get hold of yourself, agent!"

Mulder shook off the arms and back away. "How do you look at yourself every day?"

"The same way you do, " Skinner said. "With both eyes open."

"What does that mean, " Mulder said.

"I think it's clear Scully's in over her head-"

"Did you shove her in the water?"

"You are way outta line, " Skinner said.

"I'm real short of tact right now."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Scully's innocent."

"I can't stop what's happening. Neither can you."

"I can try."

"Use your head, Mulder. Use what's been given to you!"

For a moment Mulder considered what the AD said. In the context of the two files in his apartment it made a certain amount of sense. Skinner let him go.

"Not all the work's been done on either of the cases I gave you, " Skinner said. "There may be more out there."

"I hope I don't find you played a part in this." Mulder's voice was dangerously quiet. His body fairly quivered with controlled violence. "I hope I don't find you could have stopped it." Skinner said nothing. When Mulder slammed the door Skinner let out the breath he'd been holding, took his glasses off, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he picked up the phone.

Water's office looked no better than the first time Mulder saw it. Scully sat in a wobbly chair with her hands resting in her lap. She tipped once, but regained her balance quickly, a small island of serenity in the middle of chaos.

"Did you wait long?"

She shook her head. "We just finished. Waters went to file some papers. The, ah, the handwriting expert's report came back. I signed those fraudulent reports. It's my signature, " she said.

"It only proves they have woven a tight web, " he said.

"It makes me wonder..."

"If you could have done what they say? If you've lost your mind and done something like this? " He knew he'd guessed right when she pulled her lips together. Mulder shook his head. "You are the most honest, honorable person I know. Even under the most extreme conditions you could not be anything less than you are."

Her smile was a pale shadow of what it could be. "Just checking."

"Don't doubt yourself. Don't let them do that to you."

Mulder said. "If they cause you to question who you are then their plan has succeeded beyond expectations."

She only moved enough to take a deep, cleansing breath.

"Someone's gone to a great deal of trouble to send me to prison." He nodded in agreement before she went on. "I've decided to find out why and the only way I know to do that is to give them what they want."

"Which is?"

"I signed the plea bargain, " she said.

Shock seemed to steal his usual snappy response.

"After the agreement is accepted it's customary to wait at least two weeks before sentencing. Waters will negotiate for more time. That should be sufficient to-"

"Use yourself as bait?"

She shrugged. "It seems to make sense more than what I've been doing."

"You might have talked to me about it, " he said. His mouth set in a hard line.

"We can't crack it from without, perhaps we can from within, " she said.

"We haven't had a chance yet."

"It's a risk, certainly."

"It's a big risk, " Mulder said.

"Most of the investigation's ground work's been done-" She watched in stunned silence as he stood up and stared at something over her shoulder. "You want to know the terms of the agreement, what's at stake?" There was little force behind her words; she knew what was at stake and so did he.

Mulder glanced down and watched her balancing act on the chair before he shrugged, " I don't have anything on the line."

Scully absorbed the blow, but it made her flinch. She hadn't accurately judged how much she hurt him with her unilateral decision to bargain. An undercurrent ran through all this that she couldn't identify; she felt the same tug this morning in his bedroom and his kitchen. It went beyond the usual banter, the sexual tension that was a part of their partnership. If nothing happened, what did go on last night? Something, she knew. This was unexplored territory. All she did know was that she had to fix what seemed broken here.

She considered her words carefully, hoping to save the best ones for some future date when the world was in its right order. "I've known for some time how significant-that you are essential to... I never told you-I thought there would be time -- a better time-. You've become- vital, really." God, she was doing this badly.

"You are important to me too, Scully."

"And the work." Shit! She'd done it again. She saw it in his shoulders, his lips, the lines across his face.

He stared at her in thinly veiled dismay, hands back on his hips.

"Mulder, I need my partner and friend with me. You'll be my only way out

once I'm-" She couldn't bear to say it, "-inside." She dared to look at him and flashed a quick, tiny smile. "God, I can scarcely say the word."

Somewhere on the street a car honked its horn. An emergency siren screamed its alarm. A child cried.

"It's a gutsy call, " Mulder said finally.

"It's the right thing."

He nodded. "It buys us some time and you some safety. The pressure is off them. And we have a week or two to work."

"Aren't you curious about the terms?"

"Irrelevant, " Mulder said.

"Interesting - and generous. The plea is changed to nolo contendo no contest. The prosecutor's giving away the store - apparently with the approval of the Attorney General's office. Five to 10, no bar to parole, " she said.

"Never come to that."

"They wanted elocution, but I refused. I won't stand up in open court and confess to something I haven't done, " she said. "They'll accept it.

They have what they want."

Mulder insisted on getting something to eat. Scully snapped at him and ragged at the waitress. If she had been a child Mulder would have sent her to her room. She ate ravenously and the glint in her eye spoke of more conflict to come. They argued about what they should know first.

Scully wanted to focus on those who were her primary accusers in the conspiracy charge. Mulder promised they would do that, right after they interviewed the wounded bank guard and his partner. The former was at home, the latter in jail. Scully thought it a waste of time to interview bank guards on a case so unrelated to her own. She felt certain it was a dead end. Even if it wasn't, she had another reason for not wanting to interview the accused guard. She started to tell him, but in the end he had to guess: she didn't have any desire to go near the jail where she had so recently been a prisoner- and might soon be again.

To her obvious relief Mulder drove first to the apartment of the wounded man, Charlie Duncan. His mother opened the front door of the duplex and peered at Mulder's ID. A little belatedly Scully remembered Skinner had her badge and gun. Mulder introduced her as a consultant.

Although his arms and lap were full of books, Charlie tried to welcome them when they walked into the modest study. It was a cozy place, a student's hole, his space. Scully's mouth opened as she took in the entire room. It was dominated by a huge desk and surrounded by posters, cut out pictures, drawings, photographs and art works that depicted angels. Angels hung on all the walls, dangled as bookmarks, and were pressed under the glass of the coffee table.

"'Xuse the mess, " he said. "I'm trying to make up work from last semester, from, you know, when I was shot." He waved them to a love seat, hastily picking up papers from one of the cushions. "What can I tell you? You're about the 20th person I've spoken to about this."

"There are parts of your story-" said Scully.

"I know. The woman who took over Andy's body-You think I'm some kind of nut, don't you?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm getting letters from everybody from Jerry Falwell to the KKK. Everybody wants a piece of this. That's the craziness."

"In my experience people-in your situation often feel strange things, see extraordinary things, " said Mulder.

"Sometimes our bodies come to the rescue when we're injured, " said Scully. "Endorphins kick in - we don't know how - and-"

"How do you explain the angel? She was as real as you are.

She saved my life, " Andy said.

Mulder felt Scully tensing to lash into Charlie so he said quickly, "Tell us."

"I told the other FBI guys -- Scully thumbed through the file in the hand with the jerky motions of someone very annoyed.

Charlie's story was sketched in. Mulder knew the file and he could imagine the men who wrote the cryptic words and what they thought of Charlie's assertions.

"Maybe they didn't think it was worth mentioning in their reports." Charlie said. "I know what I saw. I know she healed me."

"What about your partner, " said Mulder.

"Andy?" He looked at Scully when he said it. "You think I'm making this up? It was his body, but it wasn't Andy in it.

For one thing, Andy was talking like a black woman. I mean, he never did that kindda thing for fun or a joke or something. It sounded so weird coming from him." Charlie snickered. "Everything that night was weird."

There was a distinctively heavy silence in the room.

"What are you studying, Charlie, " said Scully. Her eyes swept the room.

"Ah-h, management. I'm a business major." His look zeroed in on Scully again. "I'm a realist."

"I can see that, " she said.

Charlie rewarded her sarcasm with a small sigh. "I've been trying to find out everything I can about angels, you know."

"How well did you know the man who was on guard duty with you that night?" said Mulder.

"Andy and I worked together a couplea times. No great smarts, you know. But a nice guy. Real straight shooter." He touched his chest gently. "Maybe that wasn't such a good thing."

"Do you think he shot you?"

Charlie seemed surprised by Mulder's question. He turned his hands over a couple of times. "No. I think it was the angel's friend."

"Angel's friend?" Mulder said.

Charlie continued to wring his hands slowly. "I never said this before - I mean, nobody believed me about the other, so I never-.

But I looked up from the floor after the angel stopped the bleeding in my chest. Andy-"

"She made the bleeding in your chest stop?" Scully's voice carried a tone that hinted of disbelief.

"That's what they told me."


"The doctors at the emergency room. They said somebody made the bleeding stop, " Charlie said.

"Could it have been the EMTs?" said Scully.

"I wasn't bleeding when they got there, " he said. "Ask."

Scully gaped.

"About Andy?" said Mulder.

Charlie related the strange dance he witnessed and the monologue written in the file. "He just got out on parole-"


"Yeah, bail, sorry. I called him-"

"You shouldn't have done that, " Scully said.

"Legally, maybe. But he's in trouble that's not his doing, " said Charlie. He stuck out his chin. "Sue me."

"I think we'll visit him too, " said Mulder

"Want me to call him for you? We've gotten to be close."

As they got into the car Scully said, "Angels don't rob banks, Mulder. And if every word of his story is gospel, then that angel was in there to rob the bank too."

"I never said she was an angel, " Mulder said.

"What is she then?"

"Maybe she's a missing person."

Scully slapped the file in her lap shut. "Missing from where?"

Mulder had become distant since the visit to Water's office. Scully realized she was succeeding in pushing him away, so far away it might be impossible to bridge the gap. No bureau to fall back on, no friends to speak of, her family sick or far away. No Mulder. The thought was chilling. It was like being deprived of gravity; she floundered and flayed, seeking something to hold to until she discern up from down again. She used the handrail to plod up the stairs to Andy Paige's apartment.

"You okay?" Mulder asked.

Paige lived in an apartment above a grocery store. The studio apartment smelled faintly of onions. Paige was a tall man sliding into his 30s. He wore his hair slicked back. He had just gotten out of the shower.

"I shouldn't be talking to you people without I first talk to my lawyer, " he said.

"Call him, " said Mulder. He nodded toward the phone on the nearby table.

Andy threw up his hands. "Nah, that won't make it any different for me." He sounded morose. Andy sank down on the frayed couch, then remembered his manners. "Please, sit down. It isn't pretty, but it's clean." Scully sat beside him on the edge of the sofa

and Mulder took the opposite chair. Andy tried to smile. "You want to know

where I put the bonds, who I was working with, why I did it. I gotta tell

ya. I don't have the bonds, I wasn't working with nobody and I didn't do anything. Have any more questions?"

"Tell me about this woman in your head, " said Mulder.


Mulder shrugged.

"Why should I waste my breath? Nobody believes me."

"Try us, " said Scully. Andy regarded her with some suspicion, then spread his hands out.

"Yeah, okay, why not. Charlie's the only one who believes me and he saw an angel, " Andy said. "So that's my only defense a guy who sees angels. This whole thing's makin' me clairvoyant.

I can look into my future and see prison bars. Miles and miles of bars."

Scully shifted uncomfortably. A lump rose in her throat.

"What happened that night?" said Mulder.

Andy clasped his hands in front of him. "I just punched in my nine o'clock round, Charlie had opened his books - I mean, that guy studied all the time - and I felt this breeze on my neck. Cold. I took a look around to see about it and it was, ah, well all I saw was eyes. A pair of eyes in the air. Like somebody wuz trying to play a Halloween joke. A pair of eyes hanging in the dark with no head or body." Andy paused to gage his audience's reaction. They were both still and attentive.

Encouraged, Andy went on, "This woman's eyes - or somebody called my name, real soft and gentle over and over and over. The eyes got bigger."

"What did she look like?" Mulder asked.

"She didn't look like anything. She did all the looking."

"What color were the eyes?" said Scully.

Andy seemed surprised by the question. "Well, they were brown. Big and brown. And some woman kept saying my name over and over and suddenly she was in my head." He turned to Scully.

"When I say she was in my head, I mean she was me. We were one person. I drew my gun- I don't know what I was going to do with it. Shoot myself in the head? She was walking inside me and what I thought and did was her too." Scully became paralyzed. He touched her fingertips on the seat of the sofa and she felt a connection.He

whispered to her, for her. "She saw things inside me-private things."


last words were desperate and still, "Things I think!"

Scully jerked her hand away. She became dizzy, sick, her palms sweated.

She knew she was the color of chalk and she shrank back into the pillows of the sofa as though they would hide her.

Andy appealed to Mulder. "I went to a magic show once and this guy hypnotized me. Had me quackin' like a duck. It was like that -- only times ten."

"Most of this isn't in the report, " Mulder said.

"I never told anybody that part. I-I didn't remember it for a while. I woke up in jail and I was sick. Throwing up sick.

My head hurt like a three-day drunk. By then everybody thought Charlie and me was crazy, I figured, what would they think of that?"

"They would think you were trying for an insanity defense, " said Scully. Her voice was shaky and her eyes darted away from Mulder to Andy and around the room. There wasn't much to see, to hold onto. Nothing extraordinary. No angels on the walls. No eerie eyes peering from portraits or voodoo masks or books on mysticism. She wondered if she opened a cabinet jars of black spiders would fall out. "Mind if I look around?"

He shook his head and rubbed both hands on his face. "I can't remember much about what happened in the bank. In the hospital, " Andy said. "Police, my attorney - everybody asking me questions and I couldn't remember anything. It was like somebody came and washed the blackboard clean! And every time I tried to remember, it just made me blow chunks."

"You seem fine now, " Mulder said. He pointed in the direction of the file in Scully's hand. "It says you were a handful in the hospital." Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her as she peered into shelves, opened desk drawers. She was searching, but she was listening too.

"Man, I was scared. Fighting scared. I was so scared I was crawling the walls and everybody who came near me was out to get me. Now, it's like a bad dream. Sometimes I think it is, you know? The kindda dream where somebody's standing in shadows watchin' and when I try to move I feel like my pockets got sand in them - I can't move ---"

"Mulder, " Scully headed to the door; she needed air. She needed to get out of this apartment. "I'm done here. Thank you for your time, Mr.

Paige." And she was gone.

Mulder got up slowly to follow. Andy grabbed his arm. "Do you believe Charlie?"

"About his angel?"

"Yeah, but I never saw or heard Zelda."


"Zelda - that's her name -- the angel that Charlie says saved him."

"From 'The Great Gatsby'?"

"I never saw her. I felt something like a rush of wind around me, but I never saw her. I knew her name, called her name. I asked her to help me too. I was weak -" He looked at Mulder and his mouth popped open. "Say-you believe me!"

"I don't think you're wrong."

Andy shrugged. "Listen, Mr. Mulder. I don't have any family - my mother died a year ago. I don't have a lotta friends and Charlie's the only person in the world who'll talk to me now. I thank you for whatever you can do. Hell, I'm glad that you don't think I'm crazy."

Mulder handed him a card. "If you think of anything else-"

"I think sometimes that all this happened-to do something for me, " Andy said. He turned the card over and over between his fingers. "Maybe like to make me wake up-or see things different-or be different."

Scully waited, arms crossed, in the foyer of the apartment building.

The cracked white tile in the foyer beneath her feet needed a good scrubbing. She picked up her gaze and saw her reflection in the glass front door. She bit her lip. What had that guard really seen, she wondered. His story frightened her. Something that scared him seemed to be working in her too. She discarded his story of possession as impossible, but deep within her Scully knew she couldn't throw out everything he said.

In the door glass Scully saw her partner come down the front steps into the foyer. She tried to seem impatient - that would be normal and, something else. What else did she feel? Startled? Thoughtful?

Mulder took the steps one at a time, regarding her curiously as though he couldn't decide what to make of her. Was she frightened? Scully would admit that even to herself; Mulder's face grew annoyed.

"Paige -you know, don't you?" Scully recognized the accusing tone in Mulder. "You know exactly what he meant. It's happened to you too."

"I don't know that for certain, " she said. "I never felt possessed, nor the 'presence' he described. I had the sickness, the memory loss, and the rage- But those symptoms could be caused by a dozen different things, all of them very much of this world. Stress, for example-"

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

"I knew you'd do just what you're doing - link the two, thinking of ghosts and spirits and phantoms instead of something real!"

"This is real! He is real!"

"He's a young man who made up a fantastic story to explain why he tried to kill his partner and escape with millions in bearer bonds, " she said.

"What about Charlie?"

"He was nearly killed. You and I both know what that can do to you."

"Andy's guilty, then."

"It appears so."

"It appears you're guilty too." He flung the words at her on his way to the driver's side of the car.

Her cheeks flushed. God, this was familiar territory.

Wearisome, familiar ground. "I grant you some similarity between the cases. I'm telling you there is no ghost in my head, no mind-reading, no-"

"Didn't you learn anything?"

"What was it I was supposed to learn?" Outrage dripped from her mouth. "That fantasy is an acceptable way to avoid facing your own fears, your own guilt? That-that chasing ghosts and visions is easier than living in the real world with actual human beings?"

Her words seem to sting him. "Open your mind to ---, " he said.

She gave the car door a vicious slam and stalked across the street toward a bus stop.

Mulder watched her go, hands on hips. Out of the corner of her eye Scully saw him torn between his resentment at her stubbornness, his own pain, his desire to soothe her, and his fear of what gripped her.

Neither of them appeared able to end the current stalemate. The D.C. Transit Authority made the decision for him. A bus stopped and Scully suddenly and inexplicably climbed aboard. Mulder jumped in the car and followed at a distance.

How had it come to this so quickly, Scully thought. What was she doing, where was she going? Running physically this time instead of mentally.

Scully sat on an aisle seat holding onto the handrail as tightly as she could. They had this argument hundreds of times, but never so bitter, so hurtful. Just when she needed him, when she ached for him, they leapt down each other's throats. Perhaps that was the heart of the problem - this situation brought her dependence on Mulder into sharp relief and she hated it. Until now she always thought of them as equals, freely given and freely accepted. Now she was his dependent. She hated knowing that.

Scully rode the bus to the end of the line nursing her guilt and frustration. Her greatest fear she shoved into the back of her mind until at last she knew she had to examine it.

It had nothing to do with Mulder -- and everything. Scully had reason to doubt her own abilities and he bore the brunt of it.

She hadn't been honest with him or with herself about that and it was information he needed. She was the last to get off the bus.

Scully planned to take a cab back to her apartment. She did not expect to find him waiting at a nearby corner when she alighted. He had not cooled down, she saw at once and she turned to walk in the opposite direction.

"What else haven't you told me, " he called after her.

People on the street stared. She stopped and waited for him.

Heat from the cement radiated up her feet, her legs, her stomach, her chest, her head. "This is a new game we're playing, isn't it? You run and hide, I play catch up, " Mulder said.

"It's not a new game - but I generally do the catching up, " she said in a rush. "I may go to prison in a few days for something I didn't do. All you offer me is more of the same. I hoped for more."

"No, you didn't. This is exactly what you counted on." He got in her face and when she turned away he followed. "You depend on me to see what is too irrational for you to see. That's what I bring to the partnership. It's not fair of me to expect you to do all the work here." She couldn't look at him. She studied her feet, the neighborhood, the sidewalk. "I won't let anyone separate us again, Scully -not them, not Skinner-not even you."

Finally she raised her eyes to him, her lower lip quivering slightly. "I can't tell you what I don't remember."

"Meaning-?" An unwelcome smack of panic caught Mulder in the midriff.

"It's not just those things the guard described. It's not a-a blankness. It's forgetfulness. It's better some times than others."


that she started, Scully's words tumbled out of her in a rush.

"But sometimes I have to fight to hold onto simple things- diseases or dosages of medicine or the names of poisons. I can't remember who I interviewed yesterday or when my mother's birthday is. I have to write everything down." Her recitation of the facts seemed to frighten him as much as it did her. "That book you found? When I can, I re-read old texts to remind myself of symptoms, diseases, the names of bones! My medical books-- I take notes to recall things I've known by heart. I wake up and don't remember where I've been or what I did last night, but my-my high school graduation is perfectly clear. Lately I can't find my car keys, although I always put them in the same place. I just can't remember where that place is. I can't read because-because I can't remember how." She licked her dry lips. "It's a form of-f dementia."

"Could be that stress you mentioned earlier, " he said.

"Could be."

"I don't sleep either."

"You mean you don't sleep well."

She said slowly, "I mean, I haven't slept more than two or three hours a night in a month." Mulder's brow furrowed and she went on hurriedly, fearful she would lose her nerve if she stopped now. "When I do sleep I wake up-I wake up, ah-I have these vivid images. Pictures of a man whose face is never visible. But something is clear--"

"His eyes?"

Her nod was almost imperceptible. "He comes to me as a friend, I'm not afraid. Then I see shadows of him holding me, pressing on me." She watched Mulder's expression and hastened to say, "As a - I don't know.

I tell him to stop, to release me. He says-he says I'm crazy. And, I-I know I am. I run to get somewhere safe." She slipped a quick look at Mulder out of the corner of her eye. "I run."

He knows where she goes and it warms his heart. "Who is this man of your

dreams, Scully?"

"I don't think he's a ghost. And I don't think those guards saw ghosts. I see a human face in this."


Her shoulders moved up and down. "I think he knows who is-" She gulped and finished with a whisper "-who is stealing my mind."

Mulder tried to speak, but couldn't. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets; his fingertips had become cold. "We'll talk with Skinner, " he said. "Later."

As she fastened her seat belt it dawned on her. "It's worse right after the drugs." She brightened. "Mulder, the drugs wear off."

He didn't bother to point out the obvious. The drug screens she'd taken came up negative. If drugs were involved they were not one of the Heinz 57 varieties covered by the normal full screen. Mulder was relatively certain she hadn't been drugged.


Chapter 5

Mulder always liked the federal court building in Washington. He'd had to come there so often it was almost a second home at one point in his FBI career. When he first began coming to the court he thought the pure white marble exterior that carried into the outer chambers very appropriate. In those early days as a profiler and investigator he thought of justice as not only blind, but pure.

Today he quickly picked up on the dark streaks through the rock.

Waiting to be called as a witness enabled him to exercise his restless nature by exploring the building at his leisure. He soon knew all the out of the way restrooms, small conference areas used so little they made excellent reading rooms, the cubbyholes where he could close his eyes for a time and rest without being spotted. The building was old, with massive heating and cooling ducts that opened into hallways, conference rooms, and offices. The architects had cleverly disguised the vents with coverings of ornate and, to Mulder's mind at least, extremely compelling metal designs of Dame Justice, her scales, the American eagle and the like.

Mulder felt comfortable in the federal court building. Under the cover of tying his shoe or helping balance a load of papers in his arms, Mulder had often leaned his back against the rock. As a result, few people came to court who appreciated the truth of the expression 'cool marble' like Fox Mulder.

Until now, coming to this building had been a pleasure. Today on Scully's first court date since signing the plea bargain, he hated it.

He never realized how foreboding, impersonal, and cold it could be. On this morning, the first of what Waters said would be many brief hearings and motions on the plea bargain, Mulder saw the building for what it was: a facade.

Scully told her mother not to bother coming. She could hear Margaret's shortness of breath in her responses. She tried to persuade Mulder not to bother either. As Waters told her, she would have to submit to psychological testing, pre-sentencing interviews before incarceration became a possibility. It's not like television, Waters reminded her.

Waters seemed to think she watched a great deal of courtroom drama.

Even though she knew most of the things he was telling her, his quiet recitation of the procedures proved oddly comforting.

Scully felt much better, stronger. Each day that passed she regained more control, clarity and memories --popcorn kernels recollections and ideas exploded into her head at the strangest times. Besides, as she told Mulder and her mother, what could happen to her in a federal courtroom surrounded by armed marshals and court officers? She probably wouldn't be there five minutes herself. It was, as her lawyer said, pro forma. Mulder insisted. He had barely left her alone long enough to shower since the night she stumbled into his apartment, into his bed.

She was glad he came the moment they walked into the main courtroom. She knew the man in the expensive suit who lounged a few rows behind the prosecution table. "Assistant Attorney General Henry J. Donaldson." Scully pointed him out to Mulder.

"Some war buddy of Skinner's. What's he doing here? Why should an assistant attorney general of the United States care about this case?"

Mulder couldn't recall the face. And he couldn't recall the name either. "How do you know he's a friend of Skinner's?"

Scully blinked. "I must have heard it."

"Do you know him?"

"Yeah, " she said, nodding her head slowly. "I do. I know him-well."

"From a case?"

She lifted her shoulders and shook her head.

"From this case?"

Scully felt a prick of worry, the start of a headache. "Maybe."

"Well, why don't I ask him?"

Mulder rose to do just that. He was too late. The bailiff called the case, the judge entered and those in the courtroom stood. When they sat down again and the case called by the bailiff, Donaldson engaged in serious discussion with the prosecutor. Giving him pointers, no doubt, about sealing the her fate, Scully supposed.

Scully recognized the judge at once. Amos McDonald. She knew the name, now she had a face to go with it. She had been in his courtroom several years ago giving evidence. He was an older man - seemed old to her back then if she remembered correctly. He had thinning white hair around an oval face splotched with red and the impatient, arrogant air of authority that many judges wore like their robes. She may have testified in this very courtroom, now that she thought about it. Her eyes ranged over the high ceiling, the polished wood railings, bench, desks.

She glanced behind her, at Mulder and realized the courtroom was full. She frowned. Why would the main courtroom in the federal building be full of spectators and, unless she was mistaken, members of the press, for a mid-week, insignificant hearing.

Unless it wasn't so insignificant. Her mouth went dry.

"Mr. Waters-" Scully leaned over, but the Judge McDonald's gavel cut her off.

"This hearing was set to accept the plea bargain agreement in this case, then find another date for pre-sentencing and another date for sentencing." The judge sighed and took off his reading glasses. "I have read this document proposed by the prosecution and agreed to by the defense. I can understand why the defense is pleased, but I'm not certain why the prosecution is so-magnanimous." The prosecutor made some noise as if to rise and the judge waved him back down. The judge stared at Scully for a moment, pursed his lips and rubbed them. "While it's within my purview to reject this document I'm inclined to accept it. Does everyone understand? Miss Scully, do you understand you are pleading no contest to these charges in exchange for a five year sentence in a federal prison?"

Scully didn't move or breathe. She had to keep reminding herself she had done nothing wrong, this was part of a plan.

Beside her Waters jumped to his feet, "Yes, your honor. We understand."

"I know you do, Mr. Waters. I'm asking if she does, " said Judge McDonald.

His eyes were slits. "Miss Scully, have you been in my court before?"

Scully found her feet. "Yes, Your Honor. I was a witness in a trial several years ago in this court."

"I remember. A conspiracy case. You were an excellent witness." The judge leaned against the tall back of his black chair and rubbed his bottom

lip again. "Strange, sad turn of events that brings you back. Do you understand what is before us?"

"Yes sir."

"Your attorney has explained it to you?"

"Yes sir."

"And you accept it?"

"Yes sir." Scully found herself drawn to the McDonald's face. His expression struck her as familiar, the depths of his stare somehow penetrating, and she realized with a shock that he was disappointed in her. As though he were her father. With very little imagination Scully could see her dead father looking down intently upon her from the bench - his eyes revealing how ashamed he was of his youngest child.

She flushed with guilt and shame.

"Are you aware that you are telling

this court that you do not dispute charges you stole money from the FBI and sought bribes? That's as good as saying you're a common thief."

Waters protested and the judge noted his objection.

"Miss Scully?"

"Yes sir." Scully's fingertips on the table before her were so damp they left marks on the highly polished surface. The judge continued to stare at her and Scully knew what came next, what had always come next with her father. He had never spanked her, never struck her with his hand, but his punishment was always more severe than her mother's.

More severe because it came from him, because she knew it meant she had defied and disappointed her father. No matter how rebellious she chose to act, she always felt that keenly. She glanced at Waters and started to turn back to Mulder.

"Do you wish to make a statement?" Judge McDonald said.

"No statement, Your Honor, " said Waters. He shifted from one foot to the other.

"No?" The judge looked to Scully.

"No sir." She reminded herself again she was a pawn, not a thief, but the first role didn't please her any better than the second.

Judge McDonald spoke in clipped, even tones. "This case gives me considerable pause. It speaks to a basic unfairness: that a thief - whether she admits it or not -- should be given a light sentence just because she is an FBI agent and the FBI doesn't want to be embarrassed by further publicity."

Behind her Scully sensed Mulder's resentment on her behalf and it buoyed her.

She determined to let her mind wander from the legal proceedings and set her eyes on a place just above the judge's head, on the great seal of the United States carved in wood and painted in brilliant colors on the dais. She focused on the blue. She had seen such seals in all the

federal courtrooms she visited in this building.

"I see no need to set further dates, postpone hearings and drag this out any more. If the prosecutor and the FBI want quick closure, then I am in a cooperative mood."

A shock of understanding shot up Scully's back. She knew what was coming before McDonald spoke and so, by the look of him, did Waters.

"The plea bargain is accepted. In accordance to the terms of that agreement Dana Katherine Scully is sentenced to five years in a federal correctional facility to be determined by the Bureau of Prisons. The sentence is to be imposed immediately.

Bailiff-" Scully lost the rest of what was said after "immediately". She knew Waters objected. Judge McDonald said something else. There was a flurry in the back of the courtroom. Two marshals came up beside her. Waters told her not to worry. It all happened at once.

She moved as though she were caught in mud. When she turned to Mulder his mouth parted slightly and he may have said her name. She took a half step toward him and his arm came up to reach for her. A marshal's hand curled around her shoulder at the same time and he said, "This way."

A wave of outrage washed around her. Scully shook off the hand. "Mulder..."

He leaned over, took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him until the rail separating the defense table and the spectators was the only thing between them. She put the flat of her hand against his chest. Through his suit, through his shirt, she could feel his heart racing, a mirror to her own.

"Apparently we're on a tight schedule." She managed to pronounce 'schedule' as the English would - a vain attempt at levity.

"And I wager you've mucked it up. I rather suspect this was supposed to be over before I finished training."

"So we proceed as planned, only a little sooner than we planned."

"And we'll know where and who to look for when you get where you're going, " he said.

His hand on her felt like the only solid thing in the world.

"My mother-"

"Got it." Mulder tried to capture and hold her attention.

Her wide eyes bounced around the room like nervous dots. She just needed to connect with him one time to settle them both down.

"Now I have to think like two of us." He grinned. "Don't worry, Scully. I can do it."

"It does not fill me with confidence to see our witness disappearing, " she said and her gaze slid past him to Donaldson.

The assistant AG shook hands with the prosecutor, who seemed dazzled.

"You be okay?"

She tried to slow her rapid breathing. "I'll be surrounded by armed guards. What could happen, " she said with a confidence she did not feel. She thought it strange that no matter how innocent she was of any wrongdoing she'd ever been accused of, she always suffered as though she were guilty.

"This isn't just about prison, Scully, " Mulder leaned close to her ear.

"They're trying to break you."

His warning came not a moment too soon. The marshal's hand on her upper arm slid toward her hand. She knew what came next.

One handcuff closed around her wrist. She had done it a hundred times herself to suspects. Mulder made a move in the marshal's direction.

"Mulder -- it's procedure, " Scully said, blocking him with her upper body. She nodded toward the hall. "Donaldson-" A second cuff closed around her other wrist. She didn't want Mulder to see this. She forced a small smile. "What do you suppose I would do here, Agent Mulder?" His lips tried to return her smile, but his eyes filled with something akin to panic.

"This way, " said the marshal and pulled on her arm. Scully turned and walked away between the two marshals with purpose in her step as though it was her idea to go to prison and they were merely tagging along.

Mulder checked on the progress of Donaldson as he headed for the courtroom entrance and trailed after him. Mulder paused at the courtroom door to see the marshals and Scully, head high, exit a side door.

The sound of his name caused Henry Donaldson to halt - he knew who was calling. The man was dangerous -- and attractive. He reacted to both.

"I don't have a lot of time, Agent Mulder, " said Donaldson, checking his watch.

"You know me?"

"I know that you are Dana Scully's former partner, " he said setting a brisk pace down the corridor.

"Why are you so interested in seeing her sent to prison?"

"I'm interested in all federal prosecutions under my jurisdiction. You should count yourself lucky this didn't fall on you too." Donaldson waved at a colleague across the hall.

"I think I'm safe. You can't send me to a women's prison."

Now Donaldson stopped. "Look. What do you want from me?"

"The truth."

Donald stood with both hands on his hips. "The truth? The truth is, Agent Mulder, you need a new partner."

"What do you know about the robbery of First Bank of Virginia and the women who took over the bank guards?"

"Insanity defense. Nothing else."

"Are there others?"

"I wouldn't know."

"More than two?"

A shocked look that flashed across Donaldson's face rewarded Mulder's burst of insight.

Mulder made a mental note to run a more thorough computer check of similar crimes. Perhaps the Lone Gunmen would have better luck with their sources.

"I have many cases and many responsibilities, Agent Mulder I should attend to some of them now, " he said in measured tones.

"Out of curiosity, what prison is she being assigned to?"

"Does it matter?" Donaldson said impatiently. Mulder looked like he had grown roots, so Donaldson added, "I suspect she'll be sent to the private facility in Virginia - AtoZ Penal Institute. That's where all female federal prisoners are being sent lately."

"We'll be talking again I'm sure, " Mulder said. "I will not take this lightly, Mr. Donaldson. Whatever happens to Scully you'll pay double for it."

"Are you threatening me?"

Mulder grinned. "I've seen too many Dirty Harry movies."

Donaldson waved goodbye over his shoulder and continued out of the building. Walter Skinner needed to curb his dog or this would get nasty. Donaldson had hoped Dana Scully would not be so strong at this point. Hell, he'd hoped she'd already be locked up. Her strong will put everything 10 days behind schedule. He didn't like being behind. Everything had to be speeded up.

He smiled with some satisfaction to remember the helpless fear that flickered across Scully's face when she realized she was going to be handcuffed and imprisoned. It was so strong in her that he had felt it in his groin. He had one hope: if what happened in court today shook her spirit, then prison would kill it off. Which was what he thought would happen to her all long. He needed her weak and vulnerable.

Everything would move along faster then. His career depended on her. Hell, everything he valued depended on her. He checked his watch; he was late. Every damn thing about this was late.

He had some arrangements to make concerning Dana Scully. He couldn't afford to let her stay strong.

Soon the threat would be over. He expected to feel better. Instead, his head began to hurt and soon Henry Donaldson felt as though he might split in half. Christ, he had to cut out enough time in his day to do his mental exercises before he started to pee sitting down.

It was still summer, only July, Scully reminded herself.

A dry July too -- that's why everything along the road was turning brown. She wasn't imagining that even the plants around her shriveled. The trees, bushes and grass were all dying prematurely of thirst and turning brown around the edges. No rain in sight, a crystal blue sky. It wasn't fall yet, she thought. Not yet.

The prison van and its escort traveled down the

interstate, then turned onto a state highway and finally onto a country lane in northern Virginia.

As she watched the ageless hills pass by en route to the AtoZ Penal Securities facility, Scully's manacled hands made her acutely aware of her own mortality. She pictured them in five years -- wrinkling, the skin no longer as elastic. She turned them over to study the palms. Unless she could discover why this was happening, her hands would be less agile when she was free again to use them as she wished.

She hugged the side of the seat, scooting as far away from her neighbor as possible. She turned away to look out the window.

She wanted to cross her left leg, but the guards had shackled one leg of the prisoners to a bar along the side of the seats.

Naturally it was her left one.

The risk she'd taken frightened her. Scully felt her life slipping past as fast as the miles, memories blurring like the telephone poles along the road. She lost so much time- not carelessly, she hadn't thrown the minutes away. What had not been stolen from her she deliberately set aside.

All those things she wanted to get around to - children, research, writing that forensic textbook - she shelved until none of it was possible anymore.

Maybe her priorities were wrong all along. She sighed and continued to look out the window. Her regret was what she hadn't done rather than what she had done. The hollowness in her stomach leeched into her chest.

From a distance the prison presented a formidable sight.

Accessible from only one bridge across a large creek bed that was low from the drought, the prison sat in the center of several open acres. It looked like one of those multi-layered urban high schools with slits for windows. Surrounded by pristine razor wire and wire fencing set in double rows, the complex consisted of three main buildings and a series of smaller guard or storage sheds.

What struck Scully was the blandness: cement blocks and gray, chain link fence silver, black doors on land burned brown. The facility was a modern configuration that repelled any sense of humanity: it was bulletproof, fireproof Plexiglas, steel, cement, and plastic. Scully toured such a facility once. Even the cells featured a reinforced plastic or plastic derivative and everything in each cell, recreation area or workstation was completely visible - one way private companies reduced manpower costs.

Open facilities offered little privacy for inmates, but didn't require as many guards. In like fashion rigid rules and schedules helped cut personnel by limiting choices and opportunities for escape or behavior outside the norm. Like other private prisons, AtoZ relied on technology rather than personnel for security and spared little for rehabilitation, nothing for ambiance. No shrubs, flowers or decorative evergreens marked the grounds or the land around the complex. From the tallest point in the prison Scully imagined the closest trees and flowers would be mere dots on the landscape. She measured the distance in her mind's eye. Escape in the open -- even in the dark -- would be almost impossible, she thought, surprised to find herself thinking in those terms.

The van stopped at a gate in front of the bridge. Someone in the back whimpered and several of the women sniffled.

Scully's hands and feet grew colder and colder. She set her lips in a firm line and lifted her chin.

"Oh Jesus, Jesus, my babies, " the woman sitting next to Scully moaned.

Flushed, she began keen softly. So did another woman close to the rear.

Scully had no words for her seatmate just then. The wounded sense of injustice she nurtured after the plea bargain and sentencing, the righteous indignation she harbored over her false arrest, and her sense of self held her strong until now.

With the gates of hell yawning open, Scully reached for the cross around her neck and remembered they took it from her yesterday after that awful day in court.

Court. That day when she had nearly panicked, when she couldn't bear the hands on her, binding her, pulling her away. When the only thing she felt was Mulder. She'd given him her life again yesterday. Scully closed her eyes, saw his face, felt his hand on her shoulder, her palm flat on his chest, and held onto his promise. Was that only yesterday?

For the minute and a half it took the guards to open the bridge and close barricade behind the van, Scully stifled a gasp at the suffocating horror she felt when the clang and clack of the gates locked her off from the world. Several of the women cried out as though they'd been physically struck by the noise.

The van drove up to the main complex, a large garage door rolled up to reveal a group of waiting guards milling around the cement floor. The door descended behind them and before the driver could turn off the van engine a guard tapped on the passenger door with a nightstick. Scully closed her eyes and hoped for deliverance.

Instead, she was dragged into purgatory - that place where the nuns told her souls are taken for purification from sins or to complete punishment begun in the other world.

Not hell. But close enough.

Inside it was all by rote, Scully realized, just as her arrest had been. The process made extraordinary by the slightest variation.

The personal made remarkable by the impersonal; an insignificant act of kindness made significant by the absolute absence of compassion.

In the prison garage as the dozen prisoners unloaded, Scully's seatmate stumbled off the bus and fell at the feet of an armed guard.

He stood, impassive and impatient. Scully got off and, hampered by the manacles still on her hands and feet, helped the woman up. Her seatmate was so hot to the touch Scully wondered she hadn't noticed it earlier, on the trip from the Washington jail. Scully felt her forehead and looked into her eyes.

"This woman has a fever, " Scully told the guard. His nameplate read Sgt. Anderson. "She needs to go to the clinic."

"Follow the line, " he said.

"She's sick, " Scully said.

"Follow the blue line."

"This woman is ill, " Scully said.

"You a doctor, " Sgt. Anderson scoffed.

"Yes, and I'm telling you she has a fever, her eyes are bloodshot, she seems disoriented. It could be pneumonia, bronchitis, strep, any number of infectious diseases-"

"You're not a doctor. You are nothing here, " Sgt. Anderson said. Even the chains around the prisoners in the garage stilled. "Did you hear me give you a lawful order to move down the blue line?" The man tapped his hand against the nightstick against his side as a warning.

Scully hesitated, and then saw nothing could be gained by pushing. A haze of rage against her impotence clouded her vision for a moment. She reasoned the medical exams would surely pick up the woman's illness.

Scully shuffled in her chains on down the line, standing just ahead of her seatmate as they entered a series of locks that lead into large gymnasium in the main building. Each time the metal clanging shut locked the women deeper inside the prison Scully flinched. She could hear the woman wheezing and berated herself for not noticing it earlier.

No one but the inmates expressed any emotion at all during the degrading intake process: strip and cavity searches, delousing, inventory of possessions, physical examinations, and basic psychological tests. The guards peering over portable dividers set up in the make shift receiving area only underscored the humiliation and intimidation. Scully suffered in silence through all of it, refusing to allow the faintest sign of emotion to cross her face.

She drew the line when the superficial physical check-up by a team of bored medical personnel that she knew obtained their licenses from a cereal box passed on her seatmate. The woman's fever was noted, Scully's objection was noted, but she went on.

Chapter 6

No one but prisoners brought in with Scully on the van tried to comfort the weepers, encourage the stragglers. None of the men or women in uniform spoke unless it was to deliver an order.

And there were many orders issued by men and women who might have been robots. They spoke in sentences that all began with "You will not..." and "If you..then you.." Rules and consequences.

Had she sounded like this, Scully wondered. Had she been this removed from the human side of law enforcement?

Did she distance herself from everyone as these guards and prison officials did? Was her outrage at the crime so potent it obliterated the human element in the criminal and thus compromised her own humanity?

Perhaps these prison officials thought, as she had, that criminals deserved no better. She was, after all, an admitted thief to them. A guard nudged her back to reality with his nightstick and pointed to a hallway where the new arrivals lined up.

In a hallway was a window where she was photographed again and given a number. At the next window she got two pairs of jeans, three long sleeved work shirts, two white short sleeved tee-shirts, one pair of white tennis shoes, four pairs of white socks, and assortment of white cotton underwear and a cell assignment.

Another door slid back. The newcomers moved into the main cell block. The noise of 434 women in a space built for half that number whacked the newcomers in the face like an invisible hand. Scully's seatmate stumbled into her. While the newcomers had no chains, their arms carried stacks of towels and blankets.

Scully shifted her load and turned to help the woman behind her.

The illness and fright made her face a splotchy red. Scully suddenly feared the woman had developed scarlet fever.

"Face front, " a guard said to Scully.

She started to speak.

"Face front." He drew out the words.

Scully reluctantly released the sick woman and smiled some encouragement, but her seatmate hardly noticed.

"Fresh meat!" screamed a woman in the cell block. She was in the first tier, first cell. She had a missing front tooth and a shrill voice. "Fresh meat coming in!"

"Chrissake, " said a tall guard. His dark blue shirt and pants contrasted against the gray wall. He adjusted his collar and stood in front of the cell as the newcomers walked passed.

"Where you learn this stuff? Don't you remember your first day?"

"Been so long I forgit, boss."

"Don't hand me that boss shit, " the guard muttered and moved on.

The cell block had few bars. The cells themselves resembled cement boxes with reinforced plastic fronts -- frosted on the bottom half and clear on the top -- that housed two women apiece. Only the doors retained the traditional bars. Women inside leaned on them. A guard who lead the line of new prisoners cleared the way of the hands, arms and feet protruding out of the cell doors.

Inside, the cells had a toilet with no seat, bunk beds, a dresser, a sink and a bookshelf. All the furniture was bolted to the floor. Like gerbil cages, Scully thought as she gripped the bedding she'd been given. She noted the cameras mounted on poles at regular intervals in the hallways and common areas that kept an invisible eye on every inmate.

As the line moved up and through the rows of cells, the women paused in front of a cell until a guard waved his arm in a circle, alerting someone at the end of the row to open a door. A prisoner stepped inside and was ordered to shout, "Clear" to signal the guard to close the door.

The bolt in the cell would slam home, locking the prisoner inside. Then the line of new inmates, all looking neither right nor left, moved on, up

the stairs to the second floor, down the row of cells and finally up to the third tier. The last cell in the last tier was Scully's.

"The penthouse, " said one of the guards. "For FBI agents who screw up."

Scully looked at him and said evenly, "If that woman in section two, cell six has an infectious disease it could spread through this prison in a matter of days and overload your medical facilities."

Another guard waved his hand in the air, the bolt slid out, and the cell door rolled back. There was a pause. Scully looked at her new slip-on tennis shoes. Manufactured in Taiwan no doubt. She didn't think she could do it, could take those thin-soled shoes inside the small box.

Then, amazingly, it was done.

"You must indicate that you are clear of the cell door, " said a guard.

Her back to the door, Scully pressed her lips together and stared at the blank wall. Token resistance, it meant nothing, but she felt better.

It startled her to realize resistance made her feel better.

"You are required to indicate that you are clear of the door, " repeated the guard.

"Sonvabitch. I'm writing her up, " said the first guard.

"Clear!" yelled a voice from the top bunk.

When the door bolt slammed in with the heavy thud of metal on plastic, Scully started. She could have sworn the bolt pierced her heart. She focused on a calendar taped to the back wall. Nine days since Mulder came home, since she woke in his bed. Six days since she last felt sick. Three days since she last saw her mother. Two days since she was free. A day since Mulder saw her led from the courtroom.

Quiet fell over the cell block. The retreating steps of the guards clicked and clopped on the concrete hallway and metal steps, growing fainter and fainter. Scully looked on the top bunk and saw a thin knee and two small hands holding a magazine.

She moved closer.

"Can you read?" said a voice from the top bed.

"Yes, " Scully said it with more confidence than she felt.

A tiny woman with cropped blond hair, narrow face, and dancing blue eyes popped up and grinned down at her. The woman she looked more like a girl of 16 -- studied Scully for several, silent moments before thrusting the magazine in Scully's face.

"What is this?"

Scully shifted the bundle in her arms and leaned over to read the print. To her relief most of it made sense. "It's, ah, the Grand Canyon. A new nature trail opened and this picture shows the view from the top of the trail."

The elfin creature bounded down from the top bunk. "I knew it! I knew it was the Grand Canyon. It just looked so much like the African..I've never been to the Grand Canyon. Have you?"

"When I was little. My family took a vacation out West. We drove to the Grand Canyon." Scully threw her bundle on the lower bunk and pointed to a spot in the picture. "I stood right about there." She looked into the double truck, full-color picture.

The reds, oranges and greens in the photograph seemed to bleed into her and she felt a measure of calm.

"Is this someone who works there? A guide?"

"Ah, yes. Park Ranger Tom Mathews."

"He looks very kind, don't you think?"

Scully pursed her lips.

"Did you go in the summer? Fall?"

"Summer, " Scully said. "Right about this time, actually."

"What was it like? Can you see it in your head now?" the woman asked. Her tiny nose wiggled. Her rosy cheeks made her blue eyes seem even bigger than they were.

Scully shook her head. "No, sorry."


It was like facing down a child. Scully sighed in exasperation, closed her eyes, and tried to remember. "The brightest color that day was red. The canyon was full of reds, from the earth and--"

"No, " said the woman. "Open your eyes. I want to see too."


"Just open your eyes and remember what you saw that day when you were a little girl. You said reds.."

Scully retreated a step in the face of her cell mate's eagerness. "Oh, geez, I'm scaring you. I'm sorry. I got so excited about the Grand Canyon I forgot. But you're not too scared, that's good."

