TITLE: Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: MTA, Xemplary, Jeopardy, Gossamer – others are 
fine, just let me know
SPOILERS: Up through Je Souhaite
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: SA
KEYWORDS: MSR, AU
SUMMARY: Eat the dish of revenge cold instead of hot.  --
Charles Lowe (1885)
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris 
Carter and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement is 
intended.
NOTES: A word about the series. Up until now, I've tried to 
parallel the show whenever possible. Those days are finished. With 
the developments in Requiem and season 8, I've made the decision 
to permanently diverge from the timeline after Je Souhaite. Scully 
may eventually get pregnant, and Mulder might one day be 
abducted, but those events will occur in my own way, by my own 
timing. Because of this, Doggett and Reyes will not be a part of the 
Blood Ties series.
Additional notes and words of thanks at the end of the story.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.


Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold 
By Dawn


X-Files Office
Tuesday
10:36 a.m.


If the final projectile hit its target, he'd have created the spitting 
image of A. D. Kersh's profile--the weak chin, the perpetually 
disapproving twist to the lips. Mulder leaned back a little further 
until the balls of his feet just brushed the floor, his chair emitting a 
low groan that could be interpreted as either protest or warning. 
Squinting a little against the fluorescent glare, he took careful aim 
and...

"Agent Mulder, what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

All the breath left his lungs in a whoosh as he tipped too far 
backward, feet leaving the floor and pencil going wild. It skittered 
and rolled across the linoleum while Mulder lunged upright, 
pinwheeling his arms in an effort to keep from landing in an 
undignified tangle.

Skinner stood just inside the doorway to the office, the scowl 
contorting his features clear evidence that he remained 
unimpressed by Mulder's acrobatics.

"Sorry, Sir. I...uh...didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously."

Skinner thrust his hands into his pockets and walked over to lean 
against Scully's desk. Mulder bent to snag the errant pencil and 
straightened, twirling it between his fingers and cocking an 
impudent eyebrow.

"So, what brings you down to No Man's Land?"

Skinner glanced at the empty chair behind him before pinning 
Mulder with a stern glare. "Scully's at Quantico?"

"Was, is, and will be, from the way I hear it." Mulder leaned 
forward to brace his arms on the cluttered desktop. "They haven't 
even finished shipping in all the remains and gathering dental 
records. She tells me the actual process of identification could take 
anywhere from two weeks to a month."

Skinner nodded curtly, eyes cutting away to several tabloid 
clippings on the wall, his jaw clenched. Mulder waited him out, 
tapping the eraser end of the pencil idly on the blotter.

"SAC Larraby was grateful to get Scully on this one," his boss 
mused, moving over to take a closer look at a particularly lurid 
photo. "That bomb took out at least a hundred people, and their 
families are all awaiting the closure that only a positive ID can 
provide." He abruptly seemed to comprehend the significance of 
his words, eyes returning to Mulder's face.

Mulder inclined his head. "Scully was more than happy to help." 
He smirked. "She figures that with no active cases pending I'll be 
forced to catch up on paperwork."

Skinner looked pointedly at the fresh crop of pencils hanging from 
the ceiling tiles. "I seriously doubt Scully's that gullible."

"Is there something in particular I can do for you, Sir?" Mulder 
asked dryly, dropping the pencil to recline with his hands clasped 
behind his neck.

Skinner walked slowly over to sit in Scully's chair. "I need you to 
take some vacation time, Mulder. The sooner the better. If you fill 
out the leave request today, I'll sign it and have Kim drop it off 
with personnel before she goes home."

Mulder's only movement was a narrowing of hazel eyes. "I don't 
think I've done anything in particular that would cause you to 
doubt my mental health--more than usual, anyway. So there must 
be something else going on."

Skinner's brow furrowed but his eyes evaded Mulder's. "Agent 
Mulder, everything does not have to be part of a greater 
conspiracy. I've checked with personnel; you have a backlog of 
vacation time built up. With Scully tied up at Quantico and no 
open cases, it's the perfect time for you to take some of it."

Mulder chewed on his lower lip a moment before replying. 
"Respectfully, sir? That's bullshit." He dropped his arms and sat 
up. "I'm on a first name basis with the personnel department, and 
while I've certainly received my share of threatening phone calls, 
lately I'm in their good graces." He got up and shut the door, then 
resumed his seat. "Level with me. What's really going on?"

Skinner hesitated, the telltale tic in his cheek betraying his tension. 
Finally, he sighed. "Let's just say that the BSU is currently low on 
profilers and SAC Crittendon heard you're between cases."

"I don't see what one has to do with the other. I'm assigned to the 
X-Files, not Violent Crimes. Any exceptions to that rule are on a 
strictly voluntary basis."

Skinner snorted. "You don't really believe that." At Mulder's glare, 
he continued, "Look, right now it's only rumblings--Crittendon 
making a few shrewd remarks about the most efficient way to 
utilize Bureau resources. But I can guarantee he won't be satisfied 
with just talk for long. In case you haven't heard the buzz, there's a 
serial murderer in Chicago with a preference for little girls and a 
talent for confounding both the police and the Bureau. Crittendon's 
getting desperate."

Mulder nodded slowly, eyes distant. "Scully and I have only been 
married for six months, but it's been the happiest six months of my 
life." His gaze sharpened, locking onto Skinner's face. "Maybe I'm 
selfish, but I think we've both earned it. I won't profile, Walt. I 
can't."

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're preaching to the 
choir, Mulder. I just wish it were that easy."

"It is that easy. When Crittendon asks you for the loan of your 
favorite agent, you just say no." Mulder's tone was glib, his face 
stone.

An odd, almost whimsical expression crossed Skinner's face, and 
he shook his head. "I think you overestimate my position in the 
chain of command. Crittendon's solve rate is down along with his 
personnel. He'll go to Henderson, who'll go over my head to the 
Director..."

"Who's not exactly one of my biggest fans." Mulder scrubbed one 
hand over his face, then raised both in a gesture of surrender. "All 
right, all right. I'll go quietly. Is a week going to be enough time 
for Crittendon to seek out some other hapless victim?"

One corner of Skinner's mouth twitched. "Rosetti's medical leave is 
up next Monday and Hickman gets back from Detroit the 
following Friday. After that Crittendon is only down one profiler. 
I'd play it safe; make it ten days." 

He refrained from comment when Mulder grimaced, instead 
terminating the conversation by getting to his feet. He hesitated 
when his fingers touched the doorknob. "A suggestion, Mulder."

Mulder laced his arms across his chest. "Just one?"

Skinner ignored the jibe. "Crittendon might not let a little thing 
like personal leave deter him. He has been known to cancel 
vacations at the last moment, not to mention hauling his people 
back to work during the middle of a pre-approved holiday. I'd 
make myself scarce."

"Is that your subtle way of telling me to get lost, sir?" Mulder 
affected wide-eyed innocence.

 "A request for leave, on my desk within the next hour, Mulder. 
Then I don't want to see your ass anywhere near this office for the 
next ten days." Skinner flashed him a shark's grin. "There. I've 
never been one for being subtle."

"Like that's news," Mulder muttered under his breath. With a 
martyred sigh he pulled open a drawer and began rummaging for 
the required paperwork.


Georgetown
Tuesday
6:04 p.m.

Scully slipped her key into the lock and eased the apartment door 
open, momentarily freezing when the aroma of onion and spices 
hit her nostrils. She stepped inside and shut the door, her ears 
taking in the sounds of rattling pans and the love of her life 
muttering. Two thoughts chased themselves through her tired 
brain.

How did I ever stand coming home to an empty apartment all those 
years?

Oh, God. Mulder's cooking.

She detoured to the bedroom to deposit her briefcase and kick off 
her shoes before wandering back into the kitchen. She paused in 
the doorway, somehow managing to be amused, horrified, and 
turned on by the view.

Mulder was barefoot, clad in faded jeans and a white tee shirt. He 
was clutching a cookbook in one hand and a wooden spoon in the 
other, stirring the contents of large metal pot. The kitchen looked 
like the scene of a particularly nasty food fight. A mound of dirty 
dishes, pots and pans teetered precariously in the sink. Spilled 
food, utensils, and empty tin cans littered every available surface. 
Her glass measuring cup was sporting a crack, and her favorite 
dishtowel had evidently been used to wipe up tomato sauce.

Mulder finally looked up to catch her lounging in the doorway. 
"Hey."

"Hey yourself." The glasses perched on his nose and the smudge of 
flour on his cheek went a long way toward making amends for 
turning her kitchen into Hiroshima.

Our kitchen she admonished herself. Married six months and they 
were still no closer to finding a more permanent living 
arrangement.

Note to self: Find a place with two kitchens.

"What's so funny?" Mulder gazed at her through narrowed eyes, 
dropping the spoon into the pot and padding toward her.

"Nothing. I'm just happy to see you." She tried to wipe the smirk 
from her face but it kept sneaking back.

"That is not a 'happy to see you' smile, Scully."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not. A 'happy to see you' smile looks like this." He 
grinned toothily at her and batted his eyelashes. "What I just saw 
on your face was this." Mulder folded his arms, pursed his lips, and 
tucked his chin to his chest in a dead-on imitation of her current 
body language.

"Oh, really?" Scully brushed the flour from his cheek with the pad 
of her thumb, letting her fingers trail along the line of his jaw. 
"And what kind of smile is that?"

He slipped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer. "A 
classic," he murmured, nuzzling the hypersensitive skin just behind 
her right ear. "I like to call it the 'Mulder, I'd kill you if you weren't 
so darn cute' smile." He worked his way down her neck, the 
rumble of his voice conspiring with lips and teeth to make her 
shiver. "Not to be confused with the 'All right, Mulder, you're cute, 
but I'm going to kill you anyway' smile."

"Mm. My personal favorite." Scully threaded her fingers through 
the soft hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, bringing his mouth 
back up to hers, where he obligingly proceeded to kiss her 
senseless.

She was pressed up against the counter, having long since ceased 
worrying about getting tomato sauce on her jacket, when a sharp, 
acrid smell pierced her addled brain.

"Burning," she mumbled--no easy feat with Mulder's teeth fastened 
onto her lower lip.

He gave her a smug little grin and resumed attacking her neck, one 
hand working its way up her thigh until her skirt bunched around 
her waist. "My kisses are known to have that effect."

Scully rolled her eyes but tilted her head so he could reach her 
earlobe. "Not me, Ace. The...ah...the food. It's burning."

Mulder's tongue began doing indecent things to the inside of her 
ear. "The food is... The food!"

He dropped her so fast she nearly landed on the tile. As it was, her 
hand splatted into a puddle of congealed butter as she gripped the 
edge of the counter, legs splayed and skirt still hiked up to the tops 
of her thighs. Mulder frantically shut off the stove and grabbed the 
pot, intending to move it to another burner. Unfortunately, in his 
panicked state he forgot to use a potholder. The pan crashed back 
down, contents splattering onto the stove, counter, ceiling, and 
Mulder--who had popped his abused fingers into his mouth and 
was cursing lustily around them.

Torn between groaning or bursting into giggles, Scully calmly 
walked over and grasped his wrist until the digits left his mouth 
with a slurp. She turned on the cold water and stuck Mulder's hand 
beneath it.

"Don't move."

She fished a pair of oven mitts out of a drawer and finished 
moving the pot, which apparently contained chili, to a safe 
location. A handful of paper towels mopped up the worst of the 
spill as well as the greasy smears of butter from her palm. When 
she finally looked up, Mulder was still standing as she'd left him, 
his expression that of a little boy who just knocked over his glass 
of milk.

"Before you say anything, could you give me an estimate?"

Scully lifted one eyebrow. "An estimate?"

"Of approximately how pissed off you are right now. On a scale of 
one to ten." He chewed on his lip a moment before adding. "One 
being 'mildly annoyed' and ten being 'hide all sharp objects.'"

Scully panned her gaze across the kitchen, then let her eyes slip 
shut. After a deep breath, she opened them, walked over, and shut 
off the water. She located a moderately clean dishtowel and 
handed it to Mulder before tugging gently on his arm. Face 
screwed up in puzzlement, he followed her into the living room, 
the terrycloth wrapped around his hand.

"What's going on?" Scully asked once she'd seated them both on 
the couch.

Mulder blinked. "I thought it was pretty self-evident. The authentic 
'South of the Border' chili got a little out of hand."

Scully pursed her lips. "That much I've gathered on my own. What 
I want to know is, what's bothering you? Did something happen at 
work today?"

Mulder's brow furrowed. "Why would you ask that?"

Scully sighed again and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. 
"Because I know you, love. The only time you cook is when you're 
either bored out of your mind or looking for a distraction. Does 
this have anything to do with me being stuck at Quantico?"

