Date: 09 Apr 96 12:47:42 EDT From: ANDREW DAVIES <100573.2252@compuserve.com> Subject: Failsafe 4 - 12 Failsafe. 6/12. Disclaimer and intro still haven't changed. Comments/flames/howls of protest to: xqv37@dial.pipex.com FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 30th July. 10.13am. Assistant Director Walter Skinner sighed impatiently as he listened to his secretary tell him, once again, that neither Mulder or Scully had been into the office, and neither were responding to calls made to their own phones. He dismissed the woman curtly, pulling his chair closer to his desk and taking out his reading glasses. Skinner's experiences, both at the Bureau and whilst in Vietnam had taught him never to scoff at his own intuition. Right now, that intuition was telling him that something was very wrong. As far as he was aware, no expenses had been requested by the two agents, they were working on a homicide case based in D.C. A man named Bryce had contacted the Bureau when he had been unable to reach Scully. It was the first time that Skinner had been told of their assignment. Bryce had been surprised, hadn't Mulder said that Skinner had given him the case? It was at about that time that Skinner began to smell a rat, a large and distinctly nicotine scented rat. Bryce had admitted to asking for Scully's help. Skinner concluded that someone had set Mulder up as a failsafe, in the event that Scully had refused to co-operate, Mulder's innate curiosity would have been unable to resist. So where the hell were they now? Records from the car pool indicated that a car had been provided the previous afternoon, that was the last time they had been seen. Skinner collected his jacket and left his office. "If you hear from Agents Mulder or Scully, I want to know immediately." The woman recognised that tone. "Yes sir." 10.32am. Skinner opened the door slowly, he felt like a snoop. This office was not his territory. Things went on in here that he had never, and would never be privy to. This, and the nagging worry, conspired to make him extremely uneasy. The two desks bore the hallmarks of two contrasting personalities. One neat and the other strewn with just about every conceivable piece of junk. It was to the latter desk that Skinner turned his attention. Digging through the discarded take out cartons, he began to sift through the files stacked, precariously, to one side. He had no idea what he was looking for. None of the files seemed to have any correlating details to the case that Bryce had described. To all intents and purposes, the only cases occupying Mulder had concerned a sighting of a large neanderthal in Auburn, MA and an overgrown lizard terrorizing citizens in a New York suburb. Skinner wiped the perspiration from his eyes, cursing the air conditioning and making a mental note to ensure that it got repaired. He was about to cross to Scully's desk when his cell phone rang. "Skinner. Thank you. Have a car ready for me in five minutes. Yes, I will be going in person." 1.10pm. The process was an agonizingly slow one. The pulleys attached to the car were stretched to their limit as it was gradually dragged from its watery grave. Skinner cleared his throat, looking at the car finally swaying freely in the air. The crane swung around before lowering the vehicle to the ground. Skinner felt as if his feet were trapped in the mud below his shoes, a muscle twitched nervously in his jaw as the rescue services swarmed towards the car. He heard the crunch of metal, a ripping sound, jarring his already frayed nerves, as one of the doors was wrenched open. Skinner lifted his head expecting to see a sad shake of the head from the man emerging from the car. What greeted him was a puzzled frown, a shrug of the shoulders . "There's no one in here." Galvanized into motion, Skinner walked hurriedly towards the man. "Check the trunk." More wrenching sounds. "Nothing. It's empty." "We got something here." Skinner moved around to the driver's side, blindly following the voice. The small gathering of men parted to allow him access . Although the car had been submerged for some time, the current of the water was slight, it had not managed to erode the stains of blood from the steering wheel. Skinner established from the position of the seat that Mulder had been driving. A glint of metal from under the seat caught his eye and he bent to retrieve it, holding it precariously with a pen. "Standard FBI issue, think that belonged to one of your agents sir?" Mulder's gun felt heavy in his hand as Skinner answered with an affirmative nod . "Seal off the entire area. I want it going over inch by inch, you don't find anything, you go over it again. Same with the car. Keep me informed of any progress." Skinner did not wait for anyone to contradict his orders. He made his way back to his car, heading back to Washington. Scully's apartment was the closest. 2.25pm. Mulder watched his partner struggle to catch her breath, her asthmatic wheezes magnified a hundred times by the blunt echo of the basement. If she was frightened, she was doing a damn good job of hiding it. "It's just the cold Mulder, don't worry." Mulder was not convinced. The near-freezing temperature, the blood loss and shock had weakened her considerably. He rested the back of his hand on her forehead; she was too warm. Leaving her side reluctantly, he soaked the bottom of his T-shirt with water, cupping some in his hands to bring back to her. Scully sipped the water gratefully, feeling it cool her throat, easing the irritation there. With a creative bit of manouevring, Mulder bathed her face with his shirt. Scully quietly allowed him to administer to her, well aware that if Mulder believed he was helping, he would not have time to think what the consequences of a full blown case of pnuemonia would be. Scully leaned back heavily against the wall, trying not to make her breath sounds too conspicuous. Lethargy was working its way into her muscles, her cheeks burned and her thoughts were muddled. "Mulder...?" He turned sharply. "What's wrong?" "I'm so tired." He wondered if she remembered him using those words, the gentle gesture she had closed his eyes with <"You should sleep">. The fear rose within him. "Scully, stay awake. You hear me? You can't sleep right now." Mulder shook her shoulder, made sure she was listening to him. "Talk to me." "About what?" Her voice sounded stronger. "I don't know. Favourite film, what you were like at school, first boyfriend..." Even in the dark, Scully could see him wiggle his eyebrows at her . "OK. I get the idea, but anything I say, stays in this room." Scully blushed at the inanity of her last comment, she heard a desperate snort of laughter from Mulder as he drew his arm around her. "Yes Ma'am." Mulder's apartment. Washington, D.C. 5.02pm. Skinner approached the door of number 42, the skeleton key from the landlord dangling loosely in his hand. Margaret Scully's words were still ringing in his ears. After a fruitless search of Scully's apartment, Skinner had played back the messages stored on her answering machine. There had been two from her mother. Skinner had called her, hearing the weary acceptance in the woman's voice as she listened, once again, to someone telling her that her daughter was missing. Only this time, it was both of them; her daughter and the man she loved as a son. Skinner picked up the pile of assorted newspapers and flyers gathered in front of Mulder's door. He smirked at a copy of "The Lone Gunman", the cover of which was graced by a non-too flattering portrait of Clinton being abducted from a corn circle. Placing the pile to one side, Skinner pushed open the door. The apartment was gloomy and deathly quiet. The luminescent fish tank, devoid of all fish, threw an eerie blue glow from the side of the couch. Unnerved slightly, Skinner pressed on the light switch, exhaling softly as he looked around at the room. Tables and chairs were up-ended, papers were scattered like ticker-tape across the floor. Whoever had been there, had known exactly what they were looking for. Stepping cautiously through the debris, Skinner reached Mulder's computer, listening to the soft hum of the modem as he launched a doomed attempt to access the agent's e- mail. Skinner failed the three guesses at the password, floundering for another access route and being politely, but firmly denied. Frustrated, he turned to leave. Throwing a parting glance around the room, he saw the red light on the answering machine demanding his attention. "Mulder." The voice was unfamiliar to Skinner, formal, but at the same time, jokingly so. "Thanks for the TLG subscription, better late than never right? Frohike wanted to know if Scully had reconsidered, says she won't find better bedtime reading. Are you still on for the conference a week Saturday? Let us know when you get back." Skinner's gut tightened. <"Let us know when you get back."> Who the hell were these guys? Replaying his actions mentally, his gaze strayed to the door. Striding over with renewed purpose, he threw it open and rifled through the newspapers until he found the magazine. <"Thanks for the TLG subscription."> He snatched up the magazine, thumbing through it, searching for a clue as to the writers' whereabouts. It was after a couple of pages that Skinner realised he was persuing possibly *the* most paranoid piece of literature ever published. Tracing these men to their headquarters was not going to be an easy task. Skinner was not familiar with the specific details of Mulder and Scully's case, but an unfailing gut instinct told him he was running out of time. Failsafe. 