"Zelda!" The harsh whisper from the cell next door sounded distorted from its trip through the walls. "You watch yourself, girl. I can hear you planning a trip!"

"Am not!"

"You mind!" said the voice next door.

"I'm just talking. I can talk to her if I want."

"Zelda ---"

The childlike expression on Zelda's face vanished. She put her hands in her hip pockets and stared at Scully. "Who are you, " she said.

"I-I'm not sure anymore, " said Scully, shocked by the words that came tumbling out of her mouth.

"Well, who do you think you are, " Zelda said as though Scully had made a perfectly appropriate answer. "Because, the others want to know. They're afraid of you."

"You're not?"

The elf shrugged. "I have to be careful too."


"Everybody has something to lose, " she said. "Even in here, you still have more to lose. They say you're an FBI agent?"

Inexplicably Scully's eyes smarted. "I used to be."

Zelda studied her new cell mate. Scully couldn't remember a more penetrating gaze, a more thoughtful probing stare. She felt strangely exposed, compelled to tell Zelda something, anything.

"I'm afraid of what this is doing to my mother, " Scully said. Her own honesty took her breath away.

"Not your partner? You're not afraid of his pain?"

Scully's eyes flashed with more surprise. She tried to step back.

Her breath came in quick pants that she first attempted to disguise, then


"Zelda!" The neighboring voice called.

"Everybody knows everything in here. It's like one giant beauty parlor without the resulting beauty." Zelda walked to the front of the cell and said to the woman next door: "I'm just talking, that's all, Bernice. What's wrong with that?"

"Talk where I can hear!"

"Get bent!"

Next door Bernice let fly a stream of creative oaths.

Scully sat stiffly on the edge of her bunk. Zelda flipped her hands back and forth. "Don't pay any attention to Bernice. She's the mother of this pod. It's her job to protect us, make decisions." She grinned.

Scully looked blank so Zelda continued, "Pod. Six cells to a pod. Four pods to a rec room. Keep your same pod for your whole tour but rotate rec

pods every year...Rec room's in the center of the pods and they open it three hours a day -- you get used to it."

"And Bernice is the mother, " Scully finished.

"Ah-h.." Zelda said, "Surely you're familiar with studies on the dynamics


women in prison. Where men use sex, and violence to mark territory or control their circle of influence, such incidents are rare in a women's prison. Women typically develop family units. Within the unit the strongest personality becomes the mother figure and regards the women around as her children to protect, comfort, reward, punish --"

"Recent studies detect an increase in violent incidents among female prisoners." Scully sounded weary to her own ears.

"In the context of the family unit. Domestic violence, if you will, " Zelda said.

"Still violence, " Scully said.

"Agreed. I didn't meet to imply it wasn't, I only meant to say Bernice isn't bad. I've seen worse. She's inclined to punish rather than protect, but ---" Zelda looked uneasy.

Since it was obvious Zelda had said all she intended to on the subject of Bernice's leadership qualities, Scully unrolled her mattress and bedroll. She realized she was tired - and dirty. After all the poking, prodding, examinations and inspections, Scully wanted to shower.

But she wasn't free to choose. Until she came up with answers she would have to bath on command, eat on command, go to bed when the lights went out. She had to tramp down her blooming resentment.

"Look, it isn't as bad as you think."

It was already worse than Scully envisioned. She searched her bedroll for a towel and something to wash with.

"The others -- they think you're a spy, you know. A-a-a-, " said Zelda. She leaned against the top bunk.

"A plant, " Scully said.

"Are you?"

"You'd hardly expect me to say so if I were."

Zelda's face was pure innocence. It shone like the light of glory from her. She lifted one eyebrow in expectation, shifted her weight to one foot and, it seemed to Scully, waited for her new cellmate to say something else.

Without thinking Scully said, "I trusted a man I shouldn't have.

And I didn't trust a man I could have." She blinked in surprise; she couldn't imagine why she said that. It made no sense to her.

"Well, ain't that always the way." Zelda appeared relieved. She leaned against the bars and spoke in the direction of the cell next door.

"She's no spy, Bernice. Just trusted the wrong man."

Somewhere down the cell row a woman laughed. "That so? Hey, the FB and I trusted a man." A series of hoots, catcalls, and raucous laughs bounced

up and down the cell row. Scully watched her hands lace together.

"Zelda's the damn fool!" Bernice's voice next door was a threat. "Shut the hell up. All of you." The cell row fell silent. "Zelda, you know nothing about nothing! You mind what I say!"

Crestfallen, Zelda scuffed her feet, shoved her right hand in her jeans, and studied the floor for a moment. Finally, she pouted and drew a deep breath. "I'll help you make your bunk, Dana. Then will you tell what it says under all these pictures?"

"You can't read?" Scully said.

"I used to. My brain won't hold everything it learns. I lost the knack."

Scully gave her a small smile. "The human brain contains billions and billions of cells - most of them unused. You can learn to read."

"Even the cells in your brain are finite. When they fill up, you have to abandon something to learn more, " Zelda said.

"You'd have to learn quite a bit for that to happen, " Scully said. It was like arguing with a child.

"Yes, you would have to know a great deal, " Zelda said.

She looked wistful for a moment. "No two objects can occupy the same space unless they are on different levels of existence and then, technically, they aren't occupying the same space. You have to give something up to get something. Perhaps something you prize - to obtain something you prize more. It's true in physics, philosophy, religion, human relationships.. I didn't mind not being able to read when Ann was my cellmate. I won't mind now that you've come - if you'll read to me."



Scully saw there was more Zelda didn't relish telling.

Zelda tugged on the sheet at a corner of Scully's bunk.

"She jumped off the railing out there. They enclosed it after she took off. It was my fault."

"Why do you say that?"

"I knew she was in trouble and I did nothing. Doesn't that make it my fault?"

Scully busied herself with the other corner of the bed.

"Not directly."

To her surprise that pleased Zelda. "You're honest, " she said.

"You still don't trust me."

Zelda's laugh came out like a high-pitched chortle. "You can't ask something of me you're not willing to give yourself."

She looked as though she pitied Scully.

Perhaps her cellmate wasn't such a child after all, Scully thought.

They finished Scully's bed in silence. Then Zelda folded a wool blanket from her bunk and dropped it against one of the cement walls.

"We can't sit on the bunks together, " she said. "Rules. You need to requisition another blanket so we'll have somewhere comfortable to sit when we read." She fetched her magazines and settled down. Scully sat beside her, leaned back against the wall, and opened the pages of 'National Geographic' for the previous October. The magazine for the previous January lay in Zelda's lap.

"Shall I start at the beginning, " Scully said.


"Do you want to hear the articles too?"

"Just the captions." Zelda said.

In their travels through the magazines Scully learned Zelda had visited many of the places in the pictures. Exotic places like Sri Lanka, Cambodia, and Uganda. Ordinary places such as Houston, Texas, San Diego, California and Phoenix, Arizona. She knew Buddhism and quoted Tao.

"How do you know these places, " she asked Scully.

"I love to read. My father was in the Navy. We moved a lot. I traveled after college for a few weeks, and I saw a great deal --" She started to say she saw quite a few places in her job. A pang of regret lanced through her.

"I was a military brat too, " Zelda said. "My father was killed right after I was born and my mother was in the Army. We traveled all over the place."

"Where is she now?"

Zelda's face fell. "I don't know. MIA. She served in Vietnam and..."

"I'm sorry."

"You would have liked her. I was old enough to remember -I remember her eyes, " Zelda sighed. "She taught me so much. I don't regret that. No, not that."

"My father is dead too, " Scully said. "I only regret I didn't have more time with him."

Zelda regarded her with a renewed interest. Scully felt as though she had passed another test. "You can travel with me, " she said. "I think you can do it--over time."

"Over time."

"Well, we got plenty."

Scully sat back and regarded her cellmate for a long moment. "What are you doing here?"

Zelda got up and stretched. "That's a breach of etiquette. Don't ask why

someone's here. She wants you to know, she'll tell you." Zelda moved back

into a corner of the cell between the back wall and the beds to change shirts. "You're innocent, aren't you?"

Scully studied the sink across the cell for a moment. "Yes."

"So am I." Zelda grinned. "This is a whole prison of innocents."

She pulled a tee shirt off and chose another "You can hang your robe at the head of the bed or on the end. Gives you some privacy on your bunk

at the end, but less air circulation. Your choice."

Scully hung her robe on the end of the top bunk and it hung over the edge. Zelda approved.

Every night the line to use the one telephone on the row wound down the corridor. It was almost lights out by the time Scully's turn came.


For a moment she didn't know what to say. She kept the telephone pressed tight against her ear and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. With a hundred women breathing down her neck and serious questions about the security of his end of the line, Scully found she couldn't say anything.

"So, Scully, what are you wearing?"

She chuckled. "Basic blue."

"Yeah, " he said softly. "Yeah, me too. I'm trapped in a Salvador Dali painting."

"The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto 23?"

"How'd you know?" he asked.

"I'm surprised we haven't run into each other. It's a fairly barren landscape with nothing but a skull to block the view, " she said.

"Hey! You got people waitin'!" shouted one of the women too far down the telephone line to make it before lights out. The line jostled, women cursed.

"Gotta go, " Scully said.



"I-I'm glad it's not a Fellini movie?"

"'night, Mulder."

"Shit! You gotta tuck him in every friggin' night?" said the next woman in line. She began punching in her prison number to clear the system operator the instant Scully hung up. She never got connected.

From somewhere in the back of the line Bernice materialized and took the receiver from her hand. "Thank you, my sister."

The two women stared at each other for a moment, then the other woman dropped her eyes and walked away. "Sure, " she said and walked away with only a sullen backwards glance.

"Doggie boy!" Bernice said into the receiver. "You ready to play fetch?" She laughed. "I know that's right." Bernice's eyes swept across the line, lingered on Scully, and turned to speak with hushed tones into the receiver. Everyone in line made an effort to appear preoccupied.

Prison life surprised Scully. She had set up expectations and tested reality against them in a time-honored way to prove or disprove theorems. She discovered that thus far she hadn't really known much about the realities of corrections. That realization frightened her.

She knew within a few days she couldn't use much of her past experiences to predict the future.

One of the first expectations to fall was the notion that a person raised in a military household who prized routine and order would not find the rigid life of prison too difficult to bear.

She despised it.

After that, her expectations fell like dominoes. Although she enjoyed quiet places, soft music, Scully possessed the ability to tune out extraneous noises when she had to. She had no clue how the unrelenting noises of prison would wear on her.

And in such a short time.

She thought of herself as someone who could endure the fallibilities of most people. One afternoon with her pod and she discovered she was actually very intolerant - but until now she'd had a place to run.

She knew she was disciplined. Stripped of her defenses, her distractions, her support, Scully became seized by an inertia born of having no purpose or direction. Floundering, as her mother would call it. She didn't know what to call it.

Scully realized she was learning things about herself she didn't care to know.

The routine wasn't hard to decipher. The bell right outside her cell sounded for meals, for the endless head counts, for work, for outdoor exercise, for time in the recreation area.

Just when Scully thought the overcrowded cafeteria with the sickening smells and uncomfortable stools that swung in and out from the table represented the worst part of prison, she received her work assignment to the laundry. She had almost decided meals were pleasant compared to enduring the heat and steam of the laundry when she was braced for the first time.

Periodically guards would select inmates at random to face the wall, arms high and feet spread, to search. Often the searches turned out contraband cigarettes, drugs, items pilfered from work assignments. The braces happened in hallways, cells, conference rooms, and workstations - anywhere and everywhere guards elected to frisk an inmate.

The first time a prison guard dropped a hand on her shoulder and spun her around to face the wall she suffered in silence as a female guard ran her hands over her body. She understood the reasons and the right of a guard to search a prisoner. She got through it by reciting any chemical formulas she could remember and replaying medical procedures she recalled as being interesting.

It heartened her to know she could now remember many things she thought she'd forgotten.

During her second week of prison she was braced twice: once by a guard outside the laundry and the second in the library by an officer whose hands lingered around her breasts until she allowed a warning hiss through her lips. She filed an oral complaint with the disinterested sergeant at the duty station.

The next time it happened -- on the Monday of the third week - she was more prepared. The officer slammed her against the cement wall of the hallway so hard her cheek scrapped. After he completed the search, she said evenly, "Sgt. Anderson. Explain to the staff that policy prohibits excessive searches and that in the future I will file a written complaint with the director following each incident. Every complaint, as you may know, requires a written response from guards. I have nothing but time; you will be buried in paper." He laughed in her face.

She wanted to bathe. Right then. While the feel of the guard's large, beefy hands still kneaded her soul as they had her body. He escorted her back to her cell at a respectable distance.

Once inside she turned to him, stared for a moment and said distinctly, "You have my permission to close the door now, Sgt. Anderson."

The guard scowled, the bolt shot home and he walked away with a heel-toe, heel-toe clip in his step. Over it all Angela and Bernice guffawed. Only the sound of his steps and the laughter of inmates died down did Scully allow herself to lean against the top bunk, arms folded across her chest. She hoped her face had not betrayed her outrage, but only reflected a self-contained, cold, determination.

Zelda giggled. "Well done. It'll stop for a time."

Scully looked up sharply. "How do you know?"

"I know all kinds of things, " Zelda said.

"But you can't read..."

Zelda spit mouthwash into the sink, then held up a finger. "What would you give up, if you could fly? Would you surrender your ability to add and subtract?"

"To fly?" Scully shook her head. "Not much of a incentive."

"Hmm-m, a concrete thinker."

Scully didn't bother to answer. Zelda made room for her at the sink and Scully wetted a washcloth. She held it against her cheek.

"What do you want?" Zelda began to laugh. It sounded pure and open. "Maybe you need to discover what's valuable to you before we talk about what it costs to get it."

Scully scoffed.

"Something to think about, " Zelda said. She hopped up on her bunk.

"What else you got to do? Nobody but me will talk to you."

"You, ah, want to read, " said Scully. Her hands fluttered to the magazines on the bed, then watched as one or two fell off at her feet. She had no energy to pick them up. She felt desperately lonely, and, something else. Something she feared to say, even to herself.

"You're not alone, " Zelda said. "You've got to accept that, enjoy it."

"You always seem to know what I'm thinking, " Scully said aloud.

Assuming the attitude of a storyteller Zelda began: "The grandsons of Noah and their sons built a great tower to reach up into heaven, to the very throne of I AM.

As they built this monument to their ego, I AM grew more and more displeased. While they raised their tower, schools weren't build, the poor went unattended, the sick died.

Determined to punish them, I AM made the language of men unintelligible, so they could not communicate with each other."

Zelda crossed her legs. "Then I AM saw that no women worked on the tower. No women made bricks or carried things up the ramp or even offer water to men working on the tower. The women stayed in the villages, caring for children, teaching, healing.

So I AM gave women the power to communicate without speaking, to know without asking."

Scully sank onto the bunk and proceeded to count her fingers.

Zelda leaned upside down to look at Scully. "You have power you never imagined."

She swiped her mouth with her sleeve, and sat back up. After a moment Zelda said softly into the air, "You are the one. I've been waiting three awful years."

She glanced around furtively, took a magazine from the stack on the shelf and grabbed a photograph out of the pages. She leaned upside down again and thrust it in Scully's face. It showed a grinning pixie with blue eyes, her arms draped around the neck of a dark-haired little boy. On the back it said "Scott Deschamps, age 4."

Chapter 7

"Your son?" Scully's finger wiped a trace of lint off the photograph.

"Taken last month. His, ah, his foster mother brings him once in a while." Zelda grinned. "My smile, don't you think?

Smart too. Intuitive beyond his years."

Scully handed the photo to Zelda, but she pushed it back. "Take him.

Make him yours. That's all I ask. You're honorable - I'm counting on that. Take him - it's all I want in exchange."

"Exchange? For what?" Scully hurled herself off the bunk, a flying bundle of raw energy, and placed the photo on Zelda's bed.

"Two things I'd give anything for: a safe home for my son and-and to talk to my mother again."

"I don't understand, Zelda. Is your son--?"

"You'll know everything when you need to know it." Zelda's face glowed with happiness from something Scully could not see. "When you are ready I will be your teacher - and you will be free."


"When your spirit is empty enough to fill." Zelda settled into her bed.

Scully looked at the photo of the little boy on Zelda's bed and reached to take it. Scully held the photo lightly between two fingers, but all her other fingers curled into fists.

Zelda covered the fists with her hand. "Surely you know this isn't the work of I AM, " said Zelda. "A more profitable avenue of thought might be why you have to isolate yourself. What it is inside you that you feel you must protect at all costs. You have to answer that or you'll miss what's right in front of you - yours for the asking. And you won't be able to do what you came to do."

Zelda pulled a black sleeping mask into place, and settled between her sheets. "I'm bushed. Let's go to bed." Zelda liked the mask because, as she had explained to Scully, she slept with her eyes open.

Scully eased back onto her bunk. "What am I supposed to do?" She realized no one but I AM listened. "Zelda?"

Her cell mate slept. Scully envied her the ability to fall asleep so quickly and deeply. Sometimes Scully could scarcely detect her breathing.

The papers on Henry Donaldson's desk blurred. He couldn't stop thinking about Dana Scully and Zelda Deschamps, wondering how they got along, how close they had become. Perhaps Scully would be able to read to Zelda by now. When she sat at the defense table in court Agent Scully had seemed uncertain when she looked at the papers her lawyer handed her.

Donaldson had worked very hard on his plan to stop the ghost bandits. He alone of all those in Justice could deal with this phenomenon because he alone knew how they could work it how it was possible. He meant for no one else in the world to learn about it.

Thus he'd considered every detail, countered every avenue of escape, and tried to imagine every possible scenario, everything that could go wrong. It was what he did best.

He would use Agent Scully to uncover their next robbery target and meet them at the scene. He would learn who was behind it all and deal with them appropriately. It would be done quickly. And quietly. The FBI agent would never be a threat. The web he and Skinner had woven for Agent Scully was airtight. Who would believe an admitted felon's ghost story? There was no proof -- none -- that Agent Scully was anything more than a dishonest agent. Donaldson had seen to that personally.

His one miscalculation was not seeing that Dana Scully could be so strong and holding on until Fox Mulder returned. Then she was even stronger. Not good for Donaldson's plan, but not fatal. After all, he chuckled to himself, she had to bend, but not break. Not yet, anyway.

She and her partner were separated now. She would weaken, shrivel, and eventually he could discard her. Donaldson felt much better.

Nothing was really wrong; everything was merely behind schedule.

It was amazing good luck to discover Dana Scully amid the unimaginative idiots at the FBI in the first place. He had almost despaired.

He thought it essential that the next woman he sent to flush out the robbers should be open to the paranormal; that's where he thought he failed earlier. Her association with the X-Files was such a plus that he'd been willing to deal with Walter Skinner again.

Now he wondered if it was a mistake. His feminine side had liked Miss Scully - that should have been a point against her. But her attitude and bearing at their first meeting goaded Donaldson into acting irrationally. She was so smug, self-contained, and superior he wanted to beat it out of her. He enjoyed watching women like her fall.

Now he frowned and worried his pen. Perhaps he should have chosen someone not as open to the paranormal. Yet when he asked outright about her beliefs she gave him some equivocal speech about proof and "seeing things

I can't explain". All in all she'd seemed perfect for his purposes.

Donaldson thought she might be easily manipulated too. That was a plus. Hadn't she transformed from pure scientist to space cadet.

The rumor mill called her "Mrs. Spooky". The implications were clear: she only tagged along to be with Mulder. And who could blame her?

Donaldson shoved the papers away. His face colored just recalling the way Mulder's suit jacket fell over his ass.

Donaldson had to control these breakthroughs better. The young man on the third floor was bad enough, but an FBI agent? Dana Scully's partner? Women had no shame. He began to feel the cramps in his abdomen again.

Christ, either he doubled his mental exercises or he might as well go to Sweden for a sex change operation. His heart leapt.

"Sir? Mr. Britton from Senate Appropriations is on his way over."

"Thank you, Mary." Donaldson said. He could feel moisture on his forehead.

And he wondered again how Dana Scully was faring in prison.

Mulder knew Scully wouldn't do well in prison. He'd gotten permission to visit her a week earlier than most new prisoners were allowed to have visitors. Moreover, he received special treatment the first time he came. The prison guards, privately contracted, seemed impressed with him. He was law enforcement, the FBI, one of them in spades. They must not know he and Scully were - are - partners. They all acted as if he were there to interrogate her.

He waited outside a door with metal bars to be admitted to a hallway inside the prison. At the direction of a guard at the door, he walked down a wide corridor. He passed a dozen people guards, trustee inmates, office staff - before he found a room marked "Conference Rooms." He pushed the button next to the door, smiled into the camera, and pushed open the door when it buzzed. A guard met him, frisked him, and directed him to a door. He used a key to open it.

Mulder stepped inside, feeling

the walls dangerously close for the first time in his life.

Hardly larger than a study cubicle at the Quantico library, the room was split in half by a plexiglass wall. His and hers side of life connected by an intercom. Mulder dropped into an uncomfortable molded plastic chair and waited again.

After a few minutes a noisy clang announced Scully's arrival. The door opened and she stepped into the prisoner's side of the cubicle wearing blue jeans that were too big for her and a work shirt with the collar flipped up in the back. The shirt had a black set of numbers on the pocket.

Mulder rose and squashed down the panic he felt as she stood in the doorway. Washed out, small and uncertain at first, her eyes swept


area before fixing on him - habit, an alert agent's way of feeling out a room. He hoped for a smile, a wink - something to show him it was still Scully inside. As she walked toward the chair he continued to hope it was only the harsh white light necessitated by the video cameras that made her skin appear translucent.

She sat down, punched the intercom and inclined her ear.

"I don't see you waving a piece of paper in your hand or humming excerpts from 'Midnight Special'. Am I to infer from this that you have not come to affect my release?"

Mulder clucked and patted his pockets. "Must have left those papers in my other suit."

"So this would be a fashion consultation, " she said, staring at his tie.

"It was on the rack all alone-it called to me." He stroked the fabric of the riotous red and blue tie as gently as a woman's skin. Not any woman's skin, hers.

She caught him. "Hm-hm-m."

Mulder dropped the tie self-consciously and cleared his throat.

"My mother says you've been very kind, Mulder."

"I'm taking her to the cardiologist myself tomorrow." He noticed the mark on her cheek.

She put her hand over it.

"Industrial accident?" he asked. His voice sounded perfectly calm, but she heard the rumble underneath.

"Cut myself shaving." She rolled her eyes to the cameras in warning. Her eyebrow lifted in a question.

"Ah, Skinner's pushing the bank thing, " Mulder said, glancing up at the cameras. "I see a connection, but I ran a check of similar crimes and guess what-"

"I can imagine."

"Scattered around the country over the last two years. A couple of convictions. Same MO, same everything --. I'm taking a field trip tomorrow, but it all comes back to you."

"Not necessarily. I continue to maintain you are trying for connections where there aren't any. What about the attorney in the Jackson case who swore I demanded $5,000 to--"

Mulder shook his head. "That's not the way."

"You can't ignore the obvious facts given you."

"I'm following the facts given me. Just not all of them given about you-directly."

Scully took a deep breath and exhaled. When she raised her eyes again she seemed calm. An artificial calm. Not the kind that promised whirlwinds and thunder just over the horizon as was so often the case with Scully, Mulder decided. Instead it was a calm like the quiet acceptance of the natural order of things, the way winter follows spring and death follows life. He had seen flashes of this Scully during her cancer. His spirits plummeted.

Scully regarded Mulder with a sense of melancholy. He was tired. Perhaps a little scared at being alone. She understood that. He brushed a hand through his hair and it alarmed her to see it shook.

"Back on the couch?"

"Hey, I like my couch."


He floundered. "You?"

She gave him a quick smile and looked away. "At least my cell mate sleeps like the dead."

"Snores, huh?"

"You've dropped some weight, " she said. "Working out?"

"The beer and pizza diet." At her scowl he added, "Veggie pizza." He didn't add that she had also lost weight.

She folded her arms in front of her. "The best of the major food groups. Personally, I miss my evening champagne and caviar."

"Who's your cell mate?"

It was a rhetorical question. Scully knew Mulder would already have chapter and verse on everyone in her pod from the FBI database.

Scully's arms loosened. "Zelda Deschamps."

"What a coincidence, " Mulder said. "I remember that name from interviewing a former security guard. How many Zeldas can there be outside a Scott Fitzgerald novel?"

She scoffed. "The Zelda I live with can't read. She said she used to, but can't anymore. She likes pictures in National Geographic. She's into spiritualism --thinks she can teach me to fly. She looks and acts 16."

"A 43-year-old woman who looks 16 - maybe she's found the fountain of youth. She know you're a white-knuckle flyer?"

Mulder suddenly shifted on his chair. "Can't read? Are there no literacy programs in this prison?"

Scully remembered that was one of the apparent side effects of the drugs, but she didn't see how it connected to Zelda.

Mulder took a handkerchief out of his pocket and, in the guise of blowing his nose, covered his mouth and muffled his words. "Graduated magna cum laude from Virginia. Doctorate in religious studies from Yale."

Scully moved up to the edge of her chair, her lips parted slightly.

Mulder rubbed his chin. He seemed excited. "This all fits into something I read a long time ago on - " He appeared taken by another sneezing fit. "-Mind Meld."

"A comic book?" Scully turned sideways in her chair and her fingertips rubbed her forehead.

"Have you read it?"

"I'm sure I can requisition it. Should receive it in three or four weeks, " she said.

"I don't recall that it had pictures, but if I can find a copy, can you think of anyone else who might be interested in it?"

Charlie Duncan had talked about a black woman taking over Andy Paige's body. Scully's eyes widened and she placed her hands flat on the ledge in front of her. "This place has a very eclectic clientele. My neighbor, Bernice Johnson, for example."

"Ah, but can she read?"

Scully thought a minute. "Couldn't say."

"Maybe she would like my comic book."


"I know you must be more excited than that, " he said. "Got a theory?"

"I'm developing one."

"Feel like sharing?"

"Be careful who you trust."

"Always, " he said slowly.

"I mean, I don't think you should talk to anyone, ah, important, " she said. "I don't think he - anyone, that is should know what's-" She glanced at the spot where the cameras whirred. " -what you're doing."

"Have to say something, " Mulder said. "Something so I'll have leeway to pursue this."

This. Her freedom.

"He'd like to help, but can't. I think the war isn't over for him, " Scully said, just as amazed at her words as Mulder seemed. She attempted to backtrack. "You can't stay on one case exclusively, " she said. "Let me work it."

"Not alone." Mulder knew immediately where she was going.

"This is a long term commitment. You have to- to do other things. Skinner expects it."

"I told him to back off."

"You can't do that for much longer."

"I've got enough vacation time to..."

She licked her lips and Mulder knew he wasn't going to like what she said next. The lip thing -

that was a guarantee. "You can't make this your whole life."

He tossed it off as unimportant.

"This can't be your whole life or it's your sister all over again, " she said. "Pursuing shadows just out of reach, ignoring everything around you." Scully's eyes softened. "Don't do that.

Don't disappear again. I need you. Here. Now. Where you are."

He could feel her caress as surely as if she'd reached out and touched his face. Her lower lip quivered; she caught it in her teeth.

He swallowed his outrage and willed her not to say anything else, not to tell him what she thought she had to. "I have to go."

He pressed his palm against the plastic wall

between them. "Scully."

"Let me go." Her gaze remained soft but firm. She hesitated, and then touched his palm through the glass with one fingertip. He finally dropped his hand off the wall. Her slight smile showed her approval.

Scully walked toward the door as though she were going into the hallway to find a report -- too preoccupied to talk to him right then. Except she had to have permission to leave, someone had to open the door and allow her to go. She pushed the button next to the door once, then, with a touch of impatience, twice.

She looked straight at the door until a clanging at the metal lock signaled that the guard disengaged the lock. She waited to hear a loud clack at the door before she reached for the handle.

Her square shoulders, her apparent indifference brought the opposite reaction from him.

"I've never known you to quit, " he shouted loud enough to be heard through concrete, plexiglass and stubbornness. Her hesitation was almost imperceptible; the break in her posture nearly invisible. She didn't look back.

Suddenly Mulder wanted to kick somebody. He sat still a moment staring at the empty seat gathering his fury around him like a tornado. Angry with Skinner, with himself, and mostly with Scully, he thought he'd damn sure start with Skinner.

He stalked out of the room and into the corridor so fast he ran into a prison trustee busily sweeping the hallway. She was a tall black woman with arresting brown eyes. He felt himself drawn into them. And suddenly she was holding him up by the elbow and around the waist.

"Whoa, " said the woman. "You okay? You nearly went down."

Mulder didn't remember slipping, but he could have. He checked the floor for banana peels. "Yeah, fine. Thanks."

"No problem. Have a nice day."

Mulder strode out of the prison hallway full of purpose he just couldn't exactly remember what that purpose was. And his car keys? He patted his pockets before recalling he had to leave them at the guard station. The visit had addled him - and upset his stomach.

The recreation area for Scully's pod - or the rec as the inmates called it - covered an area roughly four times that of her mother's living room with none of the comforts or style. As with the cells, the rec was plain cinder block on three sides and a steel-reinforced plexiglass front so guards in the corridors and the floor below could easily see what happened inside.

The inmates had no hammer or nails and they were forbidden to use tape to hold posters or photos on the walls since it might March the paint job. Consequently the rec lacked color or warmth or a hint of personality.

Four security cameras swept the area. A large television hung from the left center column in the room and a radio/CD player sat on a shelf on the far right column. Both had been screwed to boards and covered with wire so only the controls and screen could be touched or seen.

A series of pinging, panging pinball machines and video games sat bolted to the sidewalls. Books, magazines, and a stack of board and card games lay scattered on tables screwed to the floor. More than two dozen chairs, settees and couches completed the room's furnishings.

It was all new, already fading.

Here women from two pods could watch television, play games, talk, or read. Cell doors were left open. For three glorious hours a day and five on Sunday, the nearly 50 women enjoyed unstructured time to wander in and out of their cells and the recreation room. No one called it free time. Nothing was free.

Scully found it bland, institutionally depressing and, if she'd been honest, a little intimidating. The fact that she had once been law enforcement also caused her no small concern in the rec room. While it was under constant surveillance no guards roamed inside. Still, she couldn't put off going in forever. It turned out to be a non-event.

She was invisible. She walked along the edges of the room, sat on the fringes of conversations and worked puzzles - most of them missing pieces just like her life. The first week she got some curious looks and hostile gestures, which she ignored. The second week one or two women nodded to her. Then women began speaking.

Wary at first, Scully found she was relieved, even pleased. Zelda reported that she made her bones with the guard incident. That guard's hands were always too quick and Scully had slammed him. The others were impressed; Bernice herself had grunted a half-hearted approval.

Still, no one made an effort to approach her and most turned away when she walked close.

She remained invisible and told herself she was content that way.

It was safer. It was easier. It was familiar.

Mulder's visit somehow changed things. Zelda was right: in prison everybody knew everybody else's business. Most conversation died away when Scully walked into the rec. Bureau coffee rooms, offices and rest rooms often fell silent when she came in. It never bothered her.

For some reason it irritated her that these women gossiped about her.

She felt a dozen pair of eyes follow her as she crossed to a chair, a green armchair with holes in the vinyl that offered little comfort but a good reading light.

"Mail!" Bernice came in waving letters in her hand. The women gathered around and she handed them to an inmate who offered her a big toothy grin. "Read 'em out, Mary, " Bernice said. She dropped an official-looking envelope from the FBI in Scully's lap. "Somebody tell me this special delivery for you."

Prison officials had already opened it for inspection. Scully pulled out the letter, but she already knew what it contained: her dismissal.

Termination for cause, cessation of benefits, loss of pension. Formal black and white proof that the FBI was through with her. Scully licked her lips and carefully folded the paper back into the envelope. Only procedure, she told herself, a form letter.

"Zelda! Trot your buns over here, " Bernice shouted. "Mary say you got a postcard." She waved it in the air. Zelda, who had been watching a soap opera, turned in her chair and stared. "Come on, girl. Come get it. I got one too. Mary say we on a list of pr-eeeferred customers."

Zelda shook her head. Without waiting anymore Bernice dropped it in Zelda's lap.

"I can't read it. You know that, " Zelda said.

"Then have the new girl to read it for ya. She reads all the time."

Bernice and her cell mate Angela wandered over to take up positions on either side of Scully's chair.

"And look here where she be readin' today, " Bernice said.

"This is Bernice's place, " Angela said.

Scully checked something on a previous page and returned to the place she was reading.

"I said-"

"Leave off, " Bernice said. "This child still new. She ain't really family. Still things she don't know. Now she knows this."

Scully merely cocked an eyebrow.

"Girl, " Bernice said in a loud, but confidential tone. "You did not need to tell that stud-ly piece of ass he had your approval to do what he been doing since you got here! But you did the right cuttin' him out.

Time is hard enough without him weighin' on your mind."

Scully continued to read.

"Hey! I'm trying to be nice, here."

"As you see I'm trying to read."

Someone in the rec room snickered; another woman chucked.

Bernice's head jerked up. All the women appeared occupied in playing games, watching television, dealing cards. Someone cranked up the music and the drums beat behind Scully's eyes.

Bernice leaned down close to Scully. "I'm talking to you!"

One or two of the women in the rec room edged closer, anxious to see what would happen. Someone made a nervous giggle.

Scully took the marker out of her book and laid it in her lap.

She moved her fingertip under sentences to give the appearance of reading.

Bernice pushed off the chair, shaking it slightly, and said to two women lounging nearby. "So I'm standin' near the door and she come from this big talk with her man-and she the whitest white girl I ever seen. Come out and she got such big, bad crocodile tears in her eyes she can't even see where she's goin'. Pitiful." Some more women snickered and giggled.

"You're in my light, " Scully said.

"On the other side, he's shouting, " Bernice said to her growing audience, "then he sat there looking hang dog, like he was so tore up. I ran into him in the hall - oh-h, it so-o nice to be a trustee. I thank you. He got such big muscles in his thigh. And he was pacccking!"

She laughed and the women in earshot did too. When several more w omen joined the semi-circle around the chair, Bernice grinned.

cully gave her tormenter a blank look, then adjusted the book.

"Don't you want to know what he was thinking, girlfriend?" Bernice put her hand across the pages. "He was thinking how he gonna track down his boss, and beat him into the ground for what he done to you.

What did he do to you? Anything you wanna share with the class?"

Scully enunciated every word, "Please move your hand."

The two women stared at each other. Bernice's eyes, large and brown, pulled at her. Scully felt dizzy. Slightly daunted, she turned in the chair and put the book between them.

"You a fool. If I had a man like that I'd still be under him." Bernice tapped the book gently. "I hope you got laid good before you came in, 'cause you ain't gonna find nothing as pretty as that around here."

Scully's eyes kept on moving across the page.

"And when you come out, he ain't gonna be there, " Bernice continued.

"He forgot you before he got in front of the wall. When I looked into those eyes I saw me lots of store-bought women, naked women doing things their mamas wouldn't like, doing 'em over and over." A couple of women high five-d and laughed.

When she got no reaction from Scully, Bernice swore and walked away before firing her last shot. "Know what else? I saw you in his bed wearing nothing but his shirt. He had his hands all over you - helping himself while you wuz dog sick." She shook her head in mock disgust.

The sound of the women's laughter echoed in Scully's mind along a hot wavy line from her head to her heart. It rippled over Scully in increasingly powerful surges. Her mouth dried up.

She couldn't imagine how Bernice knew about Mulder's tapes, or about Skinner or what Mulder wanted to do to him. His hands on her while she slept? She was vulnerable in his bed. She had come to him for help and safety. If she allowed it, Bernice's scenario would explain a lot about the way she felt when she awoke and the strange tension between them the next day. She gripped her book so tightly her fingers became sweaty; she wiped her palm across her jeans.

Scully turned the page. She couldn't remember what she'd just read.


over the top of the book she could see Bernice's feet moving away. She released a long ragged breath and tried to think. It was easy to determine who Mulder's supervisor was. As trustee and pod leader perhaps Bernice had access to certain prison records about Scully. She appeared to be intelligent as well as street smart -- so she made a lucky guess, a couple of lucky guesses.

Scully wondered if Zelda said something. Had she mentioned the night she was so sick to Zelda? Of course not, she'd told no one; she tried not to think of it herself. And when she did, she never thought Mulder broke faith. She never thought that was the source of the strange undercurrent between them. Whatever happened - Mulder said nothing happened. What had she missed? What was true, what was just in her head?

Scully felt guilt about her doubts. Yet she couldn't seem to banish them completely. It flashed through her that as the current dragged her further from shore the rock she needed to stand on might be only sand. Her face still buried in the book, she unconsciously rubbed her forehead and chewed on her lower lip.

"I can't let you do that, Bernice, " Zelda said over the hubbub.

Scully's head snapped up. The entire room fell into an eerie buzz broken only by dialogue from the television and the music from the corner of the room. The black woman stopped abruptly. "You can't take him from her or she'll freak like the others."

Bernice wagged a finger and grinned, but there was no mirth in it. "Have you been peeking inside this girl's head?"

"Don't be insulting. That isn't polite, " Zelda said. "You have to be a fool not to see how they are bound together." She looked at Scully, who was staring in wide-eyed astonishment, and shrugged. "Then again, she hardly sees it herself."

Bernice's mouth set in a cruel smile. "I ain't happy. Noooo." Someone in the back of the rec room said, "oooo-o" and followed it with a nervous laugh.

"And when mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy, " Angela said.

Zelda's shoulders sagged and she flicked her tongue over her lips. The tension became a sweaty smell over the rec room.

Scully's gaze followed Zelda and Bernice into a corner of the pod rec room. For a few minutes Bernice and Angela spoke angrily to Zelda then Angela turned her back and while she was shielded from the view of the surveillance camera Bernice acted.

To Scully's horror Bernice slapped Zelda's face and delivered one blow to the stomach. Zelda turned sideways into the wall while Angela and Bernice obstructed her from the camera.

Scully jumped out of the chair and found her way blocked by an obese woman from the pod.

"Just a little family business. Finished here? 'Cause if you are, Bernice would 'preciate her seat back, " said Mary, the inmate Bernice used as a reader.

Scully clutched the book under her arm but by the time she got to Zelda her cellmate had regained her breath. Zelda stood as straight as she could against the wall. Scully dropped the book on the floor and would have followed Bernice, but Zelda grabbed her elbow.

"She wasn't always like this, " Zelda managed to gasp." Please. This is on

me. All of it."

"I'm going to report it, " Scully said.

Zelda merely shook her head and gripped Scully's arm even tighter.

Chapter 8

Margaret Scully knew Fox Mulder would be picking her up soon, but she never expected him to be early. She opened the front door with an apology for not being ready on her lips and found AD Skinner outside.

"Mrs. Scully. May I come in?"


Skinner's head moved side to side in a barely discernable motion. "She's fine as far as I know." He seemed ill at ease.

"Come in then, Mr. Skinner." But her voice and demeanor held no welcome.

Skinner walked inside and waited until Mrs. Scully closed the door. Margaret and her daughter were alike in many respects, he noted. Both unyielding, uncompromising. He didn't know how to begin because he didn't know what title to put with Dana Scully's name. Finally he said, "Your daughter doesn't know I'm

here, Mrs. Scully. I came to ask you something." She waited and he continued, "I came to ask: if you could know that Dana is innocent or be able to visit her -- which would you choose?"

Skinner studied her face for a moment and felt foolish.

Stupid, really, for coming. He should have known what her answer would be.

"I already know my daughter is innocent, Mr. Skinner."

He nodded, more to himself than to her. "So do I, " he whispered, ducked his head and left quickly.

When she closed the door Margaret Scully began to weep silent tears of frustration. The anger she harbored for Skinner, the FBI, and those who pushed Dana into prison disappeared. Margaret recognized the nagging fear she had from the beginning of this nightmare was the reality. She knew now that her baby had somehow chosen the path she was on - and that it had taken an unexpected and deadly serious turn.

She wanted to tell someone and realized the only one who would understand was Fox Mulder. Margaret had some inkling of why Dana was so attached to the man. He was the only person who understood so many things.

Margaret Scully's backache returned.

"Scully. Wake up." Someone poked at her feet with a stick. A stick through the bars. "Scully. You got a visitor."

Two guards stood outside her cell. Scully sat, immediately alert.

Realizing it was still dark made the alarm sound in her head. The cell door opened. The alarm progressed from her head throughout her body when Scully realized the guards led her to a conference room.

They handcuffed her before she could go inside. It must be an unsecured area.

It had to be Mulder. This late it was either very good news or very bad.

It was bad. She knew the minute she saw him. He didn't look at her until

the guards left.

"It's your mother." Scully's stomach leaped into her throat. "She had a heart attack. It's serious. I-I just came from Georgetown Memorial. I called your brother. He's coming and-"

Scully's knees wouldn't support her anymore. She sat down heavily in the nearest chair. "I thought.."

"I thought she was better too. I took her to the cardiologist you recommended --"

"Fred Morton."

"She had an episode in his office, " Mulder said.


"It saved her life, " Mulder said. "I had no idea a backache in women.."

"I must talk to him, " Scully said.

"It can be arranged, " Mulder said.

"I should be there."

"She's in and out of consciousness, " Mulder said. "She's not in pain now. I-I'll stay...until Bill arrives. Dr. Morton is with her.

He's been great."

Scully's hands slid from her mouth to her lap.

"Her prognosis is guarded, but there are encouraging signs." Mulder came around the conference table.

"The stress.."

"Hmm, Scully, guilt is my thing, not yours." He touched her shoulder and she threw up her arms, jumped away.

"Prisoners aren't allowed physical contact with visitors.."

He pulled her stiff body up out of the chair into his embrace.

For one delicious moment Scully allowed herself to rest there. His hand brushed her hair from her face. She closed her eyes to imprint the feel of his hands on her memory, the sound of his heartbeat.

Then she pushed away, afraid he would see how much she wanted to cling to

him, afraid of how quickly she could come to want what she couldn't have.

She knocked for an escape, then muttered, "Thank you, Mulder. Thank you for coming."

For a moment she stood in the semi-darkness of her prison cell, tracing the black outlines of the objects in the room. A horrible helplessness pushed against her insides, making it painful to breath, difficult to stand. The ache from the void where her heart used to be hurt all the way down her arms and legs. She must have swayed.

She became conscious of her hand against the rough cell wall, then the chill of it against her back as she slid down to the floor.

Cotton threads in her clothes catching in the rough cement made a torturous pulling sound in her ears until she hit the floor. For some time she sat on the floor staring vacantly, knees drawn to her chest, hands on her knees. After a few moments Zelda took a similar pose next to her. They sat that way for what seemed a long time.

Presently Zelda said, "I understand about your mother. I've spent most of my life missing mine, trying to find out what happened to her." She sighed. "I was 12 when we got a package with her personal effects in it. I sat for hours on my bed with the just fingering things she had once held, reading her diary, all the papers she kept, her pictures-"

Somewhere in the prison a woman began coughing and coughing. When she stopped Scully said, "My mother played a song at my father's funeral. It was special to them. It was a-a connection for me. I couldn't get it out of my mind for a long time."

There was more silence. Someone below them laughed, then the prison quieted down to the normal clack, cling, clung of night. A guard made her rounds, paused when she saw them sitting there, then moved on.

Zelda said, "I wanted to visit the Grand Canyon first, but I understand You need to see your mother. I'll take you to her."

Scully grimaced at the callousness of the words. She bit her bottom lip and her head went side to side as though to dislodge the cruelty from her mind. The air, the ground, the wall, the thoughts in her head seemed so heavy she didn't think, she could bear the weight.

"We can, Dana. I can take you. Now. If you will let me."

"How?" It was a desperate whisper.

"You are willing. I can carry you."

"How?" Scully's lips quiver. She rubbed them together. "Tell me."

"Do you really you need to know all that? You demand so much proof, but all the important things in life you know without it. I can teach you. Later. First, you have to let me have you, " Zelda said.

"You will have to trust me to take you where you want to go."

Scully bit her lower lip to stop its trembling, but a tear escaped down one cheek.

"Who's with her now?"

"I-I don't know. Soon Mulder - my partner - will be. Maybe her doctor."

"Hmmm-m, " she studied Scully's open expression of wariness, doubt.

"Let's try the doctor. You know him?"

"Fred Morton. Cardiologist. She had a heart attack."

"I will need to put my hands on you, to look into you and see what you don't want anyone to know, " Zelda said. "Is it worth it to you?"

Scully gave it a moment's thought, then nodded.

Without waiting for more Zelda scooted in front of Scully. She put her hands on Scully's arm, on the tender skin under the elbow, and began a gentle massaging motion with her thumb. Scully closed her eyes and willed her muscles to let go. They were happy to cooperate.

It felt good. She sighed in comfort.

Zelda smiled to see her relax. One of Zelda's hands slid down to her abdomen and Scully tensed. Zelda found and began a gentle pressure over her left ovary. Presently the discomfort eased. Scully's toes began to tingle, her leg muscles quivered. Her senses went on high alert.

"Don't fight me. When you fight something it is out of fear. You cannot be afraid of this. You have to be open to it. Open to things you never thought possible. Open your eyes, Dana. If you want to see-know anything-- you must first open your eyes. Think of that doctor's face. Think of being with him. See him." Scully obeyed. "Unlock your hands, your arms, your legs. Open to the infinity possibilities of human minds. Make yourself available to the spirit that lives in each of us. Dana.."

Scully tried to visualize Fred Morton's face. Chubby cheeks, a Hitler mustache, dark, sad eyes. Then he flitted away from her. She tried again, catching the memory of a joke he told her, his off-key laugh. She didn't feel anything, sense anything different. She didn't think she could surrender. She listened to Zelda chant her name over and over and tried not to think at all. Then she couldn't think. Nor did she want to. She felt better, lighter.

"Don't be afraid. Slowly give yourself to the light-" Zelda's voice came from somewhere very far away. Colors within the cell became brilliant, the room brighter and the room began to merge into one flash of light. A roar of a thousand voices, a burst of yellow, then a picture of her mother in her head grew larger, more defined, the outline of her face and the features in it grew sharper, clearer.

She could see her mother lying in a hospital bed, could feel the soft skin of her mother's arms under her hand, hear the raspy intake of breath as oxygen poured into her mother's lungs from the tubes in her nose. Scully realized she was cold, that it was cold in the room and the light above her mother's bed was nearly blinding.

The sheets and blanket radiated white and blue.

"Mom, " Scully called softly. "Mom."

Margaret Scully stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. Her voice croaked.

"Is it--?"

"Hi, " she said. "How are you feeling?" She realized she had a stereoscope around her neck and took it off. The familiar act of putting it in her ears and listening to her patient's struggling heartbeat provided her with a measure of comfort and control.

Her mother blinked her eyes. Once, twice, several times as though to clear them. "Fox?"

"Hmm, no. He's gone."

"He was here --" She must have remembered something. "Dana? Are you free?"

Scully smiled.

"Fox..be so pleased, " she said. She reached for Scully's face and Dana shut her eyes to receive her mother's touch.

Instead, she found herself thrown against the cell wall, gasping, a searing pain in her abdomen, her hands flaying in air for purchase.