Mulder appeared ready to protest, then dropped his head onto the 
back of the couch. "Skinner came to see me today."

"Okay."

He tipped his face to the side so he could see her. "It seems certain 
parties are concerned that a valuable Bureau resource is 
languishing in the basement while his partner is putting together 
human jigsaw puzzles."

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Certain parties?"

"Charlie Crittendon."

"Crittendon?" Scully's confusion melted into understanding. "He's 
a SAC over in the BSU. Works under Henderson." She grimaced. 
"They want you to profile."

Mulder tapped his index finger to his nose.

"Skinner knows what profiling does to you! Why would he...?"

"He wouldn't. But he also probably won't have any choice. Which 
is why he suggested I might like to take a little time off. Maybe 
even get out of town for a while." Mulder's face looked as 
mournful as if Skinner had suggested eating ground glass.

Scully nodded, studying his face. "How soon?"

Mulder gestured toward the kitchen, smirking. "My first afternoon 
off. I feel more relaxed already."

Scully leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, then rested her 
forehead against his. "I love you, Mulder. But I will not be 
responsible for my actions if you spend the next week and a half 
hanging around this apartment all day." She straightened and 
picked up the phone from the end table.

Mulder raised both eyebrows. "Scully, are you getting me a 
babysitter?" He waggled them. "Can I participate in the selection 
process?"

Scully gave him "The Look" and placed the phone into his hand. 
"Call your brother."

Mulder stuck out his lip. "He's not exactly what I had in mind, 
babe."

"Grey has been trying to get you to go up to that cabin for months, 
and you keep putting him off. Now seems like the perfect time to 
me." She unsuccessfully tried to squelch a grin. "And I won't have 
to be afraid to walk in that door every night."

Mulder made a face. "Very funny." He looked at the phone, then 
turned puppy dog eyes to her face. "Sculleee. It's in the 
mountains."

"I know. Should be beautiful this time of year."

"There's trees, Scully. Forest. You know what my track record is 
with forests?"

Scully smiled, her reply syrupy. "The first time you declared your 
true feelings for me was in the forest, Mulder."

"I was high!" Mulder's expression was incredulous. "And in case 
you've forgotten, it was because I'd been attacked by an enormous, 
bloodthirsty wolf...thing."

Scully stood, hands propped on her hips. "You keep doing that"--
she hooked her thumb over her shoulder--"to my kitchen, and that 
experience will seem like a walk in the park. Call your brother."

Mulder started to snicker but a good look at Scully's face changed 
his mind. He hit number two on the speed dial and made a pitiful 
attempt to look enthused. "I hear the fall colors are beautiful this 
time of year."


Eagle Rock, NC
Wednesday
6:23 p.m.


Mulder pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, staring at 
the small, two-story house. Remembering the first time...

"Fox."

"Fox Mulder. Nothing like a little impromptu family reunion to 
spice up your day, huh?"

"Good thing I wore clean underwear."

Mulder's lips curved. Back then he'd never dreamed Grey would 
become such an integral part of his life. He'd erased a void, filled a 
hole that even Scully had been unable to touch. Who'd have 
thought that Fox Mulder--Spooky, lone wolf, that crackpot in the 
basement--would come so far?

Scully.

Grey.

Family.

The front door opened and Grey leaned against the jamb, cocking 
an eyebrow. Mulder slid out from behind the wheel, tugging his 
duffel bag from the passenger seat. With the setting sun the heat of 
the day had faded, leaving a faint bite to the air that warned 
summer was over.

"Either you were just doing some mighty deep thinking or my 
garage door is a lot more interesting than I ever realized." Grey's 
soft drawl floated through the impending darkness as Mulder 
strode up the concrete sidewalk.

Mulder lifted one shoulder. "Just indulging in a little nostalgia." He 
offered Grey a lopsided grin. "Good to see you, Bubba."

Grey tugged him into a brief hug before ushering him into 
welcoming warmth and the soft glow of lights. "Good to see you 
too. Did you run into traffic? I expected you an hour ago."

Mulder let his brother take charge of the duffel and slipped off his 
leather jacket. "Scully was going to leave a little early so she could 
see me off, but she wound up getting stuck at Quantico. I dropped 
in to say good-bye before I hit the road. Guess I should've called."

"Nah." Grey opened the coat closet and handed him a hanger, then 
led the way down the hall toward the kitchen. "Not a problem. I 
kept dinner warm."

"Great, because I'm starving. Lunch was just a roast beef sandwich 
six hours ago and..." Mulder sniffed the air. "What is it? Smells 
like..."

"Chili." Grey crossed to a pot on the stove and gave it a vigorous 
stir. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, freezing at the 
bemused expression on Mulder's face. "Fox? Hey, if you don't like 
chili just say so, I'm sure I can dig up something else."

Mulder just snickered a little and shook his head. "No, no. Chili is 
fine--great, in fact. I, uh, have had a craving for it."

Grey studied his face with narrowed eyes before breaking into a 
smirk. "Oh. Now I get it. This is one of those newlywed stories 
you're not gonna share, isn't it?"

Mulder snorted and went to the cupboard to collect two bowls. 
"More like a "Mulder makes an ass of himself" story. But you were 
half right--I'm not going to share."

"You know, little brother, sometimes reality is far less painful than 
what a person's imagination can conjure up. Especially a vivid one 
like mine." Grey ladled chili into a bowl and traded it for an empty 
one.

"I'll take that chance."

Once they'd seated themselves at the table with their chili, 
cornbread, and tall glasses of ice water, Mulder gazed critically at 
his brother.

"You look tired. Has everything been going okay?"

Grey toyed with his spoon as if he'd suddenly lost his appetite. 
"Yeah. Well, as okay as can be expected, I guess. It's been a rough 
few weeks."

Mulder broke off a chunk of cornbread and popped it into his 
mouth, waiting for Grey to continue. When it became obvious that 
his brother wasn't going to elaborate, a little line appeared between 
his eyes. "Kristen?"

Grey eyes darted to his face before his gaze softened and a smile 
touched the corners of his mouth. "No. That part of my life 
couldn't be better. It's work that's been making me crazy."

He sighed heavily. "We had a real nutcase on our hands, a guy 
with a taste for college girls. Crazy, but smart. Raped and assaulted 
four women before Preston and I managed to collar him. Caught 
him in the act with victim number five." He abruptly released the 
spoon so that it landed in the bowl with a sharp plink. 
"Unfortunately, he panicked, and victim number five bled to death 
before the ambulance got there."

Mulder winced. "I'm sorry."

Grey leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Guess 
you've been there, huh?"

"Once or twice."

Grey's eyes roamed his face as if searching for something. "I don't 
know how you survived, Fox."

Mulder's lips twisted. "With headaches, insomnia, nightmares, and 
popping antacid tablets like they were candy." He shook his head, 
his gaze turning distant. "When things were at their worst, when 
they'd decided I was the divine oracle of the BSU, I lost track of 
everything but the cases. I wouldn't even remember what state I 
was in, but I could describe each crime scene in explicit detail. I 
wasn't human to them anymore, just a machine. But I got results."

Grey's jaw tightened, his eyes flat and cold. "That son of a bitch, 
Patterson. He used you."

Mulder lifted one shoulder. "You can't use someone unless they 
allow it. I'm the one who kept going long after I should have called 
it quits."

"I hate it when you do that!" Grey snapped, stabbing his spoon at 
Mulder's chest. "I've never seen anyone more eager to accept 
blame than you. They manipulated you, Fox. They knew you saw 
our sister in the eyes of every victim and they didn't hesitate to 
capitalize on that weakness. Don't make excuses for them, damn 
it!"

Mulder looked down at his chili but a grin tugged at his lips. 
"Okay. I won't." He looked up at Grey, wide-eyed. "You know, I 
always forget how scary you are when you get angry."

Grey stared at him for a moment, then snorted before biting into 
his cornbread. "And I always forget what a smart ass you are. 
Guess we're even."

They passed the rest of the meal wrangling over whether the 
Yankees had a shot at winning the World Series and debating the 
Gunmen's latest conspiracy theory. They'd deposited the dirty 
dishes in the sink, and Mulder had grabbed a towel to dry, when 
the phone rang. Grey blotted soapy hands on a corner of the towel 
and scooped up the phone, cradling it between cheek and shoulder 
while he resumed washing.

"Hello?" His face softened. "Well, hey, darlin'. I was going to call 
you. We're just cleaning up the dinner dishes." He listened for a 
moment, then glanced at his brother. "Kristen says hello."

"Hello back." Mulder picked up a glass and mimed a toast before 
beginning to dry it.

"Yeah, we head out bright and early." Another sidelong glance. 
"Fox is real excited, I can tell." A pause. "Oh, no, no. Dana's got it 
all wrong. Fox is a real nature-lover, believe me. A trip to the 
woods with him is always an unforgettable experience."

Mulder showed Grey his teeth and an upraised middle finger, 
which his brother seemed to find highly amusing. He continued to 
dry dishes, hunting through cupboards to put them away and only 
half-listening to the one-sided conversation. Grey dried his hands 
and wandered over to gaze out the patio door at the darkened back 
yard, his voice low.

"...day after tomorrow. We'll be taking some food up with us, but 
we'll drive down into town for the perishable stuff. I'll give you a 
buzz then." Grey listened for a moment, then chuckled, a warm, 
contented sound. "I promise. I will, I will." A barely noticeable 
hesitation, then, "Me too, Tippi. Good night."

 He turned to replace the phone, but a smirk and Mulder's raised 
eyebrows arrested the motion. "What?"

"Tippi?"

To Mulder's intense amusement, his normally unflappable brother 
blushed. "It's a nickname, okay? You always eavesdrop on other 
people's phone conversations?"

"Who needed to eavesdrop? You never left the room." Mulder 
waggled his eyebrows. "Care to share the origin of this nickname?"

"No, I wouldn't." Grey hung up the phone and busied himself 
putting away the orphaned dishes his brother had been unable to 
find homes for.

Mulder folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, 
watching Grey's rather jerky movements. "It's an unusual name to 
call someone," he observed.

Grey slid a pot into a lower cupboard and shot him an annoyed 
glare. "Oh really, Fox?"

"You don't have to get so defensive." He kept his voice mild and 
slightly wounded. "I think it's great you have a pet name for 
Kristen." Grey said nothing, just watched him warily. Mulder 
ruthlessly squashed the grin that tried to bulldoze its way onto his 
face. "Makes me wonder though."

"What?" Grey grated through clenched teeth.

"Well, she must have a name for you too, right? Something like 
'Snookums,' maybe? Or 'Sugar Lips'?"

Grey narrowed his eyes and he jerked his thumb at the phone. 
"Why don't you just shut up and call your wife? I'm going to bring 
the sleeping bags up from the basement."

Mulder wisely restrained himself and did as he was told. The 
phone rang three times before a click, a pause, and then Scully's 
warm alto filled the line.

"It's about time you called, Ted. Mulder's been gone for hours--
what took you so long?"

He hung there, slack-jawed, for several seconds before his ears 
detected the soft chuffing of her laughter. "Very funny. What if it 
had been Skinner, huh? Or SAC Larraby. Did you think about 
that?"

"Skinner almost always calls me on my cell, and Larraby shooed 
me out the door and told me to forget all about work for at least 
eight hours." Her voice was rich with a mixture of amusement and 
affection. "Admit it, love. I had you for just a minute there. Big 
time."

"You had nothing, I was onto you." A faint splash echoed through 
the receiver. "Scully, where are you?"

"I'll give you a hint--I pieced bodies together for ten hours straight 
today. My back aches, my feet are killing me, and I smell 
like...well, you can imagine what I smell like. Where do you think 
I am?"

Mulder closed his eyes with a sigh. "Candles?"

"Yep."

A soft whimper. "Bubbles?"

"Of course."

He groaned and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "Sculleee! 
Why am I hundreds of miles away while you're soaking in that tub 
all alone with no one to wash your back?"

"I was asking myself that very question right before you called." 
Scully chuckled softly. "It's only a week, Mulder. I'll keep the 
water warm." Her voice turned serious. "You both need this. 
You've never really had a chance to spend some time together 
without interruptions. Make the most of it."

Mulder's lips curved. "I will." He sighed. "I just wish we could've 
held this little bonding session somewhere else--like the beach."

"Oh, stop whining!" Grey appeared in the basement doorway, a 
bedroll tucked under each arm and a smudge of dirt on one cheek. 
"We're gonna have a great time. Plenty of fresh air, long hikes 
through the woods, meals cooked out over an open fire..."