7/12. See part one if you are really into the intro and disclaimer thing. Comments/ Flames and Red Speedos welcome at: xqv37@dial.pipex.com Warning, this part contains scenes that some people may find disturbing, and they happen pretty much straight away so cover your eyes... 5.45pm. "Dad thought Jack was too old for me, that only made me all the more determined to date him." Mulder chuckled softly, imagining the battle of wills that Scully and her father must have been regularly engaged in. "At least he cared enough to want to interfere, Scully." He felt her nod in agreement. In a little over three hours, Scully had opened up a side of herself to him that Mulder had rarely had the privilege to see. They had spoken casually about their personal lives before, but never with this amount of intensity or detail. She was tiring now, he could hear it in her voice, and the bouts of coughing were becoming more frequent. Mulder wondered how they could both remain so calm. But were they calm, or resigned? The constant ordeals that they had both been forced to endure through their work on the X-Files, had not only sapped their strength, but also their ability to take anything for granted. As they sat, huddled together in their cold prison, Mulder acknowledged that maybe, if they were honest, they had both been expecting something like this to happen. Scully felt her partner shiver, gooseflesh rising on his bare arms. She didn't know what he had just been thinking about and before she could ask him, she heard the keys rattling in the lock. The light sliced through the basement. "Oh God. " Mulder felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. Scully kept her hand on his arm, a restraint and a comfort. "How we all doing?" Scully could feel her knees weaken, the light sensation that accompanies sheer elation or outright terror. She forced herself to look at Logan but could not formulate a reply. "Oh, Agent Scully, you don't look so good." Mulder squinted closely at Logan's face. It seemed to be decaying by the second. Part of the flesh had already been eaten away, leaving a mess of red and green traces across his visage. The lips were peeling and his teeth were coming loose from his gums. The sight was not a pleasant one. "Let's have you over here, shall we?" He bent towards Scully and pulled her up to stand beside him. Mulder remained motionless, not wanting to provoke a further attack. Scully swayed unsteadily, willing herself not to faint. Logan half dragged her over to a table, leaning to fasten a bulb into a small angle-head lamp. Scully saw a hook on the wall, saw the blood on the floor and bolted. Jerking herself away from Logan's grasp, she pushed at him. He was caught by surprise and fell awkwardly to the ground. Struggling blindly, Scully tried to run back to Mulder, who was sitting open mouthed with shock. With a quick shake of his head, Mulder scrambled to his feet. He could see Logan picking himself up, could see Scully, panic stark in her eyes. She wasn't going to make it. To Mulder, it seemed to happen in slow motion. He watched as Logan hit Scully from behind, sending her to the floor, cursing under his breath. With an effort, Mulder snapped out of his stupor and launched himself at the man. Logan turned from Scully and braced himself for Mulder's onslaught. Sidestepping neatly, he drove a double fist into Mulder's back, driving him onto all fours, a kick in the chest effectively quashing the rebellion. "Now, where were we?" Panting slightly, Logan caught hold of Scully's chains and linked them over the hook in the wall. She slumped forward on her knees, resting her head on the clammy concrete. Waiting. She sensed Logan move away from her, realised that he was going back towards Mulder. There was a silent pause before the sound of dull thuds filled the basement, Scully heard her partner groan quietly. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she listened, helpless to do anything but wait for her turn. To Scully, it seemed like hours. Her arms, fastened above her head, went numb. She could hear herself repeating a plea to Logan to stop hurting her partner, a plea that remained unanswered. Then the pounding stopped. The sound of Logan panting from exhertion filled her senses, there was no sound from Mulder. She could not see Logan standing with his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath. She could not see the satisfied grin as he looked at Mulder, but she knew it was there . "Agent Scully, looks like we get to spend some time alone." He was moving towards her, his steps measured, almost jaunty. He stepped into her line of vision. A thick, green slime glistened on his forehead, a bizarre mainfestation of perspiration. Scully raised her eyes to meet his, a look of disgust that made her lips thin and her eyes blaze. "You bastard." For all Scully knew, this thing had just killed her partner; her best friend. She was not going to give him the pleasure of seeing she was afraid, or that her heart was breaking. With a smile, he moved from her sight, rustling in a box, mumbling to himself. He appeared again, a small tray of surgical instruments in one hand, a clipboard in the other. Scully was too dumbfounded to be scared, this was like every bad B-Movie Mulder had ever made her sit through. Logan flipped through the pages attached to the board. "Makes for pretty interesting reading this. But I don't suppose you'll ever find out what's in here. Was it three months you were missing for?" Scully willed herself not to react , but her little inner voice sounded hollow. "I was asked to do a spot of extra research for my colleagues. They thought it would be easier this way, less attention drawn to them, you see. So, let's get started, shouldn't take too long." He put the file to one side and knelt down beside her. Scully felt her arms tremble, her breath wheezed from her lips. In a swift movement, Logan ripped the back of Scully's blouse, sniggering derisively as he saw Mulder's makeshift dressings. A thin blade tore the shreds of cloth from around her torso, leaving her back exposed. She felt the cool tip of the blade against her skin, her breath escaped in a barely smothered moan as the metal pierced her flesh and drew a line through it. As the scalpel was withdrawn, Scully fainted. "Agent Scully? Agent Scully?!" There was no pain, only an overwhelming tiredness and a feeling that, however momentarily, she was safe. "Can you hear me?" She recognised the voice but her dry lips would not reply. She nodded. It took an effort to lift her head from the ground, but she managed it. Squinting into the glare that surrounded the figure, her dull thoughts concluded that she had last had this dubious pleasure on the floor of her kitchen. "I know you're angry Agent Scully." "I know that. We're sorry for getting you into all this. We had no idea Logan was working for someone else's agenda." Scully was finding it difficult to distinguish between speech and thought. "We cannot survive here long enough to find out." Even Scully's thoughts sounded defeated. It had slipped through before she was able to stop it, she was not sure she would be able to cope with the answer. "He was alive when Logan finished with him." Scully screamed suddenly, her entire body convulsed as it was wracked with an unbearable pain. The figure in front of her faded than gradually strengthened . The pain was abating slowly. Her fists clenched and relaxed. "You almost regained consciousness. Stay with me Agent Scully, Dana. You have to hold on. We are doing our best to take Logan. The decay you saw, we are making that happen, but we can only do it a piece at a time. We thought you would be able to manage, then we could reclaim him in our own time, but none of us knew the true abilities of the callousness of what we were trying to fight. The creature leaned down to her, placed a hand on the crown of her head. A warmth infused Scully's body, a promise of safety. Scully slipped back into the dreamless sleep, the words of the creature replaying themselves in her mind. <"You have to hold on."> FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 30th July. 7.15pm. He had always hated this office. As a junior agent in the Bureau, he had spent countless hours behind this desk, reading through case files in the inadequate light. Now, it was a place where he felt secure, sure that he could not be listened in on, or observed. Skinner had based his team here, a small team of agents he had worked with through some of his toughest assignments, and whom he trusted implicitly. There were usually five agents who fulfilled that criteria, today that number was down to three. The office was cramped, designed to accomodate one man not four. The barely contained frustration seeping into the atmosphere was not helping. No detail of Mulder's assignment could be located, no results from any of Scully's forensic work. A man by the name of Stave had disappeared completely, Alan Bryce and family had been placed in protective custody. The originators of "The Lone Gunman" remained elusive, waiting for them to contact Mulder seemed to be the only way that they were ever going to be traced and Skinner knew that they did not have the time to waste hoping for that to happen. The absolute silence, Skinner had insisted the case be surrounded by, was limiting the resources that they could access, hindering work that needed to be accomplished quickly. "Sir, we might have something here." Skinner made his way towards the two men hunched over a copy of "The Lone Gunman". Special Agent Anthony Charles handed the magazine to his superior and passed him a magnifying glass. "Down in the bottom, left hand corner of the page. It looks like some sort of coded contact number." Skinner whistled softly between his teeth. The number was barely perceptible to the naked eye, visible only to people who knew what they were looking for. It was not a phone number, well, not immediately so. "Get this down to the code breakers. No, call Ally at the department, tell her to get down here with whatever equipment she will need." He did not need to say any more than that. Charles made the phone call, divulged the barest of details and reported that Ally Davis was on her way. Skinner flipped open his cellular phone. "I need to speak to Doctor David Walker. Yes, that's right. Well, could you page him as soon as he finishes in surgery. Tell him Walter needs to speak to him urgently. Yes, thank you." A sharp rap on the glass panel of the door greeted Skinner as he placed the phone