They fell on Zelda's shoulders and she instinctively grabbed them as though her cell mate could save her from tumbling into an abyss.

"Couldn't hold ..both..long, " Zelda panted as though she'd run a long distance.

She peeled Scully's hands away and laid back on the floor to rest.

"Great Jehovah! That man-. And you --" she pointed at Scully and snickered, "Going into your doctor mode. What a tussle!" She laughed at the ceiling. "Can't put two doctors in the same head."

Scully sprang away, scrambling to the other side of the cell like a bug. "What was that? What just happened?"

Zelda sat up and arched her back to relieve an ache. "You have a real talent."

Scully made a sound of alarm, a gasp of fear. She felt a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, her stomach rolled; sweat popped out all over her.

Zelda didn't move, but held out her hand. "In a few minutes you won't remember. You'll feel peaceful. Just breathe in and out. Breathe with me. The sickness will go away. The fear will go. Focus on your own breath. In and out."

And they breathed together until Scully couldn't hold her eyes open any longer. She slept curled up in the corner of the cell.

Zelda watched Scully succumb. There remained a faint glow around her even after her consciousness dimmed. Zelda hugged herself with joy.

She rocked back on her heels, then put her forehead on the cell floor and her lips moved in prayer. She blessed I AM, Allah, Vishnu, Jehovah, Abba - for sending someone who bore such favor to her aid at last.

Margaret Scully had something important to tell Fox Mulder, but she couldn't remember what it was. She opened her eyes and saw him sitting in a chair not three feet away. She watched him staring out the window for some time. Presently he seemed to shake himself awake and frown as though his stomach hurt or he felt dizzy. Margaret frowned. Fox looked as bad as she felt.

"Hi." He got up and bent over her the way - now she knew what she had to tell Fox.

"Dana was here, " she whispered. "She was here last night."

"I-I must have missed her, " Mulder said. His throat hurt terribly just forcing the words out. His eyes burned from the stuffiness in the room. And he wanted to believe Scully was free just as her mother said. But he had seen otherwise last night while Margaret slept. He patted the woman's arm.

Now Margaret remembered the rest. "She wanted this, Fox. She is in this trouble because she chose this."


Mulder backed away as Bill Scully came into the room and kissed his mother. He didn't want to watch this reunion. He and his mother never shared the affection Margaret had with her children. Idly Mulder wondered what Margaret gave or possessed that kept them bound together as a family.

"Agent Mulder-" Bill Scully held out his hand. "I want to ..thank you. I appreciate what you've done."


"Mrs. Scully."

"You believe me, don't you? She was here. Where Bill is now. Do you think it matters that she chose this?" Margaret's question was breathy, barely audible. She had used most of her strength calling his name.

Mulder smiled. "I believe you. And I think it does matter."

"Could I speak to you, Agent Mulder, ah-h-" Bill Scully jerked his head toward the door. In the hallway he seemed uncertain what to say next. Finally he said, "You seem to have a way with the women in my family. First Dana believing in everything from aliens to Santa Claus and now, mom..."

Mulder shifted his feet. "So you know. The only people in her room last night were Dr. Fred Morton and a nurse - a male nurse."


"That would be Scull-Dana's -- word for it, " Mulder said, wondering what his word for it was.

Scully went through an impressive list before concluding "vacuum" was the word. And evenings are the worst for that panicky sensation of weightless emptiness that stretched out to eternity like the River Styx. Even on the outside trouble seemed to magnify at night, but in prison evenings were god-awful. The paint detail had been at work today and the cell block corridors smelled of paint, disinfectant and despair.

The despair and disinfectant always hung in the air. The paint underlined everything. She couldn't do this for five years, Scully thought. And she damn sure wouldn't. She couldn't direct her thoughts to ridiculous nursery rhymes in hopes she wouldn't vomit, or count the number of tiles in the walk from the cell to the bathroom then multiply them by the number of tiles on the ceiling of the rec room in hopes she wouldn't go insane.

Over three weeks of her life had disappeared, vanished in a routine not of her making. Her mother lay in a hospital room and she couldn't go to her except in dreams. She was so restless. She must have paced the floor all night after Mulder's visit -- she fell asleep in the corner of her cell. She understood why Zelda's former cell mate had leapt from the top floor of the cell block railing, but Scully felt homicidal, not suicidal.

The women prepared for their showers. They stripped, put on bathrobes, draped a towel over their arm or shoulder and lined up outside their cells on command. Scully clutched her thin cotton robe with its huge plastic buttons in one hand, fingered the rough towel, and followed Bernice's broad back down the halls.

Doors clacked and clanged. Metal on metal changed to metal in plastic.

Scully knew where she was by the sounds around her. If she looked to her right Scully could have seen the sunset through the only panoramic view of the outside world the women had. Most of them took the opportunity to gaze over the balcony and beyond the prison. It was a silent solemn passage.

Never one to long for what she couldn't have, Scully rarely glanced outside. The women waited in a narrow corridor for their turn to enter the shower area. A guard handed each woman a plastic tray with her washcloth, toothbrush and toothpastes as she filed into the shower room.

They moved in groups of six and eight into the room of sinks and shower stalls to wash up in privacy - one of the few times the women gained any time with minimal supervision or observation. Only a lone camera in the shower room monitored the women in the large shower room.

At the end of 45 minutes to an hour, a guard knocked, the women lined up, walked out the opposite door, handed their trays to the guards there and marched back to their cells. The clean up crew hosed down the room with disinfectant and next group then entered the shower.

Scully left off counting hallway tiles. Instead she listed the things she hated: silence from the guards, silence from her fellow inmates, constant talking, continual noise, hot water steaming up from the sheets and towels in the laundry to burn her face and hands, reading about diseases and treatments she'd never have reason to see then forgetting what she read, lining up for showers, lining up for meals at 5 a.m., noon and 5 p.m. exactly. Lights out at 9 p.m.

Having someone dole out the elementary essentials of life like soap. Getting permission to leave a room, come in a room, buy a candy bar, watch television, sit down on someone's bunk. God, she hated it all.

She put her plastic tray on one of the sinks and started to unbutton her robe to get into the shower. Ahead of her, water splashed as a dozen shower nozzles opened up. Steam rose and billowed throughout the room. She had to change something or she'd

certainly lose her mind or kill someone. She looked up and noticed shower water was running, but no one stood under the sprays.

They had her before Scully could react. They grabbed her arms, stuffed a wet washcloth in her mouth and slammed her down on the long wooden bench bolted to the shower room floor before she even realized the women in her pod surrounded her. The back of her head cracked on the wood and a flash of light streaked across her eyes.

She grunted in shock more than pain and began to struggle.

Plastic trays balanced on the bench scattered across the tile floor.

Someone twirled a towel around her face and tied it behind her head to keep the washcloth secure in her mouth. Scully thrashed and kicked until Bernice grabbed her chin.

"Stop fighting, girlfriend. You're caught. Things go easier if you don't fight." Scully fell still, her nostrils flaring with the effort of getting enough air and her eyes narrowed in fury. "That's good." She patted Scully's cheek. "Let's check her out first. Get that robe off."

The women pulled the robe away while Scully kicked, elbowed and tried to gain some purchase with her feet. She landed a glancing blow off Angela's cheek. Angela would have struck her but Bernice grabbed her arm. "No marks, " she said.

The women forced Scully back onto the bench. Bernice looked over her naked body carefully. "Looks clean." She poked some bumps on Scully's shoulders, punched a finger in her ears, nose, between her toes, knees and under her breasts. She ran her hands through Scully's hair. "Feels clean. No devices I can see or feel here."

"We gonna-" Angela grimaced and pumped her finger through her fist.

Scully's eyes widened, then narrowed in fury.

Bernice gaped at Angela. "You think the feds would put a bug---?

You're crazy." She grinned down at Scully, then at Angela. "But you can have a go at her first, if you want."

Excited, Angela moved forward and Scully began fighting again.

"I'll do it."

Everything stopped. The women holding Scully seemed surprised to see Zelda shoulder her way closer- they relaxed their grips slightly.

Seizing the momentary advantage, Scully used her legs to jackknife up and throw one of the women against a shower stall. It took several minutes to force her back on the bench.

Bernice adjusted the gag, pushing the washcloth so far back in her mouth Scully thought she'd have to swallow it. "You pack wallop for a little thing."

"Bernice-let me, " Zelda said.

Bernice shook her head. "Na, Zelda. We definitely saving you for an emergency. I want to see what kindda reading we get here first."

"You don't trust me." Zelda pouted.

"Angela needs the practice."

"Angela can't do it. She will never--" Zelda picked Scully's robe off the tiles. She squeezed the water out. "Dana's too strong for Angela. Even with Angela's hands on her, Dana won't --you're just gonna wear her out."

"Weell, she got five years to rest up, " Bernice said. Furiously Scully struggled against the women who held her pinioned. "I went visiting last night, to see what that handsome FBI partner of yours was thinking. Whiskey and naked women. He ain't giving you a thought. All night he sucked on a bottle and the face of the woman on the bar stool next to 'em. A blonde, I think she was."

Mulder doesn't drink. Scully's words garbled in the washcloth, but there was no mistaking her tenor or the growl in her throat.

"You're making this hard, " Zelda said. She squatted beside Scully's head and folded her hands together on her knees. "Look, they're not going to hurt you. They can't hurt you unless they shake you and you fight. Understand." Scully stopped moving and lay back on the bench.

"Good. Try to relax, to open yourself. I know you can do that.

It'll be over soon." She stood calmly, fighting to manage her own fears. She had no idea Bernice planned to test Dana tonight. Zelda had inadvertently weakened her cell mate by taking her out last night.

Angela settled over Scully and took her face in her rough ones, forcing her to look at her. Her dark brown eyes glinted; the overhead shower room lights wreathed her head.

"Dana Scully, " she said and began repeating the name over and over in a monotone as if it were a magic charm. Scully felt a pressure on her arm and a hand moved over her stomach to press into her abdomen. There was already a bruise and Angela's thumb felt as though she were boring through skin and tissue into Scully's uterus.

The pain gradually receded, taken over by the sound of her name and her reflection in Angela's eyes.

Scully grew less frightened, less angry, and more embarrassed by her willingness to surrender to the hypnotic chants and pressures. She felt herself pulled into Angela's eyes, into Angela against her will.

It felt like her dream, her dream with her mother, but this was terrible. Hurtful. Terrifying. Scully struggled. She wasn't sure, but she thought the last sound she heard was her own grunts of fury.

And then she could resist no longer. There was no point. No reason. She became warm, comfortable, and even content. She sighed, her eyes closed, the strength went out of her muscles. She drifted in a gentle breeze watching the world beneath her rotate slowly in pale colors of rose, green, yellow...

How beautiful, she thought. How wonderful. Her essence, her inner eyes, her soul floated effortlessly above the world -- so light, open, airy, free. She was home, secure, relaxed. She stretched herself in contentment. Safe at last in her own mind. Scully wandered aimlessly down bright corridors of mirrored doors, each beckoning her to open it first. Mulder, she laughed, where are you?

"What's so funny?" Scully turned, surprised to see Angela soaring beside her. The older woman's darkness pierced Scully's light.

In that horrible instant Scully knew Angela was in her head, a living presence in her mind.

On the bench Scully began screaming through the gag and thrashing against the women who held her. Angela fell back. She lay on the tiles stunned and panting.

"See, " said Zelda to Bernice as she watched Scully bucking and writhing on the bench.

Bernice looked at the puzzled faces of the women around her. "What the hell?"

"She threw me out, " Angela said. She rubbed her eyes and slumped on one elbow.

"Damn!" In spite of herself, Bernice smiled at Scully with admiration. "See anything while you were there?"

"Buncha doors. A big black door." Angela said between pants. "Some man all over the place. Boyfriend, maybe."

Scully blinked rapidly against the light, sucking in air as hard as she could, frantic eyes searching for escape or help. She found Zelda and her eyes narrowed in reproach.

"I didn't lie to you. Don't fight!" Zelda said to Scully. She turned to Bernice. "Don't do this, Please. Not now. You know she needs a rest between--"

"Shut up, " Bernice said.

"You can not risk it. You could lose her!"

"Shut the hell up." Bernice shoved Zelda away. She approached Scully with caution, settling beside the prisoner before taking Scully's face in her hands. She twisted Scully's head around painfully. The cloth in her mouth muffled Scully's indignation. "Come to Mama.

Let's see what you really got."

Where were the guards? Why didn't they hear? Why didn't they check?

Scully felt sick, weak. She shut her eyes. The episode with Angela taught her that much. Her head throbbed, eyes burned, and she could feel nausea pushing up in her throat. Someone in her mind, someone else in her thoughts.

To Scully it was more invasive and damaging

than anything she'd ever experienced. She shook her head ferociously against Bernice's hands. No, never again. She heard doors slamming.

"Hurry up! This ain't the longest shower on record, but it's getting close, " one of the women said.

"Pinch her nose, " Bernice said.

Someone put her hands across Scully's face and cut off her air.

Scully opened her eyes and as she did she felt Bernice grab them as if they were prizes. The chanting began. Something punched into her arm, her abdomen. She grunted against the painful touches but could not resist. Scully felt herself disappearing. She screamed one last time into the gag.

The room grew deathly quiet. The sound of water spraying and the pipes hissing bounced around the room like echoes. Angela moved into the water and began to lather up. Finally the women released Scully and dashed into the showers. Zelda untied the gag and pulled the washcloth out of Scully's mouth. It had drops of blood on it.

Zelda frowned and threw it into a corner of the shower room.

Scully heard laughter, singing, water splashing, the slap of bare feet on wet tiles. She tried to moisten her lips and turn her head slightly. A headache threatened to split her in pieces. She started to move, but found her limps so heavy and sore she could barely lift them. When she tried to pull up, one arm fell onto Bernice's back.

Bernice struggled to sit up. "Lord have mercy. You are strong. Get cleaned up. Can you make it?" Scully didn't move.

"Here." She leaned down and drew Scully to an upright position.

"Sick, " Scully managed to say.

"Yeah, baby, I know. We had to be sure. Had to be sure. Things gonna be different now. You sit this one out." Bernice rubbed Scully's shoulders gently. Then she laughed and tossed her robe off on her way to the showers.

"Zelda, get Dana somethin' cold for her head." Bernice stepped into the nearest stall: "Now that's cold!"

"Get your own shower!" Someone said in a good-natured challenge. Two women laughed, a bar of soap flew up in the air, and someone else squealed as water play erupted in the shower room in earnest.

Zelda continued to bite her fingernails. Then she reached out to Scully: "Let's get your robe on. Lean on me, let me help you stand."

It was a mistake to get up. Immediately a wave of nausea sent her to her knees and she began to vomit.

"Concussion, " she gasped to Zelda as a black curtain blew across her eyes. "Call the guard!" Zelda said to a woman who stood gaping from the first shower stall.

"Hold it!" said Bernice. "Drag her into this stall."

"Why?" said Angela.

"How can she fall and hit her head in the shower if she ain't wet?"

Prison of Innocents 8b

The Lone Gunmen had broken the code that had stymied them and obtained Donaldson's sealed personnel files from the Pentagon. Next they pursued the records of his mission into Cambodia.

They called Mulder at once and he could picture them frothing at the mouths.

Frohike especially couldn't bear the

thought of Scully in prison. He'd seen too many movies.

"Donaldson was a spook, " said Langly.

"A very spooky spook, " Frohike said.

"He disappeared with his driver and his aide in Cambodian. They were missing for two years, assumed to be MIA. Then Donaldson comes back with the story of how they had been captured. According to Donaldson's report - verified in part by indigenous personnel -- he and his aide Lt. Anthony Barker of Pittsburgh, and the driver Sgt.

Amelia Peterson of Baltimore, escaped the Viet Cong and eventually made their way to Quinghai Providence in China -- the headwaters of the Mekong, " said Byers.

"They couldn't perform their original recon mission for some reason, so Donaldson pushed them further and further into the Mekong on another. Something he felt explained why the North Vietnamese were so fierce."

"He was looking for patriotism?" said Mulder.

"They were looking for a native tribe that produced superior warriors. It was a legend, a myth, " said Byers. "Warriors of such prowess they killed with their minds."

Mulder became extremely interested.

"Donaldson had a rep for the weird. For believing anything his sources told him. He was real -- goober, " said Langly. "But he must have hit the jackpot. What they discovered in the Mekong got classified top, top secret."

"What were they originally supposed to do, " Mulder said.

Langly shrugged. "Ordinary recon. Nothing to worry about or they wouldn't have assigned a female driver. Donaldson claimed he had a source, a sure thing."

"Probably more to it, but that's all we could find, " said Frohike.

"War's over, Frohike, " Mulder said.

"For most people, " he said.

"Anyway, Donaldson comes back skin and bones, clutching a torn knapsack and a his hat for some odd reason. He was half-crazy. Told fantastic stories of temples, rituals, monks that helped him survive, native servant girls, and a kind of love that 'possesses a man completely to the detriment of his mission'."

"Think he was braggin' about his sex life, " said Mulder.

"How do I get there?" said Frohike.

"His initial report was pretty much dismissed as ravings. His aide was killed and his driver died of fever. He escaped. The Army put him to work, but in short order they gave him a commendation and trip home, " Byers said.

"There is nothing in the record again about monks or temples."

"Monks held him prisoner?"

"Well, you know what they say about what goes on behind closed cloisters." Frohike's eyebrows went up and down.

Mulder scoffed. "What kind of monks holds prisoners? They have a quiet, meditative life. An-and they don't force people to join them.

Just the opposite, in fact."

"Whatever happened, it changed him. Until his disappearance he was an average officer - ambitious, but just average. Actually he was a little stupid. After his disappearance he became a superman - an erratic genius who could be gentle and reasonable one minute, homicidal and uncontrollable the next. They figured it was posttraumatic stress. His sources became golden. He became known as practically infallible kid." His work done, Byers turned to Langly.

"He went into law school, graduated top drawer. Nice trick for a guy that just barely squeaked out of a second rate college, " Langly said.

"Too many fraternity parties?" Mulder said.

"He made up for lost time. He married rather well .. a West Virginia coal heiress...and begins a series of insightful investments. His portfolio's shrunk lately for some reason, but he still has money running out of all orifices, " Langly said. "No political aspirations, keeps in the shadows. He's a mover and shaker at Justice."

"And his sex life-" Frohike whistled. "All over the map."

"Here's the other side of him. He's generous - Planned Parenthood, NOW, League of Women Voters. Rather unusual pattern of giving, " Byers said.

"We also went back to see who owned AtoZ like you asked, " Langly said. "The employees. And some big holding company that we are still tryin' to peel the layers off."

"But, get this, most of the corporations owned by the holding company are hospitals, schools in low income neighborhoods, hospice, day cares, nursing homes. All top of the line, good reps, " Langly said.

"This company ain't makin' money, but they're makin' a lot of people happy."

"Except the prison, " said Frohike. "It's understaffed. Lots of accidents.

A real hellhole."

There was an awkward silence.

"What does all this have to do with Scully?" Mulder said.

The three men looked at each other. Finally Byers said, "We don't think it has to do with Agent Scully in particular. We believe it has to do with someone at the prison."

"I know that. Who?"

"It will take some time to run down the histories of staff and prisoners there, " Byers said. "See what connection - if any - they have to Donaldson."

"Right now the only connection is the Big Guy, " Langly said.

"I can't talk to Skinner, " Mulder said. Three pairs of eyes stared at him.

"Maybe he's a victim too, " Byers said finally.

"That's what I'm afraid of, " Mulder said.


Chapter 9

An annoying light burned and circled Scully's eyes. She blinked and gave it a half-hearted and ineffectual swat.

"Good! You're awake."

Scully tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry it hurt to try.

"Have an ice chip, " said the voice beyond the tiny light.

Scully opened her mouth and fingers wrapped in plastic gloves appeared from the darkness to place a chip of ice between her lips.

"Light, " she said at last.

"Yeah, sorry." The small light snapped off and was replaced by a larger, softer glow further off in the dark. Now Scully could see an older woman with her dark hair up in a bun. She wore a lab coat and a stereoscope around her neck.

"I'm Dr. Otis. Clare Otis. I was hoping to meet you soon under different circumstances."

Scully's eyes closed.

"Nope. Awake up. I, uh, retired from practice two years ago, but they couldn't find anyone crazy enough to treat convicts, so here I am."

"My head.."

"Hurts like a big dog, I'll bet. You correctly diagnosed a concussion, Dr. Scully. Can't give you anything yet for that mother of all headaches you've got, ya know."


"Any allergies?"


"Any recent surgeries?"


"Anything you want to tell me?"

Scully hesitated. "No."

"You got bruises on both your arms. Do that in the shower too?"

Scully grabbed her right arm and saw a bruise near the vein. She groaned; nausea nearly took her under.

Well, we'll see, " said Dr. Otis. "I double as the prison psychiatrist too, so you have to talk to me sooner or later. That's how these private penal companies make money, you know, the staff pulls double duty. I don't mind really. I'm a stockholder so when AtoZ Penal makes money, so do I. "

Scully's head hurt so dreadfully she feared the pounding would move to the rest of her body if she moved or spoke anymore. She started to drift off again. Dr. Otis shook her patient's shoulder. Scully trembled and made an effort to listen. She failed. "Don't doze off in the middle of a conversation."


"Not much of a conversation, though. I'm doing all the talking.

You're not saying anything. Why is that?"

"My life story for two aspirin and a piece of ice, " Scully said. She wondered if that came out right; her mouth felt like it was full of -wash cloth.

She jerked, flayed by a fleeting memory of an assault on everything most precious to her, most jealously guarded, most holy. She closed her eyes then opened them to see if Dr. Otis noticed anything unusual.

"What was that, " Clare Otis said, writing in Scully's chart.

"That shudder? And don't say 'muscle spasm.' You don't strike me as someone

who scares easily."

"Headache, " Scully said.

"Mm-m, " Dr. Otis said in a tone meant to convey she would let the misdirection

go for once. "Now, Dr. Scully, would you give one of your concussion patients

two aspirin?"

"My patients are already dead, " Scully said.

"Hum--Not a good cure rate, then." Dr. Otis took a cup and rattled the ice in it. She dipped her fingers inside, took out a chip and slipped it into Scully's open mouth. "Won't want that to get around - nobody will want to come to the clinic."

Scully's eyes widened in hope and judging from the cringe around her mouth

Dr. Otis obviously saw something in Scully's response that she liked.

"I can work here?" Scully whispered.

"Yep, if I say so. That woman had scarlet fever - the one you fussed about on your first day. Another good catch. She could have died."

Dr. Otis put the ice cup down and rolled back the sheets. "Let's see your arms." She held Scully's right arm up, noted the bruises again, and dropped it. Satisfied, she did the same with her other arm and both legs. "Good muscle tone. What do you think?"

"Slight to moderate concussion." She shivered beneath the sheet and light blanket.

Dr. Otis pursed her lips. "Slight to moderate? With unconsciousness?"

"How long?" Scully asked.

"Three hours."

"Three hours!"

"I did a CT scan at the local hospital... negative -- and brought you back. You don't remember? Still say slight?"

"With the scan and in the absence of continued high blood pressure or low body temperature, yes, " Scully said.

"The headache behind the eyes?"

"It'll go, " Scully said turning her face away.

Dr. Otis nodded. She reached for a blood pressure cuff over Scully's head. "What do you remember last?" Her patient stiffened.

"From a medical standpoint."

"Water running. A crack on the back of my head. Visual pain streaks of bright lights that blinded me, actually."

"You don't remember people crawling in your head?" She tightened the cuff around Scully's arm. Scully whipped around so fast the nausea threatened again. The last vestige of color drained from her face.

"Why do you say that?"

But Clare was preoccupied with taking Scully's blood pressure.

"Almost normal. Little high. You forgot to mention vertigo, " said Dr. Otis. She bent over and cranked the head of Scully's bed up slightly. "It'll pass. I think you are right. I think the concussion is slight. I think the nausea, tremors, visual pain comes from something else."

"What else." Scully could barely breathe.

"You tell me."

Scully closed her eyes and willed the throbbing, pounding to stop.

Blessed sleep took her almost at once and she let go of the pain.

Dr. Otis allowed her to sleep. She tucked the sheets around her patient. The woman on the bed would have blended into the white sheets without that red hair.

She picked up Scully's chart and wondered what to write in it.

Concussion, certainly. What else.

What else could she write: that Scully was the fourth case like this that she'd seen? That one died later as apparent suicide and two were transferred to a psych hospital? Should she set Dr. Scully on suicide watch? She didn't seem suicidal, but neither had the other inmate. The other inmate had been crazy. Sane one minute, crazy the next, and off the railing the minute after that.

Dr. Otis' pen tapped on the paper. Dr. Otis didn't understand what was going on in her prison. She thought this patient might. Clare Otis had no plans to lose her. She wrote: "Confined to clinic, 24 hours". She was uncomfortable with sending Scully back to the general population so soon, but there was no way to keep her in the infirmary longer.

Nevertheless, Clare Otis was going to stay on top of this one. She went to get some coffee. While she was up, she searched for Scully's records on her computer, printed them out, and brought them back to the bedside to read.

"Dr. Scully?" A finger poked her away from a deep, safe place into the cool, dim light. She could smell stale coffee. "This is your 3 a.m. wake-up call."

It was medical school all over again. "I'm up. I'm up."

Then she remembered. Dr. Otis smiled down at her. Every hour on the hour during the night she had awakened Scully to make certain the concussion hadn't become coma. "You look tired, " Scully said.

"Night's still young - unfortunately, I'm not anymore." Dr. Otis shook out a thermometer and Scully opened her mouth. "You seem more alert.

Headache better?" Scully closed her eyes and opened them quickly. "I take that as a yes. Things are looking up. I'll give you more ice as soon as I get this reading-" She looked at the thermometer. "Normal."

She offered Scully some ice. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Agent Mulder." Her eyes widened as if she'd surprised herself by the request. Dr. Otis thought about it. She recognized the name immediately

from Scully's folder - her former FBI partner, and her most recent visitor.

Maybe Dr. Scully would tell him what she wouldn't tell her doctor.

"Okay, " Dr. Otis said. She knew she'd made the right decision when Scully

relaxed into the pillow with undisguised relief.

Dr. Otis took Scully's file back to her desk, punched in her code for an outside line and ran her finger down a form for emergency numbers. She found Fox Mulder listed with two numbers. Glancing at Scully she noted some color returning to her patient's cheeks. Now we're getting somewhere, Dr. Otis thought. Knowing the hours law enforcement officers

kept, she tried the cell phone number first.

Mulder came immediately as she knew he would. Scully could sense him near long before she could see him or feel his hand on her arm. When he called to her, she swam through an ocean of warm water to reach the surface and answer him.

"That's not the sexiest hospital gown I've ever seen you in, " he said.

"Puke green with a peek-a-boo neckline."

She pawed at the opening on the gown. "Morning?"

"I haven't had breakfast yet." He hadn't shaved either.

She glanced around to find Clare Otis reading in a chair across the room. Clare threw them furtive glances but kept a discreet distance.

"Dr. Otis says you don't play well with others, " Mulder said.

"I know.. I told you... I didn't want you on this..."

"I didn't hear that. You said not to focus entirely on this case."

"You never listen."

"Aren't you glad?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. All right, this once."

He studied her, brushed the hair off her face. It looked as though his touch on her forehead hurt so he took his hand away.

She closed her eyes, "What is this, Mulder?"

"Can we talk about mind control?"

"Yes." Her exhale of capitulation seemed noisy in the quiet clinic.

And scared him.

"Lots of experiments by the military, " he said. "Some of them fairly successful. Lots of talk about classified experiments -- especially during the Korean War and Vietnam Wars. Sense a pattern here? It's killer stuff."

"Is it?"

"Sure-even in the movies: "The Manchurian Candidate", for instance."


"You know them, Scully. Pusher..."

"The result of a physical anomaly, " she said.

There was only a hitch in his recitation. "Rev. Orison put an entire prison to sleep.." Mulder let the rest of it go. He knew she would automatically see herself shooting an unarmed Donnie Pfaster in an act of revenge or self-preservation.

"Mass hypnotism, " she said.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something more than illusion, parlor tricks, gimmick mind reading games, " she said. Every word seemed an effort.

Mulder's head screamed yes, yes, thousands of cases, dozens of proven incidents. This time what she needed from him was some rational explanation, something she could to hold onto.

"Outside the cases we've seen, what people normally call mind control is the power of suggestion blown larger by stress, bad food, sleep deprivation. Any of that in your life lately?"

"Do you think it's possible for someone to enter your mind and know what you know, see what you see, think your thoughts with you? As the bank guard said?"

"That what happened last night?"

She grimaced. She appeared to have trouble thinking and when he could see muscles ripple, her body rebel. "Yes -- don't know."

Mulder thought he would be as sick as she looked. "That sure, huh?"

She almost laughed, then closed her eyes against the effort. "Not sure of anything."

His hand clutched hers tightly and he pressed their linked hands to his cheek. Her eyes fluttered open then seemed to reach for him.

"Okay, one thing."

It was almost a tangible thing: Mulder sensed waves bringing her back to shore, the sand between her toes again, and the sand turned to rock under her feet. He felt relieved.

"There's also the mind meld I mentioned before, " Mulder said, stirring himself from the comfortable place they were together. "I've read more about it. Talked to a few spiritualists. People enter your mind, learn what you know and use it to control you, even transport your spirit. It exists in legends primarily, although I have heard of it in some Far Eastern cultures. Tibetan monks, for instance, claim they achieve perfect peace only when they are one with the mind of the Dalai Lama. You think this is related somehow to last night?"

Before she could answer, an image of Henry Donaldson leapt into Mulder's head. Donaldson, his monks, and his companions on the mission.

"I don't know what happened last night. I can't explain it, " Scully said. In her report Mulder saw she was trying to concentrate on giving an accurate, impersonal account of what she could recall, but the horror obviously became too great, the sickness too virile. "The worst kind of intrusion-things I would never share-things I hardly dare to think myself.

It was intellectual rape!"

"Scully, let go of this for a minute, " Mulder's voice was firm. "Think about

a-a baseball game. Your favorite, uh -- baseball game."

She regarded him blankly, then they both grinned.

"Okay, your favorite symphony, " he said.

"It's okay. The worst of it's gone now."

"Happened before?" Mulder's thumb tenderly stroked her cheek, her jaw.

"Never like this. Never." She stared at him, then dropped her eyes.

"You know what happens."

"I saw you sick, fighting delusion, angry. You never recall the attack that brought it on."


"Is that what you mean? The sickness, delusions, rage?"

"I haven't been sick in a long time. Things were clearer. I could read.."

"You couldn't read?"

"I've been-using your trick - like now." She paused and he heard something that sounded like "six times six equals 36" stumble out of her mouth. He was quiet for a while to let her finish the multiplication tables.

Mulder thought she'd fallen asleep until she mumbled, " I saw my mother."

"Did you?"

"That night-you came. Zelda took me-" Scully closed her eyes. It seemed nice to remember it. He could see the corners of her mouth turned.

"In my dream, she took me to the hospital

to see her. It was so real."

"For your mother too." He dropped that into the air. He thought he saw that ghost of a smile flicker on her lips.

"Mmmm. Fred's more interested in the night nurse than my mother."

"The guy?"

"The blonde at the desk - one with the chest."

"Good taste." Mulder made a mental note to talk to Fred Morton.

"He thinks mom is going to be fine, " Scully said.

"So he tells me."

Scully nodded, eyes still closed. Mulder started to touch her shoulder then it struck him that Morton had canceled his visit with Mrs. Scully the previous afternoon. His partner came instead, explaining Fred woke up with a stomach virus. Mulder wondered.


She didn't open her eyes. "Yeah."

"Before last night -how did you feel? You said you could read more. What else? Any more vivid dreams?"

She opened her eyes. "No dreams." She looked distressed. "I can't trust if what I do recall is accurate memory or-or a dream."

"Let me sort it out."

"Flashbacks of men in suits that I don't recognize." Scully began to fade again. "- a woman I knew at the academy - Ann Millard newspaper pictures, guns, women-"

"That could be your life passing before you, " he said. "Ann Millard?"

"Hmmm. Not seen her since the academy. Killed in the line." The pounding in Scully's head suddenly became unbearable. She touched her head as though to keep it from spinning off her head. Mulder looked to Dr. Otis.

"What does Ann Millard have to do with what's going on?" he asked.

"Don't know. Way I feel now -- connected somehow." She didn't open her eyes, but she griped his arm.

"So we use your sickness as a barometer of how hot or cold we are on this case, " Mulder said, grabbing a nearby basin.

Scully heaved. Dr. Otis moved toward them.

"Not much more, Agent Mulder. In fact..."

Scully's eyes flashed blue and dangerous. "No!"

"Five minutes, " said Clare.

Mulder waited until the doctor turned her back to whisper to Scully, "I'm going to submit this to Law Enforcement Journal - when the investigator becomes vilely ill, the case is nearly solved."

"Breaking new ground, " Scully said.

Mulder's tiny smile faded. "It's worse right after whatever mind games they play. You know that. You're very vulnerable now. You need some time where no one can get to you until your head clears."

"How?" She flung her arm over her eyes.

"I'll speak to Dr. Otis..."

"No!" She said it too loudly, then dropped her voice. "What if-she's...involved.." Sleep. Scully looked as though she wanted so badly to sleep.

"What's going on?" Dr. Otis returned at double time. She felt Scully's racing pulse.

"Vertigo, " Scully said.

"Time to leave, Agent Mulder. Let her sleep."

Scully sighed. She couldn't fight anymore.

"A minute, " Mulder said. He dropped his voice and put his mouth next to Scully's ear. In the dark behind her eyes she heard the desperation over his words: "Tell me you're undercover. I'd probably kiss you."

"I wish, " she mumbled.

"Later, " he said, gently brushing the hair off her clammy forehead.

"I'm not kissing someone who might throw up on me."

"Ha..." She dropped into sleep and Mulder let her go.

Clare watched Mulder pull the covers over his partner's shoulders and tuck them around her. "A word, Agent Mulder?"

Dr. Clare Otis married the man she loved when she was in her late 20s. He was a fellow medical student, brilliant, gentle, understanding. He was the only thing she loved more than medicine, than the healing of the human body. They lived together 40 years, raised two sons, and helped deliver one of their five grandchildren - a granddaughter with wisps of red hair -- before a heart attack killed him two years ago. She turned to her other love, to medicine, to heal her wound.

Clare Otis knew what it was to love and live with a man. And even if she had no psychology training, the woman she was could have recognized another woman who truly loved a man. These days she didn't see many men and women outside her own family who had a sense of self and gave themselves freely to each other.

Instead she saw a lot of co-dependent personalities, enablers married to drug or alcohol dependent mates, or emotionally immature men drawn to emotionally crippled women. She saw so little healthy give and take between a man and woman committed to each other that she'd didn't recognize it at first.

But, lord, it was a pretty thing to see.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dr. Otis watched the FBI agent and his convict ex-partner act out their love story in the early morning light. Their tenderness with each other made Dr. Otis glow just to remember her own love. She missed her husband. She was glad of this job to dull the pain of losing him.

She had anticipated some problems with the work, but not others.

She was too soft for a prison job, Dr. Otis realized. She should be in private practice. The inmates took advantage of her. She expected them to get over on her often and they did. She had to toughen up, she knew.

She had not counted on this mystery in her clinic: the death that was ruled suicide nor the two inmates who were rational one day and psychotic the next. Dr. Otis did not think herself a fool, but the illnesses made her feel like one. Now she felt the answer lay within her grasp. Until Mulder arrived she saw Dana Scully as just part of the problem. Now she realized her prisoner might be the solution.

Mulder and Scully's relationship raised questions in Dr. Otis' mind - questions she didn't normally ask. She never concerned herself with a prisoner's guilt or innocence since a court had determined that already. They all claimed to be innocent; Clare never allowed her patients to evade or excuse culpability for their crimes, since that was part of why they were in prison to start with.

Dr. Scully was different. Her case file raised questions of guilt or innocence for Dr. Otis that could be dismissed separately but not cumulatively. Dr. Otis rubbed the bridge of her nose and her tired eyes. Out of habit and experience she had slipped Scully into the role of manipulative woman with Mulder the besot lover. In the morning light she could see that clearly wasn't the case. If he was in love, it was no more than she was.

Dr. Otis began to rethink the matter. Even given their mutual attraction, why would a trained investigator continue to believe his partner innocent in the face of overwhelming evidence and her plea bargain?

Scully's actions raised another question. While she robbed the FBI blind and held defense lawyers up for thousands of dollars in bribes, she apparently kept Mulder clear of her felonies -- an unselfish act that didn't happen often among female criminals. Later she didn't blame him or involve him at all. In fact, she tried to keep him at arm's length. He would have none of it. A strong woman and a strong man, Dr. Otis thought. That didn't jive with women who wound up in prison.

And what did she plan to do with the money, Dr. Otis wondered.

Scully didn't seem vain or in need of funds. She seemed selfcontained and disciplined. In fact, the one security tape Dr. Otis had seen of her new patient and the FBI agent was enough to show her Scully played by the rules, Mulder pushed them.

Dr. Dana Scully did not fit any known profile of a female criminal.

Dr. Otis gave some thought to an undercover operation. If so, it was real good, she thought. No hints in the official record, plenty of official transcripts, newspaper clippings and all the trappings of a genuine crime-and-punishment scenario.

The tape Dr. Otis pulled of Scully and Mulder's visit was nothing more than she expected from of a prisoner and her ex-partner. No, it was more. They talked about cases, the weather, family, his tie, and the prison food-ordinary conversations made so intimate by the participants that Dr. Otis felt like a dirty voyeur.

Their partnership was beyond professional and probably stronger than either of them admitted. Dana Scully held another fascination for Clare Otis: medicine. Clare had a feeling Dr. Scully didn't crave the personal, human side of the profession as much as the scientific puzzle presented by a body that didn't function according to the blueprints. Still, she loved the art - they had that in common.

After talking with Mulder about his partner, Dr. Otis requested a prison shakedown in hopes of turning up a pressure syringe that might have injected Scully with a new drug she wouldn't be able to identify from blood samples. She wanted to eliminate the possibility of drugs first. Then, Dr. Otis would use the prisoner's love of medicine and Fox Mulder to get what she wanted from Dr. Scully.

When Scully woke again the light was so bright and irritating she shielded her eyes before opening them very far. Mulder had gone.

She knew that from the emptiness all around her.

Stirring a little she heard with irritation glasses rattling, metal clanging, a harsh laugh down the hall, a broom or mop slamming against the baseboards. The prison was awake.

She wanted to scream for everyone to shut the hell up. The moment passed, but she became aware of a bitter aftertaste in her mouth that was somehow familiar. Scully pulled the blanket around her chin with a huff. Every voice, every noise seemed amplified.

"No way, Bert."

"Doc, it's not my call."

"I won't let you do it. She's sick. What could she possibly do in here anyway?"

Scully heard the unmistakable leather squeak of a policeman's holster harness. The curtain opened and the sergeant of the guard walked in. Without a word to Scully he pulled the sheet and blanket out from the foot of the bed.

"What-what are you doing!" Scully sat up too quickly and her head spun.

The guard grabbed her ankle, enclosed it in a manacle and secured the chain to the footboard. Scully kicked.

"This is contrary to established policy. This is a secure area and no restraints are required. Come back!"

As an apparent after thought the guard covered her exposed foot up before he left.

He never spoke or looked directly at her. Shocked, then enraged, Scully kicked at the manacle, the footboard. A clanging noise that reverberated through her head was her only reward. She didn't feel better at all. She heard someone applauding outside.

"Way to go, Bert. I, for one, feel much safer knowing that a very sick, 105 pound woman can't wander around the clinic, " said Dr. Otis from somewhere beyond the curtain.

"You don't like it, talk to the director."

"I will, don't worry."

"Ah, Doc. Really. It's not hurting her and she is a special case-"

"She's especially sick, you mean. I didn't object to the manacles outside the prison, even though I thought it was overkill for an unconscious prisoner. But this, this is barbaric."

"She's been trained-"

"Are all you people buffaloed by the fact that she was FBI?"

"Orders, doc." The leather squeak faded away.

Anger and bitter frustration burned Scully. She lay very still, willing herself not to feel the shackle. Willing herself not to feel like an animal.

Scully closed her eyes.

The curtain parted. "Hi. Feeling better?" In the daylight Clare Otis appeared heavier, her hair grayer. She plodded ahead as though too weary to do any better.

"This is outrageous, " Scully said to the ceiling. She laid stiff and straight, pressing into the mattress.

"I couldn't agree more, " Clare said. Taking a thermometer she stuck it in Scully's mouth and took her pulse. "Better." After a minute she read the thermometer with approval and wrapped Scully's arm in a blood pressure cuff.

"I think we can graduate you from ice to chicken soup. Wanna try?"

Clare paused to read Scully's blood pressure, grunted approval and reached over on a nearby rolling tray for a steaming mug. Scully had no appetite, but she accepted soup from Dr. Otis anyway.

"You know, your lethargy, nausea, memory loss, and tremors aren't necessarily symptomatic of concussion, " Dr. Otis said in a conversational tone. "Ever had this before - ever seen it before?"


"Never?" When she got no answer Dr. Otis said: "I have." Scully stopped sipping soup and glanced up. "Three times, in fact. You're the fourth, Dr. Scully. One of them died - apparent suicide. The other two became psychotic. What do you know about that?"

"Nothing, " Scully said, taking a tentative sip. The broth was hot and too salty.

Dr. Otis took Scully's right arm and turned it over. She gently probed the bruised area but found no needle mark. She frowned. She tapped Scully's arm several times and raised her eyebrows; it was a question Scully chose to ignore.

Clare Otis turned down the sheet and examined Scully's stomach and abdomen. As expected there was tenderness and she drew a wince from her patient when she examined the area. Clare pulled the sheet back up, noting Scully's hands curled into fists.

"Never saw this before, huh?" Frowning Dr. Otis tucked Scully's arm under the sheet and made some notes on her chart. "I forget you're all liars, thieves, murderers and con artists. I keep asking a question and expecting a straight answer. I keep giving respect and expecting it back."

She started to leave, then thought better of it. "You know, I'm tired down to my socks and I've got something here that I don't like. Now here's the deal, Dr. Scully. I've got an hour's worth of patients waiting for me. When I come back you have answers or you won't see Agent Mulder for a long while."

"You can't suspend my visitor's privileges." Scully sat up sharply.

"I haven't done anything."

"I can not only suspend them, I can put Agent Mulder on the list of unacceptable visitors so you don't see him for five years. You think I can't figure out you were fighting last night? I can send you to isolation too." Dr. Otis said.

"Do it."

Clare looked askance. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Scully drew her lips together and refused to look at Dr. Otis.

Clare could almost feel the heat rising off her patient.

Scully's fists slammed them to the mattress when Dr. Otis closed the privacy screen around the bed and left.

Damn, Scully thought jerking the covers up. She couldn't be cut off from Mulder, not now. She couldn't risk connecting the dots for Dr. Otis until she had a full picture of what was going on and who was involved. She wanted to take Dr. Otis by the throat.

The urge was so strong it shocked Scully, made her arms tremble.

Her hands opened to grip the sheets and she kicked at the shackle a gain with an angry grunt.

Scully suddenly realized she could think without debilitating headache or nausea as long as she kept a cold, penetrating fury aimed at some point in the future. And that anger was a fertile incubator to birth plans for a safe haven. It pleased her because she saw it as a way to return a portion of what she had received.


Chapter 10

The cafeteria was the noisiest place in the prison --high ceilings, plastic and concrete, stainless steel and too many people in too little space.

The prisoners ate in two sittings, perched on swinging stools that fastened to the tables. The inmates packed into the cafeteria quickly since good seating was at a premium. Dr. Otis released Scully at just as lunchtime started. The guard escorted her to the cafeteria and watched until she took her place in the lunch line.

She waited, coiled and ready, her fists clenching and unclenching, her muscles tensing and relaxing.

Scully accepted anything the workers wanted to put on her plate and picked her seat carefully. She walked to grab a seat in the cafeteria that put her back against the rear wall. She sat there only a few minutes when she saw several of her pod mates point at her and wave. She ignored them. As soon as they got through the line, Bernice plopped down next to her, while Angela claimed the seat across. Zelda tried to sit in Scully's line of vision, but Bernice shoved her aside.

"Girl, you sure look better, " said Bernice. "We were startin' to figure you were gonna serve the rest of your time in the infirmary."

Scully poked her Jello. It wiggled obscenely on the plate.

"You gonna eat your cake?" said the woman next to Angela.

"Yeah, she gonna eat it, " said Angela. "Get your fat hands off. And she gonna eat your roll too." Angela reached over, took the woman's roll and tossed it on Scully's plate. It landed in the gravy covering the mashed potatoes and splashed onto Scully's shirt. Everyone at the table broke into snickers and giggles. Scully's remained a blank as she cleaned the potatoes and gravy off with a napkin.

"Look here, no hard feelings, " Bernice said with a chuckle. "We'll have peace in the family. You have any more troubles, you come to me."

Scully stood up suddenly, knocking over her plastic water glass. She slammed her shoulder against Bernice's body, twirling the woman's stool into the table and pinning one of her arms between the table and wall. Scully could scarcely see, scarcely feel. Her vision clouded around the edges, her skin flamed and she felt as strong as a dozen men.

Grabbing Bernice's free hand Scully wrenched Bernice's thumb and bent it back. As the woman yelped in pain Scully said, "I handle my own trouble." She took Bernice chin in hand. Scully's teeth clenched.

She put a point on her words by speaking directly to the black woman's ear and twisting her thumb until it dislocated: "Don't do that to me again. Never! If there is a next time, you'd better kill me because I will surely come after you." There was no mistaking the venom in her voice. Bernice continued to scream, but Scully was too consumed by the power in her violence to hear her victim, the whistles blowing, or the guard's orders to step back. "You aren't my girlfriend or my mother!" Scully said.

In a corner of her darkness she heard Mulder call out: "Scully!" She whirled in the direction of the voice but

couldn't find him. She popped Bernice's thumb back into its socket just as the two blue uniforms slammed into her. Bernice screamed once and fell to the floor crying and holding onto her hand in pain.

Two lunchroom guards pulled Scully away - fists flying, elbows slashing, and feet kicking -- while a third tended to Bernice. The women in the lunchroom erupted into whistles, catcalls, screams, shouts, thrown food, milk, and tea. Scully caught a fleeting glimpse of her pod mates as the guards dragged her away. Two of the women looked at Scully with a new respect but it was Zelda's expression of dismay that registered. The guards flipped her against the wall and wrenched her arms back to cuff her. She hardly felt it.

On her way into the director's office Dr. Otis passed between Scully, sitting shackled on one bench between two guards, and Bernice, shackled on the opposite bench next to another guard. She scowled at both prisoners, noting no physical damage beyond cuts and bruises. Bernice seemed subdued; Scully appeared ready to go another round. She tapped her fingers up and down, her legs jiggled and she looked as though she might jump out of her skin.

Clare nodded toward Bernice, "Anything broken, Dr. Scully?"

Scully shook her head. She glared past Dr. Otis to Bernice.

"Nothing broken -- this time. Dislocated thumb. Severe sprain. Ice, aspirin, rest should do it."