Scully evidently overheard, because she broke into giggles. "See, 
Mulder? You're in good hands."

"You think so? I have a better idea. I'll come back and play 
connect the dots with Larraby and you go camping with Davy 
Crockett." Mulder eyed Grey, who dropped the sleeping bags with 
a smirk and tromped back down the steps.

Scully's laughter tapered off, and even through the phone line 
Mulder could feel the shift in her mood. "Mulder..."

"I won't do anything stupid."

A puff of air and he imagined the eyebrow shooting skyward. 
"Precognition, Mulder?"

"Just love, babe." He waited a beat. "I miss you already."

Her voice was chocolate, dark and sweet. "Me too. And I'd be very 
disappointed if you came home in anything less than tip-top 
condition."

Mulder grinned. "I'll bear that in mind."

"No bears, Mulder. No snakes. No time-traveling wolf creatures. 
No mothmen. And while I'm at it, no falls, no getting lost, and 
definitely no broken bones. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And have fun."

"Now you're really asking too much." Mulder's voice was dry, but 
his lips twitched. "Grey says we'll be heading to a nearby town for 
supplies the day after tomorrow. I'll call you then."

"Call my cell--I'll be sure to leave it on." Her voice dropped. 
"Good night, Mulder."

"Good night, Scully. Sweet dreams." He was about to push the 
button to disconnect when an odd feeling swept over him, like a 
gust of cold air. He jerked the receiver back to his ear. "Scully, 
wait!"

A loud splash, muttered curses, and she was back. "Mulder, what's 
wrong? You surprised me so much I knocked a candle into the 
tub!"

Mulder bit his lip. The chill had faded, leaving him feeling very 
foolish. "I just...nothing. Sorry I startled you."

The edge left her tone, her voice turning smooth and a little 
contrite. "It's all right. What did you want?"

He shook his head, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see 
him. "Nothing, really. I just...I love you, Scully."

He felt the warmth of her smile. "I love you, too. Are you sure 
you're all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He broke the connection and stared out the glass door. Watching 
splashes of moonlight shift and change as a gentle breeze stirred 
tree branches. Listening to muffled scrapes and thuds that drifted 
up the steps as Grey shifted boxes.

Shivering at the faint but lingering chill at the nape of his neck.


Great Smoky Mountains
Friday
12:36 p.m.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on just a minute! Dana did what?" Grey 
somehow managed to keep one eye on the twisting dirt road while 
darting incredulous looks at his brother.

"You heard me. She ate a cricket. At least, it looked like she ate it." 
Mulder's mouth turned up and his eyes went soft, an expression 
Grey called his "Dana Face." "I've always suspected she really 
palmed it, but she won't admit anything."

Grey slowly shook his head. "Only you would be investigating 
murders committed by a sideshow freak's evil midget twin. You 
know, getting someone like Dana for your partner was really a 
one-in-a-million longshot, Fox. You're just plain lucky."

Mulder turned to gaze out the window, his eyes barely registering 
the sporadic splashes of orange, red, and gold among the still lush 
foliage. "You won't get any argument from me." He snickered. "I 
just wish I could have seen that cigarette-smoking bastard's face 
when he first realized that instead of putting a gun to my head, he'd 
only managed to shoot himself in the foot."

"Not one of his better days, I'm sure." Grey stole a quick peek at 
his brother before anchoring his eyes on the road. "'Course I 
wouldn't be feeling too smug. It still took you six years to admit 
Spender gave you a helluva lot more than just a great partner. If I 
hadn't come along, you'd probably still be in denial."

Mulder's head whipped around and his eyebrows skyrocketed. 
"Excuse me? Are you actually trying to tell me you're responsible 
for Scully and I beginning a romantic relationship?"

Grey inclined his head, expression smug. "My mamma always told 
me to accept credit where credit was due."

"You're delusional! I told Scully how I really felt about her. Okay, 
so I happened to be drugged at the time--the words still came out 
of my mouth. I certainly don't see where you come into the 
picture."

Grey shook his head, snicking his tongue against his teeth. "How 
quickly they forget. Tell me, Fox. Who was responsible for getting 
you two involved with that case in the first place?"

"You were. So what?"

"So you never would have been bitten by that creature if not for 
me--right?"

"Right."

"And because you were bitten, whatever drug was in that creature's 
saliva lowered your inhibitions--right?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "So?"
 
"So you said things to Dana, poured your heart out to her and 
confessed your true feelings, because you were too high to know 
any better. Which encouraged Dana to come clean about her own 
feelings." Grey waved the hand not gripping the steering wheel. 
"And the rest, little brother, is history."

Mulder laced his arms across his chest and scowled at Grey. "Your 
whole case is built on the premise that I would never have told 
Scully I loved her without the use of narcotics. You can't possibly 
prove such an allegation."

Grey snorted indelicately. "You are so full of it! How many times 
did I not-so-subtly suggest it was time you took the plunge? 'It's 
complicated, Grey.' 'She deserves better than what I can give her.' 
'I don't want to risk our partnership.'" Grey mimicked his brother's 
voice with eerie accuracy. "Face it, Fox. If not for the werewolf 
from hell--and by extension, me--you and Dana would still be 
dancing the same old dance. Solo."

Mulder opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, jerking his head to 
the right so that he could glare at the passing trees and not his 
brother's face. Grey, of course, wouldn't let it go.

"Don't thank me. I was glad to help."

Caught between laughter and irritation, Mulder settled for a 
mixture of both. "You know, you're hardly the one to be lecturing 
me about relationships," he pointed out. "People who live in glass 
houses should stick to basketball or a good game of darts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mulder turned, bracing his back against the passenger door so that 
he could see Grey's face and stretch his legs. "It means we all carry 
the ghosts of past relationships with us, Bubba. But then, I don't 
have to tell you that, do I?"

Grey's eyes darted to his face and the car swerved a bit, hitting a 
large pothole with a bone-jarring thump. Swearing under his 
breath, he navigated back to a smoother section of road. When he 
finally spoke, his voice was very soft.

"I've been up front with Kristen from the very beginning. You 
know that."

Mulder tipped his head back against the window, wishing he could 
take back his own words. "Yeah."

The gentle tone of his voice seemed to make Grey more defensive. 
"I do love her."

Mulder couldn't help himself. Grey had always been honest, even 
if it hurt. He deserved no less. "But you haven't been able to tell 
her."

Grey's lips thinned. "Not in so many words."

"How many do you think you need? Last time I checked, it only 
took three." When Grey only hunched further over the steering 
wheel, Mulder reached over to lay one hand on a rigid shoulder. 
"I'm sorry. This really isn't any of my business. Like you said, I'm 
hardly an expert on relationships."

"It's okay." Grey sighed. "When I vowed to love and honor Kate 
till death parted us, I never pictured it happening so soon. She was 
everything I'd ever wanted or needed out of life. I always figured 
I'd be the one to go first, or at the very least, I'd be an old man with 
one foot in the grave."

"I know you must realize that loving Kristen isn't betraying Kate's 
memory."

Grey chuckled, but the sound was flat and without humor. "Here," 
he said, tapping his index finger against his temple. "But here..." 
He laid the same hand over his heart and slowly shook his head. "I 
can tell Kristen she's beautiful. I can tell her that she's important to 
me, and I want to be with her. I can even tell her she makes me 
happier than I've been in a long time. But when I try to speak those 
three little words they get all tangled up somewhere between my 
heart and my mouth." He cast a sideways glance at Mulder. 
"Pathetic, huh?"

"You're asking the guy who needed drugs to pull off the same 
feat," Mulder reminded him, pleased when Grey's laughter turned 
warm and genuine. He removed his hand from his brother's 
shoulder but left his arm across the back of the seat. "Look, I know 
Scully loves me--she married me, and even for a slightly lapsed 
Catholic that's a heavy commitment. My brain knows she's in this 
relationship for the long haul, that she plans to keep filing my 
Alien Abduction magazines alongside her medical journals..." His 
voice trailed off and he stared out the windshield.

"But?" Grey prodded.

"When I wake up in the middle of the night, and the other side of 
the bed is empty and cold, for just a minute..." A long pause. "For 
just a minute, I think maybe she's had enough. That she's finally 
realized what everyone eventually figures out--that Fox Mulder 
requires a hell of an emotional investment with dubious returns. 
And then the water runs in the bathroom, or the teapot whistles in 
the kitchen, or I see the glow of the reading lamp in the living 
room. And all of a sudden I can breathe again."

Grey's eyebrows knitted together. "I don't know why it's so hard 
for you to get it through your thick skull that Dana and I aren't 
going anywhere, Fox. You have to start accepting the fact that you 
deserve happiness."

Mulder didn't reply, simply turned his head with an exaggerated 
motion toward his brother and raised an eyebrow.

Grey glared at him. "That was dirty pool."

Mulder shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, we've all got our ghosts. 
You've weathered a few bumps in the road with Kristen; I'm sure if 
you just give yourself some time you'll get past this one."

A smile spread slowly across Grey's face. "I'll master those three 
little words and you learn to just roll over and go back to sleep."

Mulder's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You first."

Grey's retort cut off when he abruptly spun the steering wheel hard 
to the left, nearly pitching Mulder onto the floor. One of the tires 
slipped briefly into the ditch at the side of the road and the SUV 
tipped precariously before righting itself with a spray of gravel. 
Mulder clung to the door handle and glowered at his brother.

"What in the hell are you trying to do, drive us off the mountain?"

"Sorry, I almost missed the turn. This should take us right up to the 
cabin."

Two minutes later Grey pulled the truck up to a small and rather 
rustic cabin nestled in a clearing. Constructed of logs, a long porch 
ran the length of the front and a stone chimney peeked over the 
roof in back. Grey shut off the engine and turned to Mulder with 
the smile of a proud parent.

"There! Isn't it perfect? A little home away from home right smack 
dab in the middle of all this beauty."

Mulder eyed the cabin sourly. "That bears absolutely no 
resemblance to my home." He leaned forward to take a closer look, 
then poked his finger at a small shack about 50 feet from the back 
door. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Grey offered him a toothy grin. "Just think of it as another 
opportunity to commune with nature."

Mulder moaned and flung open his door. "I can't believe I let you 
and Scully talk me into this."

"I told you we'd be roughing it." Grey's voice remained patient, if 
amused, as he popped the hatch and tossed Mulder his duffel bag. 
"What did you think I meant?"

Mulder shrugged. "I dunno--no cable?"

"You're impossible. Look, we'll be fine. There's a pump that brings 
water into the kitchen and a generator for the lights. It's even got a 
little refrigerator."

"Sounds like the Hilton." Mulder looked from the cabin to his 
brother, who had ceased unloading his own bag, hands propped on 
hips and brow furrowed. With a sigh he hefted the duffel over his 
shoulder and raised both hands. "All right, all right. I'll try to keep 
an open mind."

Grey's shoulders lost a little of their stiffness as he retrieved his 
own gear and shut the trunk. He slung one arm around his brother's 
neck and they walked companionably to the front door.

"Mark was just up here a couple weeks ago. He assured me that 
everything is in working order and promised we'd have a great 
time. After all, the grizzlies are usually hibernating by now." When 
Mulder jerked to a halt and gaped at him in horror, Grey dissolved 
into laughter.

"I'm kidding, Fox, it was just a joke! There aren't any grizzlies 
around here, and as long as we don't leave food or garbage laying 
around the wildlife won't bother us."

"You're a real comedian; you ought to take that act on the road," 
Mulder growled.

"Just making up for thirty-seven lost years, little brother." Grey 
was still snickering to himself as he slipped the key into the lock, 
frowning a little when the door swung open without the click of 
tumblers turning. "That's odd. I know Mark always keeps this 
place locked up."

"So he forgot. Probably distracted by a grizzly." Mulder brushed 
past his brother and dropped his bag, turning slowly to survey the 
interior. 

To the left of the door a huge stone fireplace dominated a spacious 
living area. The plain but comfortable furnishings included a couch 
and an old fashioned wooden rocking chair, and a thick, colorful 
braided rug covered the hardwood floor. To the right of the door 
was a small but functional kitchenette, including a table and two 
chairs.

Grey dumped his duffel next to his brother's, then carried the box 
containing canned goods and other nonperishables into the kitchen 
and began unloading them. "You can have the bed," he called over 
his shoulder when Mulder stuck his head into the small sleeping 
quarters adjacent to the greatroom.

"Nah, I'll be fine on the couch." Mulder ambled by the fireplace, 
examining a painting over the mantle of Canadian geese in flight 
and fingering a ceramic container of matches before joining Grey 
in the kitchen.

Grey handed him several cans and gestured toward a cupboard. 
"You sure? You must be out of practice by now."