back into his pocket. "Come in." Charles rushed to help the slight woman as she staggered in through the door with a large, electronic laptop. "Somebody want to fill me in on what the hell is going on...?" She caught Skinner's eye. "Sir." 7.27pm. It was no specific pain that forced Mulder back to lucidity, every part of his body registered an identical, throbbing ache. The energy necessary to raise his head eluded him, it had taken him all of his strength just to open his eyes. He was lying on his side, facing the wall, still curled up into the foetal ball that had failed to protect him from Logan's beating. He was beginning to isolate the parts of him that hurt the most. His face was a dull mess, touching it gently, he ascertained a considerable amount of swelling, his fingers came away sticky with blood. He could feel his ribs on his left side grating together, the small of his back complained every time he moved. "Scully?" His voice was ragged, his mouth dry and bloody. "Scully?" Steeling himself for the effort, he dragged himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the wall for balance. Through swollen eyes, he scanned the basement, his gaze resting on a small, dark mass on the opposite side. A second concussion was not aiding Mulder's memory, but small fragments of information filtered through to piece the events together. The sight of Scully being dragged away from him, the sound of a scream shattering the unconscious state Logan had left him in. Terror masked the injuries that had kept Mulder stationary. Standing slowly, he wavered before staggering over to his partner. "Scully?" His voice cracked then deserted him, giving way to a quiet rage and tears that pushed their way along his battered cheeks. She was still chained to the wall, her body hanging limply, the hook in the wall the only thing keeping her up. Her blouse hung in tatters from her shoulders, framing a criss-cross pattern of wounds in her back. Mulder's legs gave way beneath him, he knelt unsteadily by her side. She was still breathing, a raspy, irregular wheeze. Mulder was afraid to touch her, afraid that she would give up her tenuous hold on life if he did. The cuts were identical to the ones he had seen in previous victims, a range of depth and size. Regaining his composure, Mulder took hold of Scully's bonds and unhooked them, as he cradled her to the floor, a sharp smell stung his eyes . "No. Please God." Mulder had encountered a similar smell twice before, once in the attic of a doctor's house and more recently, in the Artic. He turned Scully onto her side, despite the lack of illumination, he could see a faint tinge to two of the deepest wounds. The blood around the outside of them had already begun to thicken, Mulder knew that her heart would fail as the chemical passed into her bloodstream. A devastating feeling of futility washed over him, there was nothing that he could do for her. He shivered fiercely, tried to pull the remnants of Scully's blouse over her to keep her warm, then stopped himself. The temperature in the basement might be the only thing that she had working to her advantage. They were both freezing, maybe it was cold enough for the virus to be inhibited. Not knowing if he was doing the right thing, Mulder turned Scully onto her back, leaning her down onto the cold floor, concluding that an infection from the dirt there was the lesser of two evils. He winced on her behalf as he settled her, resting her head in his lap, almost relieved that she was still unconscious. Closing his eyes wearily, he stroked his hand through her hair, the sound of her laboured breathing dictating his rhythm. Failsafe. 8/12. Disclaimer and intro still the same, see part one if you're really into that kind of thing. Comments/flames/sunflower seeds welcome at: xqv37@dial.pipex.com Please don't flame me over the phone numbers in this section, I'm a Brit and I've never phoned anyone in D.C :) Caroline. FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 7.52pm. The code breaking program had been in operation for about fifteen minutes before the agents began to see any signs of progress. The data was being processed through an elaborate set of diagnostic devices, each working to decipher the pattern of the numbers used and establish their significance. Under Skinner's instructions, Agents Charles and Anderson were organising a quick response unit, each man approved by Skinner and prepared to move out at the shortest notice. Skinner hovered over the shoulder of Ally Davis, not making sure that she was doing her job properly, just trying to reassure himself that progress was being made. "OK. So far we have area code 0807. That puts them quite close by." "Figures. How long do you think the rest will take?" Davis shook her head, feeling responsible for every second of the delay. "The first part came up pretty quickly, the rest of the number has been scrambled using a different code. It could be minutes...could be days." "Just do your best." The chirp of Skinner's cell phone interrupted Davis' response. "Skinner...David...It's not been long enough in my opinion, well, on a professional basis anyway. Yes, I need your help, do you think you could come over to the Bureau? I'll have one of my men meet you...It is an emergency, yes...No, no, you don't need to bring anything. I'll be able to tell you more when you arrive. And, David?...Thank you." Agent McFee was already on his feet. At a confirmation from Skinner, he left the room to wait for Dr.Walker. "It's coming through!" Ally Davis was barely able to stifle a yell of delight. Skinner strode over to the desk. "We have access to the code, the numbers should be finalised in about a minute." Skinner let out his breath slowly, making the final alterations to the tracing equipment by the phone." "Here it is...0807 42 08 05." Skinner dialled the number as Davis relayed it, holding his breath as the dial tone skipped around before, finally, a ringing could be heard. The recording device began to tape the call. Skinner raised his eyebrows as a pre-recorded message began to play . "Congratulations! You have successfully broken this month's code, a free years subscription to TLG is now yours. Leave your name and address after the tone and your first issue will be on its way soon." A cold sweat broke out on Skinner's forehead. Would they be able to trace this? He decided to gamble. "This is the Assistant Director of the FBI. If anyone is receiving this call, I need to speak with you urgently." The silence was deafening. "I don't need to meet with you, this is a call for your assistance. Agents Mulder and Scully have gone missing. you may be the only people who know where they are." The tape recorder continued its slow revolutions, a panel display blinked vacantly; no trace possible. Skinner looked at Davis, she avoided his eyes, studied the desk top instead. Skinner was at a loss. "*They need your help*" There was a sharp click at the end of the line, an exhalation of breath. "How do we know you are who you say you are?" The relief in the room was palpable, Davis sat down quickly, her legs shaking. Skinner gestured for her to watch the recorder, when he spoke his voice was controlled, full of authority again. "I cannot prove that to you. A copy of your magazine was discovered at Mulder's apartment, a message that you left implied that you knew where they had been sent. They have been missing for over twenty four hours. I have reason to believe that their involvement in their case ws not accidental, but all traces of exactly what the case entailed have been eradicated." Skinner heard a faint swearing in the background, the voice at the receiver changed. "Agent Mulder asked us to locate a man suspected of a series of murders. He did not offer any other details. We didn't ask. The man was identified as Paul Logan. Last known address 33 Gateslock Road, Baltimore. As far as we are aware they left for that address immediately." Despite the fact that the message was being recorded, Skinner scribbled the information down. "Thank you. When we find them, no doubt Mulder will be in touch." "Yes sir, you tell him to bring the lovely Agent Scully along aswell." Skinner's eyebrows almost arched off his forehead "And, sir?" "Yes?" "Be careful." The line went dead. Davis was already on the phone, notifying the convoy of men, telling McFee to get his "butt back down here" as soon as Doctor Walker arrived. Skinner took hold of his jacket, checked the clip in his gun. "Let's go." 8.22pm. Scully had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. The burning sensation blazing across her back was not exactly tempting her to make the effort to wake up. Mulder watched as her eyes opened again, blinking hazily up at him. "You're a mess, Mulder." She sounded drugged, he hoped that was how she was feeling. He placed his hand on her shoulder and she shivered at his cold touch. "What did he do? My back...He had a knife." She watched his face again as if that alone would drive the images away. "Mulder, I saw her again." "Scully, you need to rest." Mulder *had* heard what she had said, he had also seen the state of mind that she was in, there was no way that he would raise her hopes by encouraging her to trust what could have been little more than a delusion. "She said that they were trying to help us, that they were taking him a piece at a time." She was attempting to sit up, her conjested lungs desperately needing her to. Mulder's hold on her shoulder kept her firmly on the floor. "I'm cold." Her voice was small, it took all of Mulder's will- power not to gather her into his arms. He could not look at her face. "Scully, he injected you." Her eyes widened, realisation dawning on her. "The colder you are, the more time..." He choked off the sentence. Scully seemed more in control than her partner was. She bit down on her lip to mask the pain shooting through her body. "They're trying to help us, Mulder." He desperately wanted to believe that was true. FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C. 8.25pm. "David, good to see you again." The handshake between the two men was warm. Dr. David Walker had been Skinner's physician for years. He regarded the tall man in front of him quizzically. Walter Skinner had always been a composed man, his natural expression appearing stern to the stranger. Walker noted the obvious lines of fatigue on his face, an unfathomable weight seemed to be bearing down upon shoulders that usually held the appearance of being able to endure the greatest of pressures. Skinner's cordial greeting belied a man relieved to recruit another ally. "So, are you going to tell me what is going on?" Walker kept his tone light, allowing Skinner to take all the time he needed. Skinner nodded, grateful to be able to advance the proceedings and grateful for his friend's consideration. He gave Walker an efficient synopsis of what was known of the case. Alan Bryce had discovered his office torn to pieces by unknown intruders, but his anecdotal evidence was the only knowledge Skinner had of the investigation. "I need you to assemble a team of medics, and whatever equipment that may be necessary. Agent Charles and Agent McFee will accompany you to provide the authorisation." Walker looked at his friend with an expression of shocked comprehension. "you really think that they are still alive?" Skinner finished fastening his jacket around his bullet proof vest. "We have to believe that David." 