"What about you?" she asked, noting Scully's dilated pupils. But it was the malice and aggression in the prisoner that struck her. This was not the woman she had seen in the surveillance videos, the woman she heard about from the in-take personnel, the woman brought into her clinic, or the one described in such poignant detail by Agent Mulder.

"I'm fine."

"I think you should pee in a cup for me, " said Clare.

Scully shrugged as though it were of no importance. "Why not do a blood test while you're at it?" "Good idea." Clare said. "Maybe a spinal tap?" She knocked once on the director's door. The prison was in lock-down.

After several moments the door opened and Bernice went into the director's office. Scully sighed and leaned back in her seat. The guards beside her shifted warily. Scully's heart rate slowed somewhat; but she kept feeling strong, invincible, justified. And she was going to get at least two weeks in solitary confinement.

Maybe when she came out she would be herself, or close to it.

For now she allowed herself to enjoy this rush, the joy of savagely attacking and hurting someone who had wronged her. She felt none of the remorse or self-incrimination that marked her murder of Donnie Pfaster. He deserved it too - why had she berated herself up all this time? She now had an inkling of why serial killers couldn't resist another murder, why soldiers loved war, why boxers fought past their prime. Scully felt like beating her chest and hollering in triumph.

In the back of her mind it all terrified her in some vague fashion.

When the prison director called Scully into his office, the guards took hold of her upper arms and the restraint chains made a clanging noise when she tried to throw off their hands. The two men pulled her into the office, nostrils flaring and her eyes drawn to menacing slits.

Dr. Otis leaned against the edge of the director's desk.

"You still seem a tad upset, Dr. Scully. What if we just forgot the whole thing? You go on back to your cell." Clare got a flash of panic from Scully that she'd thought she'd see.

"I think we'll give her two weeks minimum isolation until we can get her arraigned for assault. After the arraignment, we'll see, " said the director. His mouth barely moved when he spoke. He leaned in to Scully's face. "More time. You're gonna die in here, Scully, you don't watch out, " he told Clare, "You got to get a tougher hide, Clare. You've got to learn to deal decisively with violence. We have to teach them that this kind of behavior won't be tolerated. You have to treat them like children until they learn to behave."

Clare didn't pay attention to the director. She was far too interested in Dr. Scully. The prisoner reacted to the director's remarks with an involuntary shudder, a twinge of outrage, an undercurrent - a growl of anger. Where had all this come from in Dana Scully?

"I'm going to make certain you get what you need, Dr. Scully, " she said. "However, it's not going to be a vacation."

"Don't be ridiculous, " said the director.

"Unless we find out what caused this, all we've done is throw her in the briar patch, " Dr. Otis said. "And the resultant expense of hospitalization will not, down the road, improve our profit margin."

The director tossed the pen on his desk away from him.

"Dr. Scully, tell me what you would do for a patient who behaved in a psychotic fashion - in a situation where a previous patient had turn psychosis into suicide."

"I am not suicidal!"

"That doesn't answer the question, " Dr. Otis said.

"I was defending myself!"

"You would order a suicide watch. A jacket restraint-"


"A sedative-"

"I'm not psychotic!"

"Then what the hell is going on with you?"

Scully blinked as though her vision had blurred, a red lapped up from her

neck to her face. Clare heard a growl, then a scream, a primal yelp of rage


frustration. Clare Otis jumped out of Scully's reach.

"Get this piece of trash out of here, " the director to the guards.

"No!" Scully said, fighting against her captors. "I'm not suicidal! No!"

"Infirmary first."

"Ah hell, Clare, " the director said. "She'll just tear it apart. You want to treat her in isolation, knock yourself out.

But I'm not risking her anywhere else."

Clare Otis watched sadly as the guards dragged a screaming, struggling Scully down the hall.

"Where are you going now? We have to fill out paperwork-"

"Getta a kit. I have a couple of tests to perform on those prisoners and I want to do it immediately, " Dr. Otis said.

The director glared. "It's a waste of time and money."

"I don't think so, George. I'm convinced there is wrong here."

"You think that red-head is a psycho?"

"She is now I want to know why."

George smiled patiently and scratched his head. "Lookee, Clare, not everyone who becomes violent is suffering from a mental disorder."

"This prisoner has no history of violence.."

"Chrissake, she shot people!"

"And got a commendation for it! She was an FBI agent!"

"All I'm saying is that she has a history of violence, even if she was on our side at the time, " the director said.

"I have to run some tests, " Clare said in a firm voice.

The director waved her away with a sigh. "Do it then. Just take somebody with you. Remember she's a special case. She's been trained to do some damage with her hands."

"Oh, George, you believe everything the FBI puts out?"

"I was warned about her. I was warned to take extra security precautions, " said the director.

"Who? For heaven's sake-"

"Someone who is familiar with her FBI record. Someone at Justice. A fellow stockholder who doesn't want his kid's university to wind up being the local community college." George said with a touch of pride in his authority. "Go look what she did to the guards. Then tell me I'm overreacting."

"She'll be in a jacket, " Clare said.

"All the same..." The director stopped and rubbed his jaw.

"I don't want any more people hurt today. I don't want you hurt." His eyes softened. "You're too willing to believe, Clare. You're too willing to think even these women are valuable."

She shrank back. "Don't you?"

George rubbed his forehead. "I've been in corrections 27 years. My illusions are long gone."

"You don't believe someone can change her life around?" Clare knew she sounded like a college freshman.

"Well, maybe some of them. But that one -" George jerked his thumb in the direction the guards took Scully. "That one's not gonna make it."

Something flared in Clare; she recognized a gauntlet when one was thrown in her face. It stiffened her resolve not to let Scully go down.

"You could be right, George. All right. I'll take someone with me.

But I want those tests done ASAP."

"There's something else to consider here, " George said. "You're a stockholder just like I am. We're under scrutiny here by the government and our fellow stockholders. After that suicide and other unfortunate incidents - well, we can't afford any more trouble. And we can't afford to let our head count go down. Not if we want to remain profitable."

It should have made her angry. Instead Clare nodded. "I've got to do this, George."

The work on Bernice was easy for Clare to do. Bernice sat on her bunk in

isolation quiet, compliant, defeated, almost dazed. She provided a urine

sample, which Dr. Otis labeled carefully, and submitted to a blood test with

only a grunt when the needle slid in her vein.

Down the hall they could all hear Scully banging against the cell walls and door. She screamed and swore at the guards, the restraints they were putting in place, God, Bernice, Clare, and the uncomfortable bed - not necessary in that order. Dr. Otis put a band-aid on Bernice's arm and watched the prisoner out of the corner of her eye.

"She still sounds a little unhappy, " Clare said in a conversational tone.

"Yeah, " said Bernice, wetting her lips. "She's freaked."

"Whatever you did to her- - I wouldn't do it again, " Dr. Otis said.

Bernice shook her head. "I didn't do nuthin'."

"Well, you're not the mama anymore." Bernice's look that told her she guessed correctly. Pod 34 had a new leader.

"We're ready for you, Dr. Otis, " said a guard. She had a cut over one eye. Clare frowned. As soon as the doctor and guard left, the cell plunged into darkness.

"I'll be happy to look at that for you, " Dr. Otis said to the guard.

The woman dabbed at the cut. "It's nothing. A scratch.

Damn that Scully-she's little but she fights like a full grown man-like somebody on PCP."

"Maybe she is, " Dr. Otis said. "That's what I'm hoping to find out. I need two, three guards. Female only." The guard opened Scully's cell and the light came on.

The woman in the cell made Dr. Otis gasp. She didn't look human; the eyes blinking against the light were those of a caged beast. The heaving and panting of her chest made Dr. Otis fearful Scully might have a seizure. With the jacket on and her hair tangled and tossed, Scully seemed feral.

"Get out, " she panted. "Haven't you done enough?"

"I've got to have blood and urine samples. I'd like to do a spinal tap, just to check on--"

A smile curled around Scully's teeth. "Try it."

"Is that what you want? Take a few deep breaths, Dr. Scully, and listen to me. Can you? Can you understand me?"

"Take this off, " Scully growled.

Clare shook her head. "I've seen this. Before you do yourself or anyone else any more damage, I'm going to stop it."

Scully appeared interested, but not mollified. "Can you complain about that?"

"Remove the restraints, " Scully said between clenched teeth. The jacket had her arms laced in front of her. She looked small wrapped in the dirty white canvas.

"I can't. As you know I can take the blood from a vein in your leg or your scalp. And I can catheterize you if necessary to get the urine sample. I'd rather not. I want you to cooperate. But I have to have them now, Dr. Scully, before your body processes whatever is causing this."

"Do it -- if you can, " Scully said. She used her bare feet and her back against the wall to push herself into a defensive, sitting position.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't want this but I don't think you can control it. When we're done I'll give you a sedative, " Dr. Otis said and motioned to the guards. Three of them moved into the cell and held Scully in position on the mattress. Dr. Otis cut away Scully's jeans and secured her samples. It took all four women. It took close to an hour. As promised, Clare administered a sedative when she finished and after a few moments the guards released their hold.

Scully turned on her side away from them and her body shook. Clare pulled a blanket up to cover her prisoner.

"I'm sorry." Clare Otis touched Scully's shoulder, knowing how much she would have hated what had been done to Scully.

"I'll get you for this, " Scully said, choking on her rage and humiliation.

"I'll come back to check on you."

"I will fucking get you!"

So what kind of results was she looking for? Clare Otis asked herself as she walked back down the isolation hallway. She had no real expectation that drugs caused all this, yet it seemed chemical in nature, something that preyed on a human's more violent natural instincts. She asked the lab for a full screen for drugs and alcohol and, as an afterthought, reserved some of the samples in hopes a night or two's reflection might be inspirational. George was going to kick at the cost of these tests.

Henry Donaldson tried to stop, but the gravel under his feet gave him little traction. He nearly fell on his ass. While he was flaying his arms around trying to keep his footing it was easy for the man standing in the path to grab him by the tee-shirt and sling him into the bushes by the park trail. His captor had shadowed Donaldson until he left the regular

jogging path. Branches from the bush he'd been tossed in now poked the thinner

man and his bare legs had cuts and scratches on them.

"What the hell!"

Skinner twisted the front of his tee shirt and hauled Donaldson to his feet. "Call it off."

"Turn loose of me, " Donaldson said. "You friggin' ape!

Jesus Christ, Walter, have you lost your mind?"

"Word is Agent Scully's teetering on the brink of that right now, " Skinner said. He had tried to warn Scully. And it hadn't taken long for him to discover he'd been right. He thought he had taken precautions to protect her, but he knew he hadn't weeks ago when he discovered only blank videotape where he expected eight hours of color picture and sound, and blank paper where he expected signed documents from Justice. When Donaldson came to him with this idea, he should have refused to entertain it, much less allow Scully to agree to it. He'd been negligent.

He couldn't let her die for Donaldson's ambition as the men in his platoon had.

Donaldson straightened his clothes. "I don't know what you mean."

"I'm talking about one of my agents in trouble."

"Walter, I can't imagine what you're talking about." Donaldson took two or three steps back into the path. Walkers came by this way. People would see them.

"There was a riot at the prison. Scully's in isolation and she's nearly-" Skinner stumbled over his words."-she's nearly insane."

Donaldson looked horrified. "Are you sure?" Skinner thought the man might cry. "Are you sure?"

"Not for a few more days. But I'm not waiting to find out."

"I suggest you step back and take a deep breath."

"Get her out."

"Do you have any idea how much time, money and effort not to mention favors - went into this operation?" Donaldson said. "This is the best --I mean the best -- shot we have at stopping these women and perhaps preventing a murder."

"Not at the cost of Scully's life, " Skinner said.

Agent Scully was aware of the dangers, " Donaldson said.

"FBI agents have always been prepared to make the ultimate sacrif-"

"Don't wave the flag in my face."

"She knew the risks."

"Not all of them."

"But you did, right? You knew I was a-a double-headed snake."

Skinner said nothing. Donaldson forced a laugh. "Vietnam. Christ, you never get over it. I made a mistake. You think I wouldn't change it if I could, if I could bring those men back? I didn't know my source was VC.

How could I?"

"This is not about Vietnam, " Skinner said. "It's about Agent Scully."

"Walter, I'm surprised at you. Truly. You are showing a great deal of concern for someone who is merely a subordinate."

Skinner decided to let Donaldson think what he wanted.

"I've asked you before, now I'm telling you: call it off." He pointed to his chest and leaned in close to Donaldson. "You forget. I know the truth."

"Of what? You may think you know something, but you have no proof. I always knew you hated me, blamed me for that massacre, but this -- accusing me of- of what? No, wait. Revenge can't be the sole reason. No -- you were very close to this woman, weren't you? You and Agent Scully. I'm shocked, Walter.

Yes, shocked that you would lie for Miss Scully. Your career is in jeopardy- you could go to prison too."

"This isn't about jeopardizing the operation, is it? You have something else out there. Not that I wouldn't put it past you to sacrifice her life for your career. But it's something else too."

"I'm a man of facts. Here are two big ones: First, there is more than sufficient documented evidence to convict your Agent Scully of the crimes with which she was charged. Second, I did you a personal favor in engineering that plea bargain and sentence. Saved the bureau some face. I have a letter to you to that effect. My secretary typed it, my aide delivered it personally."

"You get her out or I will." Skinner said. His eyes shone dark and deep.

"Get her out? How?" Donaldson scoffed. "She's a convicted felo--"

Skinner took him by the throat and choked off the last part of the word. His expression didn't change the entire time he watched Donaldson turning red. For a moment, a split second, Skinner thought about what it would be like to keep on squeezing until Donaldson choked to death. In his mind that he saw himself in fatigues and Donaldson in an officer's uniform. This is how he had pictured it would be when he learned of Donaldson's role in the Vietnam ambush.

None of that would help Scully.

Donaldson fell on the path gasping for air. Skinner didn't move for a long time. He knew Donaldson was right. His word against his superior's - and all that evidence they had both manufactured against Scully. He still needed Henry Donaldson. He nudged Donaldson with his toe.

"You stupid sonovabitch, " Donaldson gasped out. He rubbed his throat.

"When this is over, she'll be out! With honors! With everything she wants! I knew, I knew you..didn't have the guts-to tough it out."

Walter Skinner turned and walked back down the path. He'd listened to all the lies he intended to from Henry Donaldson.

He couldn't talk to Mulder. Scully still needed a contact, a support system. He racked his brain for ways to open doors that Mulder could walk through on his own. He had one idea.

Scully's tape of the nightly meetings with Donaldson was blank.

His had been carefully erased and damaged, so much so that the FBI lab had no luck pulling anything off it. Maybe Mulder knew of someone with greater skill. He would make sure Mulder got the tape.

Donaldson wanted to yell "asshole" after Skinner, but couldn't find the breath or the nerve. He sat on the gravel pulling air in as fast as he could. Finally he threw a fistful of rocks in Skinner's direction.

He got to his feet and brushed away the pebbles embedded in his skin. Bad luck about Scully's mental state. However, if she didn't go crazy this operation was back on track. Obviously she'd been tested. If she survived they would accept her.

When this was all over Donaldson would have to do something about Skinner. That afternoon he told his secretary the marks on his neck came from a disagreement with AD Walter Skinner of the FBI and sloughed it off as a quick loss of temper soon forgotten. On his way home Donaldson dropped an anonymous note in the mail threatening his life if he didn't arrange to release Dana Scully. His secretary opened it the next morning, and he feigned shock before dismissing it.

Scully slept. Wrapped in her own arms she drifted in deep, dreamless, bottomless sleep. She would have gladly remained in this warm darkness forever - in a peaceful sea of blue, a navy black ocean broken only by people urging her to drink and shining lights in her eyes. At last she recognized one of the faces beyond the lights.

"Hmmmm." Her mouth felt like cotton. She lay flat on a rough mattress that smelled of mildew - or maybe something worse. Her eyes, soft and bewildered, fell on Dr. Otis in a question mark.

Clare slipped her hand under Scully's neck and helped raise her up to drink. The water ran cool on Scully's sore throat - it felt as though she'd been screaming for hours.

"Still feel like killing me?" Clare said.

Scully's eyebrows knitted together. She drank

again, recognizing two of the guards who stood poised behind the doctor on the balls of their feet.

"Look into the light." Clare examined Scully's pupils, noting they were now normal. She listened to her chest, checked her reflexes, took her blood pressure, and looked into her ears and throat. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Welcome back." Clare nodded to the two men behind her. "Yeah, it's okay."

Clare began unbuckling the straps.

"Okay from what?" Scully asked, afraid of the answer, but more afraid Clare

would change her mind about the restraining jacket. She was weak, a dull headache pounding like a drummer just behind her eyes. She had a stale taste in her mouth. Her muscles felt sore and crammed.

And she was filthy.

"You went crazy, Dr. Scully. No nice way to put it. You popped your cork. I kept you sedated and monitored you for the last 48 hours.

That took the edge off. Even so--" She whistled appreciatively.

The jacket slid off Scully's arms and shoulders to her relief. She jerked it off the rest of the way, putting the guards on alert, then rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms.

"Pretty safe to say you've got a nasty temper." Clare nodded to the guards to leave them alone. They seemed reluctant until Clare motioned them out again.

"I recall food all over the place and people screaming and -"

"Yeah, well, don't remember too much out loud until you talk to your lawyer. You're going to be formally charged with several counts of assault."

"Blood test?"

Dr. Otis frowned "I am sorry about that."

Scully rubbed her scalp. "No, I don't believe -- I didn't give you much choice. Did you find any... ah,mm-m, any results back?"

"What do you think I'll find?"

"White blood cells..I-" Scully paused only a beat. She remembered one extraordinary thing about her last round of tests. "Increased hormone level. My testosterone should be off the chart."

Dr. Otis looked shocked. "And Bernice's?"

"I'm guessing. Slightly elevated. Test her today or tomorrow and it's back to normal."

Clare made a note. "I'd better ask the lab for some hormone levels, then."

Scully leaned back against the wall and sighed.

"I've been trying to get you to help me with some mysterious cases I've had in the infirmary. You didn't seem interested. Are you now?" Scully asked nothing. She almost didn't care.

"This happen to you before?"

Scully looked away. She wanted Dr. Otis to leave her alone.

"What the hell is it?"

"I don't know, " Scully said. It came out a bit testier than she intended, though

not by much.

Clare thrust an official looking piece of paper into her hand. When Scully opened it, all she could comprehend was the seal of the Justice Department. She gave up trying to read and shoved the letter away in frustration. She looked at Clare Otis, moistened her lips and said, "Are the letters on this paper..are there typos in this?"

Clare glanced at the letter. "No more than usual. Why?"

"I can't read it." Scully rubbed her eyes. She drew her knees up, clashed her hands together and chewed on her knuckles.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?"

Scully forced herself to leave her eyes alone. She blinked several times. "No. Just a - it's nothing."

"You're not a very good liar. You don't sound like you've had a lot of practice at it, " Dr. Otis said with a sigh. "You'll be out of here soon, Dr. Scully. Back to the pod." Nothing registered so Clare went on. "You'll be in charge there."

Scully blew out her disbelief.

"You have a real chance to do some good, " Dr. Otis said.

"Why would you say that?" Scully said. "O-or even think it in the face of clear evidence to the contrary!"

"Oh, call it intuition, " Dr. Otis said.

Scully studied Dr. Otis. She looked embarrassed, as though she realized what a naove thing she had said. In her place Scully knew she would be thinking that no matter what her gut said, her intellect told her that she wasn't dealing with an FBI agent but a convicted thief and shakedown artist - a violent one.

"Or faith, Dr. Scully, call it the power of things unseen."

"You have power you never imagined.." Scully's knees dropped and she sat up, her mouth a small O of understanding.


"I-I don't believe violence is power, " Scully said. She heard the words fall into the air. She was remembering - something. "Violence changes nothing fundamental - I can't believe that's it."

"I couldn't agree more, " said Dr. Otis. But she was clearly puzzled.

"I want -- I need to speak with Agent Mulder."

"I'll bet you do." Clare shook her head. "You don't seem to grasp the significance of all this. That letter explains it. You're in isolation for two weeks. After that your privileges are restricted.

You can call your attorney once a week - that's it. No other visitors.

Sometime within the next few weeks you'll be taken back to federal court for arraignment on assault. We used to have arraignments here but so many lawyers objected we don't bother anymore. There'll be a trial and you'll have additional time to serve."

Scully absorbed the information without comment.

"Your mother's doing better. Much better, I'm told." Dr. Otis stood.

"I'll bet you'd like a shower. I'll okay it." Scully rose with her, slowly

and painfully. Scully tried once, then twice to say something, but she couldn't seem to force the words out. "You have to trust somebody, " Clare said, trying to be encouraging.

"Agent Mulder, " Scully said.

Clare shook her head sadly. "There has to be someone else."

"Not for me. Not now. Maybe never."

The doctor's jaw dropped in surprise. Clare seemed to think about it.



nodded. "I could call him. Talk to me."

Instinct. Intuition. Scully plunged ahead using the measured tones of one accustomed to ticking off such items. "I've experienced this two-three times. Escalating symptoms with each incident. Strong physical reaction followed by mild psychotic episodes. No drugs I could detect."




"That's often the case with an X - with the work I do-did."

Scully closed her eyes and swallowed against the headache and nausea she felt pushing against the blurriness of her mind.

Clare shook her head. "I find that hard to believe."

"A perfectly logical reaction." Scully couldn't look at Clare, and her disappointment sounded more like impatience. "Beyond that I can't won't - speculate."

Clare's shoulders fell. She had already planned to contact Agent Mulder before Dr. Scully went back to the pod. She just thought she might be able to have a better idea of the problem before she saw him. Without such information she could have to resort to what she considered a rather cruel method of insuring Agent Mulder's cooperation.

Chapter 11

Fox Mulder watched the videotape of the cafeteria fight and the isolation cell in silence. He knew Scully was segregated. Skinner had told him and he had secretly cheered her ingenuity. He had no idea how she'd accomplished it. Skinner had not told him that.

After a time he no longer felt Clare Otis' eyes on him, he only knew so much sorrow he couldn't move his arms or legs.

Scully's rage skewered him, pounded through him. His impotence mocked him. Scully. He turned away and stared at his "I Want to Believe" poster.

"Can I keep this tape?"

"Sure. I'm sorry, Agent Mulder. You understand now what the problem is." Dr. Otis said. She'd been watching his jaw clench and relax, clench and relax.

"I want-I need to see her."

"You can't. She's in isolation, then on restriction."

"I'm a federal officer and she's material to an on-going investion-"

Clare frowned. "Don't go there."

Mulder sprang up. "I don't think you understand.."

"I'm well aware of that. Agent Mulder. That's why I'm here. But I know this much: you try to pretend you're investigating a case with her help and her life will be a living hell when she gets out of isolation."

"That transparent?"

"It's a pretty good rule not to go to the well twice with the same bucket, " Clare said.

"Is she-?"

"She's better. She'd recover faster if she'd eat something. She has another week to serve in isolation then her lawyer can see her. Then she'll go for arraignment at the federal building - assault charges."

"Someone's poisoning her. Before her arrest, conviction, even now."

"Why-and who?"

"I don't know. But it has to do with the prison. Something going on there."


"Mind control, remote viewing -- a-a mind meld that enables women in your

prison to become one with specific targets who work in art galleries, banks and brokerage houses. Once they enter the mind of their targets they commit robberies and leave stolen goods for an accomplice to retrieve, " Mulder said in almost one breath.

Clare gaped. "You're not serious?"

"That's what Scully would say."

Clare gave Mulder a tentative smile then chuckled as though she knew all along he was teasing.

Mulder's answering smile was dazzling. "How can you help me, Dr. Otis?"

"I've had other three cases with symptoms like Dr. Scully's." Clare produced copies of the medical records. She started with Ann Millard.

His reaction surprised her. "Know her?"

"FBI. She died in the line of duty. A shooting. Ambushed while tracking down some drug dealers. How do you know her?"

"She died in our prison. Suicide. I pronounced her myself, " Clare said.

"She was undercover?"

"It would seem."

"What was she investigating?"

"I don't know, " he said.

"Somebody must know."

"Not necessarily."

Clare hummed. "You mean an FBI agent could work undercover and nobody in this building know anything about it?"

"Your tax dollars at work, " he said.

Clare expelled her frustration in a loud huff. "Dr. Scully too?"

"I suspect so. I wish I could prove it."

"Because if it is, it's a callous disregard for her personal safety and sanity."

Mulder couldn't look at her. He only saw Scully's rage playing against his


"This is way over my head."

"What else do you know?" Mulder said.

Now Clare grinned, "Your turn."

"I know you saved Scully's life by putting her in restraints and locking her in isolation, " Mulder said. He touched Clare's hand.

"I know it was a hard thing for you to do."

"I'm told all Dr. Scully does now is sit on the floor and stare at the wall. What did I save?" Clare patted his hand. "Here are other cases." She shoved copies of the files at Mulder. "Keep them."

"What do all these women have in common?" Mulder asked. "Besides the obvious - all Zelda Deschamps' cellmates."

"They were all extremely bright. All loners. No long term relationship to speak of - no children, husband, long-term lovers. From what I could discover they were all adrift, all passive aggressive. Seemed full of doubt about everything but their crimes. They felt justified." She paused and tried to think.

Mulder had spread the pages out on his desk and his head swiveled from one to the other.

"In my opinion, " Clare continued, "these women just didn't feel guilt or remorse. Not proud of what they did, exactly -- well, " she pointed to a photo, "all but her. This woman was a con artist who bragged she could get a mark to think anything she wanted. Now she can't hold a rational thought herself. I haven't had a chance to work with Dr. Scully much. Any of this fit her too?"

"Some." Saying more would violate whatever privacy Scully had left and Mulder wouldn't be the cause of that. "I've read Zelda's record - anything more you can tell me?"

"She's very quiet. Never the slightest trouble. Maintains she did not kill her husband - but if you believed that you'd have to believe we have an entire prison of innocents. Very self-contained. At peace. She does seem to like your former partner." Clare paused. "Off the record? I think she's the only inmate who doesn't belong in prison."

Mulder smiled. "That include Scully?"

"You saw the tape. She's a danger to herself and others right now.

She won't talk to me."

Mulder thought about that for a moment. "What about an African-American inmate named Bernice?"

Clare rubbed her hands together. "Ah! Dr. Scully bumped her off."

"Killed her!"

"No, no, no. Took her place. That's what the riot was about. Dr. Scully attacked her and dislocated her thumb, effectively taking over the leadership role of her pod or family group. Bernice's an amazing story. Bernice Johnson, now 34, is a graduate of the Wharton School of Business in Pennsylvania. Her father was a full professor of physics at MIT and her mother teaches romance languages there. Bernice speaks three languages fluently - or did. One of the brightest, most articulate women I've ever met. She was in an extremely abusive domestic situation at the time of her arrest. She and her latest lover were convicted of securities fraud three years ago. Big case - even attracted lawyers from the Attorney General's office."

Mulder sat up straight in his chair. "Go on, " he said.

"Well, you talk to Bernice now and you would swear she was born and raised on a Georgia plantation or-or someplace in the 'hood. We suspect she's running an illegal activity from the prison, but we can't catch her. She's vicious and violent -- completely different from anything I read about her at intake or in her early days. Prison is great, isn't it? Sure changed Bernice."

"She was Zelda's cell mate?"

"She was already an inmate when Zelda came, " Clare said. "They were together a long time-- about a year-- then Zelda applied for a new cell mate. Shortly after that Bernice became the mama-the pod leader."

"Scully's now the mother of a group of criminals?" The idea seemed to amuse Mulder.

"If she can control whatever this is inside her -and if she wants it.

That's the way it works, " Clare said.

Mulder leaned forward and clasped his hands together on his desk. "Dr. Otis, look in the encyclopedia under self-control and there's Scully."

"Then prison has already changed her, hasn't it? How nice. Our job is done."

"I don't believe it was the prison - it was happening before she was incarcerated."

"Which reminds me. Dr. Scully had me do some tests. Blood, urine- I even performed a spinal tap. I checked the hormone levels of various samples: one from the time of her initial injury in the shower and another after the, huh, that tape. And I gotta tell ya, Agent Mulder, outside a male in his prime I've never seen testosterone levels as high as Dr. Scully's. The most recent results: testosterone dropping, estrogen on the rise."

"Do another one."

"When?" she asked.

"Give it a few more days, " Mulder said.

"What am I looking for?"

"I don't know, " Mulder said. "But you'll see it."

"I like Dr. Scully. I wish I knew how to reach her."

"I say the same thing all the time."

"Last time I spoke with her, she asked why I still trusted her. I said something like, 'woman's intuition.' A light bulb seemed to go on. She said, ' You have power you never imagined.' She wasn't talking to me."

"Maybe she was." Something clicked in the back of Mulder's mind. "You are right to trust her."

Clare looked at him in disbelief, then a slight, small smile pulled at her lips.

"You think my judgment's clouded, " he said.

"That would strike me as normal."

"I trust her because time after time she's proven herself - in the field, in the lab, in the office. I would be dead many times over without her"

Mulder said. He could not allow himself to be angry in this defense of Scully. "She's an exemplary agent - you should check out her record."

"Perhaps I shall."

"I'll make it happen for you, " Mulder said. He waved a hand around the office. "This is the nut and kook department. Agent Scully is the voice of sanity and reason."

Clare Otis hoisted herself from the chair. "I don't have much control over what happens to her out of my clinic, Agent Mulder.

But I can require her to assist me during infirmary hours. That will offer her some protection - and perhaps give us time to find answers."

"I would appreciate it very much. I need to ask you one more favor.

Don't talk to Scully about this. Don't tell her anymore about what you know or discover or that we talked at all. I have a feeling the more she knows about this, the more danger she's in. Maybe you too."

"Based on?"

"Men's intuition."

Dr. Otis chuckled. "What shall I tell her?"

"Say -- just tell her you saw me. That's all, " he said.

"That's all?"

Mulder leaned his cheek on his hand. "Yeah."

Dumbfounded, she said, "May I be blunt? You and Dr. Scully...involved?"

He shook his head.

"Why the hell not, " Clare Otis said.

Mulder carried the videotape up to Walter Skinner's office. He had to wait a few minutes for Skinner's last meeting to end. And he waited a few minutes in front of Skinner's desk while he signed some papers.

When Skinner looked up, Mulder was respectful, businesslike and calm.

It worried Skinner.

"Scully's in isolation. No visitors, no calls. I can't get to her.

You can't get to her. Someone else can and did." Skinner chewed on his teeth for a moment and Mulder held the tape. "You should see this."

Skinner winced during the viewing of Dr. Otis' tape and that was the only thing that stopped Mulder from pulling his weapon and shooting Skinner right there in his own office.

When it ended Skinner ejected the tape, turned it over in his hand several times then said, "Do you have any other videotapes of Agent Scully in your possession?"

"Two, I think. One is blank -- the one Scully sent to mutual friends. Another arrived in the mail with no return address. Both are safe. Dr. Chuck Burks at the Advanced Digital Imaging Lab at the University of Maryland is coaxing some pictures and sound off those tapes. He says maybe, but he can't deliver yet. What's on them?"

"I can't help you, " Skinner said. "Agent Mulder, think of this as a bank robbery case. Don't think of it as anything but ghosts in a bank or a-an insurance company."

"Is this a game?"

Skinner pointed to the television. "Does that look like she's having fun!"

Mulder's jaw clenched. "Why am I in the dark?"

Skinner considered his next words. "I can only say that anything I tell you could endanger her further. And you are still vulnerable, Agent Mulder."

"Vulnerable? Is this about protecting me?"

Skinner shifted his weight to another foot. "You are a direct link to Agent Scully. You are her partner; you know her better than anyone else. People know who you are and can reach out to you anytime of the day or night."

"What people? How?"

But Mulder knew how.

"The case is a certified X-File, for what that's worth, " Skinner said.

"How do we get her out?" Mulder said.

"You already know. Solve the bank robbery, solve the X-File."

"Will I find Donaldson at the end of it?" Mulder said.

"I hope so, " Skinner said. "I certainly hope so."

Mulder thought a minute. "Chuck has the tape that was erased and Scully's was blank. So where is the original? If someone were to conceal tapes where would he or she put them?"

"Are you suggesting Agent Scully-"

"I'm asking your opinion on a hypothetical situation, sir, that's all."

Skinner's hands went to his hips. "You don't think Agent Scully or anyone else who might have done this would be foolish enough to keep the original."

"Nixon kept the White House tapes, " Mulder said. He saw Skinner remember something; it was clear as if he'd spoken the words. He rubbed his forehead, deep in thought, as he walked behind his desk to sit.

"Agent Mulder." Skinner studied the papers on his desk for a second. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about this situation."

"I'll be sure to tell Agent Scully, sir. If she can remember who you are - or who I am."

Intuition. Imagination. Power.

Scully spent the hours sitting in the floor of her cell staring at light patterns on the opposite wall. She still couldn't read. The quiet of the segregation area maddened her she wouldn't have believed such a thing possible a few days ago.

For the first day or two she had to be disciplined in her thinking to avoid blinding headaches that could make her curl up in a ball of pain or virulent nausea that kept her losing weight at an alarming rate.

It seemed safe to think about the human body - her body - and all the chemicals or hormones or electrical impulses that she knew governed its functions. She still couldn't recall all she once knew about the way hormones acted in concert to make human beings aware of their surroundings, able to deal with their environment, and bore on intellectual pursuits and creativity.

She made it a mental exercise to try to trace the science of thought in the human brain and to recall those theories, studies and research reports that dealt with the role of hormones in firing neurotransmitters in the human brain.

Gradually she was able to recall the role testosterone played in aggression, and estrogen's recently discovered impact on the ability of certain natural chemicals to bind on receptors and thus control learning patterns.

As the days passed she began to catalogue what she could remember on mind-reading - something she always regarded as a fairy tale until she met Gibson Praise.

From Gibson she knew certain genetic remnants, inactive DNA in most humans, could be "turned on" in some people to read minds. She presumed Gibson was born with this active remnant and that was how he won chess tournaments and his case demonstrated how all humans could be "mind readers" if this genetic remnant became active.

Was that part of what was happening to her?

It had to be another element in the instinct, intuition, and power conundrum. What she didn't know was how it all interacted.

"Look, Dr. Scully, you aren't eating and you aren't drinking much. I think the nausea has passed, " Dr. Otis told her. "You can't be afraid to test the waters here. If you don't do better, you're going need intravenous fluids."

The worst of the sickness passed. It may have been gone for some time, but she had been conditioned by experience to equate illness with certain reflections, and thus avoided them. Scully realized she wasn't just afraid to test food on her stomach. She also had been loathed to let herself think about dangerous things and the people who made them dangerous to her: Bernice, Zelda, and Mulder.

As one week became nearly two she began, reluctantly, to ponder those things and entertain theories that normally fell into Mulder's purview --- remote viewing where persons claimed they were able to project themselves into another place and see what was going on there, transcendental states that were semiconscious awakenings, altered consciousness that changed the way the brain perceived reality.

She could no longer consider the possibility any of this was drug-induced. It was obviously a natural phenomenon, using the body's own chemicals against the brain. None of it made sense to her.

Mulder, does it make sense to you, she asked the patches of light as they grew, then shrank against the walls and ceiling. Intuition. Imagination. Power.

How do those three things fit together, she asked him.

Mulder, how can apparently normal women transcend their bodies, fly around the world, and possess someone else's mind? That defies all the laws of nature, of science. She couldn't grasp a single piece of quantifiable evidence that would support the authenticity of that. Yet no one suggested these women were anything but flesh and bone. Laws of physics were like any other kind -- they could not be broken without penalty.

"Haven't we seen a number of cases where electrical energy or sudden chemical flashes caused ordinary people to do extraordinary things, " Mulder said.

"Lift cars off babies, run miles when they could barely walk? Adrenalin surges, yes."

"Then, Scully, if human beings are capable of doing such examples of super physical strength, how much of a leap is it to believe humans can do the same type thing with their minds?"

"Apples and oranges, Mulder. Projecting yourself into someone's mind isn't the same as breaking the broad jump record to avoid a car!"

"Both have to do with a chemical imbalance."

"I grant you that."

"Chemicals normal to all humans such as estrogen, testosterone, adrenaline?"

"All right."

"We've also seen that certain cultures and religious persons can attain higher mental states than most of us thorough prayer and meditation, " Mulder said. "We accept remote viewing as fact."

"In some circles it is accepted as fact. I still don't see your point in this broad leap."

"What if the heightened mental states and the chemical imbalances aligned, interacted?"

"And carried through air to different parts of the world-how?"

"Electricity? The freed spirits carried to a destination on currents of energy and directed or attracted to opposite chemicals or hormones in the host."

"It's not possible, Mulder."

"I'll bet if we could test one of these women before she possesses someone, the estrogen level would be astronomical. And somehow the electrical energy generated by that hormone would be attracted to the testosterone in the victim."

"Certainly there are chemical changes during transcendental states, but the type of hormonal imbalance you're suggesting is too extreme. An-and that's to say nothing of the electrical energy that would have to be generated. The person would spontaneously combust! Nothing to suggest this possibility has ever been seen or documented."

"It happened to you. People walking around in your mind, seeing what you think-"


"--and who you think about, knowing what you feel and who you feel it for, seeing what you see and-"

"Mulder, stop."

Bernice - and maybe Angela too - saw how you, a sworn officer of the law, a professed Catholic, a moral person, a woman of standards - murdered a man in cold blood."


"No what, Scully! They didn't see or you didn't kill Donnie Pfaster."

"Look, I don't regret it - you yourself said that in the final analysis I saved lives."

"Are we there yet - the final analysis? If you asked them, is that what those criminals would say, the ones who snuck a peek at your memories? Did they see beyond that big black door - or did they open door number two and just think you were crazy?"

"Door number two?"

"Where all the abduction memories are stored. The images of what happened then, the tests. You know, the aliens who helped themselves to your body as these women availed themselves of all your secrets."


"You wanted an open honest talk with me."

"About this case."

"An open and honest discussion about work, about anything that isn't really vital to our lives."

"This is vital to our lives - to my life, at least."

"You are my life, Scully."

"This is serious."

"You think I'm not serious? What have I ever done to make you believe I'm not serious about that?"

"We're partners."

"So that's it. Well, I hadn't really thought about it that way: Work as an agent of seduction."


"Courtship, then. Scully, I bring you demons as bouquets, ghosts as dreams to share. I introduce you to my alien relatives..."

She scoffed.

"I bring you all my monsters to slay."

Scully felt her heart quicken. "I must not do a very good job. I hear them chasing you in your sleep."

"Hmm-m. Maybe you should be there with me then."

"Mulder, you don't sound like yourself."

"You never think I'm right, but you have to admit here that I'm close. Maybe it's seduction -- does that mean love in the workplace is sexual harassment and in that context, am I the harasser or the harassee?"

"What are you talking about?" It came out as a moan that Scully could hear in the cell. "I need you to focus. Help me find a rational explanation."

"Not my job, Scully. Let's see-we work together - hmm-m, if work in this context can act as an agent of seduction that means we have an X-File."

"Of course it's an X-File! These women, this prison is unexplained paranormal phenomenon. It's what we do."

"That's what I do. Part of it anyway. What do you do apart from observing?"

"I'm involved. What do you think I'm doing here?"

"You are doing what you always do - evade. You can't even have an open honest discussion with me here."


"You're an observer in life. You won't participate - no, that's not the word. What do you contribute beyond trying desperately to avoid becoming engaged in anything you observe."

"I refuse to engage in personal attacks."

"See, I'm right. You refuse to engage."

"Could we stay on point? What do you know that can explain the present phenomenon? Any theories?"

"I think the work explains it, Scully. In that sense that brings us back to what we were discussing earlier. I suppose the work is the most important thing in our lives."

"Why are you talking like this, Mulder? I need you --"

"So maybe, in the final analysis, that's it. While they were poking around for your secrets, those women discovered how you feel."

"Nothing. They saw nothing of importance."

"Those women saw how you really feel. Tsk, you must have been mortified."


"Feeling, that most degrading fact of life. The ultimate X-File because feelings can't be touched, quantified, or controlled. Not really and not forever. You're afraid they saw how much you feel for me. Afraid someone will know you love me.

That would make you a clichi, wouldn't it? In love with your partner."

"I don't believe this."

"Come on, you're eatin' this up."

"You better eat this up, " said the guard. Her creased pants bent a little to look into Scully's eyes. "Come on. Snap outta this before the doctor hooks you up to a bag."

"I'll eat something later. Thank you, " Scully said.

The guard seemed reluctant to leave. "Okay then."

The cell door shut with a hollow clang, the bolt slammed into the lock, and she looked for Mulder against the wall.

"Okay, then. Think about it, Scully. Another example of a lifetime habit: taking older, more mature lovers whose body you accept because you don't really trust yourself and you want to follow someone else's lead. You don't think you are fast enough, smart enough, good enough!"

"You are out of line."

"Poor Tom, Jack, Daniel Waterson-"

"Mulder, I never said -"

"No, you never say anything, do you?"

"How do you know Daniel Waterson? I've never mentioned him."

"I trust you to go it alone. I think you're fast enough, smart enough, good enough. I just don't think you should have to. Why would you want to, Scully?"

"Mulder, " she whispered into the shadows. "Are you here? Now?"

The shadows turned black. Her dinner sat untouched on a tray near the door. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Scully pulled herself onto the bunk, exhausted. "Mulder, " she mumbled as she closed her eyes.

Prison of Innocents (12 )

This isn't right, Scully. Mulder's lips moved, but no sound came out. He nodded out the front car windshield in the direction of Henry Donaldson - at least it looked somewhat like Henry Donaldson - in the street in front of him. What's wrong with this picture, Scully?

Mulder had been thinking about the various permutations of mind-melding that he'd discovered and, like pieces of a round puzzle, tried pounding them into the square peg of Scully's situation. He wondered exactly where Donaldson fit. Mulder knew he was a big fat piece. A piece Scully might see if she were here.

"My head is going to explode, " Mulder said aloud, knowing he would never talk this way if Scully were really with him.

What did power, instinct, intuition and Scully especially Scully - have to do with the ability to become absorbed into another human's mind? He could sense her next to him, hear her exasperated sigh at his flights into the absurd.

He had been spending a lot of time reviewing his life with Scullyparticularly the time since he returned from survival training. He'd begun to remember things she said -- at the time he thought her words angry misjudgments brought on by the what they had thought were drugs.

Things like: "...surely this isn't some scheme concocted to prove a point about ghosts or goblins" and "the end result might be positive for the X-Files.." The words had seemed out of context and vastly out of character then. Mulder wondered if they were statements from her subconscious and as such more true than either of them realized.

The coffee in his hand sloshed over and burned his fingers. He hated this; he depended on her. Not just to figure out parts of the equation he couldn't see, but to make sure he didn't kill himself. For example, Scully would never let him drink the muddy brew in his hand. "That's lethal, " she would say. He expected her to reach for the cup, grimace, and say "So don't drink it. I'll take it if you don't want it."

Frohike slid into the passenger seat beside Mulder. Langly had just relieved him.

The Gunmen were certainly right about Henry Donaldson's sexual preference. It was all over the planet. What was he doing with a dog! Mulder watched Donaldson, now dressed as a transvestite, prance out of a pet store like the poodle on the end of the leash. He had been following Donaldson for about a week, spelled by the Gunmen. No one had slept much and Mulder had a cut over his eye from a pimp who took exception to "his lady" being tailed.

"Who are these pet store owners?" said Mulder.

"I thought you knew, " said Frohike, blowing across the coffee lid.

"I checked them out. Nothing to connect them to Donaldson. The man is retired Army -- that's the only possible connection, " Mulder said.

"They're nice next door neighbor types."

"Donaldson wasn't well liked in the Army first place, " Frohike offered.

He'd just burnt his tongue. "Army people don't usually like queens in drag in the second place."

"Whose next door neighbors are they, " the Scully in his head asked.


act as though they're taking care of Donaldson in drag."

"Anybody owe you a favor, " said Frohike. "He's too cautious. We need reinforcements."

"Maybe we can cut back on surveillance, " Mulder said. His eyes burned. His musings about Scully had given him a headache.

And an itch he could not scratch with Frohike in the car.

"Hate to do that. Got the makings of a best-seller here, " Frohike muttered.

Mulder forced himself to study the picture of the Assistant Attorney General Henry J. Donaldson strutting his stuff on the street in a tight sheath dress and heels, dragging a yipping white poodle. Goes to show you never know about some people, he thought. Three hours ago this man was a dignified, self-assured attorney presenting a complex case to an appellate court. Mulder shook his head. This guy - madam, he/she - has two or three sides to him.

And that was it. Mulder sat straight up, spilling coffee down his shirt. "How many women does Donaldson know? I mean, in his life. How many in his life!"

"Including clerks - dozens, " the Scully in his head said. "We can't check them all. Besides, even if we could how will we decide which one knows his alter ego?"

"What about his past?"

"What about his wife?" Scully said. "At the risk of repeating myself, who are these pet store owners?"

"We need reinforcements, " Mulder said.

Frohike threw up one hand. "Didn't I just say that?"

The two weeks in isolation cleared Scully's head just as Mulder suggested. First she hadn't been able to remember much.

Then, the day before a guard came to escort her to the main cell block she admitted to herself she remembered too much.

Her mind filled with images of Mulder in hot flashes of lust that became nearly orgasmic at times. She seemed to recall with vivid clarity every time he touched her. Recalling that kiss at the airport roused such waves of heat in her that she could only breathe in short, shallow pants. Mulder was extremely fortunate she was behind locked bars. She took a deep breath and expelled it, then had the decency to blush. Zelda would probably be able to guess why her cellmate's cheeks looked so rosy after two weeks confinement.

To Scully's dismay, Zelda greeted her return to the cell with cool civility. She rebuffed or deflected attempts at all but superficial conversation and left for the recreation area at the first opportunity. Scully opened her locker and immediately missed the picture of Zelda's son Scott that she had placed there. Zelda's message couldn't have been clearer. Scully pawed through Zelda's belongings, causing her collection of special sale postcards to scatter across the cell floor. Scully picked them up and studied them a moment. What a strange thing for Zelda to collect.

Zelda never said anything about them when Scully read them aloud.

And Bernice! With a pop Scully recalled hearing Bernice say she received

one too. Scully hurriedly put the cards in a neat stack on Zelda's shelf.

Task complete, she continued searching for the photo and found it in the first place she should have looked: Zelda's favorite "National Geographic" magazine. Her heart plummeted. She pressed the magazine against her chest and crawled into her bunk. She sat with her back against the wall, her legs drawn up.

What had changed, she wondered. After two weeks in isolation she was - as she had always been, really - still isolated. Even after mulling it over for 14 days Scully had not a single explanation about why she was here or how to escape. She was no longer befuddled or confused. Just scared and painfully aware that she could not meet the most minimal expectations of anyone. She was tired of carrying it all herself. Who would she allow to help: Mulder, Zelda, her mother? God?

Memories kept popping back to Scully like the burst of firecrackers.

Like the lustful ones of Mulder she almost wished she couldn't remember.