Mulder chuffed a little. "It's like riding a bike--you never forget. 
Besides, I'd rather stay close to the fire. You never know when a 
grizzly might decide he's sick of hibernating."

Though his brother's tone was dry, Grey paused to scrutinize his 
face. "Still? I thought maybe now, with Dana..."

Mulder didn't pretend not to understand. Instead he pasted on a 
smile, but his eyes dodged Grey's. "You're asking an awful lot of 
Scully, don't you think? My nightmares are thirty-nine years in the 
making--she's only had six months." When Grey didn't respond he 
chanced a look at his brother's face. Compassion, not pity, softened 
the features. "They're better, Grey. Really. Stop worrying."

Grey regarded him for a moment longer, then one corner of his 
mouth turned up in a lopsided grin and he tossed Mulder a tin of 
coffee. "All right, you can have the fireplace. Least I can do since 
there's no cable."

"You're all heart."

Once they'd emptied the box, Grey set about firing up the 
generator and Mulder brought in several armfuls of wood from the 
pile against the side of the cabin. Grey came through the back 
door, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, to find his 
brother glaring at his cell phone.

"I told you that was never gonna work." He walked across the 
room and flicked the switch on a lamp, beaming in satisfaction 
when the bulb glowed obediently. "You may as well use it for a 
paperweight while we're up here. That's about all it's good for."

"It was worth a try," Mulder grumbled. "Just looking for some link 
to the civilized world."

"Miss her already, huh?"

Grey ducked, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the gut, and beckoned 
his brother over to a desk tucked into the corner. He rolled back the 
top, exposing a shortwave radio. "In case of emergency," he said, 
turning a large knob. "You can talk to Dana tomorrow afternoon 
when we drive into town for..." He seemed to lose track of his own 
words, a line appearing between his eyes.

"What?" Mulder's brow furrowed, mimicking his brother's, and he 
leaned in closer to watch Grey fiddle with various buttons and 
knobs.

"It's not working. Something's wrong."

"What?"

"I don't know. Preston taught me the basics of radioing for help, 
not how to repair it if it broke!" Grey's smooth drawl turned sharp 
with annoyance. After several minutes of fruitless attempts to coax 
the radio to life, he smacked the top with the flat of his hand and 
cursed through clenched teeth.

Mulder grinned. "I'm pretty radios can't do that--even when they're 
functioning." When Grey's expression remained cross, he tossed 
his cell phone on top of the radio. "Looks like we've got another 
paperweight. We'll probably never miss it anyway--unless you'd 
devised some method of contacting Tippi that I don't know about."

It did the trick. Grey abandoned his quest to resurrect the radio, 
turning to stab a finger in Mulder's chest. "We're cut off from the 
rest of the world, little brother. I'd watch my mouth if I were you."

Mulder folded his arms. "I'm a trained FBI agent. I'm not worried."

"Oh yeah? Well, you should be."

"Why is that?"

Grey's glare turned into a wolfish grin and he pulled a keyring 
from his jacket pocket, dangling it in front of his brother's face. 
"'Cause I got the key to the padlock on the outhouse."


Great Smoky Mountains
Friday
3:46 p.m.


"You're crazy." Mulder climbed over a fallen tree, the trunk 
slippery with bright green moss. "They're not even in the same 
league."

Grey shifted his pack so that it rested more comfortably on his 
shoulders. "Least we can agree on that."

"Batman had that utility belt with all the crime-fighting gadgets."

"Spidey could walk up the sides of buildings," Grey countered. 
"And he had that whole web thing going for him."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Like any crook with half a brain isn't 
going to be able to get out of that sticky stuff. And what about 
cars? Even you have to admit the Batmobile was way cool."

Grey shrugged, ducking under a particularly low branch. "It was 
okay."

"Okay? Are you serious? I used to dream about driving a car like 
that when I grew up." Mulder snorted indelicately. "Unfortunately, 
I don't think Ford makes them."

"Not exactly Bureau issue, huh?"

Grey signaled for him to stop. Swiping at his sweaty brow with the 
back of an arm, Mulder watched his brother take a swig from the 
canteen before handing it over. The water was lukewarm and 
slightly musty from the canvas, but the wetness slid easily down 
his parched throat.

"Thanks."

Grey slung the canteen back around his neck, squinting up at the 
pale gold light filtering through the leaves. For at least the tenth 
time that afternoon, he tugged the baseball cap off his head, 
impatiently shoving wavy, sweat-dampened tendrils of dark hair 
out of his eyes before replacing it. Mulder made no attempt to hide 
a smirk

"Just don't say it," Grey warned, poking a finger at his brother's 
chest. "We've already established that I need a haircut. You start 
calling me Shirley again and you're walking home."

Mulder pointedly gazed around them. "I wasn't aware I had a 
choice."

"Not the cabin, little brother. Raleigh."

"Look at this way. It could be worse," Mulder deadpanned. "You 
could have your buddy Walt's problem."

"Gee, thanks, Fox. Somehow that just puts it all in perspective." 
Grey's gaze returned to the sky. "We'd better head back. Way I 
figure it, we're about three or four miles out, and once that sun 
starts to set it'll get dark pretty quickly."

"Fine with me. I'm getting hungry already. By the time we hike 
back, I'll actually be desperate enough to eat that canned stew you 
packed."

Mulder followed Grey as he began to loop back toward the cabin. 
Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm for the camping trip, he'd 
enjoyed the afternoon hike immensely. The hillsides were a 
patchwork quilt of green, red, gold, and orange, some areas 
breathtakingly brilliant. They'd happened upon a small waterfall 
tumbling down a rocky gorge, where a simple drink had turned 
into a water fight that left them both drenched but refreshed. 
They'd observed two deer, a rabbit, half a dozen squirrels, and a 
few unidentified birds with Grey's binoculars. And they'd laughed. 
A lot.

Distracted by his thoughts and a bootlace that had worked loose, 
Mulder nearly toppled over Grey, who had stopped abruptly in the 
middle of the trail. 

"You might want to signal next time you... Grey? Is something 
wrong?"

Grey didn't answer right away, his eyes scrutinizing the foliage as 
he turned in a slow circle. "Thought I heard something."

"Could you be a little more specific? I hear a lot of things--birds, 
the wind, my own feet." Mulder's eyes narrowed. "If this is another 
attempt to spook me with killer wildlife..."

Grey gave a sharp shake of his head, eyes still scanning the brush 
and ears tuned to catch the slightest sound. "Not this time."

Mulder frowned, stepping closer so that his shoulder brushed his 
brother's and unconsciously mimicking Grey's vigilance. "You're 
serious about this."

"I've had the strangest feeling all afternoon. Like we were being 
watched." Grey shook his head again and smiled sheepishly. "It's 
probably nothing. Maybe your paranoia is finally starting to rub off 
on me." He resumed hiking and Mulder fell into step beside him.

"Hey, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

"In your case, I think you have a point."

They reached the cabin without further incident just as the sun 
dipped below the horizon, lengthening shadows shrouding the 
clearing in near darkness. Grey was almost to the cabin door when 
he jerked to a halt with a muttered curse. He stripped off his 
backpack and tossed it onto the porch before stomping over to the 
SUV, which was now sporting an extremely flat tire.

He crouched down, running a hand over the puddle of rubber. 
"Damn. Must've hit something sharp on the way up here."

"Like when you nearly drove us into a ditch." Mulder peered over 
Grey's shoulder, grunting when his brother's elbow dug into his 
ribs. "You've got a spare, don't you?"

"Yeah. I'm not messing with it now, though, I'll run out of light 
before I can even get this jacked up." With a final, black glare at 
the tire, Grey stood and they walked back to the cabin.

"Tell you what--I'll make dinner. You just sit back and take it 
easy." Mulder waved his hand magnanimously in the direction of 
the couch.

"I don't know if I can enjoy myself, thinking of you slaving away 
in the kitchen. If you wind up with a blister from that can opener, 
I'll never forgive myself." Grey dropped onto the cushions and 
kicked off his boots.

Mulder ignored the jibe, divesting himself of both socks and boots 
before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He fished two beers from 
the refrigerator, whistled to grab Grey's attention, and lobbed one 
toward the couch. Grey caught it neatly, tapping the top a few 
times before opening it.

"What do we have to go with the stew?" Mulder opened the nearest 
cupboard and began sorting through cans.

"There's a loaf of bread on the counter."

Further investigation produced a saucepan and can opener. Mulder 
transferred the stew to the pot and turned on the stove, then 
scanned the counter for the bread.

"No, there isn't."

Grey's head emerged from a copy of "Sports Illustrated." "Sure 
there is. I put it right next to the dish soap."

Mulder picked up the bottle of yellow liquid and brandished it. 
"Our hands will smell lemony fresh, but there's no bread in sight, 
Bubba."

Grey heaved a longsuffering sigh, set aside the magazine, and 
trudged over to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath. The line 
between his brows deepened as his eyes swept the counter.

"What the..."

He tugged open first one cupboard, then the other, rummaged 
through all three drawers and thoroughly examined the empty box 
that had contained their supplies.

"This is crazy." Hands on hips, he glared suspiciously at Mulder. 
"Fox, if this is your idea of a joke..."

Mulder held up both hands. "I like to think my sense of humor is a 
little more sophisticated, though Scully might disagree. Are you 
sure you didn't just forget to put it in the box? Maybe it's on the 
counter back home."

"I guess it's possible." Grey's expression remained troubled. 
"Damn. Now we have no bread for sandwiches tomorrow."

Mulder crossed to the stove and stirred the now bubbling pot of 
stew. "So we make do with that box of crackers I saw and buy 
bread when we drive into town tomorrow."

Grey's rigid shoulders relaxed. "Yeah. You're right. I just would've 
sworn..." He shook his head and pulled two bowls from the 
cupboard. "Let's eat."

An hour later, stomachs full and dishes washed, they sprawled in 
front of the fire, Mulder on the couch and Grey on the floor, back 
propped near his brother's legs. Darkness had quickly leached 
away the day's warmth, but the blaze drove away the chill 
sufficiently to keep the cabin comfortable.

"Sam loved it when we'd have a fire in the fireplace." Mulder's 
voice was soft, pensive. He stared into the flickering yellow and 
orange flames with a distant smile on his lips. "When she was 
little, she couldn't understand why we didn't have them in the 
summer. It would be ninety-five degrees outside, and she'd start 
raiding the woodpile, bringing in logs."

"Sounds like a gal who knew her own mind," Grey mused.

Mulder snorted. "Why not call a spade a spade? She was about as 
stubborn and pigheaded as they come. Once she got an idea in her 
head, there was no discouraging her."

"Sounds familiar." Grey's chuckle turned into a guffaw when 
Mulder flashed him an obscene gesture.

After several minutes of silence Grey tipped his head back so that 
he could see his brother's face. "Are you still looking for the people 
who took her?"

Pain flickered across Mulder's face like the flames over the logs. "I 
made a promise to Sam after she was abducted. I vowed I'd never 
quit until I either brought her home safely or caught her 
murderers." His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "I've failed 
miserably at both."

"You dedicated your life to finding the truth about what happened 
to Sam," Grey replied. "In the end, that's exactly what you did. 
How is that failure?" When Mulder didn't answer, he turned back 
to the fire. "It's all right to put Samantha to rest now, Fox."

Mulder sighed and let his head drop onto the back of the sofa. 
"There was a time when nothing was more important to me than 
finding the truth and exposing the men who attempted to bury it." 
A long pause. "Now, all of that pales in comparison to Scully 
getting a clean bill of health from the doctor."

Grey sat forward abruptly, spinning to face his brother. "She's all 
right, isn't she? There haven't been any signs of the cancer coming 
back, have there?"

Mulder smiled, touched by the concern. "None so far. The doctor's 
been monitoring her more carefully since the chip was removed. 
According to him, she's the picture of health." The smile faded. 
"But it's always there, like an uninvited guest. When she's more 
tired than usual. If she skips a meal or two." He blanched. "When 
she gets a bloody nose from a box falling off a shelf."

"How's she handling it?"

This time Mulder's chuckle was genuine. "A hell of a lot better 
than I am. It pisses her off to no end if I get overprotective. Tells 
me she won't live her life waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Grinning, Grey settled back into a more comfortable position. 
"Yeah. I can hear her saying it, too. She's a lot like Kate was, you 
know? Tough as nails when it comes to defending what she 
believes."

"What about Kristen? She doesn't exactly strike me as a pushover, 
either." Mulder's grin turned to a smirk. "From what I've heard she 
went toe to toe with Skinner when we were trapped in the hospital 
by the bomb blast. He wanted her to go back to the Bureau, but she 
insisted on staying put until you were found."