9.32pm. They were waiting for a miracle now. >From outside the basement, scattered sounds could be distinguished. Boxes being dragged, papers being torn to shreds. At one point, Mulder distinctly heard a second voice in conversation with Logan. He was preparing to leave, covering his tracks and handing over the 'research'. The faint smell of burning inflitrated the basement and Mulder fought to overcome an age old phobia, one that he had never managed to completely subdue. Scully stirred restlessly, her lips moving but making no noise. Mulder leaned down towards her, his back screaming in protest and being ignored. "Mulder..." Her voice was no more than a whisper. "I can't breathe...have to sit up." She was in a no-win situation. "OK, but only for a minute." Trying not to cause either of them any further pain, Mulder helped Scully to sit up. Her face was a deathly pale, a blue tinge to her lips was just visible. She coughed, a hoarse, wracking cough that left her limp with exhaustion. Scully lay down again of her own volition, leaning her head on Mulder's thigh with a grimace of determination that Mulder had seen many times before but never so immutable. Seconds later, Mulder felt her body convulse. It was only a slight twitching of her limbs at first, but the spasms soon became more general and pronounced. With a vague recollection of medical training, Mulder turned her onto her side, making sure she could not choke. The seizure subsided as quickly as it had begun, but not before Mulder noticed the green blisters surrounding the two deeper wounds on her back. He did not recognise this stage of the virus, but realistically it could only signify the progression of the infection. Shuddering, Mulder placed her onto her back. There was a trickle of blood on her chin, she had bitten through her lip during the attack. "I'm just going to clean you up a bit, Scully." Talking to her as he wiped her mouth allowed Mulder to look into her vacant eyes without falling to pieces. His self- assurance was short-lived. Her eyes stared at him, but they were devoid of Scully's vibrant personality. Unable to bear it any longer, he closed them, the finality of the gesture making him nauseous. He picked up her right hand in his, a faint warmth was still there, reminding him that she ws also running a temperature. Mulder was too tired to be angry, too scared to feel futility. He could hear himself humming a tune that his mother had used to comfort her children after nightmares. The sound filled his ears, muffling the rasp of Scully's breathing and the knawing aches in his every limb. A quiet peace seemed to infuse the basement, a precious serenity that Mulder had rarely experienced since early childhood. Overcome by the need to rest, Mulder shifted himself until he was curled around Scully, her head on his arm, his chains providing a belt of security for her. "Y'know Scully, after this concrete, I don't think ever Futons are going to hold the same attraction." He did not receive an answer. In a matter of seconds, the sound of two people breathing and a steady dripping of water were the only noises in the dark. Failsafe. 9/12. Hi to anyone who has ventured this far. Disclaimer and intro are unchanged from the first part. Comments/flames/howls of derision to: xqv37@dial.pipex.com 9.43pm. Skinner looked over his shoulder again, craning his neck around to check whether anyone was following their car. "Sir, you're going to put a crick in your neck if you're not careful." Anthony Charles was driving. "There's no one behind us." He was right, the small country road that they were hurtling along was deserted apart from four rental cars and a van, inconspicuously travelling approximately five minutes behind each other. Skinner was in the lead car, the van containing the medical equipment and technicians was bringing up the rear. The convoy would re-establish itself at Gateslock Road, something that would involve a considerable amount of nail chewing for Skinner as he waited for the trailing cars to catch up. Skinner glanced down at the file on his knee, the same information that had been faxed through to Mulder; Logan's criminal record. The man's fixed stare had the same effect on Skinner that it had had on his two agents, but at least he knew who he was looking for now. Skinner had successfully shut his mind off from the other details that Bryce had been able to give him, he had not needed to see the evidence of these crimes to imagine the results. To maintain a rational perspective on the operation, Skinner refused to consider what Mulder and Scully may have been put through. "Walter?" David Walker's voice cut into Skinner's reverie. "Go ahead David." "I just got word through from Bethesda. I have a team on stand-by there, no questions asked." "How the hell did you manage that?" David may have been based at the Naval hospital in Bethesda, but that was still a considerable accomplishment. "Friend owed me a favour, he, luckily, had a friend who owed him one too." Skinner sensed the grin in the man's voice. "Well, I think we deserved a break." Skinner paused, hoping he was not thinking too far ahead, or too optimistically. "That's quite a trek though." "Walter, let's cross that bridge when we come to it." The doctor's tone was more guarded. "Agreed. Over." Skinner checked his watch as the connection went dead. They were making good time. His stomach fluttered with anticipation, a bizarre combination of adrenalin and trepidation that had dominated his time in Vietnam. This was a different kind of combat, a different kind of strategy, but as he sat, weapon nestled in the palm of his hand, he wondered whether the enemy had changed. 10.12pm. Mulder was jerked awake by a crashing outside the basement door. A thin, high pitched scream reverberated through the air and the door was thrown open, slamming back against the wall. Logan stoood framed by the back light, a silhouette with a shifting outline. Mulder did not have the energy to raise his head far off the floor. He could barely see Logan; the tangle of Scully's hair surrounding his face forming a barrier between the two men. Mulder leaned down close to his partner. She was barely breathing, tiny exhalations of air brushed his cheek and she remained unconscious, something that Mulder had never thought he would be grateful for. Logan walked quickly down the stairs towards them, his progress seemed graceless, clumsy Biting hard on his lip, Mulder sat up, but not with the best will in the world could he stand. Scully lay in front of him, still as death. Logan reached them, stood over Scully. For a second a mock smile of sympathy passed over his ruined face. "I just got word from one of my associates. Apparently a rescue mission is being staged, and my colleague is worried that I will have left some evidence behind. Namely, you." Mulder saw a faint glow behind Logan, an ebb of light that abruptly disappeared, making the darkness all the more formidable. For the first time, Logan seemed less sure of himself. "It also appears that I won't be around for too long now." The glow caught his eye again, a strange murmuring sound rattled across the room. Logan took a deep breath, his feet moving closer to Scully's prone body. "Guess we should get it over with." The murmuring was increasing in volume. Logan was becoming more and more agitated. Mulder watched, hardly daring to breathe, not wanting to hope for what he thought might be about to happen. A cool breeze swept across Mulder's face making him shiver. Logan swirled around, turning his back on his captives, trying to locate the source of his torment. "I'M NOT..." His words were ripped from his throat in a throttled cry, his defiance not being given the opportunity to articulate itself. With a roar of agony, Logan moved back towards Scully, only to find Mulder bracing himself for the onslaught, crouching in front of his partner. Logan laughed, scorning what he saw to be a pitifully heroic effort, it did not deter him for a second. Mulder was feeling anything but heroic. He was half doubled over in pain, a cold sweat beaded his forehead, blinding him as it trickled into his eyes. Logan kicked out at him, catching Mulder in the shoulder, forcing him off balance . "Is that what you want G-Man? For me to kill you first? Maybe then your girlfriend will last till help gets here, is that the plan?" That was the plan. Mulder laid both hands in front of himself, trying to muster up some semblance of strength. He winced suddenly at the brightness of the glare coming from behind Logan. The disembodied voices raised themselves into a tumult, pounding Mulder's ears, hammering the air from his lungs. Logan wailed, a primal cry of desperation as his body was torn by the force of his origins. It was too difficult for Mulder to remain upright. Curling himself onto the concrete, he drew Scully close to him, buried her head in his chest in an attempt to shield her from the tempest. A soft voice reached the periphery of Mulder's hearing, an assurance of security, a promise of protection and finally, silent gratitude. He could feel himself slipping away, a great gulf opening up between himself and harsh reality. Despite his stubborn resistance, Mulder lost consciousness. He did not hear Logan's final howl as his body was ripped apart, the dazzling display of light and sound washed harmlessly over the two agents. The remnants of Logan's body were efficiently gathered by invisible hands, justice would later demand their reconstruction, but that was the concern of a separate existence. A sad caress touched the two sleepers, a final apology and a farewell. Gateslock Road. Outskirts of Baltimore. 