She didn't want to recall the look of disappointment on Zelda's face in the lunchroom. The violence she'd committed that day - the level of murderous rage she was able to sustain - overwhelmed her. She felt disgraced. She wanted to tell herself that in her right mind she could not, would never, do those things. The ghost of Donnie Pfaster mocked her denial.

Perhaps this prison was her penance for murder.

Perhaps this prison was her penance for allowing the viciousness of the acts she witnessed to find a place within her.

Perhaps this prison was not acknowledging what was before her all along.

She should have known she could not deny impact of the things she'd seen and heard merely by choosing to pretend they didn't bother her. She should have realized that keeping the worst of it locked inside would eventually wear down her humanity like droplets of water smoothed away mountains. No one notices and one day there is a valley instead of a hill. She had not noticed - or cared. Perhaps Mulder saw but he shielded her, keeping her from seeing the worst she had become. He called out the best in her and reflected it back to her because he loved her.

"Ahh." Shock made her suck in air. She didn't question it, nor for once, did she turn away from what she saw through open eyes. "Mulder, I'm sorry." Her knees slid down and she stared at the wall.

She saw the corners of his mouth pull back,the lines in his face crinkle, and his shrug. "You don't owe me, Scully."

"Not owe, " she said, stroking his face. His cheek felt warm and faintly moist as though he'd been crying. "Not an obligation."

"A pleasure?" Mulder suggested.

"Yes!" she said. "A gift and a pleasure. I'm not afraid of you."

"Not even a little?" She felt his kiss in her palm, on the throbbing vein under her wrist.

She grinned. "Maybe a little."

"A little fear is a healthy thing, " he said.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Not my forgiveness you need, " Mulder said.


"I'm not convinced there is a Higher Power, Scully, but if there is, I'm fairly sure you're not it, " Mulder chuckled.

"Shouldn't you leave the God thing to God?"

"Yeah, " Scully said with a smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Perhaps I will give it up." She heaved a great sigh of relief and released herself at last from the shackles of guilt and fear.

Now she must find the courage to return to full freedom, to Zelda's I AM and accept the forgiveness offered there, the final release she craved.

She was not -- had never been -- alone.

As Zelda had said.


"My God!" she breathed, knowing it was true, all of it.

The imagination and intuition she owned was the source of power.

Zelda had told her that truth from the first. How that power was generated wasn't as important as how it was used. Once she accepted that the rest was all so simple.

Zelda's face swam into focus.

And regarded her with mild curiosity. Scully couldn't seem to catch a good breath.

"Dana, " Zelda said, "uh, I was wondering -- can I have that magazine, please?"

"Would you like me to read?" Scully said at last.

"Thank you, no."

Scully scooted off the bunk, noting that Zelda backed away from her a step or two as she did so. "Let's see. We haven't been to Nepal." Scully held up the magazine and Scott's picture fluttered to the floor. The two women stared at each other.

Scully dropped her eyes and after a second's hesitation picked up the photo.

Zelda took the picture from her hand. "I'm sorry, " she said. "It-it isn't your fault. You aren't who I thought, that's all."

"I'm not who I thought either, " Scully said. "But I will be."

Zelda said nothing, but cocked her head and the hint of a smile stole across her lips.

"Can you help?"

Zelda shook her head.

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Can't." Zelda put her hands on the magazine. "You are not alone.

You have to believe that."

"I do, actually. For the first time." Scully surrendered the magazine. She went to the sink and patted cold water on her hot face.

When she finished, Zelda had disappeared.

Tears coursed down Scully's cheeks, unbidden and unnoticed until they dropped onto her shirt along with the water she had not bothered to dry from her face. She wiped them away with the heels of her hands and splashed more water on her face.

She suddenly needed people close. And noise.

She couldn't recall ever feeling it so strongly. Instead of being content to listen from a distance, she wanted voices nearby talking to each other, to her and laughter - lots of laughter. Content with solitary pursuits most of her life, she became frantic to see people playing games, watching television, dancing to music on the radio as some inmates did. She longed to have the pounding drums from the music in the rec room reverberate in her chest instead of the solitary beating of her heart.

She tucked a book under her arm as a prop and went into the recreation room. Still, when she walked through the open door of the recreation area she almost lost her nerve.

Conversation stopped.

The only sound came from the booming bass of a song four or five of the inmates had on the radio. Overhead the television played a soap opera. Scully searched for Zelda and found her lounging in a chair watching "Days of Our Lives".

Silence became a violin string quivering for a bow to strike it.

Scully swept the room slowly and all the women became engrossed in whatever they had been doing. Gradually the noise level picked up. In one corner of the area an argument broke out. The dancers turned up the volume. Scully's relief was almost tangible. She walked to a chair with a decent reading light.

As she made her way across the rec room it occurred to her that she had inadvertently headed for Bernice's chair again, for the green chair where Bernice sat every day to settle disputes between inmates, dispense advice, box ears, and dole out special privileges or cigarettes.

Now the empty chair drew her like a dangerous but forbidden treat.

Scully wondered if Bernice was in the recreation room yet. She didn't dare look around and it was too late to take another chair.

After a moment's hesitation Scully sat down, cleared her throat and opened the book. Her heart pounded.

She hoped this breech of protocol would not spark another incident.

She had seen that the woman could not only be verbally cruel, but physically

abusive with her so-called family. Whatever happened, Scully vowed she would not permit herself to respond in kind. She could not --or the person she believed herself to be might disappear forever.

She discovered she could read a few more words. Not that it mattered. She was only waiting, moving her finger under sentences for effect, listening to the sounds around her, and praying Bernice and her cell mate would let this go by. Over the top of her book she saw two pairs of feet, one planted firmly and the other shifting.

"Mama, Laquintia stole my comb and brush right outta my locker. My aunt sent me that new comb and brush last week, " said one of the women. Scully recognized the speaker, a convicted forger who whined all the time.

"Nahuh, na. That ain't so! I found it in the bathrooms, " Laquintia said.

Scully glanced up to make certain they were talking to her. Then she held out her hand.

Reluctantly the aggrieved party delivered the brush and comb. Scully studied them a moment. "Laquintia stole this. Looks like darker hair over lighter." She handed the set back to its owner. "Go wash both these things immediately. Lock up your locker from now on. There are thieves about. Laquintia.." she nodded at the tall, frightened woman in front of her, "didn't we go through this same thing a few weeks ago?"

Laquintia's eyes grew wide and she cringed, clearly expecting to be struck. "Na, please, I-I don't never get--"

"Sit here. On the floor. Beside me. Every time you come in here come right to this spot and sit. That way I can keep an eye on you, " Scully said. She didn't bother to see if Laquintia obeyed. It had suddenly dawned on her that no matter what else the women in the room appeared to be doing, everyone's attention focused on her. She cleared her throat again, adjusted her book, and bent her head into the pages. A half second later Laquintia sat down.

"Can you read, " Scully said without looking up.


Scully handed her the book. "Good. Read to me. My eyes hurt."

Laquintia found the place Scully pointed to. In a moment she said, "This thing? I gotta read this - I don't know half these words!"

"What you don't know, spell them to me, " Scully said. She folded her arms across her chest, leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She could barely feel her toes the blood that had rushed to her head must have come from her feet.

And maybe that's what she was sent here to do.

Redemption. An ancient word for the timeless, elusive reality that followed repentance. Scully felt the waters of salvation rush in, tiny rivulets of cold sweat down her neck and back, in her palms, on her forehead.

Scully searched for Bernice and located her sulking with Angela in the corner of the large room. Her brown eyes filled with resentment. When she realized Scully sought her, she turned away. The hostility remained in the slant of her shoulders and arch of her neck.

Laquintia stumbled over another word and tapped Scully's arm. "Spell it, " she said, then repeated the word until Laquintia pronounced it correctly. Laquinta faltered again and this time Scully not only pronounced it, but also explained what she could remember about the hypothalamus. Not much, actually. The young inmate tripped along and groped for words for an hour before Scully, patience exhausted, called a halt for the day.

"I gotta do this tomorrow, Mama?" asked her sullen prisoner.

"Scully. My name is Scully. I'm the mediator - temporarily.

But yes. You must do this tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. Perhaps you'll become proficient."

"You think that's right what it say in here about the hyper-something making us mean or nice?"

"To a large extent the hypothalamus determines our moods.

We govern our own behaviors, " Scully said. "That's one of the things that makes us different from animals. We are supposed to control our emotions."

Laquintia laid the book in Scully's lap. "That don't sound right to me. Feelin's is feelin's. You can't help that."

"You can govern what you do with them, " Scully said.

"I don't think that's good. You gotta let 'em out sometimes, " Laquintia mumbled.

"Some of them, " Scully said.

"Yeah, uh-huh." There was doubt mixed with a little sarcasm. Scully knew she was being challenged to account.

Scully tapped the spine of the book against her palm thoughtfully, then rose and walked across the rec room. A couple of the dancers tried to coax her into joining them. Two of the women engrossed in cards invited her to play. One made her laugh. A short skinny woman asked her advice about her husband.

A few women looking through some magazines glanced at her and smiled.

When it became clear where she was headed, the room stilled.

Bernice started out of room.


Bernice stopped but Scully had to speak to her back. "I apologize for striking you. That was unconscionable, " Scully said. She watched the book tap against her hand for an instant then looked up. "I have no excuse for my behavior, but I want to assure you it won't happen again."

The room became quiet as an empty church. Below, the noise of other recreation areas, shouts of other prisoners on other floors, and the clanging of metal doors punctuated the silence.

Bernice turned and studied Scully for a moment. One side of her mouth began to curl and her hands balled in fists.

Scully dropped her arms, but her shoulders and her gaze remained steady. Open. Vulnerable. Unafraid.

A cruel smile crawled over Bernice's face; her eyes hardened.

"I had me a fine lover - like yours. Took me a while to realize I had no friends, hardly anyone I spoke to at the office.

Who would understand? He wuz my only friend. He beat me 'til I wuz too scared to do anything but what he wanted. Made a big impression." She stood back, glanced at the surveillance camera, then focused on Scully. "Yur man don't beat you. Not with his fist. So how cum you mind him...be so scared you don't please him?"

Scully's lips parted -- but it was the only indication Bernice's words meant anything to her.

"He don't think of you now, " Bernice said flatly.

Deep in Scully, the barb hit.

"You know why men rule women in society?" Bernice's voice carried this time. "They are willing to be violent. Women have never been, yet we are capable of more violence than men. We gotta stop being afraid of our potential, and exercise it wisely."

Bernice leaned into Scully's face, her voice a husky, hollow noise that hissed through the rec room like a poisonous spray. "Don't tell me you don't know power. You've killed -- my sister."

"What kind of power is it that eats away at you piece by piece, " Scully said.

Bernice snorted in disbelief.

"Reducing human interaction to violence changes us into less than we were meant to be -- changes anyone into the basest of creatures, " said Scully.

"Look what it did to you." Zelda stood behind Scully's left shoulder.

"You taught her?" Bernice said.


Bernice turned her widening grin on Scully. It was black and ugly and her chuckle sounded like a threat. "This be a damn fool standin' here."

Scully didn't move.

Over Scully's head Bernice glimpsed the women in the rec room. Several gathered behind Scully. None of them turned away from Bernice's glower. More women moved up.

"It stops here, " Scully said.

The two women stared at each other. The brown eyes that had taken by force what Scully would never have given finally blinked.

"Fuck off, " Bernice said and strode out of the area.

Scully let the air ease out of her mouth. The tension in the room deflated the same way. Then she tucked the book under her arm and started back to the green chair - only this time one of the dancers insisted she get in their circle. When she demurred, another took her hand and they drew her in. Within a few minutes the dancers collected a crowd, persuaded others to join and even coerced Scully into trying some of the steps. The drums and bass guitar beat into her back, against her chest. The laughter and joking of the women around her lifted her. Like the others, she soon lost herself in the celebration, in the circle.

From across the room Zelda watched Scully's awkward participation - and ducked her head to hide a smile. She put the tips of her fingers against the top of her forehead, and bowing slightly from the waist toward the East, she recited a prayer from the book her mother sent her years ago: "And here meets the first circle which, from the beginning of time, O Lord, you did ordain to nourish and sustain Your handmaidens. From the power of the first circle ripples flow out and join others. And so is the Your universe kept in harmony."

Scully discovered Zelda still flipping through pages of "National Geographic". When she went to the sink to rinse out her mouth, she found Scott's picture jammed into a corner of the mirror. It was a start.

Scully slid into her bed and sat against the wall, spent and shaky.

She continued to sit there even after lights out, eyes open and her spirit reaching for the One she thought had abandoned her at the the prison gate -- if not miles before.

The morning bell startled Scully awake. She had no idea she even fallen asleep. The arms she thrust into sleeves felt heavy and awkward. Zelda said no more than "Excuse me, " when she wanted to use the sink. This morning the inmates lined up to march to breakfast and took a circuitous route to the cafeteria. Repairs to lights in the usual corridors gave each inmate another chance to cross the bridge-way in front of the huge window that allowed them to gaze at what lay beyond them.

"Sun's comin' up! Lookit!" shouted one inmate and a logjam developed on the bridge as prisoners pressed to see what they seldom had an opportunity to glimpse. From somewhere in the line behind Scully two inmates began to push and shove, swear and she heard a distinct slap as inmates jockeyed for a way to see.

Scully stepped out of line and glared at the women. She didn't know them, but she stared at them and soon the bumping and shoving stopped all down the line. A prison officer hurried up from the rear to restore order but there was nothing to do when she arrived.

"Get back, " she barked to Scully.

Scully obeyed at once. The female officer sized up the orderly group of prisoners and heaved a sigh of relief. She paced the bridge, going up and down the line of prisoners as they waited for the congestion ahead of them to ease. Finally the officer stopped beside Scully, inclined her head to catch Scully's eye and nod ever so slightly.

The sun burst over the hillside outside; Scully felt warmed.

By noon she was hot. Extremely. Her hands and face had turned red from the steam coming out of the machine used to press the blue prison shirts. Once Scully saw a shirt with her own prison number on the pocket come onto the machine and was tempted to leave the press down until the shirt ignited. It might have except for Laquintia's intervention.

"You needs a drink, Li' Mama, " she said through a plume of steam. "Me too." They stood at the water fountain drinking deeply until one of the guards meandered over and motioned for them to return to work.

After lunch and group therapy sessions, those in the laundry exchanged work details with those who had been mopping floors throughout the prison. So far Scully avoided being drawn into the therapy discussions; she thought it pointless. The young counselor was condescending and the inmates responded by being ridiculous. What Mulder could do here, Scully often imagined.

Her group spent the last session discussing community responsibility.

Scully had rolled her eyes. What did that therapist know of community? The only thing Scully could say for group sessions was that the meeting room was comfortable and the posters on the wall interesting. The only time it was at all worthwhile were the times the group met with Dr. Otis.

Once, after group, Clare had asked Scully to stay behind. "What would it take to get you to open up?"

"It's not you, " Scully said. "What I've seen has made me less willing to try again. What you've seen has only made you more determined."

"George - the director - calls it naiveti, " Dr. Otis had said. "When does naiveti become dangerous, Dr. Scully?"

She didn't know. Scully hadn't been naive in a long time.

Scully thought about naivete now. She hadn't been this exhausted in a long time. Mopping, sweeping, scrubbing walls was cooler work than operating the laundry press, but altogether more physical effort than Scully had expended in two weeks. Assigned to the cafeteria after her morning in the laundry, Scully watched the wet mop head spread across gray linoleum when she dropped it out of the bucket then expand or contract as she pushed or pulled with the handle. Ahead of her and behind her inmates performed the same monotonous ritual for most of the afternoon.

She didn't believe she had the energy to eat, to shower, or even sit in the rec room. The others sensed her mood and only Laquintia, sitting beside her , spoke. She read a few pages in the book Scully gave her, then gave up. Scully didn't prompt her to go on. Laquintia seemed content to sit.

Seeing the book closed, one of the inmates walked over as though to talk with Scully. Laquintia frowned and shook her head as if to say, "not now." Undaunted the inmate handed Scully a drink in a plastic bottle.

"I tell you what, you don't fatten up this prison gonna get a bad rep, " said the woman. "You look like this is Dachau."

She didn't look as though she'd missed many meals.

Scully tried to smile, but it was too much trouble.

"Yeah, well - could you do something about these walls? Is it not depressing as hell?" the obese woman said.

"I couldn't agree more, " Scully said. That sentence might be her last; she didn't think she could move her lips again.

"Why can't we paint a picture, a mural, or somethin' if we can't hang nothing."

"You know anyone who can paint a mural?" Scully asked, her interest piqued.

"Maybe, " said the woman.

"A mural of what?" Scully said. "For argument sake."

"Woods, a forest. Doesn't matter, " the woman said. "They won't let us. I asked."

"They won't permit it?" Scully sat up.

The woman shrugged. "I'm heading a detail to paint this whole area, starting day after tomorrow. I asked if I could put a mural on that wall and the sergeant said it has against the rules to deface property. He didn't look at my sketches. How does he know that's defacing?"

Scully held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. The woman put several sheets of paper in them.

"They're very nice, " she said. A few women gathered around.

Laquintia held them at arm's length, then grinned. "Yeah, they very nice."

"So how do we get these drawings on that wall, " Scully said. "Ideas?"

"We could use the paint we got, " said one woman.

"I used me some blue in the hall last month. And yeller last week. We gots mor' colors somewhere, " said another.

"Yep, I could mix colors. Won't be great but-" the artist said after some consideration.

"What about labor, " said Scully.

"I'll help, " said a woman lounging near the pinball machine. "I can draw a little. So can Mary over there."

"Say we even get it up, " said the artist. "What's to keep them from painting over it?"

"What do they want that we could give them in exchange for the mural, " Scully said.

"Peace and quiet, " said one inmate.

"Work faster, " said the artist with a grunt.

"Make 'em money, " said Laquintia. "So what we gonna do?"

"First we get it up, then we bargain, " said the forger, who, Scully noted, had dropped the whine for this occasion.

"Easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission?" said the artist.

"Something like that, " Scully said and wondered if Mulder would believe this if he heard it.

"What else, " said Laquintia. "Open up. Let's hear what ya thinkin'."

Half hour later Scully asked for a meeting with the sergeant of the watch and requested several women from her pod be transferred to the rec room paint detail. To her dismay it was Sgt. Anderson, one of the guards who had wrestled her from the cafeteria. He was hostile and reluctant to entertain any request from her, pod leader or not.

Scully decided to take a different tact other than the straight-forward appeal she'd planned. Instead, she explained that all the women on the list had experience painting and thus could work faster. And she told him the workers had run out of paint, submitting a list of the paints required for trim, walls, and ceiling.

The guard snatched the list from her hand and scrawled his initials on it. "Pod leader, " he said with disdain.

Chapter 13

Scully lay atop her sheet and blanket that night too hot and too tired to sleep. An unexplained restlessness filled her.

She had sense of growing urgency about this prison, Mulder, her real life. If she could just talk with him, Scully felt sure she would understand more.

Perhaps his pieces of this puzzle would fit hers.

There, as in everything else, they fit together. The hard experiences and their own abrasiveness had worn off their points, rounded their edges until now they fit together. Apart from Mulder she felt adrift, imperfect, wounded - as though large piece of flesh had been torn from her side. Now she felt more like herself.

A Dana Scully she recognized, but who had changed.

She didn't think all the change in her was healthy. Worst of all, she couldn't define for herself the nature of her alternation. Certainly she had never been one to use loopholes to achieve her goals or test the patience of authority. She believed in rules, regulations, the letter of the law.

She would ask Mulder: How had she changed? He would see, although it would displease her to hear him tick it off for her. Bereft of the counsel she'd come to rely on, she opened herself to the Infinite, praying as she had not been able to do since she was a child. Not even Mulder's grave illness, which altered her perceptions of reality, or her own had pushed her into the lap of God as this awareness of the changes in herself. Her prayer was simple, really: "Don't let me go."

When she blinked, she was still mortal. Still human. With a human yearning so potent it surprised her.

She closed her eyes but they popped open. Mulder's face projected against the bedsprings above. Compelling, bold images of Mulder, of being with him, on him, next to him pounded into her. She grabbed the mattress with both hands, saliva pouring into her mouth.


Scully stiffened.

Zelda slid off the top bunk and leaned on it to stare down at Scully. Finally she nodded to the opposite wall. "Let's sit over there, " she said. She pushed herself away from the bed, stretched, yawned, then plopped a folded blanket against the wall.

After a moment Scully followed.

"I didn't want to interrupt your prayers - I AM has missed you." Zelda hugged her knees. She waited until Scully took a similar pose beside her.

"I owe you an apology, " she said. "I said when you were empty enough I would fill you. That was arrogant and foolish of me. Only two of my many sins. You must fill yourself with -- but you know that. I can give you a little relief from what you're fighting now. It's the least I can do. Tomorrow, I swear. Tomorrow I will teach you what you need to know - to defend yourself, to do what you must."

Zelda offered her hand. Scully grasped it and they linked fingers for a moment. "I'm sorry, Dana. I was so busy wrestling my own demons I didn't take time to help you with yours. You almost slipped away.

I made that mistake with Ann and lost her."

"Ann Millard." The name fell out of Scully's mouth.

"Your friend from the academy, " Zelda said. She gave Scully a gentle poke in the ribs and a big grin. "See, I've known you from the first."

Scully licked her lips. Ann had been undercover here. With Zelda.

"Let's do this."


"Imagination - even a powerful one - can only take you so far. It is the spark. Then you have to trust your own intuition.

But - that's for tomorrow. Tonight let's go to Mulder before you burn up, " Zelda said and made her eyebrows go up and down in a suggestive leer.

"No, I don't want to-to invade him."

"You'll know everything you want to know."

"I know everything I need to, " she said.

Zelda slapped her knees. "I was wondering when you'd get around to that."

"He's too strong, anyway."

"You could do it. Bernice did. Did it to you too."

Scully rolled her head and fixed her eyes on a place where the ceiling met the wall. "She saw in him what was within her experience to see. In me she saw the fear and guilt that was hers too."

"You could do it, Dana. He would allow it. Still, a man as intuitive -- and needy -- as your partner, there could be another problem."

Scully already suspected what it might be. Panic clawed at her. For a moment they both listened to the noise of the prison bedding down for the night.

"I killed Michael, " Zelda said. "My husband. The crime for which I was convicted, " Scully said nothing, so she went on: "I loved him to distraction." Her laugh held no mirth. "That's a real good way to put it. Distraction. He distracted me from what I knew to be true. He still comes to me sometimes. Laughing, calling to me, touching me in ways that make me soar. Singing he has a terrific voice. We go to Brazil, Arizona, India."

She paused, then licked her upper lip and said, "Strange that I never feared I would disappear in him."


"Millions of women do. Subvert who they are and what they want for the sake of a man who can't wait to take it." Zelda looked at Scully and Scully squirmed. "To become nothing - to know, feel, and see nothing in and of yourself."


"You can look inside a man and become one in ways beyond the physical. But I always chose, as you do, not to violate Michael's trust and test the patience of Allah. Maybe if I had, I would have recognized Michael's weakness."

"Or maybe you would have become lost in him forever."

"Or that. A real possibility as things turned out, as easily as he could manipulate me." Zelda took a long breath before she began again. "He wanted to fly, you know, as I do as you will. This is not what I AM has given to men. I knew that! God chose to bless men with other gifts." Zelda's head dropped to her chest.

"What... other gift?"

Zelda popped up in surprise. "Why - us. The gift of women."

Scully laughed - it burst out of her in a gloriously clear gush -- and Zelda punched her in the ribs playfully. They giggled together, before falling into comfortable silence.

"But, in the end, you taught him."

Zelda regarded her from beneath her eyelashes. "I'm no angel."

"I didn't mean -"

"Because I loved him. I taught him. He was slow at first.

Then, it was -- incredible. Amazing.

Liberating. Until the day he never came back. I thought he was right behind me. I waited. I went after him, back into the mountains and the mountain guide shown in the "National Geographic" picture. I sat by his body for hours - days -- and waited."

"The authorities thought you killed him."

"They were right, " she said. "I lost Michael, our son, my freedom - for a time I even lost Abba. Big thing to misplace, huh? Because I didn't love Michael enough. When it mattered when I knew it mattered -- I didn't love him enough."

She leaned her head against the wall. "Maybe I was meant to serve only as a bad example." She grinned and tilted her head towards Scully with a deep groan. "I'm tired. I'm ready for this to end. I want Scott to be safe and have someone to love him.

You're tired. Your doubts press on you and your need is getting to be a physical pain - for both of us. Sleeping above you is like bedding down on a stove."

"It's, ah, the estrogen rush that follows each episode.

This one is lasting, um, a long time." Smiling, Scully lowered her head and studied her fingers.

"Yeah, well, I understand that. Just follow my lead as before -- and try, I mean try hard -- not to get carried away this time."

Zelda scooted around on her bottom to get in front of Scully.

"Is it difficult to learn this - mind manipulation?"

Scully asked. She tucked her hair behind her ears out of the way.

"Oh, no, " Zelda said cheerfully. "Not difficult to learn.

But very easy to forget."

Scully continued to stare at her hands.

Zelda said, "You want to see him, don't you?"

Scully's eyes shone in the security lights from the hallway. "Yes. But I want to talk with him more."

Mulder swore he wouldn't do this again, but here he was concentrating on the pencil stuck in the ceiling tile over his head. He knew it was going to fall. He willed it to fall. He waited for it to fall. He held out his hand in anticipation as he stared. It landed on his head the minute the janitor slammed the office door.


His feet came off the desk and hit the floor. He grabbed the pencil and put it behind his ear with an air of nonchalance.

"Still working. You can't clean in here yet, Amman."

The young janitor began dusting shelves in the office.

"I'm going soon." Mulder tried to find the pencil on his desk.

Amman pointed behind his own ear.

"Yeah, uh, thanks." Mulder jerked the pencil down, started to flip open his yellow legal pad of notes when it struck him that Amman, the Lebanese janitor charged with cleaning the FBI offices for the last year, had called him Mulder. He gave Amman closer scrutiny. Amman looked as he always had. Tall, muscular, dark, clear-eyed and sober. "Can you come back later?"

"Okey-dokey, " Amman said. He continued dusting and picked up the trashcan on the opposite side of the room.

Mulder looked at the papers on his desk again. Zelda Deschamps, serving 25-to-life for the 1996 murder of her husband, magna cum laude, scholarships, awards, master's degree then doctoral, yes,yes, yes. Mulder read on through her psychological profile - which he noted could easily have been his - the basic facts of her life: raised in a foster home after her grandmother died; dad died young and military mom killed in Vietnam; Worked with Greenpeace from 1985; jumped ship in Asia when the Japanese threatened to board the Greenpeace boat; no record until 1990. Something in this file should speak to him.

Something about Zelda Deschamps was worth putting Scully into a prison cell with her. It was right there - Mulder just couldn't see it.

He shoved that file aside and pulled down the pages with Henry Donaldson's profile on it. Something here might correlate.

Maybe he should go through it line by line. Something metal clanged. His head jerked up and Amman, still holding the trash can, smiled sheepishly.

Mulder stood up to gather the files together so he could go home -- then stopped. The last file Dr. Otis left him was Scully's. Her photograph was stapled to inside folder cover. He stared at it for a long time, rubbing his thumb over the bottom.

Without realizing what he did, Mulder sat down again, his eyes blurry but focused on the grainy black and white image of his partner. The edges of the photo ran together.

He became aware that Amman stood right behind him. The young man moved his hands just above both Mulder's shoulders, then down his arms. Momentarily paralyzed by shock, Mulder watched Amman put a hand on Mulder's chest. He could smell onions from janitor's dinner. His breath tickled Mulder's ear.

Mulder sprang to his feet, flustered. "Ah, look, Amman, you have the wrong idea here."

Amman appeared eager, expectant. He took the pencil from Mulder's desk, underlined something and looked up to see if Mulder understood.

He did not.

"I'm not-- you can't...I mean, I don't need your phone number. Look, ah, can-can you just go. Go." To his horror it appeared Amman might cry. "No offense, I'm just not-interested.

Really. Flattered though - " He pointed repeatedly to the photo of Scully. "Not interested, okay? Understand?"

"Okey-dokey, " Amman muttered. He picked up the waste can by Mulder's desk and closed the door behind him.

Mulder collapsed into the chair, released the breath he'd been holding into his cheeks and grinned. Scully would laugh at him - maybe he'd never tell her. "Mulder." He had never heard Amman say anything but okey-dokey.

Mulder always presumed he couldn't speak English. He looked at the marks Amman made on the files, then leapt out of the chair, flung open the door, and ran into the hall. Following a noise, he found the young janitor retching in the restroom.

"Sculleee!" Mulder shouted to the ceiling, the walls, the door. "Scullee!"

Amman looked at Mulder as though he were insane. Which, Mulder thought later, he might be.

The conspirators stood outside the freshly painted rec room and nodded to each other like players in a World War II spy movie. Using requisitioned paint, colors had been mixed and secreted around the rec room in small buckets collected from various work sites. The team of painters took positions along the wall and the women who would run interference congregated at the entrances of the rec room. The surveillance camera made a sweep and the preliminary work began on the wall.

The guard monitoring the surveillance cameras served by the rec area cameras made a habit of concentrating on the women and their movements, not the scene behind them. So he noticed nothing amiss for about half an hour. Then he sat up. The second pass confirmed it. He grabbed up the microphone and notified the third tier guards that prisoners had painted flowers and trees on the wall of the rec room.

So many prisoners clogged the entrances and were so slow in moving out of the way, the sergeant and the duty officer had to shout orders to clear a path. The two guards searched the women's expressions, demeanors and noted nothing but amusement.

One at a time they obeyed each order to back away. They seemed respectful - even happy. Sgt. Anderson glanced back at the officer with him in bewilderment.

When the last woman stepped aside the guards discovered a half completed mural of a woodland scene on the wall. Colorful.

Bright. The artists, brushes dripping, continued their fevered work until the sergeant yelled for them to stop and back off.

"Is there a problem?" said Scully.

"What the hell is this?" The sergeant's face colored red.

"This has to come down. Get some paint over that."

"Actually, sergeant, the paints and colors are from the approved list published by the prison, " Scully said. "The requisition list, signed by you, and the work detail names, also signed by you, are in order."

"It's against regulations, " the sergeant said into Scully's face.

Scully folded her arms and shifted her weight to one foot.

The other foot rocked back and forth on her heel. "Nothing in the regulations or specifications prohibits this. The regulations only state the paint and colors must be come from prison stock and approved by staff."

"It comes off."

"Are you saying you would rather cost the prison at least $500 in paint and labor than permit this mural to remain? I think these women have a great deal of talent, don't you, sergeant?"

The sergeant gave it some thought. He looked over the mural, walked up to it, and stood for a moment, tension playing up and down his neck.

"Let's go, " he muttered to the duty officer and they began to leave the rec area. The women let them pass unimpeded and began to cheer until the sergeant whirled around to Scully. "Pod leader, " he spat out. "What's needed here is some-some discipline..and responsibility. Not flowers and trees."

"It requires a great deal of discipline and creativity to achieve objectives within the limits of rules and regulations, " Scully said. "As all civilized people will attest."

"And you would know all about that, wouldn't you Special Agent Scully."

She said nothing and she didn't flinch.

Scully stood outside the barred doors of the clinic speaking through an intercom and camera to the guard sitting in a master control room. "I was told to report to the clinic for work detail." She saw a mop and bucket just inside the infirmary door and pretended not to care that it probably had her name or rather, her number, on it.

"Turn. Lemme see your number."

Scully shifted so the number on the top of her shirt pocket became visible to the camera. The man in the booth checked it against the one he'd been given. Seconds later he buzzed Scully through the first door. She waited until the door closed and the second set of barred doors slid open.

A feeling of homecoming swept over her as she surveyed the clinic: white sheets, charts, a computer, drug cabinets behind unbreakable glass, trays of instruments locked in cases. The smell of antiseptic and alcohol. Within her reach.

Dr. Otis beckoned to her. "I'm glad to see you. My feet hurt and I want to visit my grandchildren." To Scully's surprise Dr. Otis thrust a clipboard listing patients and their diagnosis into Scully's face. "Welcome to the clinic. Don't disappoint me, Dr. Scully."

"I'll do my best, " she said, hardly daring to believe she was free of the laundry, of the mop and pail.

Clare snorted. "Don't thank me yet. We get more patients through here than the average emergency room - it's a mercy the injuries and illnesses aren't usually as severe. Five a.m. sick call through 8 p.m. lights out. An hour for lunch and another for dinner in the mess - nothing if we're busy. Two hours afternoon break in the rec room when I can let you off. I want you up there too. You'll be the physician on call, but a guard will have to observe you anytime you're here without me.

Is that acceptable?"


Clare handed her a stethoscope and watched Scully finger it affectionately. Right then she decided it had been worth the knock down, drag out battle with administration to allow Dana Scully into the clinic.

The stethoscope triggered a memory for Scully. Her mother.

The night she went to visit her mother. It had seemed so real.

She could remember the feel of the metal and rubber of a stethoscope.

She could remember her mother's heartbeat. Irregular compared to the strong pounding of Mulder's heart under her hand, no, Amman's hand. Mulder had jumped away from her. She shook her head.

When it happened she knew it was real. She and Zelda laughed about it.

Now? It had to be an illusion, a trick, a dream.

Except for a dig about not being about to control Scully and teasing her about selecting a target that spoke little English, Zelda had been ecstatic last night. She had made a discovery. Scully had been only too glad to wait to hear it. The trip exhausted her.

But she did not feel sick, or angry. And she woke up in her bunk instead of curled up in the corner of the cell.

"Here's a lab coat - you'll have to roll the sleeves until we can order a small. These are all mine, " said Dr. Otis.

Scully slipped her arm in the sleeve. The starch and white of it was like a caress. She'd almost forgotten.

Her eyes flitted around the infirmary: the beds with pale green blankets, the desk covered in medical magazines and charts, the shiny rolling trays of cotton and bandages. She noticed the little things about each one. Amazing how she missed the ordinary items of life, the handy things most people take for granted: pencils with sharp points, paper, paper clips, tape.

"Anything else you need?"

"Do you have anything to stick pictures on the wall?"

"Not tape." Clare thought a moment, wandered to the desk and pulled out a sheet of gummy-stic. It looked and felt like thick yellow gum that had already been chewed. The packet lay next to Clare's set of keys to the drug and instrument cabinets.

"They won't let me use tape on the walls either. I use this.

Take it."

Scully slipped it in the pocket of her jeans. By tonight inmates could put up their own pictures and posters in the rec room. After tonight the rec would belong to the women who used it, not the institution that built it.

"Dr. Scully, you gotta put on some weight or you'll blow away, " Clare said. "Are you ready? Your first patient is--"

"Ah -- Dr. Otis. I was wondering if you... Have you had an opportunity-"

"I saw him."

Scully's eyebrow arched and waited.

"I saw him, Dr. Scully."

Scully played with the stethoscope then looped it around her neck. Either Dr. Otis didn't see Mulder or he didn't trust her enough to send word. In either case she couldn't trust Clare Otis. That was the message Scully received. "Where shall I begin?"

Clare pointed to a curtain. "There. Stay away from the instrument case, the drug cabinet and the computer. If you need something, I'll get it. In the beginning you'll be supervised closely, then -- we'll see."

Scully nodded and started off on her new duties. At least, she thought, she wasn't in the laundry anymore.

She was stronger, getting better every day. She would find a way to get to Mulder. No matter what Zelda said, the very idea of the mind meld did frighten her - the power of it was too great for a human being to own. She wasn't sure of the morality of using someone else's body without permission and knew it was ethically indefensible to leave them sick and defenseless. She wasn't sure she could or even wanted to fly.

Scully pulled back the first curtain and introduced herself to the inmate there. Judging from the apprehensive look, the woman already knew her.

Atty. Byron Waters couldn't remember feeling so nervous.

He'd received more complicated messages from more people than a nuclear engineer working on a government rocket. He'd adjusted his glasses a dozen times since entering the conference room in AtoZ prison. What he'd been asked to do - what he was going to do - would lead to his disbarment he felt certain.

While Byron Waters professed the radical faith, he rarely practiced it. He rose from the table when the door opened and his client stepped in. Waters became livid; Dana Scully wore handcuffs.

Restraints to a meeting with her attorney while in a secured facility. He started to protest but she shook her head and he contented himself for the moment with some loud huffing and puffing.

"I am an officer of the court. I understand you don't wish to make an issue of the handcuffs, but I can't let that go by." Waters popped open his briefcase. "I feel more like a messenger than an attorney, " he said. "Before we say anything else, remember I have to report anything illegal. That's not privileged."

"I don't anticipate anything illegal emerging from our conversations, " she said. "I don't suppose you have a cell phone?"

"Not permitted." Waters smiled his apology. "Well, uh, I do have some messages. Byers and cohorts send their regards - Frohike said something distinctly suggestive, which I will not repeat--"

Scully chuckled. "Nothing else? No letters?" She was disappointed and somewhat alarmed.

"Agent Mulder asked me to show you this. He said you'd understand."

She knew what it was even before he dangled her necklace in front of her. She held it across the ridge of her hand and caressed the gold cross between two fingers. "Thank you, Mr.

Waters, " she said in a soft voice. She couldn't take her eyes away from it.

It glittered with so much promise. She could tell Mulder had been wearing it; heat - salty, sweaty Mulder heat warmed her fingers where she touched it. Before she could stop herself she pressed the cross against her cheek. Chagrined now, she licked her lips and handed it back. Waters held it aloft for a moment, then slipped the necklace back into a plain white envelope.

She tried to fold her hands on top of the table, but it was awkward in handcuffs.

"Why are they so afraid of you, " Waters said. "I've read what they put in your record - they are all afraid."

"I think they were told to be, " Scully said. "I think this-" She indicated the handcuffs. "-is supposed to be more than a security measure."


Scully waved it off with a flick of one hand, a motion that meant her other hand had to follow. "Doesn't matter. It isn't effective anymore."

"Agent Mulder wanted me to ask if you remembered your badge number?" She recited it. "Your
Feedback: access name and code?" She nodded. "He said to ask if you knew that your cell mate's mother disappeared with a man named Donald-"

Scully stood up so fast her chair nearly fell backwards.

Startled, Waters jumped too. "I'm going to take that as a negative, " he said.

"Did Mulder say anything else about Zelda?"

Waters shook his head and they slowly sat back down.

"Then tell him Zelda has a dark-haired son, a four-yearold named Scott Deschamps. He's living in Maryland with a foster family named Turner. Tell him to tread lightly." She stopped.

"Tell him to tread very lightly. Scott is extremely important to Zelda.

He is her life. Make certain Mulder understands that."

"Zelda's son. Tread lightly. Very important. Okay." Waters thought about writing it down and actually took out his pen, then thought better of it.

"Anything else?" She fingers massaged her forehead. It was aggravating not be able to speak to Mulder directly and openly.

She swore she would never take that privilege for granted again.

Her palms sweated and her heart raced.

"He has somehow persuaded FBI agents from Dallas, Denver, Phoenix and Miami to join him working to clear you. He said their efforts have sparked a renewed conviction in him that ugly men do not make pretty women no matter how hard they try."

Waters said. "I have no idea what he's talking about."

"Nor do I."

"Oh, and he did say to expect some action soon, " Waters said. "He seems very anxious to get you out of here. He was most emphatic that I tell you he is - and I hope this does not refer to a weapon - he is gearing up the Midnight Special, " Waters said.

"It's a song, Mr. Waters. It refers to freedom from prison, " she said.

"Which may be difficult. And that brings me to the assault charges."

"When do I go to Washington?"

"Next Tuesday. For arraignment. Nobody's in a rush about this but Agent Mulder. So let's go over some things. I need to explain this to you, get your signature on some papers, and prepare a defense. I don't have much time, " Waters said. Anxiety burned in his belly.

"Mr. Waters, will you tell Agent Mulder - please tell him I'm fine, " she said.

Waters saw her face turn blood red and he wondered about the truth in the message she asked him to deliver.

Chapter 14

After two days in the infirmary Scully understood why Dr. Otis said her feet were killing her. Scully couldn't wait to prop them up.

She returned to the cell, lay on the bunk and elevated her feet. In all the work of administering shots, sutures, exams, weeding out malingers from those genuinely ill, Scully hadn't the time to reflect on Water's visit or last night's illusions.

Above her loud sigh of relief she heard snickering from the door of the cell. She raised her head to see Laquintia and a friend standing outside. Since inmates were not permitted to visit in each other's cells, they only leaned against the bars outside and peered in.

"Don't get up. That such a nice picture, " Laquintia said.

"You go to hell for lying, " Scully said and swung her legs off the bed.

"This fool can't read, " Laquintia said.

The woman folded her arms in defiance. "Can read a little."

"Did you sign up for the adult literacy program here?" Scully asked.

"It full."

"It is full, " Scully said. "Well. Have you always read 'a little' or did you once know how to read a lot and have now forgotten?"

"I ain't like you, Mama. I never knowed."

Scully bit back a correction and instead said, "Laquintia, if I can requisition books for you to use, you teach her. You read fairly well."

Laquintia grinned. "If she ain't too dumb, Scully."

"Shut up!" the woman said. She hung around a minute, then wandered down the row to speak to another inmate.

"Bernice still ain't happy, " said Laquintia.

"I'm sorry to hear it, " Scully said.

"She say you won't give none of us our splits."

Scully leaned against the bars and arched her eyebrows.

"When Bernice and Zelda goes to do a job, we all gits a cut. We got families live off that. Now you come and we wanna know if we still gits to keep part of the money?"

"I don't know of any thing in the works, " Scully said.

"Then how cum Bernice and Zelda got they cards already!"

"Nothing happens without me."

"Bernice say we got to all git ready to make sure you gets yur beauty sleep."

"Bernice, " said Scully with a touch of ice in her tone, "controls nothing. Not even herself."

Laquintia reiterated. "She ain't happy." Into Scully's disdain she added, "Jest so's you know."

"Laquintia, how do you get your money?"

"I dunno. It come like magic in my mamma's bank."

"Electronic transfer?"

Laquintia shrugged.

"Would you please find Zelda for me?" Scully's forehead crinkled in concentration. She walked slowly on aching feet to the sink, found a washcloth and rinsed it out.

As soon as Laquintia disappeared Scully picked up Zelda's cards on the shelf by the sink and rifled through them. The cards that purported to be advertisements dealt in everything from art to antiques to department store sales. Tuesday was the 12th.

The last card offered an odd 12 to 23 percent off. Obviously, the robbery must occur between the 12th and the 23rd. One card was antiques and art. The card before was a stock of white linen sale. Another told them to bank on bargains at Virgil's Department store. And before that a starving artist's getaway in Florida.

The names on the cards were strange-yet oddly familiar. It would come to her in a minute. She replaced the cards in order knowing there was something in them she had missed.

When Zelda came in, Scully said, "Beauty sleep?"

"Oh, yeah. I was going to explain tonight, " Zelda said. "I alluded to it earlier. Rather important for us not to be disturbed when we leave our physical bodies. Moving them, disturbing them too much could result in-"

"Not coming back, " Scully said. "How did you know I wouldn't try to wake you one night when you were off seeing the Bahamas or-or attending the Metropolitan Opera?"

"You were too confused - and since you don't get enough yourself, you value sleep too much to disturb someone else."

"When the authorities found Michael's body, they moved it, didn't they? That's why he couldn't find his way back."

"I begged them to leave him alone. Now he's buried, decayed -- lost."

"Except when he comes to you, " Scully said.

"Except then." She hopped up on her bunk in one jump and let her legs dangle off the edge. "As long as we're telling secrets, tell me how you plan to stop this."

"Stop what?"

"Our robbery of Lipscomb's Auction House. We have our window of time. We have the drop-off site. We'll get pictures of the men involved in a few days in department store sales catalogues, and - woo-wooo -- the ghosts strike again, " Zelda said.

"When were you planning to tell me?"

"When you couldn't stop it."

Scully scoffed. "Why should I even try?"

"Because that's what you will think you have to do."

"No, no, " Scully shook her head fiercely. "I don't believe that. I don't have any memory of-of an undercover operation. I have no memory of a deal, a plan - nothing."

"People have lots of things buried in their minds. Things they can't deal with. Things they're afraid of."

"I don't believe my purpose is to stop a robbery, " Scully said.

"I didn't say that's what you were sent to do. I said that's what you think you have to do."

Scully leaned against Zelda's bunk and chewed on her knuckle. "Why would I put myself in such a position? For a robbery conviction? I can't imagine."

"And you have a vivid imagination, " said Zelda. "What do you value?"

Scully still fumed.

"I do this because Bernice will have Scott murdered if I don't. I value his life above everything else."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why? What can you do about it?" Zelda laughed. "I only meant for this to be a one-time deal." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I had what I wanted - Scott's college money.

The next time the card came... but Bernice didn't want to quit.

It was powerful for her. She has friends, co-workers on the outside-"

Scully sagged onto her bunk and Zelda said, "What do you value most?

Until you can answer that, you won't know why you're here."

"Is-is it Bernice?"

Zelda laughed. "Oh no. But she likes it. It-it feeds her.

I took her with me that first time. She'd been learning to fly.

She was quite capable. It was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. She's very good and works at it all the time."

"But it changed her."

Zelda nodded. "She's been trying to teach Angela and, well, you saw for yourself how that's working out. I think Bernice's about to give up and--"

"Then who is it?"

"I don't know, " Zelda's answer was tentative.

Scully looked askance.

"I don't. Bernice and I get these postcards-"

"Even the first time with the-" Scully realized she had no idea where it had all started.

"The insurance company in upstate New York. It was so simple, so easy. I could even rationalize it. Who likes the blood-sucking insurance companies?" said Zelda. "It hardly bothered me at all. The first sin led to all the others: the theory of Original Sin demonstrated in modern, everyday life."

"A postcard?"

Zelda beamed. "Right. In code, of course." She leaned over, took several off the shelf, and handed them to Scully.

This time Scully saw it immediately. "Pig Latin!"

"The name of the target - and maybe some pertinent data about the target -- is always in pig-Latin, " Zelda said. "Looks like a misprint or, in some cases, just an odd name. The ranges of dates are the prices or sale discounts. A child could see it - I picked up on it the first time I saw one. My mother and I used to use pig-Latin at home when I was little when we didn't want my grandmother to know something. A game. Something between us two. I thought we were so clever. My mother's diary, her book, the last thing she touched, inscribed to me, written in pig Latin--our special language. Her last present to me."

"You believe your mother is involved?"

"My mother is dead. I just don't know how."

"Who would know about it, then?"

Zelda seemed to give the matter some thought. "I don't know. And I have considered the question more than once. I think now it must be Henry Donaldson."

Scully took a few thoughtful steps then said, "You know Henry Donaldson was with your mother when she died in Vietnam?"

"I discovered it last night. With Mulder. I might have learned more from Donaldson's file if you hadn't had your mind and that boy's hands - on something else! Last night is a perfect example of why mother said it was dangerous for two women to occupy the mind of a one man."

Scully was no mood to be teased. "You knew about Donaldson and your mother before."

"I never knew his name. The military never told me."

"Do you also know Henry Donaldson was instrumental in my incarceration?"

Zelda shook her head. "But I knew he prosecuted Bernice. He was on her case a long time."