Grey chuffed softly. "Yeah, I've run up against her a time or two 
myself. Don't let her fool you. She's every bit as tenacious as Dana, 
her methods are just a little more...subtle."

A comfortable silence, filled only by the hissing and popping of 
the fire, fell between them. When Mulder spoke again his voice 
was heavy with sleep.

"Are you happy, Grey?"

Grey turned, hooking one arm over his brother's outstretched legs 
and leaning his cheek against the cushion. His gaze was abstracted, 
contemplative, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Yeah. I guess I am." His voice held a touch of wistful surprise. 
"Losing someone you love--it's kind of like breaking a leg, you 
know? At first the pain is so overwhelming, you can't move, can't 
function. It hurts too damn much. After a while folks start telling 
you it's time to get back on your feet, but just the thought of trying 
to walk again is frightening. You hobble around hurting, every step 
a huge effort, certain that you're gonna fall flat on your face any 
minute. And the really terrible part, the thing that keeps you awake 
nights, is that you can remember how wonderful it once felt to run. 
How effortless it was. And you know that you took it all for 
granted.

"And life goes on like that. Some days are better than others. Until 
one day you take a step, expecting to feel that same old stab...but it 
never comes. So you take another step, and another, waiting for it 
to hit, for that other shoe to drop. But it never does. And you 
realize that maybe, just maybe..."

"You're ready to run again," Mulder murmured.

Grey's eyes jerked sharply to his brother's, then softened. "Yeah. I 
think I might be. 'Course, I still get these twinges, now and then."

"Nobody said you had to start off with a marathon. The journey 
starts with just one step, and all that. Give yourself credit for 
getting back in the race, even if you're not quite ready to finish 
yet."

"I'll keep that in mind." A grin spread slowly across Grey's face. 
"Sometimes I forget that my brother's a shrink."

Mulder released an explosive breath of laughter. "Hey, I might as 
well use the degree to help you. God knows, I've never been much 
good at helping myself." He broke off in a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Looks like my cue to let you get some sleep." Grey gave the leg 
under his hand a pat and stood, stretching both arms over his head 
until his spine cracked.

Mulder blinked up at him. "I must be getting old; it can't be more 
than ten o'clock."

"It's called fresh air, little brother. You should try it more often."

"I get fresh air." Mulder folded his arms across his chest and 
clamped his lips into a thin line.

Grey huffed and shook his head. "I'm not talking about jogging 
through the streets of DC, sucking in exhaust fumes." He sobered. 
"You work too hard, Fox. You need to take more time, you and 
Dana. You never did have a honeymoon, did you?"

"Yeah, we did. We went to California, remember?"

Grey's eyebrows disappeared beneath a tangled sweep of hair. 
"You're kidding, right? Flying out to the coast to investigate a 
supposed mermaid is not a vacation, let alone a honeymoon."

"It wasn't so bad. I got us a room at a really nice bed and breakfast 
on the beach." When Grey's look of pity didn't fade, Mulder 
scowled. "All right, all right. I've got a couple ideas in mind; I'm 
planning on surprising her after this mess with the bombing is all 
cleared up. And before you ask, no, none of them are remotely 
connected to paranormal phenomena."

"He can be taught." Grey stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes 
with the back of one hand. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder 
at the back door. "Because I'm such a wonderful person, I'll let you 
have first crack at the facilities before bed."

Mulder groaned pitifully and hauled himself upright. "I can't 
believe I actually managed to forget that little detail." He wrinkled 
his nose. "It's pitch dark out there. And cold--can't be more than 45 
degrees."

Grey extended a hand and tugged him to his feet. "See there? You 
could have a promising career as a weatherman if your job at the 
Bureau ever falls through."

"And if you're considering comedy, I wouldn't quit my day job," 
Mulder growled, snagging his jacket and ambling to the door. "If 
I'm not back in five minutes..."

"I'll radio for search and rescue," Grey snickered.

Mulder paused outside the back door, gazing upward. The 
cloudless night sky provided a velvet backdrop for thousands of 
stars and a nearly full moon. The deep silence, broken only by the 
occasional rustling of undergrowth or the distant cry of an owl, 
made a sharp contrast to the twenty-four hour bustle of busy DC 
streets. He drew in a long, slow breath of the crisp air and sighed, 
slightly amused by the thought that dwarfed all others.

Wish you were here, babe.

He shivered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and crossing the 
grass to the small but functional shack. He was in the process of 
reaching for the handle, thoughts still wrapped up in the 
surrounding beauty and Scully, when the stench of blood hit his 
nostrils and he froze, eyes dropping to the shadowed ground in 
front of the door.

At first glance it was little more than a ball of bloody fur, torn and 
shredded almost beyond recognition. Clumps of hair, bone, and 
flesh littered the grass, puddles of blood soaking into the earth. 
One glazed eye stared sightless upward, the lips pulled back from 
gleaming teeth in a final snarl. The pointed ears, long snout, and 
rust-colored fur testified that it had once been a fox.

Mulder dropped to a crouch, swallowing hard. He'd seen his share 
of gruesome crime scenes, but the brutal dismemberment of any 
creature--whether human or animal--never failed to disturb him. In 
the darkness, surrounded by wilderness and surveyed by hidden 
eyes, it caused a chill to race up his spine.

"Fox? You okay?"

Grey's warmth and solidity at his back chased away the shadows. 
His brother took a long look at the carcass and walked away, 
returning moments later with a large stick. Mulder watched silently 
as Grey shoved the bloody mess out of sight around the corner of 
the outhouse.

"I'll bury it in the morning," he said, watching Mulder closely. 
"Kind of spooked you, huh?"

Mulder lifted one shoulder, a bit embarrassed by his reaction. "Not 
what I expect when going to take a leak." He scuffed some dirt 
over the bloody residue with one toe. "What would do something 
like that?"

Grey shrugged. "Something bigger and hungrier, I guess. This is 
nature, Fox. You know, kill or be killed?"

Mulder frowned. "I'm not completely ignorant, Grey, I know how 
it works. But that..." He shook his head. "From what I could see, 
whatever killed that didn't eat it. Just...shredded it."

"Yeah." Grey cast a quick glance at the woods. "Well, no one ever 
said nature was kind." He lifted an eyebrow. "Now are you gonna 
use that or am I?"

It broke Mulder out of his daze and he grinned. "Patience, Bubba. 
Give me a minute, and then it's all yours. You can even take that 
magazine you were reading in with you."

"Funny."

Mulder watched him walk back to the cabin before taking hold of 
the handle and tugging open the door. The blood at his feet 
gleamed black in the moonlight. He stepped carefully over the 
puddle, unable to shake his feeling of disquiet or the pall that had 
dropped over a once pleasant evening.


Great Smoky Mountains
Saturday
8:26 a.m.


He'd just finished tying his boots when the cabin door opened, then 
shut with a resounding bang that rattled the pictures on the walls. 
Mulder craned his head over the back of the couch to find Grey 
standing with arms folded and a thunderous expression on his face.

"Grey? What's wrong? Are you having trouble with the spare?"

"No, I'm not having trouble with the spare." Grey spoke through 
tightly clenched teeth. "There is no spare."

"What?" Mulder stood and crossed quickly to his brother. "What 
do you mean, no spare? It was right there on the back of the truck; 
I saw it myself."

"Oh, there's a tire there all right. It just doesn't happen to have any 
air in it. Which makes it damn useless, now doesn't it?" Grey 
sucked in a long slow breath and released it, tucking his chin to his 
chest and massaging the back of his neck.

Mulder eyed him for a moment, then tugged open the door and 
strode outside. He stood next to the crippled vehicle, hands 
propped on hips, waiting for Grey to join him. "Let me get this 
straight. We're stranded out here, surrounded by nothing but 
mountains, forest, and wild animals, with a truck that has two flat 
tires and a radio that doesn't work. We've got enough canned goods 
to last two--maybe three days, if we ration them, three-quarters of 
a jug of fresh water, and two beers. And it's roughly twenty-five 
miles to the nearest town."

Grey flashed him a toothy grin. "I'd say that about sums it up. You 
know, you're real good at that, little brother. Must come in handy 
on the job."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, Grey."

His brother chuckled, moving close enough to prop a hand on 
Mulder's shoulder. "I can see that. Look, the situation is bad, not 
hopeless. According to Mark, there's another cabin about eleven 
miles from here. It's rugged terrain, but if we stick to the road--
such as it is--we shouldn't have too much trouble."

Mulder chewed his lip, only slightly mollified. "You're forgetting 
one thing. What if Mark's neighbor didn't drive up to enjoy the 
great outdoors this weekend?"

"Not a problem. The guy is retired; he lives up here year 'round. 
Mark says he's kind of the grouchy old hermit type, but decent 
enough once you get past his bluster."

Mulder's eyebrows soared. "A grouchy old hermit? Living alone in 
the mountains? Isn't that a little cliché?"

"Maybe hermit is a little extreme. The guy keeps to himself, that's 
all." Grey waved his hand at the jacked-up truck squatting sullenly 
on the gravel drive. "I'm sure, considering the circumstances, he'll 
be willing to give us a lift into town--or at the very least, the use of 
his radio."

Mulder's gaze shifted from Grey to the car and back again, lips  
compressed to a thin line. Finally, he sighed. "Eleven miles, huh?"

As if he'd managed to transfer his morose mood to his brother, 
Grey smiled cheerily. "We should make it to Chris Peterson's cabin 
by early afternoon. With any luck we can still get to town and back 
before nightfall."

"Chris Peterson? The hermit's name is Chris?" Mulder's voice 
dripped disbelief.

"Yeah? So? Is there a problem?"

"The problem is that grouchy hermits are not named Chris. They're 
named Jed, or Zack, or Jeremiah."

Grey stared at him, then snorted indelicately. "Guess his mama 
wasn't in class the day they discussed that rule. Now why don't you 
grab your backpack and we'll hit the road. Or we could continue to 
stand here and waste daylight discussing Mrs. Peterson's choice of 
a name for her son." He grinned toothily at Mulder before 
sauntering into the cabin to collect his own pack.

By the time they struck out for the Peterson cabin the sun had risen 
above the treeline and the air had turned from frigid to comfortably 
warm. The dirt road, fit only for rugged vehicles such as Grey's 
SUV, was deeply rutted in some spots and almost completely 
nonexistent in others. After only a mile both of them had shed their 
sweatshirts, and Grey's sweat dampened hair had begun to curl 
defiantly around his ears and the nape of his neck.

"You know, I hate to sound negative," Mulder mused, shifting the 
straps of his pack to settle it more comfortably on his shoulders, 
"but this trip of yours hasn't exactly gotten off to a stellar 
beginning."

"This trip of mine?"

"Yes, yours. You're the one that couldn't wait to get us out in the 
middle of nowhere communing with the wildlife, Nature Boy."

Grey clutched his chest. "I'm wounded. I thought we were having a 
great time. What about that hike through the woods yesterday? 
And that gourmet meal you concocted last night? I saw the way 
you were soaking up the peace and quiet and all those stars before 
we went to bed."

"Yeah, until I almost stepped in pureed fox." A flicker of 
disappointment passed across Grey's face, disappearing so quickly 
Mulder wasn't positive he'd seen it. He sighed. "Hey, I did enjoy 
all those things. But you have to admit, we've had more than our 
share of bad luck."

Grey opened his mouth as if to argue, but shut it with a shrug. 
"Guess I can't dispute that point. Look at it this way--we've paid 
our dues. I mean, what are the odds that a run of bad luck like 
we've had is gonna continue?"

"You forget, I investigate the supposedly improbable," Mulder 
replied dryly. He stopped and shoved his fingers through damp 
hair, brushing it back from his forehead. "Wait up a minute, I need 
some water."

"Just don't drink too much. We've still got a long way to go."

Grey took a few swallows from his own canteen and proceeded to 
adjust his baseball cap, idly scanning the surrounding forest. Two 
squirrels chased each other through the treetops at breakneck 
speed, leaping from branch to branch. A woodpecker worked 
furiously on the trunk of a large oak, beak tapping rhythmically. A 
sparkle at the periphery of his vision caught his attention and he 
turned, squinting through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses as he 
struggled to make out the source.

The answer hit him like a freight train and he reacted without 
stopping to think.

"Fox, get down!"

He launched himself at his brother, the distinctive crack of a rifle 
piercing the air a split second before they both tumbled down the 
embankment into a shallow ditch. A second report followed 
immediately after the first, kicking up dirt and gravel at the side of 
the road, and then an unnatural silence blanketed the forest.