10.18pm. The shock wave of light and the lamenting cacophony that accompanied it, submerged the deserted street into a miniature maelstrom. The chaos provided a spectacular welcome for Assistant Director Skinner and the two open- mouthed agents travelling with him. "What the hell was that?" Agent Charles was a man of few words. He stopped the car a discreet distance from number thirty three, gaping at the rubble-strewn street, briefly illuminated by an impossibly bright light. As the wind died down, Skinner opened the car door. "Sir, we should wait for our back-up." The statement was a mandatory warning from Charles. Skinner glanced at the younger agent, nodded in acknowledgement and checked his weapon. "We don't go in there right now and there might not be any need for back- up." The street was cooler now, a biting breeze nipped at the faces of the three men forcing a shiver from Charles. An efficient moment of silence elapsed as the men organised themselves into an assault formation and, walked stealthily towards the house. "Looks empty." Charles' voice was hushed, his flashlight played over the lock on the front door and revealed it to be broken. On a count of three, he pushed the door gently, standing to one side, allowing Skinner to enter. Their movements were fluid and unrushed, a steady sweep of the house revealed recent habitation and an obviously hurried departure. Skinner stood in the kitchen of apartment two and kicked at a pile of ash, small black flakes leapt into the air and dispersed across the floor. Skinner brushed his hand along the counter top, removing it quickly when he felt the heat there. He turned as Charles and Anderson came through the apartment. "Anything?" "Nothing seems to have been affected upstairs. Whatever the disturbance was, it looks like it was confined to this floor." Charles watched as Skinner prowled around the room. "We're missing something." Charles did not voice his misgivings, his doubt over the reliability of the Lone Gunmen, his suspicion that they may have been sent on a wild goose chase. Instead he scoured the apartment, searching for hidden compartments, rooms they may have overlooked . Skinner was in the bedroom when he heard it. The faintest of noises, a slight rattle of metal and a distant voice. "Charles! Anderson! Get in here." Skinner was moving towards the sound, holding his hand up to prevent the agents from speaking. They stood transfixed, straining to identify the direction of the noise and only succeeding in amplifying the pounding of their own hearts. Skinner looked at the floor, there was no trap door, but the sound was coming from beneath him. "Dammit, where are they?" He began to walk around the room, running his hands over the walls, feeling for any discrepancies in the design. Following his example, Charles and Anderson did likewise, tapping gently, applying pressure to the dank covering. "Holy shit." ting noise filled the room as Anderson removed a large piece of panelling from the wall. A chill swept over the three men bringing with it a sickly smell of decay. Skinner checked his watch, the second car should have been arriving any minute. "Anderson, wait for the next car, get them in here A.S.A.P. Keep radio contact." He looked down into the gaping darkness. "If that's possible." Anderson left Skinner and Charles with no small relief. He did not know what was down there, what could cause that kind of smell and he was not at all sure that he wished to find out. 10.25pm. Skinner went first, carefully descending the slimy staircase. His eyes widening as he reached the bottom, he waited for Charles to join him. They were in a room, a large, cavernous room where various tables and benches had been arranged into some sort of laboratory. Most of the equipment was destroyed, glass splinters made the floor shimmer and crunch underfoot, the stench was unbearable and the noises were closer. A man's voice. Skinner recognised it now, he had heard it so many times before, raised in anger or frustration, quiet with grief. Mulder. A metal door beckoned the two men, it was slightly ajar and it was filtering Mulder's voice through to them. Breaking into a run, Skinner reached the door and, gun steady, waited for Charles to open it fully. The cautious approach was swiftly abandoned as Skinner realised Mulder was sobbing. "Agent Mulder?!" Skinner shone his torch around the basement, resting it on a dark shadow on the far side. A face that Skinner barely knew raised itself into the beam. "My God." Mulder blinked, shielding his eyes from the glare, uncomprehending. "Help her." His voice seemed to come from miles away as Skinner followed the direction of Mulder's plea and saw the small bundle on the floor. "Go! I'll get the medics in." Skinner heard Charles leave as he ran down the steps towards the two agents. The sound of Charles' fading footsteps was replaced by that of Mulder desperately trying to rouse his partner. Skinner knelt by her side, she did not seem to be breathing. With a gentle but firm hold, he removed Mulder's hands from her shoulders. Her body was ice cold as Skinner placed his fingers on her neck searching for a pulse. "Mulder...What happened?" There was a faint throb of movement beneath his fingertips. He searched Mulder's eyes, slowly absorbing the bruises and lacerations on his face, the discolouration of his chest and the shackles around his wrists. Skinner took his jacket off and placed it around the younger man's shoulders. "You're going to be alright. Can you tell me what happened to Scully?" It was pretty evident what had happened to her. The thin lace bra did not disguise the angry lacerations across her torso, and her arm was distended crookedly around the restraints. Skinner saw a small cut running towards her back and, with a mounting feeling of dread, he turned her onto her side. "Son of a bitch." He heard a muted sob escape from Mulder's throat. The flesh on Scully's back was swollen and blistered, a gruesome collage of wounds that emitted a faint and indistinguishable smell. "Keep her cold, she has to be cold." Mulder was trying to place her down on the floor again. His hands were shaking with the effort to remain alert. "Don't let them warm her." He leaned back against the wall, holding her hand tightly. "Mulder, listen to me." Skinner was keeping a hand on Scully's pulse, preparing to move if she stopped breathing. "Stay with me just a little while longer OK? I need to know what he gave her." No response. "What did he give her Agent Mulder?" "Artic...I don't remember the name." That was enough for Skinner. Mulder's long recuperation following his trek across the ice had caused a near breakdown for Scully, as she endeavoured to keep him at his desk and away from active duty. The virus he had been exposed to had been buried in medical files somewhere, but Scully had been able to offer a detailed account of its effects and even had a copy of his blood tests that she had smuggled from the hospital. Couple this with Bryce's information and Skinner had a good idea what they were facing. Mulder was aware of Skinner's questions, but he could not assimilate his presence into any kind of logical conclusion. He was shivering so hard and he just wanted to leave now, to lay down his head and sleep. He heard footsteps approaching; voices calling out to Skinner, and his superior's urgent reply. Men ran down the steps towards them, arms full of equipment, torches blazing. Despite the fact that each man was a hardened professional, they were all shocked by the sight that confronted them. Mulder heard the horrified comments and exclamations, the delay they caused seemed to last forever, but only a couple of seconds actually elapsed before the men moved forward to help. David Walker had been thorough in his briefing of his medical team. A quick consultation with Skinner confirmed what they were dealing with. Walker gently lifted Scully onto a cooling blanket before examining her. His proficient hands carefully probing and assessing her injuries. "Pulse is thready...oh shit..." The thin wail of the heart moniter sliced through the nerves of everyone in the room. Mulder pushed the medics away from him, watching as Walker pounded on his partner's chest as a second man fed her breaths through a face mask. "One and two and three and four. Breathe. One and two and three and four. Breathe." The litany seemed to continue for an age before a faint bleep on the moniter signalled Scully's willingness to fight. As he watched her take a small gasp of air, Mulder began to tremble, his entire body convulsing with relief. He distantly felt a steadying hold on his shoulder, then the sharp feel of a needle in the back of his hand, a flood of warmth through his body followed by blackness. Failsafe. 