"Donaldson, " Scully said. "He must be

the accomplice who picks up the proceeds from the robberies."

"Not necessarily. Once I was taking bonds to a drop-off site outside a brokerage house and I saw someone in the shadows there. I didn't think it was a man. Too small, short-"

"Another accomplice? A stranger? A homeless person?"

"Could have been anyone." Zelda shrugged. "Just an impression. I was a little busy -and in some else's body.

Frankly, I was more concerned that the body I was visiting could be in danger. Can't stay outside a mortal body very long or -"

Scully knew or what.

"Turns out that person did me a favor - started screaming and that warned me the police had arrived. The police might have shot me-the body, I mean. Can't hover very long. And you can't at all, Dana. Not for years."

"I just want to defend myself, " Scully said. "No more -- incidents."

"Well, you've got some exercises to toughen up. In a pinch you could fly - provided you could apply pressure points and he was a, well, suitable host. I wouldn't try anything - or anyone - ambitious just yet, " Zelda said. "Practice, Dana, practice. If you want to come with us, practice."

Scully stopped pacing and closed her eyes. "I-It's a terrible responsibility."

"You're still afraid of it."

"A healthy fear, " Scully said. "Mingled with a degree of disbelief."

Finally Zelda said, "There's something I haven't told you.

Something I've known for a long time. I should take a third on this next trip."

Horrified Scully said, "Me?"

"Sure can't be Angela. We could do the job with two, but that would put us -- and the men we've chosen to invade -- at risk. Bernice's solution is to kill the third guard. I can't do that. Come with us, Dana."

"No." But she felt a tug, a pull on her to agree.

Intuition. Aloud she said, "How is this going to help?"

Zelda shrugged. Her legs swung back and forth on the bunk.

"About the split?"

"Oh yeah. The families of the women in the pod - all 12 get some help from these robberies. Besides the college fund, Scott has a trust- so he won't be a financial burden to you."

Scully put her hands on Zelda's knees. "I would never consider your son a burden. You have my promise. I will keep him safe until you come for him."

"You can't give your heart to him if you believe I'll come and take him away, " Zelda said. "I won't come for him, Dana."

"Someday." Scully's hands gripped Zelda's knees.

"I said he was yours and that's what I meant. You have Yahweh's Hand on you. I could see it when they brought you in.

On the day you know I've told you the truth, remember your promise."

Scully began a thoughtful pacing of the cell. Zelda resumed swinging her legs back and forth and humming an absentminded tune. Then she glanced at the clock in the corridor and slipped off the bunk. "Oops. Time for my soap, " she said. "'Like sands through an hourglass'.."

Scully bit her knuckle, lost in thought. She was missing something. Something Mulder would see. Something that Mulder needed to know.

Gradually it dawned on Scully that what she wanted most, what she valued most -- was the one thing she shouldn't have: communication with Mulder.

"I'm beat, " Clare Otis said. She dropped a pen on her desk and rubbed her eyes. "What did we see, half the population today?"

Scully plopped down on a chair next to Dr. Otis. "We've got a possibly appendicitis -- and one tonsillitis I wouldn't send back to the population just yet."

"Did you give the tonsillitis an antibiotic?"

"She needs one, but I have to have the key to the medicine cabinet, " Scully said. She watched carefully as Clare logged off her computer, unplugged the mouse and put it in the desk drawer. Scully had been observing Clare Otis log on and off for several days and now she thought she had the passwords and codes memorized. "And you have to leave word that I'll have to give her another injection during early morning clinic."

"Okay. Here." Clare tossed her the medicine cabinet keys.

She watched as Scully unlocked the door, selected the medicine and stood back to allow Clare to see everything she was doing.

Clare seemed to appreciate that Scully honored the need for supervision and didn't make the situation too awkward.

Scully disappeared behind a curtain and presently emerged with a used syringe and empty vial in her hand. She tossed them away and peeled off her latex gloves to dispose in the biohazard waste bin where Clare could observe. Seeing everything was in order, Clare picked up her things and started to leave.

Scully waited until Clare cleared the first door before she called, "Dr. Otis. Your keys." She held them up.

Clare tossed her a key chain through the bars. "Lock them up in the desk drawer. I'm running late."

Scully unlocked the drawer and hastily dropped the keys into the drawer.

Before she closed it she ran her hand over the drawer lock, stuffing it with yellow gummy stic from her finger and preventing it from catching when she closed it. She walked the key chain to the doctor.

"Why aren't you tired?" Clare grunted as she accepted the keys through the bars. "Must be nice to be young."

"If it's alright, I'm going to check in on curtain four once more. I think she's more scared than sick, but--" Scully said.

"I'll leave word. Don't be too long, " Dr. Otis said. "Oh..

you won't be here tomorrow. You have to go to Washington." Clare groaned. "Amazing how quickly I got used to having you around.

See you in a few days. Good luck."

"Thank you, " Scully said.

It was a relatively simple matter to time the rotation of the infirmary cameras, unlock the desk drawer and access the computer. When the camera swept the area the guard only observed Scully next to the desk pouring over a chart. He could not see the mouse had been reattached and the monitor was on.

Scully logged on with Dr. Otis' passwords and numbers, then signed Into her
Feedback: account. Hurriedly she wrote to Mulder: "12th to 23rd.

Lipscomb's Auction House. Donaldson."

She had scarcely scrapped off the yellow gum from the lock and secured the desk drawer when the night officer strolled through the infirmary.

"Doc says you shouldn't stay late, " he said. His eyes roved the office, clearly showing his distrust of Scully and his belief that she shouldn't be here. "What are you doing?"

"Charts, " Scully said, swallowing hard. Her heart raced.

"I had to finish them. Who's checking on the patients tonight."

"I am. There's a problem, you'll be the first to know.

Let's go, " the officer said.

She hid the residue from the yellow gummy stic in her palm. Just before they left the infirmary the officer gave her a perfunctory frisk and let her go.

A disinterested guard in a sweat-soaked blue uniform helped Scully out of the prison van into the garage for the Washington jail. The stuffy burnt oil and trapped carbon monoxide smell reminded her of the FBI parking garage the morning Mulder left.

She'd been thinking about forests and wilderness training when she walked in to work that day. The day Skinner called her into his office and suspended her.

Her feet were chained together; her sore wrists and feet secured to her waist through a loop on her leather belt restrain. The belt around her waist was too tight and pressed under her diaphragm, making it necessary for her to take small, shallow breaths. Scully mentioned it once to an apparently deaf prison guard who was riding shotgun, then resigned herself to suffer in silence.

She paused after getting down from the van to straighten the ankle chain. Even so she would be ridiculous hobbling along. She did not dismiss this as procedure, instead understood it as part of the continuing attack on her spirit.

She recalled with dismay how well it had worked earlier.

Before taking that first awkward step she felt a wave of heat as though she stepped under a heating duct. Searching for the source she saw Mulder gazing down from the second floor observation room.

He was clenching his jaw, she could tell even from that distance. She stared at him a moment letting his open affection wash through her, wishing he wouldn't watch, then walked straight through the garage into the intake area. Before the door to the garage closed, she glanced up again; Mulder had vanished. She wondered if she ever really saw him or if the damn belt so constricted her oxygen she hallucinated.

Mulder, are you here? Now?

"This way, " said the guard behind her and nudged her to the left.

Scully's sudden look into the observation room sent Mulder ducking behind a pillar. He hadn't meant for her to see him, but he wanted to catch a glimpse of her. He wished he hadn't. It maddened him for her to be weighted down, chained like that.

Even worse, he felt tears of angry frustration rise in him that he could not burden her with. Her upturned face, searching the garage, then the room for him, looked the same. She seemed better. Mulder straightened his suit jacket and left for the second floor men's room.

Scully sat in first floor receiving for almost an hour, presenting the very picture of forbearance she did not feel. She watched the marshals, jailers, and sheriffs shuffle paper, process other prisoners, and drink coffee. She presumed she was waiting to be called to reception, to the room where inmates could have visitors.

The summons never came. She was almost relieved. It would be very difficult to speak to Mulder of mundane things right now.

She let her mind wander. Hers would be the first hearing on the docket the next morning. She would wear her own clothes. Silk blouse, stockings, heels. Amazing that such a thing could lift her spirits. Wearing the clothes of a free woman, the person she was inside, in her head. She decided to practice what Zelda had taught her and discovered her cellmate was right: it was hard to learn but easy to forget.

The conference room Scully had been led to by the court officer seemed out of the way. But it was large. Huge, in fact, compared to other lawyer/client cubbyholes she'd passed as a marshal led her down the hall.

The federal marshal left her alone to wander around the room for a moment, gaze out the large window cover with a heavy mesh screen, touch the old wooden chairs. The room had no pictures or posters; the only thing worth looking at was the intricate design in the oversized ornate heating vent in the wall overhead.

But, the room had been painted recently, Scully gave them points for that. Still, there was a musty odor that hung in the air. She walked around idly,listening to the rats scratching in the walls and vents, appreciating the feel of hose, heels, a skirt and blouse.

Comfortable, businesslike clothes that hung loosely on her but suited Scully, fit her mood.

Except for the handcuffs around her wrists she would almost imagine herself waiting to interview a suspect herself. She expected Byron Waters any moment and began reviewing the list of things she wanted him to relay to Mulder.

So it surprised her to find Henry J.Donaldson standing in the doorway with the marshal. His briefcase

dangled by one finger; he held nothing else in his hands. He regarded her as he would an old, trusted friend.

"There you are! What are you doing up here?" Donaldson turned to the marshal. "I have to speak with this prisoner alone."

"Sorry, Mr. Donaldson.." the marshal began.

"Don't worry, John. I'll take full responsibility."

Scully stood motionless.

"Thank you, John."

The marshal sighed and left the room with a glance back at Scully.

She waited until the door closed before she said, "You've made them all think I'm an axe-murderer."

"How do you know you're not?" Donaldson said.


He gave her a pleasant smile. "Please.." He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down.

She approached warily, but took the seat he offered. He leaned against the arm to regard her. "I understand you've had a bad time of it. I'm sorry. However, your service is of the highest caliber. Rest assured you, Agent Mulder and the X-Files will work unmolested, under the protection of the Attorney General's office from now on."

"Yes sir, " Scully said.

"So, I take it you've had some luck, then? What is the next target?"

Scully's face grew hard. "I'd like to know something."

Irritation flitted across Donaldson's face. "Certainly."

"What happened to Zelda Deschamp's mother?"

Donaldson grabbed her arm at the elbow and she felt his thumb pressing in on her. "Dana, that is not your errand, " he said. She felt the tension go out of her limbs. She relaxed, then caught just the merest hint of something - cruelty, panic, self-satisfaction, pity -- behind those green eyes. "Dana Scully, you have an errand to run."

She tried to push out of the chair. Her arms and legs refused to move. She closed her eyes and began the defensive exercise Zelda taught her, hoping she was not too late. The pull of his voice and her conditioned response dragged on her ability to focus.

"Open your eyes, Dana."

They fluttered without her consent. His voice came now from far away, wreathed in a bright, greenish light. He repeated her name over and over and she fought to keep from succumbing.

"I'll take your oral report, Agent Scully."

"Yes sir."

"I congratulate you on your success. The next target?"

She told him everything - time, date, place, people-- hearing the words come from a place deep within her mind. She concentrated on releasing the fear, the hate, the dread.

"Agent Scully, your mission is almost complete. Your service is appreciated. As before, you will not recall this conversation."

"Yes...sir." The words stumbled out of her mouth.

Scully fixed on Mulder. She visualized his face, the touch of his hand on her shoulder, the crinkles along his cheeks when he grinned. She remembered his habit of chewing sunflower seeds, his boyish grin, his 2 a.m. telephone calls that woke her from a sound sleep and propelled her out of her world and into his.

"Do you understand, Agent Scully?"


"You will wipe this all from your memory. Tell me you understand your instructions."

"I understand..."

She focused on her mother: the texture of her hair against Scully's face when they hugged; the laughter when wind whipped it out of her mouth in winter; her quiet resolve that brooked no disagreement; her sweeping devotion to her daughter. Scully would want to know what happened to her mother. She had to ask something. For her mother, no, Zelda's mother. For Zelda.

"Sgt. Amelia Peterson -- what happened to her?" The droning repetition of her name faltered. "Zelda is still searching."

Donaldson gave a horrified, high-pitched squeal and backed into the conference table. He doubled up as though stricken with severe abdominal pains and collapsed across the table, groaning.

He uttered a few moans of agony, fell into silence, then picked up a stammering chant of Scully's name again.

"No-" Scully's eyes closed, gray clouds in pillowing puffs closed again. From somewhere door hinges screamed.

"Are you alright?" Donaldson said as the marshal swung the door open.

Waters stormed in behind him, his face a bright red.

"What's going on here?" Waters said. "Just what the hell is going on?" He stared at Donaldson, then Scully. "You okay, Miss Scully?"

"She looks sick, " the marshal said.

Waters flung his arms out in exasperation. "I repeat what the hell is going on here? Why is this man even in the same room with my client?"

Donaldson waved his hand as if it were of no importance.

"She said - she said she had information for me that could be vital in stopping a planned robbery of a federal facility. On behalf of the prosecutor I came to offer a reduced sentence in return for this information. I-I realize I was out of line speaking to her without her attorney, but as she used to be law enforcement..."

"You bastard!" Scully breathed. Her nausea and headache nearly made it impossible to speak. She opened her eyes, fixed on a spot in the ceiling and began the mental gymnastics of thought and form that Zelda explained.

"I don't believe the government should oppose an insanity defense, Mr. Waters. I find your client seriously disturbed!"

"I think that's enough, Mr. Donaldson, " Waters said. "Your actions thus far are grounds for censure - or even disbarment."

"I'm not worried. But if you want to talk deal, let's talk."

"Let's, " said Scully, head swimming. "Vacate the plea. I want a trial on the original charges and an immediate bail hearing."

Even Waters regarded her as insane.

"Ah, Dana, " he began.

She stood, leaning on the table as close as she could get to him. She bore into his eyes with her own. "Let me go, Mr.

Donaldson. Now. Tonight, " she said.

A sheen of perspiration appeared on Donaldson's forehead and upper lip.

He swung his attention to Waters with a see-what-I-mean express on his face. "Down the hall for a moment, " Donaldson said. "I took a chance, a big chance that might cost me my job.

It-it, well, let me explain."

"Step outside, Mr. Donaldson. Let me make certain my client is okay."

Donaldson nodded to the marshal and they left.

Waters threw his briefcase on the table, snapped it open and pulled out a white handkerchief. He handed it to Scully and said, "In case you sneeze or need it for something else. This room is, well, it's drafty."

"Thank you, " she said.

"Can you stand alone?"

She nodded, her breathing coming easier now and without headache or nausea. She felt better.

"You'll need it if you stand near drafty vents, " Waters said. "I'll be right back - as soon as I deal with Mr. Donaldson and I want a full report on what he said to you."

Scully nodded, following his eyes as he stared at the heating vent in the far corner of the room.

"I think you'll want to read some of these motions before I file them. I'll be back in, oh, six minutes, " he said and swung his wrist up to check his watch.

She stared at the door after he closed it behind him. What had happened? Donaldson could do what Zelda did. That much was clear to her now. Her stomach rolled and her head rumbled.

Scully stumbled over to the heating vent and sat down under it. And Zelda or Zelda's mother's name caused a big reaction in Donaldson - had it or was that a dream? The marshal came back in to monitor her.

"You okay? You look real pale, " the marshal said. "You want a drink?"

She nodded and put the handkerchief to her nose and mouth.

The marshal handed her some water and that's when she heard the unmistakable thunk of the vent cover hitting the carpeted floor.

She poured water into the handkerchief, dropped the glass, grabbed a breath and pressed the wet cloth to her face.


The marshal drew his weapon and looked up as a gas canister and fell onto the carpet. It was the last thing the marshal saw before he collapsed.

Scully stood on a chair, dropped the handkerchief and made a jump for the lip of the vent. She caught the lower rim. Her hold slipped just as two familiar hands grabbed her. The cuffs pulled and tore at her wrists. The residue of the gas and bungled mind-meld left Scully disoriented; the world spun.

Lying on his belly, arms outstretched, Mulder hooked his foot around the corner of the shaft for leverage and yanked her into the vent. Once she was inside he unhooked a mask off his belt and shoved it toward her. She slapped it over her mouth and began to breathe sweet oxygen. Mulder's eyes came into focus.

She wanted to smile. He banged an elbow getting the handcuff keys out of his jumpsuit pocket.

Mulder inched backwards into the main line of the vent shaft and she followed. The strain of their locomotion against the metal made the vents echo a plong, blonge noise. After the first short branch, they made better time - it was downhill.

Scully crawled after him on her stomach, propelled by gravity and her elbows and knees.

Mulder turned another corner and she started after him, but he stopped her and indicated another branch. She nodded to show she understood. She could see wrinkles around the mouthpiece of his mask and understood he was smiling. She crawled away down the opposite shaft, flushed and breathing heavily. She didn't have far to go. The second vent cover she encountered had been loosened. She began to climb out.

"Agent Scully!"

Chapter 15

From the top of the stairs Mulder could see AD Skinner pacing outside the door of the courtroom where Scully's hearing was to be held.

"This is running late. Where have you been?" Skinner said.

"Bathroom, " Mulder said straightening his tie and jacket.


"It's cleaner."

Skinner detected an odor of dusty and mildew. He opened the courtroom door for Mulder and said, "You sure?"

The two men sat uncomfortably on the wooden benches for a long time. Skinner grew restless. Mulder was miles away. He would see her again today, talk with her, hear her voice. He sighed impatiently and appeared to scan the room in boredom. It was jam-packed. He glanced around, nudged Skinner and they scoped out the room together.

"What's this?" Skinner said.

"Obviously the news media believes she's going to be executed today."

Skinner adjusted his glasses and turned in his seat. "I accept responsibility for this, " he said to Mulder. "I want you to know that."

"If I know Scully she had something to say about it, " Mulder said.

"You do know Agent Scully and that's exactly why you are in the dark, " Skinner said.

Mulder rubbed his mouth; it spoke his impatience with that more clearly than words.

"It's a long story, " Skinner said.

"I'd like to hear it sometime, " Mulder said. "Soon."

Skinner stared at him and, after a moment, nodded slightly.

Mulder crossed his legs and tried to think of seeing Scully again. Soon.

Skinner shifted in his seat. "This is running late, " he said again.

Mulder studied the great seal over the bench with some interest.

Skinner got up and walked out the door of the courtroom.

Mulder sat quietly, no expression on his face, his hands resting in his lap. His feet, however, moved up and down on the balls and back on the heels. After a few moments Skinner hurried in, leaned down and whispered to Mulder, "She escaped. They're searching the building. They've searched her lawyer's car. The building is sealed."

Adrenaline rushed to Mulder's arms and legs, but he forced himself to be casual. "No need to stick around here, then, is there?"

Skinner grabbed Mulder's arm and fairly hissed, "They will shoot her. They are within their rights to shoot."

"I'm sure she thought of that, " Mulder said.

It took four hours for Mulder and Skinner to clear the building. Everyone and everything was subject to search. Mulder counted two dozen uniforms and an unknown number of agents. Both he and Skinner were questioned, although there could be no doubt they were both in the courtroom long before the escape.

Mulder drove home cautiously, very aware that he was being followed. A block from the court he pulled out his phone and punched in her number, hoping - no, knowing - he would hear her voice soon. He heard only a dozen rings.

Mulder slammed the phone shut, tossed it on the empty seat beside him and rubbed his mouth. Good thing traffic was light.

He waited for his chance, made an illegal left turn and headed for Scully's apartment.

No sign of her. He drove home. The Gunmen were waiting.

They looked like whipped dogs.

"She jumped out of the garbage truck somewhere along the way, " Langly said.

"You didn't see her, didn't notice?" he yelled. He didn't care that the three men in front of him seemed miserable enough. What if his instincts about this escape were wrong-he couldn't bear to think about it.

"She took the little duffel bag, " Frohike volunteered.

"I feel much better knowing she has clean underwear, " Mulder said.

"Agent Mulder, did it occur to you that Agent Scully might not be, exactly, prepared for this escape, " said Byers.

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"That the same physical and mental stresses of the mind meld she's been subjected to might have-" Byers didn't want to be the one to say it "- might have had a permanent effect."

Byers may have said it, but Mulder had clearly thought of it already.

Mulder's phone buzzed and he fumbled in his haste to answer. "Yes, he's here." He thrust the phone at Byers and listened to him say "yes, uh, huh, huh-huh, okay. Thanks."

When he handed the phone back Byers said, "That was Bryon Waters. He said Agent Scully seemed very distracted, ill, and a little hostile when he saw her last. He also said Henry Donaldson was alone with her when he came into the conference room."

"That's a violation of her civil rights, " said Frohike.

"He's the one who's been playing with Scully's head from the beginning, " Mulder said. "He laid the foundation and now he's building on it."

"Who knows what he's done to her. That is one seriously screwed up dude, " Langly said. "We may have put our foot in it this time."

Mulder stayed home three days never leaving the phone.

Call, Scully, he pleaded to her. Call, Dammit!

Three long, endless days of worry. Three days of telling inquisitive policemen and agents that he didn't know where she was. Three days of lying to her mother, reassuring her that Scully was safe. Three days of berating himself for arranging her escape. Three days of racking his brain for places she might go, then charging out to discover she hadn't shown.

Three longer nights. He slept - when he dozed - with his cell phone in his hand.

He was fixing coffee on the morning of the fourth day when he suddenly knew where to find her. He could have kicked himself for being an idiot -- and her for scaring him to death.

Scully unlocked the door, stepped into the apartment and knew she wasn't alone. She saw it at once - the overstuffed chair angled slightly wrong, a table lamp that seemed just a fraction of an inch too far to the right.

She began to back out of the door slowly, the grocery bag still in her arms.

"Don't make me run you down."

She froze.

Mulder appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He leaned onto the door frame, the muscles in his arms tensed from holding his weight and his jaw clenched tight.

The sun from the kitchen window shone at his back through his white shirt and his tie hung loosely around his neck in a noose.

Scully couldn't recall seeing him so furious.

"Come on in."

She shut the door and set the groceries down on the hall table along with the apartment key. He didn't move, but his eyes raking over her made her strangely self-conscious. She touched a stray end of her hair. She never liked her own hair color much, but now that it was covered with a black rinse she felt unnatural.

Mulder snorted. "This place stinks. The bureau couldn't do any better than hot and cold running rats?"

"Did you come to criticize the accommodations -- or take me back?"

His mouth went slack, then closed in a determined line.

Panic fused his arms and legs with the strength he didn't think he could have found otherwise. Mulder covered the distance between them in four or five quick strides. She stiffened, but refused to move. He wore an impassive expression until he stood within an inch of her. He stopped and leaned down as if confiding a secret.

"Scully, they've done something to you...and you-you aren't seeing things as they are...mentally.." His face was that of a tortured angel.

"I was, " she said, nodding. "You're right. I was...and you talked me through it."

Mulder knew they hadn't spoken in weeks. "This was a mistake.

You understand you could get killed. I made a mistake."

"Actually, I thought it demonstrated good insight." She needed him to see beyond his fears, beyond his wounded pride, and her deception. Of all the things she worried about, she most feared his need to protect her. She couldn't let him take her and she didn't know how to stop him.

"Please understand, " he said. He put his hand on her the way he would a suspect.

"Mulder, all those times you asked me to believe you, to follow you on nothing more than faith... You have every reason to doubt. I'm asking that same blind faith of you now."

Mulder wavered. He had come to take her, to hold her against her will if necessary, to make certain she wouldn't be hurt until he could straighten things out. He hadn't considered that she would be one step ahead of him. Again. Arrogance on his part.

"I'm fine, " she said evenly. "For the first time in a long time..."

He took a moment to study her. This Scully had a different lilt to her chin, a customary glint in her eyes that marked her as the hunter instead of the hunted. Her carriage was familiar; her hands steady again. He felt ashamed; he'd almost put her in restraints.

"I-it's the hair, " he said and dropped his hands. "Had me fooled."

The breath whooshed out of her mouth. "I think it's Frohike's fantasy color of the month, " she said. She sat down on the armchair, her knees suddenly weak. "I thought for a minute you weren't going to believe me."

He fought the urge to put his arms around her and draw her next to him. It made him appear fierce, almost angry.

"How did you find me?"

"It occurred to me to try the obvious. Our FBI undercover identities, safe house, " Mulder said.

"I knew you'd come to that eventually, " she said.

"You scared the hell out of me. Mind telling me what you're doing?"

"It was instinct. I took the chance you offered. I followed Langly through the maintenance room and crawled behind him down the garbage chute - and let me say that is an experience I don't want to repeat. I waited until the Gunmen stopped at what seemed like a great distance from the courthouse. It was relatively simple to-"

"I figured the rest, " Mulder said.

"I know it - all of it. Some of it is still unclear, but I thought talking with you might clear it up. The problem is, I can't prove any of it. It's too improbable to believe. The prison, the women and how they are used- the power, " Scully said. She knew she was talking too fast. "You were right. The robberies and prison are all related."

"I know, " he said.


"That was the only possible explanation for what happened to Andy Paige. And there was a case in Los Angeles - you didn't get to see that one. I interviewed the men convicted in the theft - two young night clerks who simply walked a $1.2 million watercolor out of an art gallery and left it in the alley behind a post office. They told basically the same story you and Andy do. Sickness. Violence. Memory loss."

"Who's doing this?" she asked.

"Don't you know?"

She appeared to concentrate. "I know Zelda and Bernice carry out the robberies. They assume the identity -- the person -- of guards, clerks or any man with easy access to the asset they wish to steal. They take what they want, then leave it outside for an accomplice to pick up, " Scully said. "The police don't search for other suspects since they have one or two right in front of them who are clearly guilty."

"Women do this to men--only men?"

"Not exclusively, but it's easier for women to enter the mind of men.


requires no physical contact, there is--"

Mulder couldn't resist. "Not much fun."

"Apparently the key to the success of what you call mind meld is interrupting brain patterns. Since estrogen release is a key factor in "fertilizing" the neutrons that fire-"

"So women get inside the head of men and take over. This is almost a clichi, Scully."

"Bernice bumped into you in the hallway outside the conference room after our first visit."

"That's right. I don't remember slipping-"

"And afterwards you were sick?"

He shrugged. "Bad burrito."

"Sad? Poetic? Sentimental, even weepy?"

"Bad burrito."

"Mulder, not every unsettling experience in life can be attributed to refried beans."

"Most things, " he said.

"Bernice saw things in you-"

"Those weren't my thoughts, Scully. I found just them there, " he said.

"You knew nothing to change their opinion of me as just another felon. Anyone who came to visit me was under suspicion.

Everyone at first." She hesitated. He could sense the pain she would not show him. "After.. afterwards --they weren't afraid of me."

"How did they get to you?" But he didn't really want to know and she obviously didn't want to tell him.

But she said, "Not just me. Several other women, including Ann Millard.

They must have trapped her and discovered she was there to expose them. They must have driven her to jump over the railing."

"Can they reach you now?"

"There are barriers, techniques to block intrusion. Mental self-defense if you will. Zelda taught me a few. Just in time, as it turned out. I've been trying to recall who..."

She'd lost him. His eyes bore into hers in an uncomfortable, penetrating

way. He was mad, yes, but she saw sorrow behind it all. "Mulder?"

It was startling because he said it as though he could barely stop himself from slamming his fist into a wall, "Why didn't you tell me where you were?" He threw up his hands and his voice became even louder and angrier. "No! Let me say it! You were protecting me."

His fury drew the heat from Scully. "I was protecting myself."


She didn't say anything at first. She spent a few moments examining her fingers as they ducked in and out of each other.

Finally, she said, "I needed to feel.. like myself."

Mulder knitted his eyebrows and his hands flew to his hips in impatience. "Which is how?"



"Mulder, this mind meld technique involves the stimulation of estrogen as a enhancer. Research in the late 1980s discovered that estrogen affects mental capacity, intellectual skills - and some researchers are following this path now in hopes of treating Alzheimer's.."

"You're smarter than me because you're a girl? And...?"

"My hypothesis is that in this mind-meld, stimulation of estrogen, ah, disrupts normal body processes and results in firing neurons, specifically those in the hypothalamus, that are not normally called upon. In women this is expressed in the body as testosterone. This creates a chemical imbalance of estrogenproducing neurons vis-`-vis the ones which produce or require testosterone. This imbalance is, thankfully, self-correcting over time through a surge of, ah, estrogen as well as - well, that explains why there is extreme violence or hostility in a female victim immediately after an intrusion and it explains the sickness, particularly in an unwilling host-"

"-or hostess-"

"-Or hostess. Such imbalances escalate with each incident and take longer to reverse. There is a surge of estrogen, which apparently activates..." She licked her upper lip and ventured a glance. "..certain other reactions as well."

Mulder's anger dribbled away. He stared at her in bewilderment and took a minute to process what she said.

He was being deliberately obtuse, Scully thought.

Gorgeous, sexy, and definitely, deliberately obtuse. She shifted her weight to her other foot and cleared her throat.

Finally he started a slow, sultry grin. "Are you trying to say this thing leaves you horny and you were afraid you'd force yourself on me?"

Her cheeks flamed and she made a visual circle of the room. "Something like that."

Mulder bit his lip to keep from laughing at her discomfort. He leaned down and whispered, "What makes you think you'd have to use force, Agent Scully?"

Scully gave a feeble, embarrassed chuckle.

He took her right elbow, noting a wince, and guided her to the couch. He sought a comfortable place amid the worn out cushions, finally gave up and just sat down. She perched on the edge beside him.

"It's all for a purpose, Mulder. Revenge. Greed, power, these out of body experiences that.."

"You say that like you're surprised."

"I said I owed you an apology."

He shrugged. "You were hardly in a position to make a rational judgment. Do you remember that Donaldson visited you a few days ago? What does he want from you?"

"I have a vague notion. My memory comes back in fits and starts."

"You know he is capable of mind-meld. That's what he has done to you."

"I can't recall hearing of a man who can do this. The only case I remember is Zelda's husband, who died as a result."

"Here's another interesting coincidence, " Mulder said.

"Henry J. Donaldson used to be head of the securities and fraud task force -- the one that arrested Bernice."

"Donaldson has a lot of connections to the two women involved in this, " Scully folded her arms in front of her. "I don't believe in coincidence."

Mulder chuckled. "You believe in Divine Intervention?"

A pop exploded in Scully's head. She saw

Donaldson bent over the conference room table, heard him chanting her name.

"He doesn't want me to remember! He doesn't want this charade to end yet." She hesitated. "I think I'm supposed to stop the next robbery."

Mulder seemed disappointed. "I wanted him to be the man behind all this -- or at least the accomplice. But he has no discernible motive - he's independently wealthy, has a prestigious job, nice family, good reputation -- somehow I don't think he's a criminal."

"I don't either, although I would actually pay money to make it true, " Scully said. "No, he wants the robberies to stop, to expose Zelda and Bernice."

Mulder's lips pursed. "Done. I got your
Feedback:. I presume you informed him of all the particulars too. So why aren't we popping beer and peanuts to celebrate your release?"

Now it was her turn to shrug. "I don't know."

"So this is an undercover operation?"

"Essentially. Yes -- I don't know."

"Don't know?"

Scully made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.

"I just feel this is my-my job. To stop it all. Whether Donaldson began it and I allowed it -- this is why I went to prison."

"A mission from God. All you need are sunglasses and a blue suit."

She glared at him.

"Say you're right. That would explain why you were convicted so fast and so easily. It's an X-File, so that explains why it came to you. And the ability of these women would even explain why your memory of any undercover operation was wiped clean by drugs or some hypnosis, " he said. "It would also tell us how that hypnosis worked --you cooperated. At least in the beginning."

"It's not hypnosis. It's the same sort of mental trickery Zelda uses, " she said.

"Maybe it started as hypnosis... or something like it to weaken your mental defenses. Gradually -- and without Skinner's knowledge Donaldson introduced the mild meld to erase your memory and impair your ability to defend yourself. He wants to keep you in that state."

"It makes a certain sense. With Skinner present, Donaldson is someone I might have trusted enough to-to submit. Ann Millard's murder would have

been a good motivation for that kind of action." She gasped.


next robbery needs three women. Three, although it could be done by two. How did he know the next target required three if he didn't pick it himself?" She thought about it. "Unless three was the number Zelda picked -- to include me, to reduce the danger."

"The danger to whom?"

Scully shrugged. "To her, Bernice...the men whose bodies they will take over." She pursed her lips. That sounded right. Zelda needed a third woman to control the third subject and keep Bernice from killing or maiming him to keep him quiet.

"There is another more serious problem, " Mulder said. And he looked as though it frightened him. "Think about this a minute, Scully.

It's such an elaborate ruse - falsified documents, signed reports, judicial manipulation. A tape of the arrangements, legal documents to free you, the 302 assignment sheets gone. Damaged or missing. It's too elaborate to justify as merely cementing your cover."

"Why so much?"

"He doesn't want you to come out of that prison at all at least not as a whole, credible person. And not for a long time."

Her eyes widened, " And maybe he doesn't want to merely expose Zelda and Bernice, he wants to silence them forever."

"With you a non-factor and the two perpetrators dead or gone, Donaldson has stopped the robberies, silenced the women, and eliminated any credible witnesses to this bizarre crime."

Mulder said.


"He has an axe to grind. Thanks to some faulty information from Donaldson, Skinner's platoon was wiped out."

"My God."

"But this scenario doesn't give us the whole picture."

"It leaves open the question of who concocts the robberies, selects targets, picks up the assets?" She shook her head.

"Maybe you know something he doesn't want exposed." Mulder leaned back against the couch. "It can't be something as simple as his aberrant lifestyle."

"Aberrant lifestyle?"

"Mr. Donaldson likes to transform himself into a woman and walk with a poodle up and down the street to attract men and whistles. Then he or she returns the poodle to a couple in a pet store and comes out as the Donaldson we know and love, " Mulder said.

"A poodle?" Scully laughed. "You're not serious."

"Well, I don't know what other kind of dog it would be. Looks like one."

She couldn't stop laughing. She sagged against the couch back next to him and they lounged there shoulder to shoulder. After a while he said, "Does that hair stuff wash out easily, because I'm in trouble here. I was

expecting a redhead and I'm having a problem relating to someone who-" he stumbled, "--isn't."

"I'm not really your partner, " she said. "I was. But as you can see, I've changed." She was uncomfortable with the game all of a sudden.

"I'm glad you're here, " he said. "Whoever you are."

She pushed herself off the couch and picked up the groceries she'd left by the door hours ago. Scully spent some time putting groceries away, examining the fruit and vegetables for bruises or signs the stay outside refrigeration damaged them.

She felt him walk into the kitchen and come up behind her. She closed her eyes against the heat of him so close. Her hand squeezed the orange it held and studied its tough skin.

"I promised myself that when I had the chance to speak to you openly and freely again without codes or disguises I would never take the privilege for granted." She placed the produce in the refrigerator and shut the door.

"What's stopping you?"

Scully glanced around the kitchen. She'd cleaned it-cleaned the whole apartment from top to bottom. Washed the linens, scoured the tub, burned the scented candle she purchased- all to avoid thinking of this very question. She couldn't say anything. She looked at him, mouth moving like a dying fish. Mulder, pull me out.

He opened his arms and she fell into them nearly groaning with relief.

"Why does this come so easily to you?" she asked against his chest.

"Maybe it's too irrational for you to consider."

"No, " she said, "for us, for as long as we've been good friends, it is the most natural, logical thing in the world."

He pushed her off his chest gently so she couldn't hear his heart break.

"You are my partner, my friend, " he said. "Both of us with many roles to play in each other's lives. Maybe some we haven't explored. Can we play cook now. I'm starved."

Mulder clearly had something in mind besides a vegetation dinner. He picked at his plate. But it had been so long since Scully had eaten fresh vegetables and fruits that weren't old or cooked to death she had wanted nothing else for the last four days. Mulder watched her eat.

She needed to. He passed her the butter. When she was almost finished he put down his fork and played with a piece of French bread.

"What I want to know is, why did you agree to do this, Scully?"

"Something I wanted."

"What do you want badly enough to go through hell to get, " Mulder said.

She put her fork down and swallowed hard. She even took a drink of wine before she said, "Zelda keeps asking me that. What is of value to me?"

"What do you tell her?" Mulder thought for a moment she might say it.

He willed her to say it. He wanted it so much his lips moved for her.

"The X-Files, " she said finally. "I think I value that most, what we do - what we do together. That we do it together."

A slice of bread, doubled over, paused half-way into Mulder's mouth and fell back onto his plate. She was getting there. Almost there. "I value that too. And I wouldn't want to miss anything." He picked up his plate and hers, then headed for the kitchen sink. She couldn't see, but he smiled. "You want the shower first, " he asked.

"Yes, thanks." She got up from the table slowly, thinking of what he'd said.

She undressed in the bathroom and turned on the spray. Frohike - she could see no one else behind this - had included some scented soap, a lavender votive candle, and her perfume in the small duffle bag she'd pulled out of the garbage with her. Only one change of clothes and underwear. But perfume, candles and soap. She washed the skirt and blouse and underwear she had just worn, draping them over a towel rack.

She sighed with fatigue then stepped into the shower.

"I wouldn't want to miss anything." Mulder's phrase resonated within her. She soaped her body. Had she missed something? She spit water out of her mouth and allowed more from the spray to fill it. What was she afraid she'd missed? Her hands, busy lathering shampoo in her hair, stopped in mid-task. The night he came back from training. She missed that -- she missed him.

Chapter 16

It should have been a huge moment: deciding at last what was of real value to her, what she truly feared losing. It should have been a surprising, illuminating, flash of light across her psyche.

Scully reviewed what she had told Mulder and realized actually the answer

was one of those no-brainers. Something she'd always known. One of those things investigators overlook because they are standing too close.

Or, in this case, not close enough. Not nearly close enough.

Mulder, who was outside the bathroom collecting a blanket from the bed for what promised to be nightmarish hours on the couch, heard her laugh. He knocked. "No having fun in there without me, " he called.

The water shut off. When she poked her head out she was only wearing a towel. "Can I borrow your tee shirt, " she said.

"Frohike forgot to pack anything to sleep in - I wasn't expecting overnight guests."

"Frohike?" Mulder said. "I packed for you."

She arched an eyebrow. "You picked this hair color?"

"I thought I would like it."

She ripped the shirt out of his hand with sneer, and closed the door. She reappeared a moment later wearing the tee-shirt. He fingered the tip of her wet hair, now more red than black.

"Looking more normal all the time, " he quipped. She gave him a quick smile and went into the living room. He permitted himself a fleeting look as she retreated, then cursed under his breath.

He hustled into the bathroom and climbed into a cold shower.

Scully noted the pillow and blanket on the couch. She sat down beside the pile and rubbed her lips together. Tomorrow or the day after she'd be back in prison, her ability -- her right -- to choose or decide anything stripped from her again. She hated to even think about it; it was stifling.

And she longed to be free. Free of everything that held her down, made her afraid.

Scully had been sitting on the side of the bed, but she sprang up when he emerged bare-chested from the bathroom. The pillow and blanket he'd carried into the couch now lay back in their rightful places on the bed. The one candle included in her duffel bag bravely shone in the dark

room--like her half-smile.

"Mulder, I don't mind sharing. There's no need for you to be uncomfortable

all night."

He grimaced and tried to grab for a pillow. "The last time we shared you demanded more than your half of the bed."

"I want to talk about that."

Now it was Mulder's turn to look embarrassed.

"Something you said reminded me. That night-" She had his rapt attention. "I thought-"

"I know what you thought."

"I don't think you do."

"If this is some kind of apology for the next morning, forget it.

You were confused, sick." Mulder busied himself getting a pillow.

"No, ah- not an apology. More a point of clarification." Scully sat down, picked at the patchwork pattern on the quilt and exhaled through her mouth. "I wasn't angry with you, Mulder.

I was angry with myself. I, ah, I thought I'd missed it." She heard a soft intake of breath. "I couldn't remember anything that happened. The way I felt-I knew--Well, I thought I'd forgotten."

Her lower lip trembled a little and she covered it with her hand, then tried for a casual smile, "And I would want to remember all about that."

Mulder looked undone. His knee cracked as he sat next to her. A satisfied, knowing smile slid into place. He picked up the hands clasped in her lap.

"Mulder?" Scully tilted her head slightly, suddenly suspicious that while

this may have all been a revelation for her, it was old news to him.

Mulder shook his head as though it didn't matter and a small chuckle escaped her.

At the moment he seemed content to merely drank in the sight of her.



he searched allowed him full entry to see all that she had discovered about

herself. He enclosed her hands in both of his and carried them to his lips.

And, at last, she unlocked her fingers and laid them against his face, caressing

his cheeks.

Mulder slipped his hands up her back to cup her head, draw her closer.



so small. She loomed so large in his mind he often forgot the reality.

Her hair

was still damp in places; the scent of shampoo wafted to him. Her skin quivered

and the tiny lines around her mouth twitched when he brushed her cheek and

jaw line

with his lips. He started to put his hands over her ears, then let them slip down

to her neck. He wanted her to have full use of every sense.

His lips barely moved against her ear, his breath scarcely touched her, but he heard a quick intake of air. He moved toward her mouth slowly, giving

her every opportunity to turn away, to say it was a mistake. But she only

waited. At last she closed her eyes, tilted her head and reached ever so


for him.

It was enough. He closed the gap between them gladly.

Their lips met and he almost groaned with pleasure. She deepened the kiss


her hands slid down his chest to his waist.

"Scully, " he said when he could. His voice had already grown thick and hoarse.

"Mmm-mm-m?" Her mouth was on his throat.

"Scully, I want my shirt back now."

They undressed each other hurriedly, but in the caring manner of old lovers, not

the reckless clawing of new ones. They were, after all, accustomed to each


bodies as best friends are. This eager gentleness that heightened the excitement of new discovery -- this was their reward for taking the trouble


become friends. Deeds and scars they could touch, and some they could only


recall, spoke of trust and devotion already given and received. What remained unexplained would soon be communicated in body language.

Mulder wanted to carefully examine every inch of her as if he had never seen her before, didn't know her moods or thoughts, didn't know her touch, her scent, her sighs, or her looks. He discovered his slightest contact with her skin drove her to gasps and moans that streaked to his core. He was hard in an instant. Her feather strokes on his face, his shoulders, his chest, his belly caused him to quiver with delight. Every inch of her body pressed against him became a rivulet of fire straight into his groin.

He sought and gained entry to her mouth again and again, mating tongues as twisted souls in that warm

place. His hands and mouth followed her contours up and down, traced her peaks and valleys -- her soft cries telling him each time his explorations delighted her.

Scully sought his pleasure, as she did most things, with a care to detail and for once he was not impatient with her methods. The hands that he'd seen rip

open a man's chest now tore into every part of his flesh with amazing tenderness. His hands, so large and clumsy next to hers, sprayed out across her stomach and back to touch as much of her skin as they could at once.

At first Scully's fingers traced his muscles, his bones, and silently named each, "Mine, mine, mine. God, mine."

She glided down his body with all her nerve endings firing.

Trailing kisses mingled with breathy gasps on his chest, his nipples, his stomach, Scully listened with her ears, her mouth, and her fingers to his body's responses. Her hunger fed on his but she had a moment, an instant really, to wonder if she'd be too tight, if a painful entry would be her reward for denying herself so long.

She didn't wonder long. Mulder's hands slipped down her body and cupped her. His fingers began exploring her center until she nearly begged for him. Perhaps she did.

He pushed her, stretched her, filled her, then set a pace that made her buck, dig her fingers into his shoulders, and call his name. Mulder thrust deeper and Scully parried until they reached a rhythm that pleased them both and brought them to screaming, simultaneous release.

They lay spent and still joined, grinning at each other.

Amazed -- they so seldom reached any conclusion at the same time.

Lying with most of his weight on his arms and elbows, Mulder nuzzled her, kissed her. He couldn't get enough of her taste, her skin under his touch. For all she fought this, for all her worrying and analyzing, for all her self-defense, her surrender had been graceful, her victory complete. He was at her mercy -- he wondered if she had any. He'd never seen it demonstrated. Scully moved with a small sound. Thinking she must be gasping for air, he started to withdraw from her.

"No." She entwined her fingers in his hair and dug into his shoulder to enforce her will. Her eyes remained glassy, her voice husky. "Stay." She kissed his throat, his chin, his ear.

Scully's hands caressed the familiar face over her, tracing the lines with her fingers. She concentrated on him: his cheeks curving under her thumb, the length of him, the sweat on his chest, the hair on his arms, the texture of his skin, the throaty rattle of his love words, his eyes taking her in as though she were a narcotic. Scully realized she knew this look, had seen it many times from him, but fear -- or caution blinded her and kept pushing him to the back of her mind.

Now it may too late for anything but this. She could not let herself forget this fullness, the feel of being together, the real power of mind and body. He kissed her again and she tasted him. She had to remember it all.

Most of all she had to remember how he made her feel this night.

"Don't memorize me, Scully, " he said. "It implies a certain lack of faith."

She closed her eyes, believing him, believing in what they were together.

Mulder eased out of her and onto a pillow. He leaned up enough to pull her into his embrace before sinking with a satisfied sigh into the mattress. She was too thin, he thought with a frown. He drew the sheet over them and she snuggled against him. He kissed her shoulder, soft and salty with the sweat of honest passion.

"Scully." His mantra. He breathed into her hair and watched the dry hairs ripple. His hand stroked her back. She doodled idly on his stomach with one finger.

Occasionally her lips pressed against his chest and he thought she licked him. He pulled her closer and let his eyes droop shut. "Gimme five minutes, " he said.

He could feel her mouth spread into a smile against him.


"Ten -- max."

Now she snickered.

One of Mulder's eyes popped open.

She would pay for that snicker. He began stroking her again, lightly at first along her back and buttocks with one finger, then two. Her cooling skin trembled under his touch. It was Mulder's turn to smile. He cupped one cheek and kissed the top of her ear.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Passing the time, " he said between nibbles.

She lifted her face up to him, eyes sparkling, and he captured her mouth with his. He sat up, forcing her over onto her back to allow his hands full access. He had her moist and moaning, writhing in his arms, after only a few minutes of tender ministrations with his mouth, his fingers.

He could do this to her; she allowed it, wanted it.

It was beautiful to watch her climb, resist, climax, and try to focus on his face again. He didn't wait until her breathing leveled off before he smiled at her wickedly.

"Ten minutes are up, " he said.

She pushed against his shoulder and looked alarmed. "We can't do this!"

"Sure we can."

"My lips are bruised." In truth, they were full, swollen, and red. Ripe. Still, she made a weak protest -- made less convincing by the hitch in her voice when his finger circled her left nipple.

And then he couldn't wait. He took her without finesse, from hungry need, from years of loneliness. She rose to echo him, to meet him as she always had -- stroke for stroke, measure for measure. Her eyes loomed large and wide in obvious surprise at her own nearly bottomless lust. Mulder held out as long as he could, until he felt her close, so close. Their bodies, slick with sweat, slapped together until she gasped, he cried out and they gave themselves to each other once again.

They collapsed on the mattress and pillows, panting, exhausted.