Grey remained motionless for a moment, sprawled across Mulder, 
who had landed on his right side. His heart thudded wildly in his 
chest, and his brother's short, sharp pants for air seared his neck. 
Slowly, cautiously, he tipped his head up until he could look into 
Mulder's white face.

"That was gunfire."

"I noticed." Mulder spoke through locked teeth.

Grey frowned at the tension in his brother's face and voice. "You 
all right?"

"Not entirely."

"Not entirely? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm still breathing, but I think that streak of bad luck we 
were talking about isn't over yet." The sarcasm was forced and 
Mulder's attempted smirk turned into a wince.

Grey quickly rolled off his brother's body but kept his head down. 
"You're hit? Where?"

"Right leg, above the knee." Mulder struggled to prop himself up 
on his elbows. He made it halfway before his face twisted and he 
grunted in pain, collapsing onto his back.

"Easy, easy. Lie still for a minute and let me check things out." 
Grey's voice was calm, reassuring, but his eyes betrayed him.

Hands traveled carefully down Mulder's thigh, pausing a few 
inches above the knee. A tug and the sound of ripping cloth. 
Mulder stared up at his brother's face--jaw set, lips compressed to a 
thin line.

"How bad is it?"

Grey's eyes met his for only a moment before sliding away. "Brace 
yourself. I've got to check for an exit wound."

Fingers slipped under Mulder's knee and... White-hot agony shot 
through his leg from hip to toes, wrenching an involuntary cry 
from his lips. His eyes slammed shut, sparks dancing across the 
lids, while a rushing sound like the surf on a windy day filled his 
ears. Grey's voice, at first nothing more than an insistent buzz, 
gradually resolved into words.

"...so sorry, Fox, I had to know. Stay with me, little brother. That's 
it, c'mon back."

Mulder blinked, wrestling with a tongue turned thick and clumsy. 
"Still in there."

Grey grimaced. "Yeah. Most likely in the bone, which is why it 
hurts like a son of a bitch. But then, I don't have to tell you that." 
He cautiously lifted his head high enough to peer out of the ditch, 
panning the forest. "We've got to get out of this hole and into the 
cover of the trees. If we stay here we're sitting ducks."

Mulder licked his lips. "I was hoping we could chalk this up to a 
hunter with bad eyesight. You think it was intentional?"

"Whoever it is had a high-powered scope trained on us. I spotted 
the reflection right before he fired." Grey slipped his pack off his 
shoulders and rummaged through it, pulling out a clean tee shirt. 
With his pocketknife he tore the fabric into several large strips. 
"You're bleeding like a stuck pig. I've got to try to slow it down or 
we'll be leaving a neon sign for him to follow." He paused. "That 
means putting pressure on the wound." A slight tremor spoiled the 
matter-of-fact tone.

Mulder met his gaze without flinching. "Do it."

Grey nodded, giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze. He folded 
one of the cloth strips into a square, laid it over the wound, and 
with a last, apologetic glance, pressed down firmly.

No sparks this time around. An explosion of pain so intense 
Mulder thought the top of his head might blow off before darkness 
blotted out the distress in Grey's face.

He surfaced dizzy and disoriented, the need to vomit nearly 
overwhelming. Everything around him bounced and swayed so 
whenever he attempted to open his eyes, the nausea tripled. His 
head throbbed, his leg was on fire, and someone was swearing a 
blue streak. A gunshot, then two more, and the bouncing became a 
gut-churning lurch.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna puke."

Mulder wasn't sure if he said it or thought it, but his brother's 
voice, tense and breathless, cut through the haze.

"Hang on, hang on...almost there."

Snapping and rustling sounds preceded the brush of leaves against 
his dangling arms. Mulder abruptly realized he was hanging upside 
down, in a fireman's carry, over Grey's shoulder as his brother 
jogged through the forest. Icy droplets of water pelted his cheeks 
when Grey tromped through a small, shallow stream and then 
scuffled awkwardly down a steep slope. Despite caution, about 
five feet from the bottom Grey tripped on a root and nearly lost 
hold of him. Mulder's head plunged precariously toward a large 
rock before Grey regained his balance, cursing under his breath.

Just when Mulder was certain neither his stomach nor his leg could 
endure another minute, Grey's frenetic steps slowed, then stopped. 
He eased Mulder gently to the ground, propping his upper body 
against the trunk of a large tree, and peered into his eyes.

"Hey there. How you doing?"

Mulder stared blearily at him. My leg is killing me and I just spent 
the last five minutes slung over your shoulder like yesterday's 
garbage. How the hell do you think I'm feeling?

He opened his mouth to retort, but instead lunged to the left and 
proceeded to lose every bit of the breakfast Grey had prepared that 
morning. Each twist of his gut provoked a corresponding spasm in 
his injured leg until he was doubled over, panting and whimpering 
helplessly.

Cool fingers at the back of his neck, a strong arm curled around his 
middle, supporting him. When the violent cramping in his stomach 
eased, Grey held the canteen to his lips so that he could rinse his 
mouth, then settled him back against the tree. Mulder shivered 
helplessly as his brother dampened a scrap of cloth and wiped his 
face.

"Where are we?" The words jittered and trembled as badly as his 
body.

Grey stripped the pack from his shoulders, dug out the discarded 
sweatshirt, and helped him slip it on. "About a half mile north of 
the road. This seemed a good spot to stop and get our bearings." 
He reached over to brush an errant lock of hair off Mulder's sweaty 
forehead. "We got problems, Fox."

Mulder's mouth twisted. "You think?"

Grey reached into Mulder's pack and pulled out his Sig, holding it 
so that Mulder could plainly see the weapon was missing its clip. 
"Seems like some practical joker made off with all our ammo. 
We've been set up, Fox. And by someone who knows what he's 
doing."

Mulder's jaw dropped. "How...?"

Grey shrugged, his mouth set in a grim line. "Last night when we 
were out stargazing? First thing this morning when we were 
looking over the truck? I didn't check my weapon before we left 
the cabin, did you?"

Mulder tucked his arms tightly against his body, miserable. "Didn't 
think I needed to. Everything was still in my pack from when we 
hiked yesterday. I just filled my canteen."

"Yeah. Me, too." Grey swore and chucked the weapon back into 
Mulder's pack. "I should've known better. You never start out on a 
major hike like we were attempting without taking inventory of 
your pack."

Mulder ground his teeth together to prevent them from chattering. 
"C...cut yourself some sl...slack. It's not like we c...could've 
predicted some nut would be t...taking potshots at us."

"Yeah, well, the idea is to be prepared for anything," Grey 
muttered. "I sure as hell know that."

He dug through his own pack and produced a small first aid kit. 
Mulder looked down at the blood-soaked bandage tied around his 
leg, swallowed hard, and glanced away.

"I wasn't exactly...at the top of my game...when you were hauling 
my ass out of that ditch...but I thought I heard shots."

"You heard right." Grey gingerly cut away the bloody cloth with 
his knife. "Our friend started firing the minute I lifted my head. 
Nearly took it off." He opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and 
paused.

"I know, I know. Got to be done." Mulder tipped his head back 
against the rough bark and stared up into a spray of yellow leaves 
that undulated gently in the breeze. "What's the plan anyway? Back 
to the cabin?"

"It would be closer." Grey flushed the wound with antiseptic and 
blotted with a clean gauze pad, holding Mulder's leg steady when 
his brother's body turned rigid. He continued to speak softly and 
slowly, flinching slightly when the fingers of Mulder's right hand 
buried themselves in his shoulder. "Problem is, it'd put us right 
back where we started--literally and figuratively. We've got no 
radio and no transportation, Fox. And you need a doctor."

Grey packed the wound with fresh gauze and bound it with more 
strips from his tee shirt. By the time he'd finished, Mulder was 
panting as if he'd run a marathon, drenched in sweat and wracked 
with tremors. Grey set aside the kit and moved between Mulder 
and the tree with his brother's body pulled against his chest, 
soaking up his warmth.

"Easy, Fox. Deep breaths."

After several minutes Mulder's trembling abated and his frantic 
gulps for air slowed. "Let me get...this straight. We're still 
heading...for Jed's place?"

It took a moment for the joke to register, then Grey chuckled 
quietly. "Don't see what choice we have. That grouchy hermit's our 
best hope for getting out of this mess."

Mulder let his head drop against his brother's shoulder. "Grey... 
Maybe you should go without me. I could wait here...for you to 
bring help."

Grey stiffened. "No way. I'm not leaving you for that psycho to 
hunt down. You've got no weapon and you're damn near helpless, 
Fox. We stay together."

Softly, little more than a whisper. "I'm not sure I can make it, 
Bubba."

Grey's reply was rough. "You don't have to. We will. Together."

"Then consider this. Whoever's behind that rifle...went to a lot of 
trouble...to bring us here. He's going to do...anything he can 
to...prevent us from reaching Jed."

Grey cranked his head to look into his brother's face. "What are 
you saying?"

"That I don't think...our run of bad luck...was luck at all."

Grey stared at him. "The radio? The flat tires? You think he was 
behind all that?"

"Don't you?" Mulder tried to shift position, groaning when it only 
succeeded in sending a spike of agony through his leg. "He's got us 
right...where he wants us. Whoever he is...he's thorough."

"All the more reason not to split up." 

Grey eased Mulder forward and stood. He meticulously replaced 
the contents of their packs and slung them both onto his shoulders 
before squatting down beside his brother.

"We need to move. You ready?"

Mulder gave him an incredulous look, then nodded. Grey slid his 
hands under his brother's armpits and lifted, steadying him when 
he wobbled like a newborn colt. He slipped Mulder's right arm 
over his shoulder and looped his own around his brother's waist.

"Okay, we'll take it nice and easy. Cutting straight north through 
the forest instead of taking the road will trim at least three miles 
off the trip, but it'll be rough going. Just holler when you can't keep 
up and we'll take a break, relax a few minutes."

"Sure. I'll bring the wine and cheese." Mulder ground the words 
out through his teeth, blinking against the blackness hovering on 
the edge of his vision.

Grey snorted and started walking, supporting his brother so that he 
could keep most of the weight off his injured leg. "If this is your 
idea of a party, little brother, next time you can leave me off the 
guest list."

Mulder concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and 
remained silent, conserving his strength.



Great Smoky Mountains
Saturday
4:41 p.m.


"We've got to find someplace to hole up for the night."

"'M okay. I can...keep going."

Grey looked over at his brother, a mixture of amusement, 
tenderness, and irritation clouding his features. "Fox, you and 
'okay' aren't even in the same zip code."

Mulder swiped wearily at a damp lock of hair that insisted on 
falling into his eyes. "What's that...supposed to mean?" His voice, 
wispy and breathless, betrayed his exhaustion and pain as plainly 
as his pale, drawn face.

"It means I've seen stiffs that looked better than you do right now." 
Grey was breathing hard himself, the strain of bearing most of his 
brother's weight in addition to his own turning an already 
strenuous hike into a nightmare. "Look, I'm about done in myself, 
and the sun will be down soon. Last thing we need is to tumble off 
a cliff in the dark."

"Well...when you put it...that way..."

"Hang on a minute." Grey hesitated, eyes scanning the dense 
foliage surrounding them. "Over here." He tipped his head in the 
direction of a shallow ravine about twenty feet down a steep grade 
peppered with loose stones and shale.

"Are you...crazy? I'll never make it...down that...without breaking 
my neck. And yours." Mulder's voice vibrated with frustration and 
weariness.

"I know it's risky, but we'll take it nice and slow. Trust me on this 
one, Fox, I know what I'm doing."

"Should know...by now. My motto's...trust no one." Mulder shifted 
too much weight onto his injured leg, grimacing.

"Really? I thought you changed it to 'trust everyone.'" Grey pressed 
his lips together, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal a smirk.

Mulder's brow creased, then smoothed. "'S there anything...Scully 
hasn't told you?"

"You're a fairly frequent topic of conversation." Grey draped his 
brother's arm more firmly across his shoulders. "C'mon. Just a little 
further. Let me do the work."

Even at a snail's pace, the trip down the slope was treacherous. 
Stones, polished smooth by melting snow and rain, defied the 
traction of their boots, and tree roots poked from the soft earth to 
catch unsuspecting toes. By the time they reached the bottom Grey 
was gulping air like a drowning man and Mulder was a dead 
weight, his chin pressed to his chest and his eyes reduced to slits.

"Almost there," Grey panted, dragging his brother along the floor 
of the ravine to an area bathed in shadow from the surrounding 
trees and a slab of rock that protruded from the side of the hill. 
"Just a little further, almost there." He wasn't sure if he was talking 
to the limp form in his arms or himself.