10/12. Disclaimer and intro still haven't changed and they are still rather dull. Comments/flames/little iddy biddy nitpicks welcome at: xqv37@dial.pipex.com 11.18pm. It was the unremitting rumble of the van's tyres and a cool whispering of gas that woke Mulder. He gathered his bearings slowly, moving his head groggily to try and see more. He was lying on a low gurney and he felt sick . "Agent Mulder, can you hear me?" Mulder nodded, groaning as his head pounded. He reached up to the mask covering his nose and mouth, pulling it down around his neck. "Where's Scully?" It was little more than a croak, but it was enough to make David Walker stop trying to put the oxygen mask back onto his patient. Shifting slightly to the side, he gestured to Mulder. Mulder turned his head painfully, trying to pay attention to what he was being told. "We had to intubate her before we could move her. It was difficult but we finally managed to stabilise her." Difficult was a slight understatement, Walker shuddered as he remembered trying to force a tube down a throat swollen by an unknown infection. "Will she make it?" Walker was sitting too close to Mulder to be able to feed him any false hopes. "She's holding her own at the moment, but she is very ill. We're keeping her body temp low and that seems to be delaying any further progression of the virus. If we can get her to the hospital and onto dialysis, she'll have a fair chance of pulling through." Mulder watched the respirator feeding air into Scully's lungs, hearing the whistle as it passed back out. Skinner was by her side, holding two IV bags and her hand. "You need to rest Agent Mulder. We should be at the hospital in about two hours. Are you warm enough?" Mulder nodded again and closed his eyes. He felt another blanket being placed over him and the gas brushing his face again, before the rocking of the van lulled him back to sleep. Skinner waited until Mulder's breathing indicated that he ws asleep. "David?" His question was ably pre-empted by his friend. "I told him the truth Walter. If she makes it to the hospital then she has a chance. We don't really know what the hell we're dealing with though, and she's in bad shape already. How she survived this long, with these injuries..." David shook his head, he did not want to think about that, concerned himself instead with checking the vital signs of his two patients. Still stable. "Scott?" The driver of the van cocked his head slightly. "Yeh doc?" "Get on to Bethesda. Tell Doctor Hillyard to have a double isolation unit prepared, with dialysis facilities on stand-by." Skinner raised an eyebrow. David smiled. "Just in case." Bethesda Naval Hospital. Maryland. 31st July. 1.22am. The doors to the high containment unit swung open to admit the two hand-held gurneys. Medical personnel immediately swarmed around, shouting instructions and details, taking charge of equipment, guiding the team into an examination facility. Skinner stood abandoned, he had no place in there, would only be in the way, but that did not help make him feel any the less useless. The unit was a glaring white, making him squint after the hours of torch light. He wondered how it would affect Mulder and Scully when they woke up, not even considering that that might never be an issue. There was nowhere to sit, the unit was separate from the main hospital, away from prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Skinner finally squatted in the corridor, a minute amount of the tension draining from his limbs; they had got this far, they had a chance. Feeling in his pocket, he removed his phone and a small black book. Flipping through the pages he found "S", he paused only for a moment before dialling Margaret Scully. Bethesda Naval Hospital. 4.36am. "Walter?" Skinner rose stiffly to his feet as he heard David Walker's voice echo through the septic corridor. "How are they?" His initial fears were allayed slightly by his friend's expression. "They're both stable and in isolation, that'll help limit the number of people permitted access to them. You can go through if you want, it'll be easier for me to explain there." Skinner followed Walker down to the intensive care room where he was outfitted in surgical scrubs and a face mask before entering. His brow creased in sympathy as he looked at the damage inflicted on two of his most valued agents . "We have Agent Scully on dialysis and we are monitering her temperature according to her response to this. She had a nasty break to her arm, getting those chains off was a bloody nightmare, but we managed it without causing her any further damage. We irrigated the knife wounds before stitching them, hopefully she won't have too many scars." The mass of machines surrounding Scully made her look tiny. They had tried to elevate her to take the pressure off her back and she seemed suspended in an unnatural pose. David watched Skinner's face carefully, he knew how protective he was of this couple, and how deeply he admired them. He lowered his voice, trying to offer some sort of comfort. "We'll keep her on the respirator until we have the pnuemonia under control and she is strong enough to manage on her own. She's held on this long, I can't see her quitting on you now." He laughed quietly. "She wouldn't dare." Skinner's smile did not reach his eyes. "What about Mulder?" Walker was injecting a further sedative into Mulder's IV. "This should keep him out for a while. Whoever that bastard was, he really knew how to hurt people without actually killing them." He closed the port on the IV and placed the syringe onto a tray. "We had to put a chest drain in, his lung collapsed soon after we got him in here, there's always a danger of that with broken ribs and your man here has five. He has a severe concussion and bruising that, hopefully will not cause any internal haemorrhaging. He's going to have one hell of a headache though. Add to that, dehydration and hypothermia and you have an extremely lucky man." David shrugged uncomfortably. "Relatively speaking." He looked at Skinner, not sure if he was even hearing him. "Do you want to stay for a while?" Skinner gratefully pulled a chair up between the two beds, sinking into it and resting his head back. "What a mess." David finished adjusting the dialysis machine . "I'll let the guard know that you're staying. Don't piss my nurses off though, if you're nice, they might even get you a cup of coffee." This time Skinner did manage a smile . "Thanks David. For everything." David gave a loose salute. "I think we're finally even Skipper." Skinner reiterated the gesture, his smile broadening at the use of a nickname he had not heard for a long time. Shifting awkwardly in the unyielding plastic chair, he began his vigil. Isolation Room 7. Bethesda Naval Hospital. 31st July. 5.12am. Skinner knew that voice. He turned his head towards the door, saw the faint outline of a petite, dark haired woman standing outside the scrub room. There was a man beside her, his hand on her arm preventing her access. "It's alright David." Skinner's commanding tone startled them both, neither had heard him approach. "This is Margaret Scully. Dana's mother." David looked sheepish, but the condition her daughter was in he was not at fault for missing the family resemblance. "Where are they? " Her tired eyes sought Skinner's for an answer. Skinner looked over his shoulder, then back at the woman in front of him. Afraid that his composure would fail him, he looked to his friend for guidance. "I think Doctor Walker should tell you a few things before you go in and see them." 5.30am. The two men stayed at the door of the isolation room, respectfully allowing Margaret Scully to be with her daughter without their interference. Despite the warnings from David Walker, nothing could have prepared her for what she was confronted by. "Oh, God, Dana.." She walked slowly over to her daughter, took her hand from beneath the cooling blanket and held it tightly, trying desperately to infuse it with warmth. The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as Skinner pulled a chair over for her. He did not know what to do. For all he knew Margaret held him responsible, not just for this, but for everything her family had been put through recently. He realised that his fears were unfounded when Margaret turned to face him, he saw no recrimination in her eyes, only an intense sorrow. Skinner tentatively put his arm around her, uncertain whether he was doing the right thing and not really caring. He held her close as David explained the treatment and prognosis for both agents. He was finally able to offer a more hopeful prediction. Scully was responding slowly to the dialysis and they were gradually increasing her body temperature, it would be a lengthy procedure but she was making steady progress. David turned to the nurse sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. "Can we see if there are a couple of comfortable chairs anywhere?" Skinner shook his head. "I have to get back to the Bureau, give them some sort of an explanation. Is there anyone else you would like to call?" His question was addressed to Margaret. "No thank you. I'll...I'll be fine." "If you need anything, anything at all, use this number." He scribbled down his personal cell phone number and handed it to her. David walked with him to the door. "I'll call if there are changes. Good luck." Skinner pulled his face mask down revealing a sly grin. "I'm gonna need it." 9.30am. That bleeping noise was driving him crazy. An incessant little chirping noise that was not alleviating his headache. The worst thing was, there were two of them, working in tandem to reinforce his misery. He must have groaned, because a soft female voice told him that he was safe and not to try and move. The voice was familiar. "Scully?" "Close Fox, but not quite." He opened his eyes, peering through a drug induced fog, to see Margaret Scully's hazel eyes smiling down at him. He blinked sleepily, trying to clear his thoughts. The irritating noise was coming from EKG moniters, so he was in a hospital, and there were two separate moniters... "Scully?" His throat felt like it had a clamp set around it. When he tried to push himself upright, nothing would co-operate. "Fox. Stay still." "Where is she?" In an identical gesture to a previous one that David Walker had made hours ago in a cramped van, Margaret Scully moved to one side and allowed Mulder to see his partner. He stared at her numbly, watched the lights on the machines winking, animating her pale complexion with their hypnotic flashes. "What did the doctors say?" Margaret stroked his hair gently, trying to assuage some of his anxiety. "She's holding on Fox. They're doing all they can." There was nothing else she could tell him, except to repeat the words that must have been used a thousand times in hospitals, elusive words that were not quite promises and never offered a guarantee. Mulder licked his dry lips, he was having difficulty focussing. A nurse checked his vital signs and told him Doctor Walker would be there to see him soon. All Mulder wanted to do was forget. Every part of his body ached, it hurt to breathe and he was terrified of closing his eyes again. Unwelcome tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks. Margaret Scully thought her heart would break, as she watched the man she considered to be one of her own children whimper inconsolably. She wiped his face clean, not knowing how else to comfort him because she could in no way imagine what they had endured. He cried for a long time, an outpouring of fear and frustration that left him exhausted. Margaret held him until she felt him quieten, surrendering to a sleep that was far from tranquil. ----------end part ten---------- Failsafe. 