"Ahhh!" Scully yelped, swatting at her knee. She fell back onto the pillow.

"I was hoping for something a little different, but-"

Scully glanced at the peeling wallpaper and storage boxes.

"I couldn't be sure it was your hand and not a roach crawling up my leg."

"Must be a roach. I can't move any part of my body."

"We can't keep this up, Mulder. We'll kill each other."

"Sleepy?" He murmured. "Please say yes."

They slept, wrapped in a sheet and each other. Mulder woke first, roused by the shaft of light through the window and his own shaft. He moved just enough to get a clearer picture of her in daylight. His dreams come true: a naked Scully in his bed, his arms. He ran his fingertips down her bare arm. Soft. He tried his lips. Still tasted faintly of salt.


He looked over her shoulder and she turned wide-eyed into him. Slow smiles stole across their faces and Mulder knew they were thinking the same thing: real. This was real.

For no reason that he could imagine, Fox Mulder did something that he would not have believed possible - he fell even more deeply in love with her.

She grinned in a slow sultry way that gripped him anew. Her eyes already

grew smoky with arousal. Her hands dipped over her hip to his and began sinking lower and lower.

He leaned over to let her turn on her back, sank his lips on hers, his hand skimming one breast. She twisted her body with a small cry of urgency, and curled her fingers around him, thrilled by how quickly he responded to her.

"Tell me again why we put this off, " he said, burrowing his nose between her breasts and his clever, teasing fingers into her center. He suckled her, listening for an answer.

"Can't remember, " she said on a gasp. He felt her quiver.

"Don't wait for me, " he said. "I'll catch the next one."

She must have fallen asleep again after their early morning romp. Scully awoke with a contented tingle flickering across her skin. She stretched and grinned to the ceiling. She knew he was gone and where he was by the noise and the smell. Coffee. Bacon.

Bacon? She was suddenly very hungry.

She got up and wandered - staggered might be more accurate -- into the kitchen. She was sore and terribly satisfied. Mulder stopped frying bacon when he saw her. "I know. Cholesterol alone will kill you."

She hooked a piece already drying on a paper towel by the stove. "Gotta die from something, " she said and wrapped her lips around the strip. The bacon in the pan popped and sizzled.

"Who are you and where is Dana Scully? Never mind. I like you better."

"Do you?" She acted hurt.

Cooking fork in hand he leaned over, paused and, when she lifted her face, kissed her soundly. His bright eyes reflected what she felt. He returned to the stove, fork tapping up and down in his hand. Was it so different now than it had been yesterday? Her eyes wandered to Mulder's ass. She drew a long breath. All pretenses gone. Okay, it was different. She took the bacon between her teeth. Deliciously.

"Egg? As long as we're throwing caution to the winds, " he said. "Scrambled in butter or fried in bacon grease?"

"Oh God. Neither, " she muttered. "Whatever possessed you to cook like this?" She sat at the tiny kitchen table and her arm fell on the newspaper.

"'Southern Living' magazine. In my dentist's office."

"You haven't been to the dentist in two years."

"It was a very memorable article, " he said.

"You don't eat bacon? Where did all this stuff - eggs, bacon...where did it come from?"

"I'm carnivorous, Scully. Last night didn't do much for me."

She laughed.

"I meant dinner. I told the people at the store on the corner I wanted stuff for breakfast and this is what they handed me." Mulder heard the newspaper on the table rattle. "I don't think it's a good likeness, incidentally.".

"You wanted to see the paper, " she said, suddenly realizing why he really went to the corner market and why he was so distracted he bought bacon and eggs. "What are we going to do here, Mulder?"

"I've been thinking about that."

"When?" He caught the disbelief in her voice.

"I got up early - and stayed up."

"That's a physical impossibility." She yawned and rolled her eyes shyly up at him and realized her mouth was watering. And not for bacon or eggs. "What did you think of, then?"

"The robbery has to go forward, " he said. "As planned. I will be there with my partner from Dallas-"

"Partner?" she asked sharply.

"A local expression. My fellow survivalists from Dallas, Denver. And Skinner, " he said. "If it's not Donaldson, then maybe the accomplice will show up."

"Donaldson could be there. Legitimately. If it is him, he could claim a legitimate purpose for being on the scene, " she said.

"Doubtful, " said Mulder.

"He may even have FBI agents of his own."

"That would be Skinner's job - to make sure his agents are also ours, " Mulder said.

"I hate to be the voice of negativism, but your bacon is burning - and your plan does not prove anything."

She turned off the burner while Mulder moved the bacon off the flame. "I like burnt bacon, " he said.

"How fortuitous, " she said, helping herself to another piece already on the paper towel. "There seems to be some here."

"What is Donaldson's motive?" Mulder said. "This guy's hard to pin down. I mean, he's kind, generous, philanthropic on the one hand and mean-spirited, cruel, and dangerously ambitious on the other. Those would appear to be mutually exclusive characteristics. He seems to exhibit both male and female qualities-"

"As do we all, " she said.

"You don't stuff a sock in your pants and try to pick up women. Donaldson is a cross-dressing bi-sexual and maybe more, " Mulder said.

Scully hummed thoughtfully. "More? I really think that covers it." She felt light-headed, almost giddy.

"He seems to change his personality with his clothes."

Somehow, something about that sounded right to Scully. Very right. "Multiple personalities?"

"It fits, " Mulder said.

"Books and movies to the contrary, such a psychiatric condition is extremely rare, " Scully said." And if I remember correctly, having personalities of different sexes in the same person is almost unheard of."

"When this case is done I'm submit a proposal to 'The Journal of Psychiatric Research', " he said.

"So we've solved his personality disorder. When did you become so fascinated with publishing scholarly work, " she said.

"More important, who is his alter ego? Who influences him?

I interviewed his wife at your suggestion, " Mulder said. She arched an eyebrow. "Yes, ah, anyway.. she's an abused spouse if not physically then psychologically. There are several women in his life that he was a strong relationship with including mistress, but they all fit into that category. When he is a she, there is a couple who own the pet store and they find him-or her- a quiet, gentle, reflective soul. But the only real open-mouthed thing in the store are the dogs."

Scully moved to the kitchen table and stood over her picture in the bottom left corner of the newspaper.

"Mulder, we have to be realistic for a moment. We may not be able to find the proof we need to clear me of this set-up."

"With all our skills and ta--"

"I mean, Donaldson may have destroyed it."

"He hasn't, " Mulder said it viciously as though daring her to deny it. He put the smoking pan in the kitchen sink. "Why can't Zelda take over his mind the way he does yours?"

Scully thought a moment. "I don't know that she hasn't tried." Something popped. "She said her mother once told her it was dangerous for two women to occupy one man's mind."

"I think the truth of that has been demonstrated through the centuries, " Mulder said. Before Scully could stop him he drained bacon grease down the sink.

Parts of this conversation pricked at the back of Scully's mind. They were close; she could sense it. She knew first-hand that the wisdom of two women in the same man's mind couldn't be literally true. Then what was it about that statement that kept showing up with exclamation points behind it?

"I thought you said Zelda's mother disappeared when she was young. How would she remember what her mother told her?"

"Her mother kept a diary, " Scully said. Another pop went off in her head.

"Keep going."

"A diary and some papers in pi--in code." She refused to listen to his guffaws when she told him it was written in pig Latin.

"Amelia Peterson traveled with Donaldson on his last mission. He probably learned this mild-meld near the headwaters of the Mekong, with the monks he encountered. If they were monks..."

"Couldn't be monks, " Scully said absently. Her mind had jumped ahead.

"It's highly possible Amelia was with him, writing down her experiences and learning too. She would be a more apt pupil."

"Where is this diary?"

"Zelda said she had it as a 12-year-old, that the military delivered it to her with other papers in her mother's personal affects. Her grandmother is dead too - it would have to be in storage-or with a relative, " Scully said.

"Storage. Relative."

They were silent for a moment.

"She was arrested in Virginia, raised in Maryland - any ideas, Mulder?"

"Call the guys. Maryland? Who else in this case lived in Maryland...?"

He couldn't think. But it was someone important, he knew.

"So we recruit the Gunmen. Then?"

"Then we wait." He regarded her seriously, trying to look innocent.

"Stuck here in this boring apartment..Can you think of something we could


to pass the time?"

"Let's go, " Scully said, reading over his shoulder.

"Berkin's Moving and Storage, Bethesda, Md."

"Where are you going?" he asked, closing up the cell phone.

"With you."


"After five days cooped up in this apartment I would almost rather be in prison."

He pretended to be wounded. "I thought I was being very entertaining."

"I know what we're looking for, " she said.

He examined her hair. The red had begun to show, but it was distinctly darker than her natural shade. And curlier. Much.

"You need a disguise, " he said. "Some glasses."

"I will not wear glasses with a fake nose and mustache, " she said. "Put that out of your mind."

Mulder looked extremely disappointed. He had to hurry to avoid being left behind. He pulled the car around while she hung in the shadows of the building entrance, then she jumped inside.

When he gunned the car engine and she said, "Just obey the traffic laws and we'll be fine."

"This could work, " Mulder said as he pulled into traffic.

"Who would believe we'd be brazen enough to drive around in broad daylight like real FBI agents?"

"Criminals do stupid things all the time-- that's how we catch them, " she said.

"We are not criminals, " he said. "Do I detect more negativism?"

"That may be putting it too strongly, " she said.

He stole a quick look at her profile -- something he'd done a hundred times before. Her cheek rested on her hand thoughtfully, though it was also an effective pose to screen her face from view. He'd never seen her do that before, or at least, not often.

She lifted her face to him, smiled and covered his hand that lay on the seat. "I was thinking of Zelda. She's an extraordinary person, Mulder. I wish you knew her. Did you find her son?"

"His foster parents seem okay. More foster kids than they can handle, it seems to me. They are his third family, by the way. Skinner checked them out and they are beyond reproach, " Mulder said. "But Scott's under surveillance. Skinner owes you that."

"Bernice has friends - they're the ones who are threatening Scott.

Bernice likes to fly, " Scully said.


"That's what Zelda calls it. She says to fly you have to give up something."


"And memory. And your privacy, " Scully said. "Part of your humanity."

Mulder whistled. "Expensive."


They drove for almost an hour. Mulder respected her need for silence; she appeared intrigued by everything she saw out the window. Then he realized what she was doing: memorizing it. Something to pull out and cherish should she find herself behind bars again.

Chapter 17

"There it is. Berkin's, " Mulder said.

"I know this is a foolish question, but do you happen to have a search warrant?" Scully said.

"Don't need one. I brought Zelda Deschamps with me, " she opened the car door and got out. "Lucky."

The middle-aged man at the climate controlled storage facility could not have cared less about the identity or intent of the two people in front of him. He sized them up at once as reputable folk who didn't require his scrutiny. He made Scully sign a receipt, gave them a key and went back to the televised baseball game. As they left the office the television hawked a new beer and promised the latest news to those who stayed tuned after the game.

"Why is everyone fascinated with the Braves?" Mulder complained.

"America's team, huh! The Yankees are--"

"Here's the unit, " she said.

They rolled up the storage unit door.

"Climate-controlled?" said Scully. "What climate? Surface of Mars?"

She took off her suit jacket and pushed up her sleeves.

Mulder, who had just flipped on the light, noted chafe marks around her wrists and the heat he felt had nothing to do with the temperature inside

the storage.

"Look, " said Scully, her head already buried in the first cardboard box.

"Pictures of Zelda - pregnant, with Scott, with-her grandmother I suppose."

Mulder took the photos and studied Zelda's face. Open, honest, grinning.

She resembled the elderly woman with her in another picture. The photo of the elderly woman, Zelda and the young boy clearly showed they were related. Mulder wondered about the woman who should be standing between Zelda and her grandmother. He wondered how strongly Amelia Peterson looked like her mother and daughter. Mulder slipped the photo into his suit pocket and removed the jacket.

They didn't stumble upon the stack of 'National Geographic' magazines for

almost an hour. Scully dug through them at once and found a weathered green leather-bound notebook wedged between the July, 1973 and the August, 1973 issues.

The spine cracked and complained when she opened it and read the first page: "'To Zelda, my sweetie. I ovelya ouyya. Ebya arefulcya hatwha ouyya earnlya erehya. Ebya eryvya arefulcya.' I love you. Be careful what

you learn here. Be very careful.'"

Pig Latin? That's the code!" said Mulder. He started to snicker.

Scully slammed the book closed. "We've been here too long already."

"Pig Latin, Scully?" he asked as they pulled the storage door down and climbed into the car.

"It's the special language of a mother and daughter. Why would Amelia send this to a 12-year-old girl who missed her so desperately?" Scully said.

"She didn't, " Mulder said as they turned out of the parking lot.

"Donaldson dragged it out of the jungle with him and must have forgotten it was among Sgt. Peterson's possessions. The Army sent it to Zelda with other personal items that belonged to her mother."

"You really believe Donaldson forgot about this book?" Scully began to scan it.

"It may not have been important to him at the time or he may not have realized it existed, " Mulder said. He turned the corner, noting in his rear view mirror that a dozen police cars had just pulled into the storage company parking lot.

Mulder made several evasive turns, pulled across a busy intersection and headed for the interstate away from Washington. Scully, her head in the book, did not notice. It appeared a very absorbing read. Her mouth dropped and opened wider and wider with each page.

"Any graphic sex?" he asked.

"Not so far." But she was fascinated.

"What's in there?"

"Rituals. Religious rituals."

It was twilight. He drove west so the sun was in Mulder's eyes. As it grew dusk she looked up and said, " Where are you going?"

"You didn't notice, but that storage parking lot became very crowded when we left."

"Hmm, " Scully said. "So we're looking for a motel, right?"

"That accepts cash."

"No bugs, Mulder. That's all I ask. No bugs."

"What else does the book say?"

Scully ducked her head and watched her fingers rub over the top of it. "It appears to be a detailed description of the mind-meld and how to achieve it."

Mulder whistled.

"Mulder, I have to ask you something."

He pulled into a motel office and threw the car into park. "Okay."

"Don't read it."

Mulder started to make a wise remark but she looked so serious he swallowed it. "Can you tell me why?"

"This mind meld as you call it - it's addictive. It changes people."


"The mind-meld is part of a religious rite, " she said, knowing she was not going to like the rest of this conversation at all.

He waited, his arm on the top of the steering wheel until she added, "It's a religious rite instituted by an offshoot or a-a perverted form of, well, the closest thing I can think of is, Judaism mixed with a little Eastern philosophy.

It must have evolved over the centuries. The ritual - and the mild meld - is designed to empower women. To expand and enhance the natural mental gifts that have traditionally been ascribed to women. Instinct. Intuition. Manipulation of the power in sex."

Mulder looked out the front window into the blinking neon motel sign, then said, "I'll get the room key."

He let her go into the room first and closed the door before he switched on the light. "Can't get much by the hour anymore, " he said. "American hostelry standards are slipping."

It was as dismal - even the department store pictures on the wall drooped - as Scully had feared. She held the notebook in a grip so tightly one arm shook with the tension.

Mulder took off his coat and tossed it in a chair. When he glanced in the bathroom mirror he saw that Scully sat on the edge of another chair, staring at the notebook now clasped in both her hands.

"I never thought it was real, " she said.

"But you do now?"

She swallowed. "Yeah."

It startled him to see her like this, in the role of believer while he stood outside as the skeptical observer. He ripped off his tie and the noise of the silk around the neck of his shirt made her wince like it was a rope around her own neck. "Scully, are you alright?"

Her eyes, wide, told him the truth. Then her lips followed. "I've never asked you to do something like this before. I don't even know if I believe in what I'm saying entirely."

"Why are you so afraid of it?"

"I've seen - and heard - I've lived -- how it changes people.

Donaldson. Bernice. Ann Millard. Those two inmates now floundering in a mental institution. I wouldn't have believed it, but the chemical imbalances it produces are real. I think Donaldson's use of this technique over the years has transformed him into two distinct personalities. I've been trying to explain why and can only assume it has to do with his being - initially, at least - a man. It has to do with male hormones versus female ones in the brain stem."

She caught a good breath. "And I know that every time you use this mind meld your brain chemistry alters -perhaps it never quite returns to normal. Myths and legends have grown up around this and that helps it work in those who understand how to use it."

"That book is evidence, Scully. It can corroborate part of your story, " he said. "Someone will have to read it."

"Not you."

"Okay, then. Not me." He watched her shoulders ease, her feet unwind from the chair legs.

"Why didn't it change Zelda?"

"I don't know what she's like now, but she did kill her husband."

"H-how?" Scully didn't want to ask.

"Smothered him. Don't ask me why the guy just laid there, " Mulder said. "He was a bit ripe when they found him."

Scully griped the back of the chair and stared out into the room, seeing nothing. Mulder came up beside her as if he were reading the motel notices left by the television.

"I tracked her. Even found her juvenile records - very tough little girl, " he said. "Major discipline problem, psychological counseling until junior high. Then she beat up a girl at school. Serious attitude. Definitely jail material. Then she hits puberty and we see someone completely different. Grades shoot up. She becomes tranquil, polite, her teachers love her."

"She reads her mother's journal, absorbs it, but can't use it until the onset of menstruation."

"Late bloomer. It changes her from wild child to flower girl, " Mulder said.

"What does this have to do with Donaldson?"

"My theory?" Mulder played with the "No Smoking Room" card propped up near the television. "Donaldson and Zelda's mother find this offshoot of evolved Judaism - or whatever you want to call it in the Chinese province near the Mekong waters. She studies and becomes good at the mind meld and teaches it to Donaldson. Changes him from a second-class, low renter into super lawyer. He must have had more than his share of estrogen to begin with because now-"

"That's it, " Scully said, rising in excitement. "She falls in love with him and he persuades her to teach him the mind meld. She does, even though she knows it is forbidden to men, because she loves him, trusts him."

"What happened to her - did he kill her?"

Scully's eyes grew wider, she looked at Mulder, paled and for a moment he thought she was going to blurt out an answer.

"I-I'm--I think I'll shower."

She ripped off her jacket, tossed it on top of his, kicked off her shoes and closed the bathroom door behind her in one nearly continuous motion.

"Was it something I said?" Mulder called through the door.

His only answer was the sound of water spraying through a shower nozzle.

What did he say, Mulder wondered. What spooked her? This was a Scully he did not recognize. He stared at the notebook, took a step toward it, then eased onto the bed. What had Scully said it was about? Instinct. Intuition. Manipulation of the power in sex. Neither his eyes nor his thoughts left the notebook.

She poked her head out of the bathroom a little sheepishly. "I need your tee-shirt." He stripped off his shirt and pulled the tee shirt out of his pants and over his head. She accepted it without comment and closed the door.

"I-I just had to step away from it a moment, " she said when she emerged. She was drying her hair with a hand towel, a bath towel draped over her shoulder. He made a mental note never to wear a tee shirt again.

"While you were cooling off I've been developing a plan, " Mulder said. "I'm sorry to say it involves your return to prison.


"We use the book as a bribe for Donaldson."

He grinned. "Great minds think alike. The robbery proceeds and we catch Donaldson on the scene, book in hand. You see any flaws, great mind?"

She sat on the bed and almost smiled. "One."

He cocked his head. "Only one."

"What if there is a change of plans at the last minute?"

"Scully, you must have access to a telephone or - what about the computer?"

She scoffed. "I'll be marked as so incorrigible even Dr. Otis will abandon hope. I'll never get near a computer or phone."

"Then you have to come to me."

With horror she understood what he suggested. "You don't want that."

"Got a better idea?"

"One of my pod mates can use her phone time - or Waters!

Yes, send Waters back-"


"No, Mulder."

"You can do it."

"I-I don't know..."

Mulder circled her behind her and put his hands above the top of her shoulders. Slowly he moved them down her arms until he encircled her. He put his hand on her chest, mimicking the way she had come to him that night - when Zelda had carried her again.

"Did you think I didn't realize, " he said into her ear.

"Did you think I couldn't tell you were behind me -kicking me off my ass?"

She groaned softly, dropped her head and massaged the bridge of her nose. She never meant for him to know. She closed her eyes as he tightened his embrace to create a circle of safety, a new comfort zone for her.


"I can't control it, Mulder. I don't know how yet. If something goes wrong you could be mentally damaged - or worse--"

"You couldn't escape, " he said, releasing her.

In the silence which followed, the people in the room next door turned on their television and an emergency siren shouted through the walls, punctuating the quiet with urgency.

"I would be lost in you, " she said. "My body would die. I would live in you."

"You'd start watching football."

"You'd paint your nails."

Mulder rubbed his chin. "Two people in the same body."

"You would have no thoughts that weren't mine and I wouldn't have any ideas that weren't yours too, " Scully said it in such a soft voice he would have missed it if he hadn't been listening so hard. "I would disappear in you. Disappear."

Mulder's mouth dropped open and he stared as if seeing her for the first time. He backed away slowly, "That's it! That's always been your greatest fear, isn't it? Not being shot, not imprisonment, not even the cancer- You're afraid you'll disappear?"

"It doesn't matter, " she mumbled.

"Have I given you reason to fear that?"

She said nothing, merely watched her fingers entwine.

"I-I swear, Scully, I never meant-"

"You've had a taste of it - never knowing, following, worrying, watching-"

"To protect you, " he said.

"Doesn't make it less difficult, " Scully said. "Does it?"

"So this is payback or-r show and tell?"

She shook her head. "I didn't plan it this way. All of it came to me."

"You embraced it, " Mulder said. It was a statement of fact, not an accusation.

"What I knew of it, yes." In the stillness, two minds worked in familiar rhythm toward a single goal: finding common ground to stand on. "Doesn't it concern you?"

"That I might think like you forever?" Mulder said. "Might not be too bad three-four weeks out of the month."

"I won't do it."


"Even if I'm successful-" She rose to pace off her nervous energy. "You don't know what it does to you, how it leaves you, how sullied you feel, invaded...I think the sickness comes when your mind finally comprehends how you've been violated."

"It's all right."

"No, it isn't." She was angry now. "You would resent me, perhaps be a little afraid of me afterward."

"I'm afraid of you now, " he said with a grin that vanished almost as soon as it came.


"What do you think you'd see that you don't already know, " he said. He perched on the edge of the bed again, aware that she might unconsciously feel his height threatening.

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it?"

Scully studied him. "I have to make you understand - so you won't ask me to do this, or-or ask me to teach you to fly, or read that notebook."

"You think I could badger you into doing or saying things you don't agree with, " he said in an astonished tone.

She gave him an evil look. "Don't act like it hasn't happened." But then she stepped close to him, so close she could see herself in his eyes. "This is different, Mulder. You think you're safe in your head, to think what you want - to explore feelings - test unacceptable ideas - be the person you're afraid to be elsewhere. Until you've had that taken away, you don't know what vulnerable means."

She backed away and nearly bumped into the television across from the bed. The near collision seemed to stiffen her.

"If I have to serve a full sentence, I won't do that to you."

"That's a decision that's yours to make. But what about Andy Paige, those two bank clerks in California, and all the others unjustly imprisoned."

She shook her head. "We know enough now to-"

"Who would believe us? A crackpot investigator and a convicted felon?"

Speaking carefully Scully said, " You are not a crackpot. I will not invade your-"

"You do that anyway, " he said. He stood so she could feel his breath blow across her skin. "I mean, don't we all invade the personal thoughts and feelings of people every day? The people we care about invite us in."

"This is different, " she said it distinctly and sat down on the bed. The springs poked her.

Mulder squatted down beside her. Reluctantly she turned to him. "You'll look away when you see something you don't like or find a way to excuse it. As you do now, " he said. He waited and watched her struggle. "We're not the only ones at risk here. All those innocent people - Zelda, Andy Paige, Zelda's son."

"We'll find another way, " Scully said. "We'll talk to Skinner-"

"Do you believe I wouldn't let you go? Or are you more afraid that you wouldn't want to leave."

"Honestly?" she asked, "I don't know."

He eased himself onto the edge of the bed beside her knowing how galling the admission was for her. Patiently he waited for her to accept what he had known to be true for some time.

"Ultimately we would each act in the other's best interest, " she said at last. "I have to believe at least that much -- or the last few years have been a lie." She swallowed hard. "And last night was a lie too."

He took her hand, turned it over and kissed the vein in her wrist. He scrapped his teeth across it as though he wished to taste her very lifeblood.

She grabbed his face fiercely and put her forehead to his.

"You don't know how badly this will hurt you."

"I will never believe you would hurt me."

She drew in a shallow breath. "You'll have to help me.

When you feel me around you, you'll know as before and you have to let me in. Be open. You have to be ready to do that."

She brushed down his hair with the palms of her hand and ran her thumbs along the sides of his face. "You have to give yourself to me completely."

"I already have, Scully, " he said. "I thought you knew that."

He scooted back on the bed, taking her with him, propped his head up against a pillow and slacked his muscles. She felt him relax with a sigh and his eyes grew larger while the pupils dilated. She ran her hands down his arms until she reached his hands, unclenched his fists and dragged her fingers across his palms.

He shivered and her hands slid back up his arms until she felt the throbbing vein in the bend of his right elbow.

She didn't need to do this with most men. Zelda had told her that.

But Mulder was strong; his resistance would be fierce - even with her. Or especially with her.

Applying increasing pressure to constrict the blood flow, she began to chant his name and reach for him as Zelda taught her.

At first there was nothing. She reached further, called to him, implored him, begged him to open to her. A flash of color, a distortion of noise like a century of voices stirred and projected out, and she fell through a vortex of motion -- she was in.

She knew herself to be on a clean checkerboard in shades of gray that seemed to stretch to infinity. Mulder's mind was amazingly orderly and as limitless as the sky. Haze rolling toward the horizon and clouds popping up like cotton puffs billowed in and out like breathing when she moved across the checkered spaces.

On all sides she heard sighs, cries, sobs from the dark places, ghostly moans and shrieks from the nearly black spaces, and distinctly erotic pants and groans from lighter areas. From the gray of the landscape she heard mechanical sounds, like people working or gears shifting. Scully passed his fears and doubts, his loneliness and despair, regrets, memories of unspeakable pain and suffering - and the spaces of life that he could not categorize himself.

A brilliant white sun that dominated the horizon drew her.

As she approached she heard a feminine voice murmuring, a soft laugh that was distant yet somehow familiar. She stopped. Afraid of what she would see - who she would see. A shadowy outline of Mulder waited for her just outside the light. He moved to stop her.

His lips didn't move, but she understood, "I knew you would come here."

She felt his fear, saw the gray becoming darker.

"I knew someday you would find out, " he said. "And you will go away forever. You'll leave me alone." The gray became black.

"Whatever it is, I will excuse it, " she said. She wondered how anything that could make such a glow would cause her to leave him.

"You will pity me and I couldn't stand it, " he said. Scully put out her hand to reassure him. She thought she laced her fingers in his. She knew she felt stronger as she led them both deeper toward the light.

At first she thought it was a hall of mirrors.

Everywhere she looked she saw her own face, her own eyes, her own mouth, her own hands. She saw herself the way he saw her in a thousand places, a million memories, a trillion words floating unspoken around them. She saw him watch her file, draw her weapon in fear, laugh at his joke, hold his hand, kiss his cheek. She moved forward through the light in awe and saw nearly indistinguishable shapes of the two of them playing with faceless children in a park, carrying a child home on Mulder's shoulders, eating with her mother. Scully turned to her right and the mirrors became clear, colorful and full of sound. He kissed her, undressed her slowly and reverently, made love to her in ways even she did not dream of.

She gloried in it, bathed in the sensation of utter, complete devotion. She was buoyed, lifted up. She turned to Mulder in astonishment. "Stay, Scully. Even if you don't care. Don't go. Don't leave me." She saw his hands reach out to her, felt a vise-like grip on her, Around her. "Stay here, Scully! I need you!"

Her heart constricted, she gasped and pulled back. Scully fell off the bed onto the floor, blinked and realized it was over. She reached for him. "Mulder?" She felt his pulse and discovered it was steady. He looked peaceful, his breathing as even as though he were sleeping. She brushed back his hair and he stirred.

He opened his eyes once, twice and tried to smile at her. "Tired."

"Me too." She wanted to lie back against him, but knew she wouldn't be able to get up again.

"Must be OK- don't feel like buying a dress." He labored over the words.

"What do you remember?"

He thought for a moment. "Nothing... You asked to come in. A lot of light..feeling safe.. relieved."


He tried to smile, nodded slightly and closed his eyes.

"Not sick?"


"I need a drink of water, " she said. "I'll get you a glass too."

She turned on the bathroom light and rested against the door frame for several minutes. Even now she felt the pull of him on her, the glory of Mulder surrounding and supporting her, the feeling of utter contentment that she had, for one brief moment, known in him. It must surely be a preview of Paradise. God, for a moment it had been so tempting. An opiate for her soul.

Scully reached across the bathroom sink and took out the covered plastic cups. She pulled off the protective cover, turned on the tap, watched the glasses fill and wondered what to do with what she learned.

She drank deeply and filled the cup again.

"You know something, " he said behind her. It was an accusation. He reached over and turned the facet off with a cruel twist. She nodded.

Over the bathroom sink two fragile plastic cups overflowing with water shook in her hand. "You said you'd excuse anything, " he said.

She was surprised her remembered. "Nothing to excuse, " she said. She handed him the glass. "Drink. It helps the dryness. You'll have irritability, some weakness. You should sleep."

"We can do this, " he said. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"We can do whatever we put our minds to." She still wasn't sure. He put his hand to his head and swayed.

"Let's get you down."

"What about you?" he asked.

"The aggressor apparently doesn't suffer many after effects, " she said.

"There's a lesson there someplace, " he muttered. She helped him to the bed and he fell face down across its width. She had to help him turn lengthwise on it. "Scully?"


"Be here when I wake?" He was having more trouble forming words.

She sat beside him and stroked his hair.

With a great, last surge of effort he said, "You won't take advantage of me in my sleep, will you? I wouldn't want to miss anything." He slept almost before he finished, so he didn't hear her laugh or feel her kiss on his lips.

If Walter Skinner hadn't been driving through rush hour traffic he would have thrust a hand on his hip in an effort to control his fury.

As it was he honked at the motorist in front

of him, reached up to turn down the all-news radio station, and growled into his cell phone: "Where the hell are you?"

"I've been doing some investigative work on that bank robbery case you assigned me, sir, " Mulder said.

"Well, the local Maryland police have been doing some investigative work of their own. You'd better have something for me, Agent Mulder. Soon."

"Yes sir. I do. Agent Scully would like to turn herself in. As soon as possible. And return to prison. As soon as possible. Can you help us out here?"

"I can help you both not to get shot - that's the best I can offer right now, " Skinner said.

"A generous offer, sir. I'll call back later with a location."

"Agent Mulder! Unless you take evasive action or surrender now I won't need a location. The last word I had from the agent in the field was that they expected a capture very soon, " he said. "I'll get word to the agent in charge on the scene that you're bringing Agent Scully in.

Tell Agent Scully ---" But he couldn't think of a concise way to say what he wanted.

"Yes sir. I'll tell her."

"Tell me what, " said Scully as she came out of the bathroom buckling the belt on her slacks.

"That they've located us, " Mulder said.

Scully seemed undisturbed. She paused to peer into the dresser mirror and brush her hair with her fingers. "I suppose I should have learned by now not to get into a car with you without making sure my overnight bag is in the back." He came up behind her and she glanced up at him in the glass. "You don't have your shirt on yet?"

He tried to stifle a smile, but couldn't. He couldn't stop himself from sliding a hand around her waist and burying his face in the curls just around her right ear. At first she stiffened as though he'd taken liberties, then she sighed and leaned back against him. "Mulder, " she said with only a touch of impatience.

"Was it hard? Last night, I mean?"

She hesitated. "Somewhat."

"You or me?"

She dropped her eyes from the mirror and caressed his hand.

"Me." He backed away.

"Nothing I couldn't handle -- obviously." She watched his reflection, the self-reproach on his face and hanging on his body. Finally she admitted, "It was tempting for me too. Very."

She had more she wanted to tell him. Anytime she groped for words Mulder knew it was personal.

"In the book - Amelia's book - she talks about the power in sex. I didn't understand, " Scully said.

"I must not be doing it right, " Mulder said.

"Ah, no. You do it just fine." Her grin came and went in a flash.

"Until last night I didn't understand that the power she refers to has to

do with the devotion and affection inherent in the physical act - and that

is what gives women a feeling of empowerment. Conversely, for women, there is no power to resist the pull of being-being swallowed up without mutual and honest respect, caring, and commitment. Without those things, a sense of safety, power, release is only truly possible for a woman while she stays in the man's mind. Do you understand?"

Mulder turned her around to face him. His hands ran softly up and down her upper arms in a caress. "Just as long as I'm doing it right, " he said. She raised her eyebrows. "I know, " he said. "Shirt."

"And hurry, " she said, glancing at the door.

Later he thought she must be psychic. When he replayed the scene in his head a few hours later Mulder realized he would have dawdled longer or even used his powers of persuasion to test the power of sex. Instead, they were both dressed and ready to leave. She even had the notebook tucked under her arm when they saw the flash of a red light outside the motel window.

"Your handcuffs, " she said. "Put them on me. Now!" She grabbed them from

him and locked one around her right wrist. "Mulder, I don't want to be shot."

He snapped the other cuff into place and she released the book to him.


started to open the door, his hand was on the knob.


She reached up, took his face between her manacled hands and drew his mouth to hers. "A promise, " she whispered.

Mulder threw open the door. Three or four police cruisers had pulled up in front and a dozen officers were in the process of training their weapons on the motel door. He came out first with one empty hand in the air, the other holding his badge. "I'm a federal agent with a prisoner in custody."

Chapter 18

Tired but euphoric, Scully stood outside her cell and waited for the floor sergeant to signal for the door to open. She could see Zelda's feet on the top bunk.

"Step in, Scully, " said Sgt. Anderson. "We kept your old room."

She walked inside and said, "Feel free to close the door at any time, sergeant."

Zelda laughed loud enough for the guard to hear.

"I'm not sure how you escaped isolation, but I intend to watch you closely. Every infraction, every miscue and - snap - you're outta here. Your privileges are all suspended; you're on laundry detail permanently. Dr. Otis says you're not to show up at the clinic unless you're sick. She says to give 'Dr. Scully' this." He held out a wad of yellow gummy stic and when she didn't move to take it he tossed it onto the cell floor. "You are no longer the recognized pod leader. Ground zero, Scully. Welcome back."

The door slammed and he stomped away.

Scully bent down, picked up the gummy stic and rolled it between her fingers thoughtfully. Zelda popped up from the bunk and her eyes roved over her cell mate. "Hmm. I see a happy woman here. Why is that?"

"Nice vacation."

Zelda jumped down. "Tell me all about it - or are you the kind who doesn't kiss and tell?"


"Okay, never mind. Let me imagine." Zelda leaned over and picked a magazine. "New 'National Geographic' came while you were gone. Will you read it to me?"

"Ah, not now, " Scully said.

"Tonight, then, " Zelda said. "Or after rec?"

"Zelda. I can't read it now."

Zelda's eyes flew open in understanding.

"I think I've discovered a way to end this, " Scully said.

"So you didn't spend all your time - with Mulder, " said Zelda.

Scully blushed. "We've put Scott under surveillance - no one is going to touch him. And we found your mother's notebook."

"How is that going to help?" she cried. "You didn't show him--teach him!"

"No. Your mother's book is safe."

Zelda narrowed her eyes. "Dana, did you - fly?"


Zelda collapsed against the bunk and sank to the ground. "The risk!

You aren't strong - not that strong anyway! The next time you try that you will be lost!"

Scully shook her head. "I don't believe that. I don't believe the path I'm on leads to nothingness -- in either the physical or metaphysical sense. I reject that notion completely."

"It's not for you to believe or reject! It's like rain or sun. The next time it will happen whatever your beliefs. I AM --"

"Don't speak to me like God."

Zelda's breath puffed out of her in disdainful wheeze. "I'm only the intercessor. Surely a good Catholic shouldn't have problem with a go-between!"

"And don't patronize me."

Zelda covered her head and groaned as if she'd been struck. Scully sat down beside her on the cold floor. "I know you're afraid for me, for yourself. Don't be. It may not come to that again. We have to end it." After a moment she said, " How are the others?"

Hands came away from Zelda's face and she tried a half-hearted chuckle. "Laquintia's acting in loco parentis. She doesn't say, but she misses you terribly. I missed you."

They sat together for a moment, both looking for a chink in the wall across the way. "Zelda, while I was gone, did you try to fly...to Henry Donaldson?"

"How did you know?"


"I couldn't get in. He resisted. I was so exhausted the next day I almost reported to the infirmary."

"That unusual?" Scully said.

"Oh yeah."

"Any thoughts on why that happened?"

Her hesitation gave her away. Scully said, "I'm afraid of that too."

"I hope we're wrong, Dana. If Allah is truly merciful, we are wrong."

After a moment Scully said, "When do we go?"

"Tomorrow. The pictures arrived yesterday. Pictures of my three cousins in California."

"Cousins? Do you have cousins in-"

"No. Study your target. Pick out the dumbest looking one-maybe the middle-aged guy. He looks agreeable enough. We have to go tomorrow. Ten p.m. Be prompt. It's the last night, " Zelda said. "Bernice doesn't think you'll go through with it.

She's still hoping to take Angela."

"She's wrong, " Scully said. "I'm quite anxious, in fact."

The lights flickered and Scully helped Zelda off the floor. The cell doors slid open and women poured into the corridor on their way to the rec area. "They'll be glad to see you."

"I'll be a minute, " Scully said. She went to the sink and washed her face. As she dried it off she glanced up on the shelf for the postcards, then at the photos nearby. Three serious looking men. A middle-aged fellow, a young, scholarly type, and a burly, older man with a gray mustache. Which looked dumber, she couldn't tell. She studied the middle-aged man. He might have a family to protect and his mind would be wandering. She memorized his face, his nose, his chin, his eyes - then stacked the photos up again on the shelf.

Scully was smiling to herself and some of it had leaked onto her face as she approached the open door of the rec area.

She walked around two paint buckets and peered inside the area.

Several of her pod mates glanced up and grinned. Laquintia sat in her usual place on the floor by the green chair only pretending to read - Scully didn't see her lips moving.

The chair was empty.

Scully swung around the door only to find her way barred by Sgt. Anderson. "You're just in time, Scully, " he said. "This mural is comin' down."

Moans and protests behind him brought a female guard trotting up from the hallway to glare into the room.

Sgt. Anderson reached around the door and picked up a bucket of white paint with a fat brush lying on top. "You do it."

Scully folded her arms. "There's no real reason for the mural to come down other than punishing these inmates for their creativity. And since all my privileges are suspended anyway, there's no incentive for me to cooperate in this exercise in degradation."

"The director says it violates regulation. You do it because you are assigned to do it, " Anderson said and held out the bucket.

Scully met his eye and refused to take it from him.

"Seven days in isolation for starters, Scully. Lights out.

You'll be as screamin' crazy as you were before, " Anderson said.

"Maybe this time Dr. Otis will shoot you fulla thorazine and ship you off to the loony bin for good."

Scully's glance bounced off the guard and found Zelda. She had turned white. She shook her head slightly. Scully looked beyond her to Laquintia, Mary, the whining forger, the artist, and the others.

And Bernice. Smiling broadly in triumph.

She took the bucket.

"That's the spirit. Show all these ladies how to paint a wall."

She almost dumped the bucket of white paint over his head to cover his smug expression. In fact, Scully had taken hold of the bottom to do just that when she caught Bernice's grin.

Nothing could have cooled her down faster.

She adjusted the bucket and brush in her hand and walked slowly to the middle of the mural. The women gave her a wide berth. Scully stood facing the wall a moment, looking at the finely crafted leaves and twigs, then sat the bucket down, took the brush, wiped off the drips. The room became very quiet. Even the music stopped.

With great care, Scully began painting in all the white places.

She used very tiny strokes.

"Not like that!"

"I'm obeying your orders, Sgt. Anderson. I am painting the wall."

"Paint over the green, the brown, the yellows!" He was yelling so loudly the veins on his neck strained against his shirt collar.

The paintbrush in Scully's hand danced up and down in the air. She took a small step toward the wall and lifted the brush.

It remained poised in the air for a few seconds then splashed into the paint bucket on the floor. She swallowed hard and turned to face him, calm but defiant.

"Yes!" said Laquintia. The women started to laugh and cheer.

Anderson strode across the room, picked up the bucket and walked close to Scully. When she made no move to take it, he thrust the paint bucket into her stomach and in a reflex action she put her hand out to stop it. Paint sloshed out over both of them. Sgt. Anderson knocked the bucket aside, splashing streaks of white across the mural.

"Hit the wall, " he yelled to Scully.

She turned in a slow, graceful move, hands high, and leaned on them against

the paint-splattered mural.

Nearly growling in fury Anderson kicked her legs apart, took her wrists one by one and she relaxed her arms to allow it. That was the only thing that spared her as Anderson twisted her arms back cruelly to handcuff her.

One or two of the women in the rec room cried out in sympathy. Anderson clapped his hands on Scully's shoulders and they turned together into the

face of a crowd of silent, sullen prisoners who were now flanked by several

uncertain guards.

"No way." One of the prisoners said into the deadly calm.

"The law is on his side in this, " Scully said.

"No way, " said another prisoner.

"Don't, " Scully said to the women. Her hair fell across her face and she tossed

it aside. The gesture made her appear in command instead of caught and caged.

"No!" Laquintia's face and fists twisted in ugly fury. "Hell no!" She had

taken two steps forward, but stopped when Scully narrowed her eyes in warning.

"If he makes you angry, he controls you, " Scully said to Laquintia in such

a conversational manner the two of them might have been standing alone in a parlor.

For a long minute prisoners and keepers faced each other, neither side willing

to move. More guards arrived outside the rec area; someone cocked a shotgun.

Scully knew that sound. Her heart lurched. "Don't behave as badly as they

do, " she said raising her voice for the first time. "When you think about this


- don't remember that you let them bring you down so easily."

Zelda said, "Dana..."

"Tomorrow, " she said to Zelda as Anderson jerked her arm and forced her toward the door.

"Scully!" Laquintia called. "Sculleee!" But it was Mulder's voice.

Scully matched her pace to Anderson's, walking with a lift to her chin and

a proud set to her jaw.

The sergeant and his prisoner walked by the female guard who was first on

the scene. She stood watching with her mouth opened slightly in astonishment.

The officer normally patrolled the walkway in front of the panoramic window


instead of returning to it she hesitated, then trailed behind Anderson and


Her eyes had narrowed and her mouth was a thin, taut line.

The floor guard opened the slit in the isolation cell door. Scully squinted

into the

bright shaft of light. "She's up, " the guard said to her visitor. "Up and


The door bolt clacked open. The light flashed on full and Clare Otis came

in. Scully

stood, hands at her sides. The doctor, she saw at once, was angry.

"I owe you an apology, " Scully said. "There was a miscommunication.."

"Save it, " Clare Otis said briskly. "You used me. I have believed long enough."

"If I caused that, then I'm truly damned."

"I can't trust my instincts anymore, " she said. "You accessed the computer, didn't you?" Scully asked nothing, then: "Is everyone all right upstairs?"

"Should they be?" Clare said. "Guard!"

The door opened and the female officer who had accompanied Sgt.

Anderson and Scully from the rec room appeared outside. Behind her stood a male officer. "I'm going to administer an injection of thorazine to calm you down-"

Scully snorted. "Render me unconscious, you mean."

"You attacked an officer."

"No." She forced herself to stay calm.

"You caused a near riot."

"Sgt. Anderson--" Scully said. "That isn't accurate. You should ask someone who was there to corroborate my version of events."

Tears pooled in Clare Otis' eyes. Her chin quivered. She pressed her lips together.

"No violence?" Scully asked the officer she recognized.

"Everyone is cool, " the female guard muttered. Then she looked at everything in the cell but Scully.

"The entire rec room is on strike, " said Clare. "Well, all but Zelda, Bernice and her cell mate Angela. Four pods. They refused orders to leave the area. They're still sitting there. The director said to let them sit until they starve."

Clare fumbled in her pocket for the needle and vial of thorazine.

Scully sucked in a breath and stared at the medication. "If you do that I won't be able to think for several days. Given my reaction to mild sedation, it's very likely I will never think clearly again. Regardless, in a few days it will be too late, " she said.

"Mulder and I will have missed our only opportunity to end what's going on in here."

With a determined jerk, Dr. Otis took the cap off the needle with her teeth, spit it onto the floor and plunged the needle into the bottle. "Hold her


"No." Scully unbuttoned the top of her jeans. "I assume you'll want to inject into a hip muscle."

The female officer gulped, and touched Dr. Otis' sleeve. "Doc, can I, uh, I need a word. Uh--could we just-uh-step out here?" As the three prison officials backed out of the cell, the female officer whispered to Dr. Otis: "I saw it go down and..."

For several minutes Scully stood shaking inside and staring at the opposite wall but seeing nothing. No air stirred; there was little to breathe and outside the auto pneumatic response very little reason to.

Donaldson's plan would succeed beyond his wildest dreams: she would never leave prison a whole person, much less a credible one.

She'd behaved foolishly; now both she and Mulder would suffer for it. Thank God she had an opportunity to give him something leave him something. Perhaps that was all her brief escape was meant to accomplish.

The lock on the cell door clanged; Scully snapped back to reality, pasted an impassive look on her face and, at the last minute, swiped tears off her cheeks before anyone could see them. She waited for the guards to lay hands on her, to strip away her dignity with her clothes, and for Dr. Otis to plunge the needle into her hip that would induce a permanent vegetative state.

A single dark sedan pulled around the back into the parking lot of Lipscomb. As both occupants climbed out they took note of and appreciated that there would be no moon tonight. Dark clouds hung overhead and rain was predicted.

Mulder and Skinner ran around to the side door, their coattails flapping behind them. Mulder nodded in the direction of the mailbox just outside the building. Just as Scully described it. It was accessible to the main building through a covered walkway and covered with ivy. The landscaping around the company was lavish and offered the agents good camouflage.

"That's the drop-off." Mulder's phone chirped. He heard piano music in the background then, "Mulder, you sonvabitch. You couldda told me this was a hazardous assignment. Our friend is having a glass of wine in some damn fern bar."

"Well, partner, I never promised you it would be as much fun as last week. He just sitting there?"

"Seems he's got all night. I liked him better when he was a cross-dressing weirdo. This-this ain't normal, " said the agent from Dallas. "Uh-spoke too soon. He's up, paying for his drink and on the move. Denver will take over for a while so's I can soak up all this Washington atmosphere."

"Come on my way. We could use the back-up, " Mulder said and slammed the phone closed. "He's coming. Another 10 minutes."

As officers and agents, Mulder and Skinner were accustomed to stake outs, to the long waits and sporadic action. Yet tonight, the wait seemed interminable.

It was to be a dual celebration at Lipscomb Auction House.

A birthday and the end of 18 consecutive 12-hour days for the security crews. It would not be as lavish as the black tie affair of the previous night and the participants would use the employee's entrance instead of the colonnade into the grand staircase.

But it would still be a celebration.