Grey eased Mulder down with his back against a large boulder and 
dropped the packs from his shoulders with a groan of gratitude. He 
braced his hands in the small of his back and stretched until his 
spine cracked, then rolled his shoulders and massaged his neck. 
Never taking his eyes off his brother, slumped against the rock like 
a broken doll, his only movements the harsh rise and fall of his 
chest and fingers that clutched and kneaded the flesh just above the 
bandage on his leg.

"You still with me?"

One eye cracked open. "Just trying to decide...whether to go 
dancing...or send out for pizza."

Grey snorted. "While you're deciding, I'm going to scout around 
for a minute. Stay put, okay?"

"If you...insist."

Mulder let his head sag back against the rock with a soft thump 
and tracked the crunch of Grey's boots on dead leaves and gravel 
as his brother prowled around the gully. Only a hint of a breeze 
stirred the trees, but as it dried the sweat gluing his hair to his 
forehead the chills returned. His head throbbed relentlessly, his leg 
was on fire, and the cool stone at his back increased his shivering--
tremors that exacerbated every ache and pain. And the one person 
he longed for, who could ease the misery simply with the warmth 
of her hand in his, was a lifetime away.

"Fox, sit up a minute."

Grey's voice and the gentle pressure of fingers on his shoulder, 
startled Mulder out of a doze he hadn't realized he'd slid into. He 
blearily allowed his brother to tip him forward, balking when soft 
fleece brushed his cheek.

"Forget it. Going to get...cold tonight. You'll need it."

Grey's hands never faltered as he worked Mulder's arms into the 
sweatshirt like a stubborn toddler's. "I've got my windbreaker. And 
I'm going to build a fire."

Mulder stiffened, surprise allowing Grey to finish the job without 
further argument. "Are you nuts?"

Grey cocked an eyebrow. "You keep asking me that question. Do 
you expect an answer, or can I assume it's rhetorical?"

Mulder refused to be sidetracked. "Have you forgotten the fact that 
we are not alone--and for once I'm not talking on a cosmic scale. 
You build a fire...and it'll be like a neon sign...for our friend to 
follow." He broke off, panting heavily from the outburst.

Grey slipped on his jacket and moved over to a small pile of sticks 
and twigs he'd evidently gathered while his brother had been 
dozing. He began arranging them in a configuration that made little 
sense to Mulder's untrained eye, but obviously held some purpose. 
His reply was calm and unruffled.

"Fox, I didn't drag you down here to enjoy the scenery. The sides 
of the ravine, the thickness of the trees, and the rock over our 
heads are all going to camouflage a fire if we keep it small and 
don't burn anything that will generate smoke. I'm not a novice at 
this, I know what I'm doing."

"Harder to see...but not impossible," Mulder persisted through 
gulps for air. "'S risky, Grey. You know it."

Grey fished a book of matches from his pack and turned them over 
in his palm. "It was cold last night. It's gonna be cold tonight. 
You've lost a lot of blood, you're most likely in shock, and all that's 
standing between you and the cold is a couple of sweatshirts." He 
looked squarely into Mulder's eyes. "You'd never make it, little 
brother."

Mulder searched in vain for a response but found instead, in a 
place deeply buried, that his brother was right. Grey proceeded to 
light the fire, patiently feeding it with twigs until he had a small 
but respectable blaze. He then retrieved the first aid kit and 
brandished it with a sympathetic wince.

"'S okay. It already hurts like hell. Can't get much worse."

Grey began carefully to unwrap the strips binding his brother's leg. 
"You said before that you think this guy set us up. Any ideas who 
he could be and why he's gone to all this trouble?"

Sweat broke out on Mulder's forehead but he kept his eyes locked 
on the granite above their heads. "Could be...any one of...ah...the 
enemies I've made." His mouth twisted into a sardonic little grin. 
"Plenty to chose from. As for why...'s pretty obvious...isn't it?"

Grey wet his lips, keeping his expression blank as he regarded the 
bullet wound, the edges swollen and angry red. He opened the first 
aid kit and uncapped the hydrogen peroxide as he worked to keep 
his brother talking.

"You're not the only one who's got enemies. What makes you so 
sure you're the target?"

"Besides the slug in my leg?"

Grey nodded, secretly pleased with the sarcasm. When Mulder 
continued, he tightened his grip on the bottle of antiseptic.

"In case you've forgotten...he left me a damn calling card...outside 
what you call a bathroom last night. Or maybe it was more like...a 
letter of intent--" Mulder's words cut abruptly into a sharp cry of 
agony followed by obscenities, and his spine arched as the 
peroxide bubbled and fizzed in the open wound.

"It's over, it's over. Breathe, Fox. Nice and slow." Grey set aside 
the bottle and dressed the wound with fresh gauze. "You think our 
boy is responsible for that dead animal?"

"Dead fox." Mulder ground out the words, teeth clenched so hard 
the tendons in his neck stood in sharp relief. "Bit 
coincidental...isn't it?"

Grey tied off the bandage and sat back, studying his brother's face 
with red-rimmed, exhausted eyes. "Whoever he is, he's good. This 
was planned by a pro."

Mulder raised a trembling hand to swipe at a drop of perspiration 
trickling slowly down his cheek. "All the ones I put away were 
good, Grey. That's why they gave them to me."

Grey fished a bottle of ibuprofen from the kit, popped the cap, and 
snagged his brother's hand. He held it steady and shook three 
capsules into the palm, handing Mulder the canteen once he'd 
placed the pills on his tongue. Grey's lips thinned and his eyes 
narrowed as he watched his brother drink.

"We've already discussed this, so let's not even go there. Every 
time you talk about that prick Patterson I want to hit something."

The corners of Mulder's mouth twitched. "Anyone ever tell 
you...your eyes flash when you get angry?"

"Yeah, yeah. Part of my southern charm. I'm not kidding, Fox. I 
said it before and I'll say it again. I don't understand how you can 
pass off the way they treated you when you were profiling. If not 
for the X-Files you'd've wound up in either a grave or a straight 
jacket, and you know it."

Mulder took another swig from the canteen before handing it back 
to his brother, the teasing glint fading from his eyes. "There were 
killers to catch. Lives to save. You think I was the only one...close 
to a breakdown? Comes with the job."

Grey shook his head, frustration a bitter edge in his normally 
mellow drawl. "A job you did too well. Patterson used you like 
some kind of natural resource he'd staked a claim to. And he'd've 
used you up if you hadn't gotten out when you did."

Mulder shrugged. "Water under the bridge." He blew a soft puff of 
air through his nose. "In some ways the X-Files aren't all that 
different. Still chasing monsters. They just don't wear masks."

Grey tucked the first aid kit back into his pack. After more 
rummaging, he pulled out several foil-wrapped quick energy bars. 
He smiled brightly, waving them in the air as if displaying a 
gourmet feast. "Dinner?"

Mulder eyed them with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Think I'll 
wait for the pizza guy."

The grin slid off Grey's face. "Fox. You need to eat something. It's 
the only way you're going to keep your energy up."

"Bubba, if I eat that...won't be my energy coming up." When his 
brother's expression didn't soften, Mulder sighed. "All right. Give 
me the red one."

He managed three bites, ever mindful that Grey was watching him 
surreptitiously, before his stomach rebelled. Dropping the half-
eaten bar in the dirt beside him, Mulder tipped his head back and 
breathed deeply, willing the little he'd consumed to stay put. 

"Can't," he said, the words clipped, terse.

"Fox..."

Mulder's eyes snapped open and he lunged forward. "I said I can't, 
damn it! Don't force me to eat something I don't want, I hate that!"

Grey blinked, startled by the fury. "Okay, okay. I hear you."

He slumped back against the rock, grimacing. "Sorry. You just... I 
always hated that when I was a kid."

Grey scanned his face for a moment, then moved so that he, too, 
was seated against the rock, shoulder brushing his brother's. 
"Tee...Mom make you clean your plate when you were a kid?" His 
voice was very soft, noncommittal.

Mulder gazed out into the ravine, now almost completely cloaked 
in darkness. "Before Sam was taken. After..." He snorted. "She 
couldn't be bothered most of the time. I ate whatever I wanted--
whatever I could scrounge from bare cupboards and a nearly empty 
refrigerator. Every once in a while she'd have an attack of guilt and 
try to cook dinner for me. Unfortunately, she usually burned it, or 
mixed up the ingredients so it tasted terrible. That didn't stop her 
from forcing me to eat it, though."

Grey studied the hair at the nape of Mulder's neck, struggling with 
the now familiar feelings of anger and sadness his brother's 
childhood never failed to provoke.

Careful. This is shaky ground.

"Didn't anyone notice what was going on around your house? 
Other family members? Teachers? Friends?"

The reply was light, sarcastic. "I'm sure the Mulder family was 
excellent fodder for the rumor mill. But we always put on our 
game faces in front of company."

Grey tugged off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through 
sweaty strands of hair. "It's okay to be pissed at them, you know. 
You've earned that right."

Mulder's shoulders stiffened. "Samantha's abduction was 
devastating. They did the best that they could."

"Cut the bullshit!" Grey's explosive retort startled Mulder. His 
head snapped around and his mouth worked for several moments 
without producing sound. Grey plowed on.

"You were a child, Fox! They were supposed to be the grown-ups, 
it was their job to take care of you. If they were too traumatized, if 
they were incapable of dealing with their own crap, then they 
should've gotten help."

Mulder shook his head with a laugh that took too much effort. 
"First Patterson, now my parents. Why exactly do you feel the 
need to defend me against the world?"

Grey didn't smile. "Someone has to, Fox. God knows, you refuse 
to defend yourself."

Mulder's eyes cut off to the trees, but he leaned a little more 
heavily into Grey's warmth. "Guess Scully must have figured out 
by now that she's not getting a phone call. You available to defend 
me against my wife?"

Grey chuckled softly, willing to let the subject slide. "You're on 
your own there. I'll have my own explaining to do." He sighed. 
"With any luck Dana and Kristen will figure out something is 
wrong and send in the cavalry."

Mulder shivered, drawing his arms deeper into the sweatshirts until 
the sleeves covered his hands. "Maybe. The thing is, I haven't 
always been the most...uh...reliable person when it comes to 
checking in with Scully. She's probably not going to get too 
worried right away."

Grey finished the bar he'd been munching and stuffed the wrapper 
into his pocket. "My guess is Kristen will do enough worrying for 
them both. Ever since your buddy Krycek snatched me while I was 
on my way to her house... Well, let's just say I always let her know 
if I'm running late."

Mulder smothered a yawn, shifting his weight in an attempt to ease 
the throbbing ache in his leg. Unfortunately, the simple movement 
caused a stab of pain so intense his vision erupted into bright 
flashes of light, and for several minutes he could hear nothing but 
the rush of his own breath. He was only peripherally aware of 
hands pulling and tugging, a low voice rumbling near his ear, and 
sudden heat driving some of the chill from his body. 

At last the pain receded to a dull roar and he was able to slit open 
his eyes. Only a few slivers of pale light remained, even the small 
fire's glow muted by the darkness. Mulder suddenly realized 
something soft and warm had replaced the frigid rock at his back. 
Blinking, he gazed down at an additional pair of arms wrapped 
around his middle.

"You back now?" Grey's gentle drawl held just a hint of strain.

Mulder struggled to sit up, reluctant to admit how good the warmth 
felt. "You can let go. I'm okay now." He winced at the croaking 
rasp of his own voice. "I promised Kristen I'd behave."

"Shut up." The growl was good-natured, lacking any genuine 
anger, and Grey's arms tightened. "You're shaking like a leaf and 
I'm not much warmer. First law of survival--use all available 
resources. Shared body heat just makes sense. Now get some 
sleep." Mulder could almost hear the smile. "I promise I'll still 
respect you in the morning."

On the heels of the warmth came bone-deep fatigue. Mulder's head 
settled back on his brother's shoulder and his eyes slid shut.

"'Kay. But if it starts raining sleeping bags, 'm outta here."

"Huh?" Grey craned his head to study his brother's face, the 
features now slack in sleep. He blew out a long breath of air and 
settled more comfortably against the rock. "Guess that's one she 
hasn't told me, little brother. Remind me to ask."


Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold (7/19)
By Dawn
sunrise@avenew.com


Georgetown
Saturday
6:58 p.m.


She was standing in a spill of frigid air, contemplating the contents 
of her refrigerator, when the phone rang. Scully let the door close 
with a soft whunk and crossed to scoop the receiver off the 
counter.

"A little late, aren't you, Mulder? Are you two so wrapped up in 
bonding that you couldn't look at a watch?" She leaned one hip 
against the cabinets, the warmth in her tone belying the edge to her 
words.