11/12. Disclaimer and intro still the same. Comments/flames/caffeine to: xqv37@dial.pipex.com Bethesda Naval Hospital. High Containment Unit. 1st August. 2.15pm. It was raining. The heatwave had finally been driven away by a ferocious storm and the air was clear of humidity for the first time in weeks. Skinner shrugged off his long overcoat in the corridor of the unit, tucking it under his arm as he retraced a now familiar path to room 7. He had somehow found the time to visit three times since he had first left for Washington yesterday morning . A lot of people had suddenly become extremely interested in his activities. Shadowy men lurking in obscure corners, and unmarked cars following his every move, ensured that Skinner never travelled without a companion, one who was preferably armed to the teeth and not afraid to lose his temper. He had not been summoned to give an official report, of what was still only a rumoured incident. Skinner knew that certain parties at the Bureau were familiar with every single detail, and were keeping a close eye on the progress of Mulder and Scully. The only information that had been released to the public spoke of a case that had resulted in the "regrettable hospitalisation" of two agents. There was nothing more than Skinner could do, anecdotal evidence was never going to be enough for a prosecution and who the hell would they prosecute anyway? Skinner's own, personal choice would be the nameless, smoking man who had been conspicuous by his absence for the past couple of days. Perhaps his superiors were punishing him for his failure, if this was the case it would probably be the only justice he would ever know. Skinner's musings were interrupted as he reached the scrub room. The danger of infection now abated, he bypassed the gowns and tapped lightly on the glass door. Margaret Scully smiled as he entered, gratefully accepting the bag of clothes he offered. "Did you have any trouble finding them?" "Not at all, your neighbour was very helpful. As for the other two, I doubt that Mulder has ever owned a pair of pyjamas, I brought him some sweats. Dana had a nightshirt by her bed." He was uncomfortable discussing her daughter's personal effects. The trip to her apartment had been a fleeting one, time enough to throw some toiletries into a bag and leave. "There's some sandwiches in there somewhere, hospital catering leaves a lot to be desired." Margaret Scully smiled her thanks. "Any change?" Her eyes reflected the hope in his. "Fox has been awake on and off, they keep sedating him and he's been having the worst nightmares." She stroked the back of her daughter's hand lightly. "Doctor Walker said she's doing as well as he expected." A gentle touch to her forehead. "I'm not used to seeing her this quiet." Skinner could not help but laugh in agreement. "Neither am I." They sat side by side. He tried to reassure her that her daughter would be safe should she return to work, and he hated himself for making hollow promises, certain that he could not convince her if he remained unconvinced himself. 4.20pm. It had taken a long time, but when Mulder opened his eyes, his thoughts were as lucid as his vision. His attempts to sit up, brought Margaret and the nurse to his side, Skinner having departed for Washington only a few minutes earlier. Taking note of the determined expression on his face, the two women helped to prop him up against the pillows. He peered optimistically over at Scully. "Come on partner, time to wake up." The steady hiss of the respirator was the only response. He shrugged painfully. "She never was one to take orders." Margaret squeezed his hand. "She'll do it in her own time Fox." The nurse, who introduced herself as Kerry, helped Mulder to take a few sips of water and ordered him not to talk too much. "I want to get up." "What?!" Kerry was a senior nurse and she had handled her fair share of awkward patients, this was just plain insanity. "I have to get up." "Fox, you can't, you'll hurt yourself." "You don't understand. I need to be there when she wakes up, I can't leave her on her own now." There was something in his voice that sent a chill through Margaret's blood. The enforced separation that the hospital beds dictated was tearing him apart, and not for the first time, Margaret wondered what hell this man and her daughter had survived. Kerry sensed the desperation aswell. His stubborn gaze burned into her and she sighed a martyr's sigh. "I'm not getting my ass kicked for this. I have a witness, this is your fault." Mulder nodded vigorously, more than willing to take the blame. After a couple of minutes, a male orderly entered the room pushing a large, padded wheelchair and shaking his head at what he had been summoned to help with. Mulder heard snatches of a heated consultation between the man and Kerry. "Yes, I *know* he should stay in bed." "If he passes out, you can catch him." "If we don't help him, he'll do it himself." That was the turning point, they made their way over to Mulder and began to untangle the wires and tubes that enmeshed him. About half way through the process, Mulder began to wish he had kept his mouth shut. Sweat chilled his body as he was lifted from the bed to the chair. He shifted into a position that allowed him to breathe without wanting to faint and gratefully received the warm flannel Kerry bathed his face with. "You ready to steer this thing?" Mulder hoped she was joking and gripped the arm rests as he was pushed over to Scully's bedside. Once the accompanying paraphernalia had been safely stowed Mulder was finally able to take hold of Scully's hand. His own hand trembled as his fingers closed around hers but he steadfastly refused to cry. He never heard Kerry's soft sob, or the words of comfort offered to her by Margaret Scully. His senses were filled by the sight of his best friend struggling to win this final stage of the battle. He held her hand tightly. "Don't you leave me Dana Scully." Failsafe. 12/12. Guess what? I still haven't changed the disclaimer or the intro. And I'm not likely to, seeing as the end is nigh. Hope there are some people who stuck around for it. As always, comments/flames and whatever else you see fit to send, welcome at: xqv37@dial.pipex.com 2nd August. The grass was cool under her bare feet, the tiny beads of dew playing over her toes as she ran after the auburn haired girl in front of her. "Missy come on, slow down." The older girl turned and grinned widely. "You never could keep up, sis." Dana took the hand that was offered to her, her own small hand grasping that of her sister's with a fierce strength. She remembered this summer, this chase across the field, the way the sun had made Melissa's hair seem as red as her own. Hand in hand they sat by the side of the stream, watching it weave its own path through the grass, the lazy meandering making the two children sleepy. Melissa was making a daisy chain, stringing the flowers together and murmuring something about being able to talk to the pixies if you wore it under a full moon. Dana giggled as she listened, she was only nine, but even *she* knew there were no pixies. Melissa finished the necklace and placed it around Dana's neck. The sun caught the yellow centre of the flowers and they gleamed as bright as gold. Dana watched the dancing light, it reminded her of something. "I have to go now, Dana." Melissa's voice seemed different, more refined somehow, as she rose to her feet. Dana looked up at her, noticing for the first time a small boy standing just behind her sister. "Missy, do you know him?" Dana could hear the boy crying, his sniffles cutting through the summer air to tug at her heart. Melissa pulled her younger sister to her feet, leaning down close to whisper in her ear. "He wants his friend to go with him, that's why he's crying." With a child's simplicity, Dana nodded her head . "Ohhhhh, right." She gazed up at her sister, Melissa was taller, older now and she kissed Dana tenderly on her forehead. "He'll look after you, I have to go." "Missy wait! Don't leave me here, please." Dana could feel her eyes burning with tears as she watched Melissa begin to walk away, pointing to the boy. "I love you, Dana. Please don't follow me, not this time. Please." Dana stared mesmerized, her face crumpling with grief and sudden fear as she held the flowers around her throat and wept. She did not hear the soft approach of the boy, but she felt him gently slip his hand into hers. His touch was warm and soothing and her sobbing quietly subsided. Lifting her free hand, she wiped her face, sniffling and leaving streaks of dirt across her cheeks. The boy smiled, his hazel eyes kind, but sad. "Come on." His voice barely reached her, it seemed to come from a great distance, but she knew she was responding. Shyly, he touched her necklace, his finger stroked the central flower and her eyes met his curiously. He watched her patiently as her breathing calmed. She felt protected, his hand a cherished bond of security and she sqeezed it gratefully. Isolation Room 7. Bethesda Naval Hospital. 