Jonathan P. Andrews, prospective attorney-at-law, reached up and took a cup of coffee from the fresh pot made by his coworker, Thomas Barry. He had an hour's worth of work to do to finish his case study for contract law class after his security shift ended. He needed the caffeine rush. Tom had been a security guard for Lipscomb Auction House 15 years before Jon came onboard. But even he wasn't as experienced as the duty sergeant, George Arthur.

Like Tom, George had been a police officer nearly three decades before he joined Lipscomb Security. Tom had retired.

George had been shot in the line of duty by some young would-be burglars and discharged from the service with partial disability. Protecting the assets of Lipscomb Auction House was his third job in all that time since his enforced retirement and he didn't want another. He liked young Jon, worked hard at settling the boy down some, but George had a real affinity for Tom. They ate dinner together, exchanged hunting and fishing stories - their wives even shopped together.

Tonight was Tom's birthday. Jon had brought in some nuts and coffee. George's wife baked a cake. They were going to surprise Tom with it at 9 p.m. when they all met briefly in the video surveillance room before running down their assignments for the exhibition transfer.

George couldn't wait to get rid of this exhibit and said so for the tenth time that night. For more 18 days he and his team - and every other officer in the security force -- had pulled double duty, fretted, paced the facility and jumped at every shadow. They had added officers, doubled shifts.

After tonight they would all heave a sigh of relief. The armored car came later tonight and George vowed he'd be the first to wave good-bye to those $23 million in uncut diamonds.

He even thought about calling the local police who had also tripled their rounds to Lipscomb and sending down some cake and coffee.

Skinner drew a deep breath and checked his weapon. He and Mulder stepped into a portico three or four feet from the brick box and waited in the dark. From their vantage point they could see the mailbox and the side entrance to the Lipscomb building.

"Even if this works, Mulder, it's just my word and hers against Donaldson, " Skinner said. "Both tainted."

"Once we get Donaldson in a compromising position here, we can squeeze him for the tape. It might be enough to taint him too."

"You seem sure he still has it, " Skinner said.

"Right now I don't have a choice but to believe he has it, " Mulder said. "Chuck isn't having any luck."

The two men fell silent. Car headlights lit up the drop off site outside for a minute or two then the driver turned them out. The car door opened and someone got out, closed the door so it made no sound, then stood waiting. In the dark Mulder couldn't tell who it was. The accomplice stood in the shadows.

Mulder reached in his pocket and turned off his phone.

At last the driver moved toward the mailbox, checking around for any danger, opened it and found nothing. Closing it hastily, the accomplice made his way to a nearby tree and leaned against it. Mulder strained to see his face. It looked like Donaldson - Mulder smiled grimly.

In the video surveillance room on the second floor of the Lipscomb building, George sliced the birthday cake with one sudden, vicious and uneven stroke.

He looked up quickly and said, "Everybody okay?"

"Sure, George?" said Tom. "You look kindda funny."

Jon overturned his coffee cup. The coffee, still steaming, ran over his book. "Yeah, uh, I'm okay."

Tom picked up some napkins and began sopping up spilled coffee.

"Aren't you gonna help, Jon?"

"Sure, I'll help." Jon got to his feet and moved behind Tom.

He eased the nightstick out of his belt and started to lift it.

George caught his eye and shook his head.

Tom stopped working on the spill, shook his head, then sat down heavily.

"Let's get those diamonds now, " said George.

"Okay by me, " said Bernice in Jon's body. Jon put his nightstick back in


belt down and gave Tom a playful punch. Tom watched the coffee drip off the desk but made no move to stop it or clean it up. He continued to shake his head.

"Damn, Scully. Keep hold of him, " said Bernice, who had decided to fly into Jon.

"I'll turn off the alarm, " Zelda said. She wiped George's hand. He had smeared icing all over it when Zelda came into him.

Now he went to the master control panel. "Bernice? Which button?"

"It's right there to the left. It's the red one on top, " said Bernice.

"Can you both be quiet?" said Scully. Tom had cake still on his lips and when his tongue ran over it Scully tasted sweet buttery icing. Tom started to pull his weapon.

"Dana, concentrate, " Zelda said. "You have to direct him. Can't be the other way around."

"Why we be quiet? Nobody to hear and if they did we's just three guards going about our jobs, " said Bernice. She looked over the young body she was in then added, "I'm impressed there, Dana. I didn't expect you to show."

Tom stared at Jon and Scully said, "I told you I'd be here." Tom walked in fits and jerks across the office.

Jon nodded but it was Bernice who said, "You must be a damn magician.

In trouble and out of trouble like a jack-in-the-box."

Zelda said, "She's got Dr. Otis in her corner." Zelda fingered George's mustache and giggled. "I like this."

"Ever been kissed by a guy with a mustache? It's a whole new experience." Bernice in Jon's body led the way down the pristine corridors to the main exhibition hall. "So, Dana, you in so tight with the doc, maybe could you can talk her into giving you some happy pills. Then we can party when we get back.

You know, celebrate."

George gave Tom a push. "This is a lot to ask for the first time, Dana, but you gotta work him."

Chapter 19

Mulder saw three security guards come out the side door, touched Skinner's arm and nodded. The AD lifted his chin: he saw them too. The three seemed to walk in order of age: the youngest guard followed by a paunchy middle-aged one, then an older-looking man with a mustache. The AD nodded to Mulder. For a moment the three paused, silhouetted against the side door they just exited.

"It's gittin' colder, " said Bernice through Jon's mouth. Jon carried a white envelope, which he slipped into the mailbox and, for flourish, raised the red flag. Mulder detected a slight movement; the person in the shadows crept closer. The three security guards lingered a minute then started back inside. Jon hung back as though to check the mailbox.

Mulder held up his hand for Skinner to wait, wait, wait. The person in the shadows came closer to the trio of guards, his hand reached into his pocket. Mulder grinned: Donaldson.

Then suddenly it wasn't the person in the shadows who commanded Mulder's attention. Out of the corner of his eye Mulder saw the youngest security guard pulling his weapon out of the holster.

"This jest too easy, Scully." Bernice who was in Jon said to Tom, the man in the middle. The voice carried and echoed in the brick and concrete canyon of building and parking lot. Jon took a half step toward Tom. "Too good to pass up."

Tom's eyes grew wide. "Don't do this, Bernice. These men - these bodies -- they're innocent people, " Scully said in Tom's voice.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens sang out a warning.

"Nobody innocent, " Bernice said and the gun came out of the guard's holster. Her hatred twisted Jon's face into a malevolent mask.

The middle guard, Tom, did a macabre dance that appeared to be a cross between fumbling for his own weapon and falling to the ground.

"Federal agents!" Mulder yelled and leapt out of the portico.

The guard with the mustache whirled around to the youngest with the gun and cried: "No!"

It happened as fast as thought.

Mulder saw the oldest guard twist around as though to shield the man next to him and cry out, "Dana!"

"Drop it, " Mulder hollered just as Donaldson raised his gun and fired at the old man.

Two or three shots reported, answered by shots from the FBI agents.

Scully yelped in Tom's voice and Tom went down grabbing his shoulder.

George's mustache grazed the top of Tom's head as they fell together, and after that, in a surreal ballet, Jon with Bernice in him hit the grass next to the pavement. Donaldson, a stunned look on his face, sat down on the grass with one hand to his face.

"Hands where we can see them!" Skinner shouted again as he and Mulder reached the mailbox. Skinner kicked Donaldson's gun away from where the man sat holding a bloody cheek.

"I'm hurt! I'm hurt!" wailed Henry Donaldson.

From a distance flashing red lights raced up the street across the night and poured at last into the parking lot. Sirens now split the dark into silence and chaos. Car doors slammed.

Police officers jumped from their cars and voices shouted, "Police!"

and "Drop your guns!"

Skinner yelled, "Federal agents" again and held up his ID. The hand that held the badge dripped blood. "Get some ambulances!"

"Scully!" Mulder switched on his flashlight and shone it quickly in the faces of all the guards. Jon was clearly dead with at least three bullet wounds in chest, neck and abdomen. George moaned and moved so Mulder stepped over him quickly to Tom. He only had a wound in his shoulder but he was gasping for breath and twitching as though he were having a seizure. "Scully!"

"Can't hold..him."

"Get out!"

"Mulder..!" Tom's head went side to side as though he were trying to rid himself of something. Mulder threw the flashlight down and grabbed Tom's face.

The man's beard stubble scrapped across his palms. "Scully, come to me. Now. I'm right here. I'm willing. Come now!" Mulder stared into Tom's eyes. Blue, like Scully's. Searching. Open. Like Scully's. The pupils got smaller. He reached for her with all his heart and soul, willing her to come to him. "Scully!"

And she was there. In him. He felt her warmth infuse him. They both knew some relief. A sense of peace and well-being. He could tell she was tired and scared. She rested in him a moment before they both thought, "Amelia Peterson."

Mulder left Tom in the care of a policeman who had appeared at his elbow. Mulder switched on his flashlight and shone it into the face of Henry Donaldson. He looked dressed for a business meeting.

Behind them, Tom vomited.

"Amelia Peterson, " Mulder said, pushing one of the policemen away. "Are you Amelia Peterson?"

Donaldson's eyes flashed up in surprise; he moaned as though in horrible pain. The policemen beside him looked alarmed.

"Picture, Mulder. Where's the picture you took from storage, " Scully said.

Mulder searched his pockets and finally found it. He thrust it in Donaldson's face and shone the flashlight on it.

"Look here. Amelia. Sgt. Amelia Peterson. Look." At Scully's cue he pointed to the people, "Here's your mother, your daughter Zelda.

your grandson, Scott. You should be standing there between your mother and Zelda, Amelia Peterson. Zelda's here. Over there. She's been looking for you."

"Zelda?" Donaldson's mouth moved, but the name that fell out of his lips was soft, questioning. Donaldson's eyes widened and he screamed, "Oh, God! Zelda!" Donaldson tried to struggle to his feet. Mulder helped him stand and together they stumbled over to where the fallen security guards lay. An ambulance, then two, screamed into the parking lot.

Skinner had knelt and elevated George's upper body to help him breathe. The AD pressed a handkerchief into the chest wound, but the white cloth had already stained bright red. He looked at Mulder and shook his head once, almost imperceptibly.

"Mom?" It was a whisper, more like a gurgle from the older man's lips.

For a moment the world stood still: no one moved, breathed or even blinked it seemed to Mulder. Then Donaldson's face soften, twisted, tears came to his eyes and Amelia broke free.

"Zelda? Baby?" Amelia, living in Donaldson, knelt beside George and kissed him. George pulled back, Amelia touched the mustache and giggled. "Oh, Zelda, " the voice sounded like Donaldson's only an octave higher.

Zelda in George stared into Donaldson's green eyes - the eyes of her mother -- and took Donaldson's hand. "Mom, I got your book. I read it. I learned it!" Zelda's words sounded strange as George's lungs filled with fluid.

Amelia, firmly in control of Donaldson now, began to sob, reached out and grabbed George off Skinner's lap into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry. "I never knew it was you. Never! God, I swear. Baby-"

"Bernice, " George's mouth moved, but they were Zelda's words.

"She knew. She knew and she never said. All that time I looked --"

Donaldson's head nodded and stroked George's hair. Amelia spoke through Donaldson. "I'm so sorry, baby. I love you. I should never have sent you that book. Never taught Henry. Never come home."

"Go back, Zelda, " Scully said through Mulder's mouth. "Now!"

"Mom, mom." Zelda buried George's gray mustache in Donaldson's neck and coat collar. Zelda's voice that sounded as George's was muffled in the fine wool.

"Go, Zelda!" Scully yelled through Mulder. "Get out while you can!"

"Mulder!" Skinner grabbed his agent's coat sleeve.

"Go, Zelda!"

"He's not going anywhere, Agent Mulder, " Skinner said. "He's dead."

"Then she got out, " Mulder heard Scully say. "She left in time!"

"Noooo." It was Donaldson's body but clearly Amelia who cried and wailed, rocking the dead security guard's body in his arms.

Mulder glanced up. Skinner's jaws ground together and his face was a tortured mix of disbelief, sorrow and disgust. "They don't see themselves as they are, in these bodies, " Mulder told Skinner. "They see a mother and a child."

"Are you sure, Mulder?" Skinner said, shaking his head. "Because this is..."

Mulder watched an ambulance, then two pull out of the parking lot. He surveyed the wreckage of the walkway, grass and shrubs around the mailbox. Two dead, one wounded and Amelia locked in Donaldson - both of them most probably insane.

"Innocent blood, " Mulder said.

"No one's completely innocent, " Scully said.

"Go back now, Scully, " said Mulder. He started to the car, but Dallas intercepted him.

"Whoa, " said Dallas. "Sorry we didn't make your party. I got held up at the pet store with that fruit loop and his wife."


"I was on my way here when the short guy..Frohike called. Couldn't reach you, " Dallas said. "He was watching the pet store."

"And?" Mulder could feel Scully's impatience burn hot in the center of his forehead.

"You might wantta get a search warrant."

Occupied with his headache, Mulder would have shrugged it off, but Scully stopped him. "Why?"

"Man won't talk to us. Neither will his wife. But they're hiding something. Trust me on that one, partner. Frohike was watching the pet store and here it is after ten and this special messenger service delivers a package, " Dallas said. "I went to ask them about it and they got quiet as mice in a barn. Defensive.

I figured I'd let you press 'em if you think it's worth it."

Mulder could feel an idea forming. He sensed the same thing in Scully.

"I have to do something first. Ask AD Skinner to get the warrant and I'll meet you there in two hours or so." Mulder jogged to the car.


he hiding?"

"If what you remember -- what I see here -- about the pet store is correct, it's not Donaldson who's hiding something, " said Scully.

Mulder hit the accelerator and gravel spun out as he left the parking lot. "You're wasting fuel accelerating like that."

"I hate a backseat driver, " he said aloud.

"I'm hardly in the back seat. All those years, Amelia only broke through once in a while. Living in a man like Donaldson. I'm sure his mind wasn't as interesting as yours.

"I didn't quite realize you had such a dirty mind, " Mulder said.

"Medical reviews, Mulder. Illustrated anatomy texts. Look here at these neat squares of black and white. I never pictured you as thinking inside a box."

"Scully, Donaldson didn't know the pet store couple. They had to be a friend of Amelia's. They must have some history with her."

"Agreed. All those years in that..Donaldson. She must not have had many friends. It's - liberating to have friends. I'd forgotten - Mulder, what? Is that guilt? Not for me. This is not your life. I'm an adult; my choices, not yours."

"It seems to be my life now too - very literally, " Mulder said aloud.

He checked the interstate sign as he passed under it.

"I didn't know I missed it until I had it, " she said as though his thoughts didn't matter.

"You can't ignore me and hope this will go away, Scully. That's not how it is right now."

"-thieves, forgers, murderers. My friends. I always heard you were known by your friends -- Mulder! What kind of idea is that over there?

I am shocked."

"Hey! You're a guest - stay out of there. Think about these pet storeowners. Amelia was empathetic to the plight of women, children, the underdog, and the downtrodden. She forced Donaldson to put money in low revenue-producing companies that served such groups. You should see his investment portfolio - the one protected with layers of legal goo and dummy corporations."


"And, as you can see, I haven't a clue how it matches."

"Don't you see how it meshes with what I know about the inmates and their families?" she asked.

"Yeah, but how --"

And they thought together: "Amelia".

"She arranges it, " Scully said. "She and the pet store owners who are people from her past. You knew they were neighbors?"

"Families stationed at the same post -- you can see it didn't registered with me until now. I couldn't tell if that was coincidence or---'



"Zelda would tell you there is no coincidence, only God choosing to remain anonymous."

"She made it out, " Mulder said. "She could have made it out."


And his thoughts surrounded her, petted her, lifted her up to keep her from becoming mired in his own sadness.

"I'm very happy right now, " she said.

"I see that. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm insane." He turned off the interstate onto the state road. It was very dark and windy. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The trees illuminated in the headlights turned their leaves over to catch the promised rain.

"Prison...I never realized what it does, how it works-" she said. "It changes you before you-"

"I know. A few more days.."

"It's dehumanizing. Degrading. Things that are aberrant when you arrive are normal to you after only a few days."

Mulder stopped outside the prison gate. "Home sweet home."

"You didn't have to bring me close to my body. That's not important, " she said.

"I know, but-"

"-- you wanted to confront me with what I most fear, " she said.

"Go on. I'll be here to pick you up right after school."

"Mulder, I want-want you to know something. I--"

"Scully, I've known for a long time, but--" he said aloud.

"--but you were waiting for me to decide, " she finished.

"Hmmm-m. Still, it's nice to see. To hear. Go on now. I want-"

"I see what you want." To Mulder's inner ear it sounded like a hum or a purr, like the sound she made as she slid down from a climax. "I am not someone's house pet."

"It's my mind. Analogies are mine to make. These thoughts, memories are mine to share or not - that's my choice, " Mulder said. "Give me back that choice, Scully. Get..."

"..out of here." A bright light made Mulder shield his eyes. "You can't park here and sleep, buddy. Go to a motel." In the light from prison walls Mulder could see the badge and dark uniform of a guard. He opened the car door and threw up.

"Dammit! You're not still drunk are you? You been here long enough to be sober. I been watching you talk to yourself for an hour. Get the hell outta here, " said the guard and walked away grumbling.

Scully was gone. He checked his watch. He must have slept over an hour.

Mulder smiled and put the car in reverse. He yawned. He had never been so

tired in all his life and miles to go before he could sleep.

Skinner waited on the step below while Mulder rang the doorbell on the pet store, banged on the door frame and called, "Hey! Hey in there."

At last lights came on in the store. Mulder fumbled for his badge and flipped it open. When the owner padded to the door clutching a bathrobe around him with one arm and carrying a cat in the other.

Mulder pressed his ID to the glass of the door.

The door opened immediately. "Can I help you with something? What do you people want? I answered all those questions before.." The man squinted his eyes as though that, and not the glasses perched on his head, would improve his vision. "How did you know I live in the back?"

The man seemed worried. "It's the only way I can afford to rent in this zone. I know it's a zoning violation to live here, but-"

"We're not concerned about zoning, sir, " said Mulder. "An FBI agent is in trouble and I'm hoping you can help."

"We have a search warrant, " Skinner said.

"A search warrant! My God!"

"We'd rather you just handed it to us, " Mulder said.

The man stroked the cat in his arms. "Hand you what?"

"The tape. The VHS tape Henry Donaldson sent you."

The man and his cat took a few steps back, away from Mulder. "I don't know a Henry Donaldson."

"Please, " Mulder said. He rather respected the man with the cat. He thought he protected a friend. "Please. My partner. She's in a lot of pain. Donaldson left something here that can help."

"I don't know Henry Donaldson, " the man said with a stubborn set to his jaw. In fact, his teeth ground together as though the name Donaldson was distasteful. A monkey in a nearby cage shrieked. A parrot cawed, "Good morning, good morning."

"My partner's been unjustly accused of a crime, " Mulder said, then realized he was asking the wrong way for the wrong thing. "Maybe Amelia Peterson sent something for you to hold for my partner."

Mulder saw the flicker in the man's eye. "What's her name?" the man asked

with suspicion.

Noise in the prison woke her. Loud noises. Scully smacked her dry lips. Her stomach rumbled. She'd been flying. She sat up. Her mouth had a bitter taste in it. She rinsed her mouth out in the sink, drank from cupped hands, and went to the door. "Guard! Open up." She bammed and banged and kept calling out.

The slit open. "What's the matter with you?" said the guard. "You sick?"

"I have to go to the cell. To Zelda. Now."

"Maybe you are crazy, Scully. It's four in the morning. Go back to sleep. Or stay up. Just shut up."

The slit closed but Scully kept on banging. Now someone in the next cell screamed, "Shut the hell up."

Scully paced back and forth. Her muscles hummed with nervous energy.

God! She hated this helpless feeling. She hated confinement. She tried to remember where her mind had been, what she'd been doing. All the details. The memories only made her more anxious.

After a while she heard footsteps. It could have been an hour later or two hours - Scully had no concept of time except it passed slowly.

She heard lots of footsteps. Running. Running in her direction. She backed away and the door bolt slammed out. The cell door clattered open.

Outside stood Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner in FBI windbreakers.

Scully sprang out of the door propelled by bent-up apprehension.

"Zelda. Bernice."

"Where?" Skinner said as they all ran down the hall. Without breaking stride, Mulder peeled off his windbreaker with the huge yellow FBI on the back and tossed it around her shoulders. She put her arms in the sleeves although she knew they would be far too long. She used elastic in the wrists to keep them pushed up her arms.

It was still dark outside and despite the emergency lighting, Scully thought it seemed black as hell in the bowels of the prison. She led the way through the now familiar corridors and locked gates. They suddenly melted away before her. Down the narrow concrete hallway out of isolation and through the double locked doors the hollow clatter of footsteps from three agents rang out loud. Scully could hear labored breathing in the hallways, blood singing through legs and arms.

In the main cellblock she ran up the metal, winding stairs to the top floor. Mulder and Skinner followed.

Scully pounded on barred doors, yelling: "FBI! Open the gate!"

Overhead she watched people with FBI letters on their backs pour into guard stations and up staircases.

The prison was alive with voices and sound. Lights flickered on.

Debris from prisoners began falling from the upper tiers as FBI agents many accompanied by prison guards - ran through the building to secure key areas. Scully, Mulder and Skinner reached the top floor and headed to the far end of the corridor, to Bernice's cell and Zelda's.

As they started down the hall past the rec room, the women who stood behind the locked bars there, the strikers, gaped in shock.


She paused to stare for a second at Laquintia's face then rushed on down the corridor.

"Scullleeee! Goddamn it!"

The women in the rec room began yelling, screaming, throwing things outside the bars, banging on anything they could find.

Hollering Scully's name with a litany of obscenities.

Scully stopped outside Bernice's cell first. Inside, nothing moved.

Scully twirled her hand in the air as the guards did, but the door stayed closed. At the far end of the corridor the gate guard saw her and hesitated. Scully kicked the cell door and twirled her hand again. Behind her Skinner mimicked her gesture. The door slid open.

"What the hell?" Angela sat up in bed.

"Did she come back, Angela?" Scully said.

"She sleeping."

"She's not back?"

"She a sound sleeper, " Angela protested, eying Scully's jacket and the men with her.

Scully reached up on the top bunk to grab Bernice's wrist. No pulse.

She climbed on the bunk and felt the artery in the Bernice's neck.

"She's dead. We have to remove the body."

"No. You'll kill her. She be back and no body. Scully--don't move her."

"She's dead. The body she borrowed was shot. She didn't make it out."


Scully wheeled and left. Angela followed to the door, but Skinner prevented her from going out.

Angela grabbed the bars and followed Scully as far as she could, screaming, "Murderer. Don't touch her! You'll kill her, Scully!"

Angela began to wail. "Leave her!"

Scully had barely reached her own cell door when it slid open. Her heart seemed to bleed into her throat. No movement. No elf-like smile from the top bunk to greet her. "Zelda?" Scully said when she reached the bed.

Mulder and Skinner stopped just outside the door. The noise grew more and more deafening, but Scully didn't appear to notice. She stood still, swallowed by Mulder's navy and yellow FBI jacket. A tentative hand peaked out from the oversized sleeves and reached over Zelda's body to her neck, felt for a pulse then lay flat on Zelda's chest.

Mulder sighed and dropped his head.

Outside, hairbrushes, combs, plastic drinking cups, books, magazines, pillows, blankets-anything and everything inmates could lay hands on - flew out of the bars and fluttered down the tiers or into hallways.

Above it all, the inmates chanted Scully's name and vile curses.

Mulder rubbed his bottom lip and glanced at Skinner. "Get her out of here, " Skinner muttered into Mulder's ear. "Now."

Scully had not moved. She stood with her hand on Zelda's chest to catch the slightest movement.

"Let's go, Scully, " Mulder said.

"She's coming back."

"She didn't make it. He died before she could get out, " Mulder said.

Scully shook her head. She stood on the lower bunk, reached up and slid the black sleeping mask away from Zelda's face, then used her fingertips to close Zelda's eyes. Scully eased her feet back onto the floor.

Mulder shifted all his weight to one foot. "Maybe she didn't want to come back."

Scully's head jerked up, looking at Mulder, listening.

"She found her mother, " Mulder said. "All she had to look forward to was more of this place. Maybe she had done what she wanted to - and elected to fly free."

Only the profile of her cellmate's face had ever been visible to Scully from the floor, but now tears blinded her from seeing even that much.

"Everything I believed I was would have died here, " Scully said. "You kept me sane, she kept me alive."

"We have to get out of here, " Mulder said.

"Don't let them move her for a few hours."

"Sure, " he said.

Scully went to the sink, plucked Scott's photo from its corner slot in the mirror and tucked it in Mulder's jacket pocket.

Scully didn't appear to even hear the catcalls, screams and threats against her as she, Mulder and Skinner hurried down the metal staircase.

But there was a hitch in her step when paramedics brought two gurneys in the main cellblock area.

"I'll talk to them, Agent Scully, " Skinner said. "You and Agent Mulder get out of here."

"I'd better drive, " Scully said to Mulder. "You look like you could use some sleep."

He flipped her the car keys and the main gate to the prison opened wide before them.

It wasn't over; Mulder could see that the next morning. He hadn't expected her to spring back; that wasn't the Scully way. She had to sort things out. He gave her some space, even made a half-hearted offer to drive her to her mother's. That earned him the first hint of a smile. He had kissed the smile off her face in a not-too-subtle attempt to persuade her to return completely and fully.

She couldn't.

Mulder didn't push. He took her home, watched her wander around the apartment, touching her things and trying to reconnect with the person she was. He sat outside the door as she soaked in bubble baths that seemed to take hours. He left her alone while he shopped for groceries and was surprised to hear the thunderous boom of rock music seeping out from under the door frame when he returned. She shut it off as soon as he came in. Neither commented.

According to the newspapers, the prison stayed in lock-down for two days. Scully tried to imagine what she would have been like after two days in her cell. She thought of each pod member, how they would react to their new lives, how they would fare now.

How they must hate her.

She didn't seem surprised to open her door and find Clare Otis. It was as though she anticipated the knock on her door.

"Dr. Scully, I'm sorry to intrude, " Clare Otis said.

"No, it's fine. Come in, " Scully said. She felt awkward.

"You left without saying good-bye, " Clare said. She stayed in the hall with her feet planted shoulder width apart.

"I intended to come by later, " Scully said.

"No, you didn't. You intended to put this as far behind you as fast as you can, " Clare said.

Mulder appeared behind Scully quietly, but he frowned and his hands went to his hips.

"You left a mess behind, " Clare said as if she hadn't seen Mulder.

Scully said nothing.

"Liars and con artists - all of you, " Clare said with an exasperated sigh.

Scully took it. She hung her head and took it.

Mulder sounded as though he was shocked into saying, "Agent Scully did her job."

"Dr. Scully left her job unfinished." Clare said. "I don't dispute your heroism or even your methods. I don't even mind that you didn't trust me - okay, I'm a little hurt. I'll get over it. But what you did to Angela, Laquintia, Mary, all those women in your pod. Lady, that's cold."

"During an undercover operation it is very seductive to-" Scully began.

"You were grateful at the time. At least have the decency to admit it.

You were grateful to them - to all of them. They were family to you."

"-- and I betrayed them. That's how they see it."

"That's how it is, " Dr. Otis said. "You weren't the first nor probably the last. I just thought you could do some good there." She seemed deflated as she turned to go.

"I am very appreciative of your interest in me and your faith in me even when I obviously deserved neither, " Scully said.

"How nice, " Dr. Otis said.

"I'll be glad to assist you in the clinic."

"I don't want your help!" Scully jumped involuntarily. "I never needed it - surely you see that now. But you needed to be there. You had to have something to hold to."

Scully nodded her head.

"Then what are you going to do, Dr. Scully? Let the law take its course here? Forget about those women - you have a right to do that. Send them a nice note? Don't bother. Stand up for them in court? Please-"

Scully worried the hem of her shirt.

"Things will be back to normal tomorrow. They're going to let us clean out your cell - everything being released to family and heirs. You're Zelda's only beneficiary; she asked me to witness it several weeks ago. You can come claim what's yours--if you want, " Clare said.

She turned on her heel and left without another word.

Scully closed the door and leaned her forehead on it. When she finally stood and looked around Mulder sat on the arm of the couch.

He didn't say anything; his face betrayed nothing. But his eyes shone.

"I have to tell you something, " she said.

"I'm right here, " he said. "I've pretty much been here all along."

She saw his hands, those gentle fingers, wide palms, clasped loosely in front of him. Waiting. Patiently. She went to him, because she wanted to feel those hands on her when she told him she was going to be the mother of a small boy.

Chapter 20

Scully planned her arrival for rec time. She wore her best don'tfuck-with-me look and her own FBI windbreaker when she returned to prison. She carried an empty cardboard box under her arm and asked Mulder to wait in the lobby. It had taken her a long time to decide on the windbreaker. In the end, she decided it was better not to fly false colors any more.

Sgt. Anderson met them at the cell block door. Mulder almost felt sorry for the guard. He didn't recognize Scully in full flight.

"You have to be escorted, AGENT Scully."

"Fine, " she said and shoved the box at him. He accepted it rather than have it pushed into his stomach.

They stopped just outside the cell. Scully turned down the row, stared down the guard at the far end. Anderson twirled his arm and the guard opened the door. Anderson smirked at Scully, but it was a wasted gesture. She had already stepped inside.

"You are the one. I've been waiting three awful years -"

Scully heard Zelda's voice on the still air in the small space.

She could scarcely blink back the tears. "Zelda, " she whispered.

"I miss you."

Anderson dropped the empty box on the floor. "You want me -"

"Get out, " Scully said. "Don't touch anything. Watch if you want, but get the hell out."

"Now wait..."

"Do you have a problem with that, Sgt. Anderson?"

He smirked. "No ma'm. I understand fine." He backed out and leaned against the railing outside the cell. "I understand."

It didn't take long, really. The inmates weren't permitted to keep many things in their cells. Scully packed a few of the pictures Zelda had ripped from "National Geographic".

"You're honorable. I'm counting on that, " Zelda had said. Scully almost hadn't been. It had been so tempting to bury it all deep within her as she had with so many other X-Files.

Scully threw in a few last items - toiletries, mostly - and found a book on her bunk. It was the one she'd been reading off and on when she could read - in the rec room. She fingered it for a moment and came out of the cell with a greater sense of purpose. She thrust the book under her arm and the box at Anderson.

"Let's go."

"Out this way, Agent Scully."

She ignored him and walked down the hallway to the rec room. He trailed behind. "Oh, man! I wouldn't-" he began.

At the door to the rec area Scully stopped and took a deep breath.

She took out the book she'd last been reading and patted the photo in her pocket. "Take that box down to my partner. Don't drop it."

The talking and laughing stopped immediately when Scully came in.

She noted the green chair was vacant. She walked to it, sat down, opened the book and started to read. She had just about decided to turn the fourth page when she saw a pair of feet, then another, move up around the chair.

"What, " she said irritably. "Laquintia stealing hairbrushes again? I say we shave her head and have done with the problem."

More feet. Scully turned the page of her book. As soon as it got quiet and the feet stopped she marked her place and closed the book. Eight pair of eyes, some hostile and some only hurt, glared down at her. More than one woman had clenched fists.

They stood poised over her, around her.

"You fucked with us good, " said the forger.

"Bitch, " murmured Angela.

Laquintia stepped up front. "Shut up! All y'alls, " she said. She folded her arms in front of her. "So. You do get around. Where you been this time, Li'l Mama?"

"Running, " she said. "But I'm here and I will tell you what happened.

You want to take this standing up or sitting down?" She waited, but nobody sat. "Okay." Then she told them all of it as much as she knew: the undercover, the mind meld, the book, the robberies, the night Zelda and Bernice died.

"Where that book now?" one woman said.

"Agent Mulder and AD Skinner offered it to Donaldson in exchange for the videotape which exonerated me. They weren't sure who would show up for the robbery -- or that Donaldson planned to stop the robberies by killing the participants. The FBI had no idea anyone would be hurt or that Bernice wanted to kill me --"

"--Huh! The FBI shoudda asked me 'bout that one, " Mary said and a few of the women muttered their agreement.

"How cum this Donaldson dude kept the deal for the tape, " someone asked.

"He didn't. He destroyed it. But Amelia had given a copy to some friends for safekeeping -- along with her book. In any event Donaldson thought I would be dead or insane by the end of this operation and not a viable threat to him, " Scully said.

"Which were ya?" Angela said bitterly.

Scully regarded her in silence, then said, "A bit of both, I suppose."

"None of that don't answer the question. Where that book now?" the woman in the back said.

Scully licked her lips. "I burned it."

The women recoiled.

"Amelia left it for me. I took it in trust. It brought nothing but misery and unhappiness to everyone who read it, believed in it, " she said. "And really, did it tell us anything that we here don't already know about instinct, intuition, and sex?"

Somebody snickered.

"Couldn't read it no way, " said a woman in the back.

Everyone began to laugh.

"What happens now?" said Laquintia's cellmate.

"You give back the money you have. I'll arrange it. No harm, no foul. There will be no additional charges."

"My mama, my kids living on that money -what they gonna eat now, " one woman wailed.

"This ain't much of a deal, Scully, " Laquintia said. "That money long gone."

"I suspect you can get something from Mr. Donaldson's trust and estate, " Scully said. She reached into the pocket of her slacks and handed Byron Water's business card to the woman closest to her.

"I know a good attorney."

"Getting money from Donaldson." The artist smiled. "That has a certain-"

"Je ne sais quoi?" finished Mary.

The inmates giggled. "Yeah, " said Laquintia. "Jest like that."

But the moment passed.

"Scott?" said Angela.

Scully eased the picture out of her jacket pocket and patted it.

She pulled herself out of the chair.

"You bring him to see us sometime?" Laquintia said.

Scully hesitated. "Sometime-"

"What are you gonna to do, Scully? You gonna be okay with all this?" said the forger.

In all her thoughts about this moment it never occurred to Scully that the women in her pod would be worried about her. She started to give them the standard answer, the knee-jerk reaction that would be so insulting. Instead she said, "I still have some thinking to do." Impulsively she handed her book to Laquintia.

"I don't know how it will turn out."


She paused on her way out, to freedom, to her real life.

"You never really fit in, ya know, " Laquintia said.

"That's not how it felt, " Scully said.

The three of them - Scully, Mulder and Skinner - sat before the massive cherry desk of the Attorney General of the United States in subdued silence. They took turns studying the flags of the United States and the seal of the office, the maroon carpeting, the photos of the AG with various dignitaries that covered the walls. When she came in with two aides they stood respectfully and she waved them back to their seats.

"Sorry for the interruption." She picked up some papers from the desk, signed something, and sent her aides outside. The AG folded her hands on the top of her desk.

"You were saying, Agent Mulder?"

"That it's unclear who contacted Zelda about the first robbery in New York. We know Bernice and Amelia Peterson drove them after that. We also know Zelda participated willing and both the money she and her mother --"

"Henry Donaldson's alter ego--" said the AG.

"She lived inside him, ma'm. Two people in the same brain and body, " Mulder said. "It's a type of mind-meld--"

"Split personality disorder?" the AG said.

"Yes, " Scully said.

Mulder regarded Scully with what she knew to be exasperation, then went on: "We can only surmise that Henry and Bernice kept Zelda's existence from Amelia."

"Amelia wanted to use the robberies not only to fund her charities, but to ruin Henry Donaldson, the man she loved, the man who abused her, " Scully said. "She kept her illegal activities from Donaldson."

"And Donaldson didn't let Amelia know he had planted Agent Scully in prison and alerted the FBI to the final robbery, " said Mulder.

The AG dropped a pen on her desk. "Is this possible? Agent Mulder, you're a psychologist. Is it possible for multiple personalities to keep secrets from each other?"

"Not only possible, but common, " Mulder said." Often one personality doesn't know the other exists. In this case-- " "It is common, m'am, in persons suffering from this disorder for one personality to act contrary to the interest of the other personality, " Scully said. She caught another look of surprise from Mulder.

"Even so, why was Henry so anxious to have Agent Scully imprisoned and ultimately, murdered?" said the AG.

"I don't believe he cared about Agent Scully. At that point in the operation she was neutralized, " Skinner said.

"It was his plan to murder the two ghostly robbers -- and Agent Scully only if she happened to be in the way. His motive was most likely to keep his secrets -- about his Vietnam service, his ability to meld with other minds, and to enhance his stature in this department, " Mulder said.

"Agent Scully's role was to flush out the robbers, these so-called flyers?" said the AG.

"And to keep Donaldson appraised of the time and place of the final target, " Scully said.

"If you note in the report, he had already sent Special Agent Ann Millard to the prison undercover. She was discovered by the inmates, specifically Bernice Johnson, and driven to suicide, " Skinner said.

Someone opened the AG's office door and she drove him or her out with an annoyed look. She regarded the trio, each in turn, carefully and critically.

"This defies rational explanation, " said the AG. "I find in it no plausible connections between the apparently innocent people serving prison terms, my office's involvement and these robberies. You can't expect me to take this all seriously."

"I'm sure all those innocent prisoners and their families will be heartened to know you take your job seriously." Mulder rose. "Scully and I can go. We've heard this before."

"Mulder..." Scully's voice, soft and low, held a warning.

"Sit down, Agent Mulder, I have only begun." The Attorney General adjusted her glasses. "First, I'm concerned about how this affair was handled. You, Mr. Skinner. My first instinct is to ask for your resignation. I don't want anyone working under my auspices who would put their people at such risk. I'm contenting myself with a letter of reprimand to the director.


"No, ma'm." Skinner said.

"Had Donaldson come to you with this undercover proposal, would you have accepted it, Agent Mulder?"

"No, " Mulder said.

"Assigned it?"


"That's, in part, why we kept Agent Mulder in the dark, " Scully said. She would have added the decision proved wise, but the AG's look did not invite further remarks.

"Why not, Agent Mulder."

"AD Skinner was right to suspect Donaldson. He did act on his suspicions, by providing me with information I needed."

"But he failed to protect Agent Scully's interests." The Attorney General of the United States said. "Agent Scully, once you knew the truth, why did you continue the assignment?"

"I didn't have a choice. But even so, my instincts also told me too many lives were at stake. At the time I thought the gains outweighed the risks, " she said. "It was an error in judgment."

"Was it?" The AG said quietly.

"At the risk of pointing out the obvious, it worked, " Mulder said. "Whatever you may think of the methods, Scully succeeded in uncovering Amelia's hold over her victims."

"You seem to have a genuine love for the outlandish and unbelievable, Agent Mulder, " said the AG.

"That's why I'm in the basement with the X-Files, " he said.

"Ah, the X-Files. I thought I was reading Ray Bradbury until I noticed the report was in an FBI jacket, " the AG said.

She slapped her hand flat on the file atop her desk. Scully and Mulder exchanged a glance in the silence that followed. "These ghost hunts, the X-Files, they seem to mean a lot to you, Agent Mulder-and to Agent Scully."

"We think it is important work, yes."

"Mr. Skinner?"

"I would not recommend continuing the X-Files if I didn't believe they had validity, " he said. "There are things we can't explain, things we need to investigate."

The AG sighed. "I would not have agreed with that statement a week ago. Now I'm not so certain. I'm not clear about what happened in that prison and to be candid, I'm not certain I want to know." She leaned back and drew straight lines up and down on a blank pad.

"What you have accomplished, Agent Scully -and you, Agent Mulder is do more than raise questions about the paranormal. You've cast doubt on the integrity of this office."

The AG leaned back in her chair. "I'm not sure I can forgive you for that, but I admire your spirit."

"What about the prisoners?" said Mulder. "Most of the stolen monies have been returned thanks to Agent Scully's intercession with the women prisoners Amelia. Donaldson is in a mental hospital for the rest of his life. What about those who suffered most from his deception?"

"Are you talking about Agent Scully?"

"In part-"

"They will be pardoned-" the AG said.

"Pardoned is not the same as exonerated, " said Scully.

"I'll note that, " the AG said coolly.

"Donaldson made certain promises to Agent Scully-" Skinner began.

"He did not speak for this office, " said the AG. Scully turned slightly in her chair, which protested with a squeak. The Attorney General glared at her.

"I have contacted Judge Amos McDonald, " Skinner said. "I sent him a copy of the videotape that night and today asked that Agent Scully's criminal record be expunged. I can't be bailing her out of jail every time she meets a policeman with a computer in his vehicle."

"And Amos agreed?" The AG asked. Skinner nodded. "Well, then that's all that need be said. Frankly, after reading the prison director's report it's

a good thing we got Agent Scully out of there before she initiated a full

scale revolt."

Mulder opened his mouth as though he had an opinion on that subject, but Scully threw him a look that effectively closed it. She put her hands on the arms of her chair as if to rise.

"Gentlemen, you are excused, " the Attorney General said. "I'll speak with

Agent Scully." The AG played her the pen until the door closed behind the

two men. Somewhere in the outer office a telephone rang. The AG's eyes narrowed and Scully read concern as well as displeasure. "I understand how

much you suffered on this assignment."

"No, ma'm, with respect, you don't. And you won't because you've closed your mind to the possibility of anything you can't touch, taste, smell or see, " she said. "I understand why."

The AG rubbed her forehead. "You're a scientist yet you believe all this-" She waved her glasses over the file.

"I only wrote what I've seen and experienced. I can't explain it all. He - Agent Mulder - has seen much more than I have, " she said. "I would be more comfortable bringing you a report with lab results, photographs, computer analysis.. but I can't. Not yet. To give you those hard facts -- that's what I understand my assignment on the X-Files to be."

"Not at the cost of your life - or your sanity." The AG said. "You disregarded basic rules we established for the safety of our agents. We invest in your training, your equipment, your experience and we hope you'll live long enough to make that a wise use of public funds."

"I saw a chance to legitimize what Agent Mulder and I have worked on for several years, to gain some degree of protection for our efforts. I assumed, incorrectly it now appears, that I was dealing with honorable people."

The AG's face reddened. "You're insubordinate!"

"Technically, I'm still on suspension, " Scully said. "I can say whatever I like, whatever the truth is."

"No, you can't, Agent Scully, and neither can I!"

Scully held the AG's gaze in fury.

The attorney general blinked first. "I know this is not all you hoped for. Your best protection is to make as little noise as possible!"

"My best protection is to use the system as it has used me, " she said. "I'm fortunate it's an election year and that journalists are such ambitious people."

The AG's brow furrowed. "Don't threaten me."

Scully drew a photograph out of her jacket pocket as though the AG hadn't spoken. She looked at the photo with a small, sad smile before handing it across the desk. "I'll go back into the basement quietly. But I keep my promises."

The Attorney General looked with curiosity at the crinkled photograph of a grinning pixie with blue eyes, her arms draped around the neck of a dark-haired little boy.

An hour later as Scully started to leave the AG said, "Your undercover service is already noted, agent. And I will put a letter of commendation in your file. Contrary to what you believe, I do have a conscience and I am grateful for what you've done."

The lines in Scully's brow relaxed. "May I ask what changed your mind?"

The AG pursed her lips. "Let's just say I don't want someone of your dedication to think I'm not honorable."

Scully looked for Mulder in the AG's waiting room, but only found Skinner. Her heart sank. She was not surprised. Hurt, but not surprised. She figured she'd have to go search him out, pry him loose again.

"He left without a word, " Skinner said. "Do you need a ride home?" She shook her head. "Take a couple of weeks, Agent Scully. More if you need it. Maybe you should talk to someone-"

Scully shook her head. "I just need some time."

"I feel responsible..." Skinner seemed embarrassed.

"She was wrong to censure you. You were against it from the first, " Scully said. Then she smiled at the irony. "I wanted to believe."

"We didn't make any friends today, " Skinner said.

She was too tired to argue. "I'll be at my mother's."

Scully walked to the elevator and took the first car that arrived. She didn't care if it was going up or down, she just wanted to be on the move. Mulder always said their quest to prove the X-Files lead them one step forward and two back. The same might be said of other aspects of their lives, she thought.

She wearied of it and never more than now.

A long white envelope lay in the passenger seat of her rented car.

It was attached to a new cell phone with clear tape. When she opened the envelope, a key fell out. She grasped it in her fist, feeling its comfortable weight before she opened the paper it was wrapped in.

As she read the note a smile spread across her face, radiating down her body and throwing the weight off her shoulders. She turned on the car ignition and picked up the cell phone. It amused her to see he had already programmed his number on speed dial.

"Mulder, it's me."

"What did she say?"

"She'll arrange it."

"Congratulations, it's a boy. Where are you?"

"Heading south. I'll stop and get some clothes."

"Keep going south, " he said. "Forget clothes and follow the map."

"What about food?"

"You won't starve. I'm a trained survivalist."

"How could I forget?"

"If I'm not here, you have a key, " he said. "Come and go whenever you want."

Her fingers reached into her pocket for reassurance. How did he know such a thing would mean so much to her? "Where will you be?"

"Oh, doing survival stuff -- laying in provisions, digging privies, baiting bear traps..."

"Of course."




Now it was fall, she told herself. She flipped the vent open and lowered the windows a little at the top. The car seemed to glide down the interstate passed the brilliant colors of red, yellow, orange that adorned the trees.

Scully wallowed in the sheer power of steering the car down the open road and in the sensuality of thundering drums that poured from the radio. She actually missed the booming percussion of the rec room music. Scully followed the directions and found herself on a dirt road in a state park, driving carefully on rutted roads to the edge of a lake.

More than 20 wooden steps lead down the hill to a cabin by the water. It looked new, luxurious. She put her hand on the railing for balance.

The view from the top of the staircase nearly took her breath away. She could see miles of hills and water and blue sky over the tops of the trees. It was all so large, so open, so limitless. The lake sparkled in the light of the late afternoon sun. Next to the cabin's wooden deck, a small rowboat bobbed gently against the dock. A cloudless sky lent a deep blue backdrop to the riotous fall colors encircling the lake. Looking around once again, Scully inhaled deeply.

"Are you coming the rest of the way?" Mulder said from the bottom of the stairs. His worn blue jeans fit him loosely and the long-sleeved tee shirt had a hole in the pocket. She felt distinctly overdressed.

"This is beautiful, " she said, meaning both the view and the man. She noticed he carried two fishing rods.




Suddenly the only thing constraining her were the clothes she wore; she felt truly free.

Laughing aloud she marched down the stairs deliberate step by deliberate step. On the eighth step she removed her jacket and let it fall across her arm. On the eleventh step she paused long enough to drop one shoe off and put it in her hand. On the twelfth step the second shoe came off. Her belt looped over railing on the sixteenth step.

Mulder leaned the poles against the steps, not caring that they toppled over immediately, and waited for her. She saw his fingers wiggling, as if he couldn't wait to touch her. Breaking into a sly smile she stepped into his arms from the nineteenth step and burrowed into the warm place between his neck and shoulder.

"God, it's good to be home, " Scully mumbled. It was a prayer.

"We survivalists fish for our supper, " Mulder said, nuzzling her ear, kissing her neck. "How hungry are you?"

"Very, " she said, grabbing his mouth with hers. His hands pulled her blouse out of the back of her skirt and reached for bare skin.

"I got steaks- in case the fish thing didn't work out, " he managed to say between kisses.

"Later, " she said, plunging one hand through his hair and kneading his shoulder with the other.

"Much." He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the cabin.