2nd August. 8.08am. It was only a twitch at first. A small movement of her fingers within his. A movement so slight, it could easily have been dismissed as an involuntary spasm. But for the man sitting next to her, the crushing wave of hope that flooded through him in response, was paralysing. His throat constricted, his lips suddenly refused to function. All he could do was watch her face, searching for some indication that she really was coming back to him. He felt her hand move again, a delicate tickling of her fingers against the ones that surrounded them. This time, he swallowed heavily, forced himself to provide the encouragement that she needed. The words croaked out, he could barely hear them himself. "You're safe, Scully, just open your eyes for me." It was like coaxing a child to come out of a hiding place. "No one's going to hurt you. I know you can do this." Mulder saw her eyes flutter and his heart seemed to take permanent residence in his throat. He looked around, terrified in case she should need help, but Margaret Scully had been taken to a spare room for a decent nights sleep, and the nurse had left to prepare their medication. A desperate prayer was in the process of forming itself beneath his breath, when she coughed weakly and opened her eyes. Mulder stared at her, convinced this was not actually happening, then her eyes fixed on his and he knew that she was seeing him, really seeing him. He blinked as a shy smile spread across his face. "Welcome back, partner." The respirator precluded any response on her part, her lips moving ineffectually around the tube. "Take it easy, don't try and talk." He could feel his voice growing heavy with emotion and he willed himself not to break down in front of her. She was slowly taking in her surroundings, but her gaze continuously returned to rest on Mulder. He vaguely heard the nurse return to the room, her call on the telephone a distant intrusion. Scully moved her hand to her throat, touched the cross that rested there, then took hold of Mulder's hand again. The soft noise that choked from her, released something inside of Mulder, he held her hand to his cheek and let his tears wash over it. Isolation Room 7. 3rd August. 9.20am. "Is that a bit more comfortable." Scully nodded thankfully, despite the removal of the respirator it still hurt too much to speak. Her mother kissed her softly on the forehead. "I'm just going to call your brother, sweetheart." Mulder sat quietly, watching as the medical staff turned Scully onto her side, steadying her with pillows to allow the wounds on her back to heal. He had told her the snatches of information that he could actually recollect, that question had been the first thing that she had scribbled down after waking. The second had been a "Go back to bed" order, that her partner had conveniently ignored. She was too groggy to argue with him, and he knew that she was unwilling to let him out of her sight, something that worked to both of their advantage. Mulder winced in sympathy as Scully tried to take a sip of water, he remembered how much that hurt. She licked her lips, gulping to catch her breath. "Mul..." She looked surprised by the scratchy whisper her voice had been reduced to. Mulder leaned down close to her, brushed the damp hair from her forehead in a gesture that become so familiar. "Take your time, Scully, it gets easier." She swallowed and tried again, concentrating on feeling the words form, determined to persevere despite the discomfort. "Th...Thank you." Mulder looked away, could not meet the intensity of her gaze. "For what? For helping to get you into this mess in the first place?" His voice was a rough mumble as he studied the ID bracelet around her wrist. He did not know what he felt guilty about. The case had been an elaborate trap from the outset, but it was her entire involvement with the X-Files that he held himself accountable for, and she had lost so much as a result. Scully reached up with her hand, touched his chin lightly, raising his eyes to look into hers. "No, Mulder. Thank you for helping guide me back." It took a lot to make Fox Mulder blush, but the unmistakeable pink flush that spread across his cheeks delighted his partner. She grinned sleepily. "That's a good colour for you, Mulder." He squeezed her hand as she drifted back to sleep. "I had the strength of your beliefs." On the edge of a dream, Dana Scully smiled. Fox Mulder. Journal Entry 213. 5th August. I finally managed to get three hours of non-drug induced sleep last night, something of a record. Skinner came in for a couple of hours today. There has been no sign of Logan and he believes, as I do, that further continuation of a search would be futile. My memory of the time Scully and I spent as prisoners is still elliptical, but my conviction that Logan was a manifestation of an alien race remains firm. Scully is generally too tired to argue with me and we have not spoken in detail about the events of the last week. I know she is suffering from nightmares, she tries to hide the fact, but when you wake up screaming every night there isn't much you can deny. I hear her typing sometimes, early in the morning, tapping the keys with her one, free hand. She is probably keeping her own record. It does help to write things down, but I hope there will come a time when we are both able to talk about what happened. I wonder how much more we will be able to take, whether we will ever be assured of safety. I would rather give up the X-Files than see Scully put through something like this again, but I also know that she would kill me if she ever found that out. Frohike called in earlier, I owe those guys a beer, well, lots of beer. Scully gave in and offered to subscribe to TLG, I blame it on the medication myself, but it was good to see her smile. Dana Scully Journal entry: 7th August, 6.17am. I woke Mulder up again, he calls out to make sure that I am alright then pretends to go back to sleep. He was sitting by my bed yesterday, waiting for me to wake up. When I did, we talked for hours about what had happened, what we remembered. For me, everything after the first knife attack is hazy, but snatches of what happened during that time return through my nightmares. Talking to Mulder helped. Putting abstract images into words makes them less frightening and this is the latest I have slept since they stopped sedating me. Mulder is able to hobble around now. Thank God mom managed to get him a change of clothes, they don't make hospital gowns in his size which seems to suit the nurses just fine. I had my final dialysis session last night, glad to see the back of the cooling blanket aswell. Somehow I just couldn't face the ice cream mom smuggled in here, much to Mulder's delight. I can see the effort it is taking for him to resist being over-protective towards me, but that particular instinct works both ways. I usually have to bite my tongue to stop myself quizzing the nurses about every aspect of his treatment. I guess this is something we both need to work on. I can hear his breathing from here, it sounds like he really did go back to sleep this time. I can close my eyes and listen to that and feel safe. Not that I'd ever tell him of course, but it's not like he doesn't already know. X-File 1118 2X08. Despite extensive searches by a team of Federal Agents, the man known only as Paul Logan, has eluded capture. No evidence of the reported crimes could be salvaged from the house at 33 Gateslock Road where Agents Mulder and Scully were held captive, their individual testimonies would most likely be declared invalid due to the severity of the injuries they sustained. The autopsy results and scientific data were never recovered following their theft from FBI Headquarters and Georgetown University. The families of the alleged victims have refused repeated requests to exhume the bodies for further examination, therefore making the likelihood of building a viable case, next to impossible. Alan Bryce and his family have been relocated under the FBI's Witness Protection Program, the whereabouts of Simon Stave remains unknown. Agent Mulder was discharged from Bethesda Naval Hospital on the 16th August. Agent Scully continues to make a gradual recovery from the virus she was exposed to. It is my hope that the study of this virus will clarify some of the aspects of this case that currently defy reason. As of August 18th, the status of X-File 1118 2X08, is unsolved. Officer of Record: W.S. Skinner. Walter Skinner saved the report with no small amount of frustration But he knew they would continue to search. Continuing to defy an unseen enemy, intent on chiselling away at their resolve and their committment. Skinner took a deep breath, his spirits lifted enormously by the lack of pollution in his office. He turned a small card over in his hands, the message inside simple: "Thank you for not giving up on us." Bending it slightly in the middle, Skinner slipped the card into the back of his FBI identification wallet. It seemed appropriate somehow. As he pulled his jacket on and prepared to drive to Maryland, Skinner wondered if he had crossed that fine line one too many times. But as he looked back at his office, the intimidating desk and the somber portraits were dwarfed by the flag of the country he served, and he knew that he was willing to live with his decisions regarding this case for as long as they would let him. ----------Fin---------- And that, is just about that :) If there is anyone who dared to read this far, I'd love to hear from you: xqv37@dial.pipex.com Thanks again to Stef for doing the posting honours, and to all my friends who have put up with me whining for hours while I've typed all this into the e- mail! (Sorry about the lack of mail Pat!) ADBB, Caroline.