A long pause, then a tentative soprano response. "Ah...Agent 
Scully? It's Kristen. Kristen Harding?"

Scully tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear as she 
returned to the refrigerator. "Kristen! Sorry about that. I was 
expecting a call from Mulder." She poked at a container of leftover 
chili, lip curled. 

"I know. I was expecting one, too--from Grey, I mean. Before he 
left, he said he'd give me a call this afternoon when they went into 
town for supplies. I've been home all day working on handwriting 
analysis reports for Violent Crimes, but the phone never rang. I 
thought maybe you'd heard something." A slight rise in pitch 
communicated her hope that Scully would deliver.

"I wish I could tell you I had." Scully cracked open a Tupperware 
dish of something that had grown fur, quickly dropping the entire 
thing into the garbage can with a wince. "I was at Quantico for 
most of the afternoon but my cell was on. I haven't heard a thing 
from Mulder since Thursday night."

Another silence, then a rush of words tinged with embarrassment. 
"You don't think anything is wrong, do you? Grey is always so 
reliable; if he says he's going to do something, he does it. And they 
are pretty high up in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, 
really. It would be so easy for one of them to get lost, or break a 
leg, or fall off a cliff..."

Scully's amusement turned sour when she excavated a piece of 
pizza that looked to have originated in the Pleistocene Epoch. She 
turned away from the refrigerator and headed for the drawer that 
held Mulder's collection of take-out menus.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?"

Obviously not the response Kristen had anticipated. "I...um...well, 
no. Like I said, I've been working on these reports, and..."

"I was just about to call out for Chinese. Why don't you join me?"

"I..."

"Look, staring at the phone isn't going to make it ring any sooner." 
Practicality built from hard experience, Scully thought ruefully. 
"I'm sure they're just running behind schedule. It is a vacation, 
after all. This way we'll save them a phone call."

"I am tired of staring at these walls." Kristen's voice warmed, 
steadied. "All right. Give me fifteen minutes to wrap up this file 
and I'll head over. Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself. I'll see you in a bit."

Scully switched off the phone, sternly ordering the little bell in her 
head--the Mulder panic alarm--to switch off. She hadn't simply 
been quoting platitudes to Kristen; Mulder's penchant for taking 
off on a whim was legendary. If she had a dime for every time...

*This is different. Mulder's changed a lot over the last couple 
years. Plus, his brother is with him. Grey certainly isn't one to get 
caught up in a wild goose chase to the exclusion of all else.*

With an impatient huff, Scully retrieved the phone and punched in 
the number for Yu's. Since she was unfamiliar with Kristen's likes 
and dislikes, she thumbed through the menu and selected a variety 
of dishes in the hope they'd both be satisfied. She ran a quick 
check of the living room, but with Mulder gone the coffee table 
was free of sunflower seed husks, the basketball tucked in the front 
closet rather than nestled on the couch. By the time she had 
changed to a faded pair of jeans and walked around the corner to 
pick up the food, Kristen was waiting on the front steps and the 
buzzing in Scully's head had ceased.

"You must think I'm completely neurotic." Kristen carried 
cardboard containers to the table as Scully removed them from the 
brown paper bag. "Getting concerned over one missed phone call."

 With a raised brow, Scully held up the teakettle, filling it with 
water when Kristen nodded. She set it on the stove, one shoulder 
lifted in a small shrug. "And you could accuse me of being 
negligent for not giving it much thought. It doesn't make either 
emotion right or wrong." Her lips curved. "You're new at this. I've 
had eight years."

Kristen fiddled with the end of the long blonde ponytail that trailed 
down her right shoulder. "Maybe."

Scully motioned to the table and they sat, sifting through cartons 
and spooning the food onto their plates. "Look, I really don't want 
to sound blasé about this," Scully said, pausing to fix Kristen with 
a compassionate gaze. "I just *know* Mulder. He exists in his own 
world sometimes." She smirked. "A world not governed by the 
laws of nature as we know them. That includes time as a universal 
invariant. We'll probably get a call any minute laced with profuse 
apologies for worrying us."

Kristen picked up a pair of chopsticks and snagged a piece of 
chicken. Halfway to her mouth she stopped, stared at the tidbit as if 
it were a foreign object, and returned it to her plate. Her faint smile 
couldn't disguise the disquiet in her green eyes. "Agent 
Scully...Dana. I'll admit that you and Mulder share a lot more 
history than Grey and I. But I like to think I know him. And he 
knows me. So I think I can speak with complete confidence when I 
say that something about this missed phone call doesn't feel right.

A little line appeared between Scully's brows and she opened her 
mouth to reply, only to be silenced by Kristen's upraised hand. 
"Remember last year, when Grey was kidnapped?"

An image flashed across Scully's mind--Mulder shivering with 
cold, pacing up and down the shoulder of a highway as he searched 
desperately for clues to his brother's disappearance. He'd been 
sick--mortally ill--only none of them had realized it at the time, 
and he'd been too consumed with worry for his brother to 
acknowledge his own body's warnings. A chill crept up her spine 
like icy fingers.

"I remember."

"I sat in my apartment for nearly two hours that night, expecting 
him to walk through the door any minute. Telling myself he'd 
probably just stopped for gas or to pick up flowers or...or just 
about anything I could come up with that didn't include blood, and 
twisted metal, and ambulances. See, my father died in a car 
accident when I was nine, and to this day..." She swallowed hard. 
"To this day I can vividly remember the way my mom sat by our 
big picture window, waiting for him to come home."

"I'm sorry," Scully murmured.

"'S okay. I survived." Kristen's smile faded. "But I also learned a 
lesson. Bad things don't always happen to other people. Sometimes 
they hit a lot closer to home. So, you see, those hours waiting for 
Grey were two of the longest of my life." She studied Scully's pale 
face. "I know you've been there.
 
"Anyway, a funny thing happened to me. When that nightmare was 
all over, when I was sure I'd put it all behind me, it came back to 
bite me. Grey was driving up from Raleigh for the weekend. He'd 
called right before he left. And then for some reason, spur of the 
moment, he decided to make a little detour and visit Mulder on the 
way. And I..." She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her 
head, flushing. "I lost it. By the time he got to my place I was a 
nervous wreck, ready to call the highway patrol to institute a 
search for his dead body. 

"Grey was..." She chuffed a little laugh, "bewildered. To say the 
least. I cried; he apologized. We talked about it, eventually even 
laughed about it. It isn't as if I don't know the feelings are 
irrational. But that doesn't make them any easier to cope with."

"I understand." Scully's voice was low, little more than a whisper. 
"There was a period of time, after Mulder was so sick, when he 
couldn't sneeze without my heart climbing into my throat."

"Then maybe you can also understand why I'm convinced Grey 
wouldn't risk giving me a nervous breakdown just because he was 
having a great time and forgot to look at his watch." Kristen 
paused but her intense gaze never wavered. "He wouldn't."

Scully set her chopsticks on her plate. Not only had her hunger 
been banished by the little lizard wriggling in her gut, the alarm 
bell in her head had risen from a whine to a shriek. 

Kristen's eyes narrowed and she gave a small jerk of her head. 
"You feel it, too. It's written on your face."

Annoyance mixed with fear, tightening Scully's lips and 
sharpening her gaze. "Even if something did go wrong, there's no 
reason to assume the worst. It could be something as simple as a 
flat tire or a...a damaged phone line. Mulder told me the cabin has 
a radio. I'm sure if anything really serious had happened...”

Except the more she talked, the less she believed her own words. 
How many times, really, had Mulder been overdue if there wasn't 
trouble involved? The "Mulder panic button" in her head had 
served to be eerily accurate over the years. As the old expression 
went, "Methinks she doth protest too much." Perhaps her 
determination to assuage Kristen's fears was merely an excuse for 
denying her own instincts.

The teakettle whistled shrilly and Scully stood, absurdly grateful 
for an excuse to avoid Kristen's troubled eyes. She busied herself 
preparing two mugs of green tea and tried not to think about 
Mulder's track record with nice little trips to the forest. Kristen 
accepted the tea with murmured thanks and graciously refrained 
from commenting on the way the liquid jittered in the cup. Scully 
cradled her own mug in both hands and took a long sip, eyes 
slipping shut as she mentally reconstructed her composure.

"I'm sorry." The regret in Kristen's voice failed to conceal the steel 
beneath. "I've heard about the situation you've been dealing with at 
work. I honestly didn't want to add to that burden, but it looks like 
that's exactly what I've done." She set down her mug and pushed 
back her chair. "Maybe the best thing I could do for you at this 
point is to leave."

Scully's hand on her arm arrested the motion. "Kristen..." She drew 
in a long breath, expelling it in a harsh puff. "The way I see it, it 
doesn't really matter what theory you subscribe to regarding the 
missed phone call. For the moment, there's really only one thing 
we can do."

"Wait." The little crease between Kristen's brows clearly 
communicated how she felt about that idea. Her chin tipped 
upward. "But if we don't hear anything this evening, I'm contacting 
the police in Spring Creek first thing in the morning."

Scully released her arm. "If we haven't heard from them by then, 
I'll make the call myself." When Kristen's forehead smoothed and 
she nodded, Scully continued, "But it's still early; there's no reason 
to assume they won't call. And while we're waiting, we may as 
well eat some of this food. Leftovers have a way of turning to toxic 
waste in that refrigerator.

Kristen rewarded her with a genuine grin. "I hear you. Those little 
Tupperware dishes always seem to get shoved in the back where I 
don't see them. Last time I cleaned out the fridge I think I 
discovered several new species."

"Hazards of the job." Scully popped a shrimp into her mouth. The 
crackle in the air between them had dissipated and she felt the 
muscles in her shoulders loosen. "A case can take Mulder and I out 
of town at a moment's notice, and frequently it's days before we 
come home." She chuffed. "At least I put leftover food into those 
little plastic bowls. Mulder just shoves it into the refrigerator as is. 
Once when I was at his apartment I found some vegetable soup in 
a saucepan with a piece of plastic wrap over the top. Top shelf, 
right next to the milk. He called it 'streamlining.'"

Kristen struggled not to choke on a mushroom. "Streamlining?"

"He said it cuts down on the number of dishes that need to be 
washed, and makes reheating much easier. You just pull the pot 
out of the refrigerator and put it on the stove. Simple." She shook 
her head as Kristen snickered. "When he moved in we made a 
deal--I take care of putting the leftover food away, and he's in 
charge of discarding it if it lives past its prime." She grimaced. 
"When he's here."

"You haven't really told people at work, have you?" When Scully 
looked up sharply Kristen lifted one shoulder, flushing. "I guess I 
thought that once you got married the word would be out. There's 
the usual watercooler intrigue and speculation, of course. But that's 
all it really is--intrigue and speculation."

Scully picked up her plate and took it to the counter. "It's not like 
we're engaging in any subterfuge. We drive to work together every 
morning and we've never removed these." She paused, twisting the 
band on her ring finger before swiveling to face the sink. Her voice 
remained measured, even. "Given that, I hardly see the need to 
take out an ad in the newsletter. Mulder worries about the impact 
on my career, but frankly, that's peripheral for me. As far as I'm 
concerned, as long as we continue to do our jobs, our personal life 
is no one's business but our own. The watercooler gossip will 
continue with or without our input."

"I'm sorry. You're right, it isn't anybody's business, including 
mine." Kristen's voice communicated support rather than 
contrition.

Scully turned and leaned against the counter, arms folded. "It's all 
right. I didn't mean to include you." She smirked a bit, lips curved 
and eyebrow arched. "After all, I suppose you're practically 
family."

To her surprise, Kristen's jaw tightened and her eyes slid over to 
the wall.

Scully hesitated, then resumed her seat at the table. "Looks like it's 
my turn to apologize."

Kristen shook her head with a weak smile. "It's all right. Lately, I 
tend to follow the 'one day at a time' plan when it comes to my 
personal life."

Scully snorted indelicately before grasping her mug. "There must 
be a genetic marker there somewhere."

Kristen bit her lip, eyes scanning Scully's face, indecision plain. 
Finally she sighed and a rueful little smile twisted her lips. "I love 
him. And I'm pretty sure he loves me. But I never thought I'd find 
myself competing for a man--let alone with a woman who's been 
dead five years."

"Kate." Scully swirled the amber liquid in her cup. "Not an easy 
act to follow."

"Don't misunderstand me--I would never, NEVER expect Grey to 
forget her or stop talking about her. I know she's a part of him, a 
part of loving him."

"But it gets a little crowded sometimes." When Kristen's jaw 
dropped Scully smiled. "Early in our partnership, before I ever 
dreamed I'd wind up romantically involved with Fox Mulder--not 
to mention married to him--I figured out that his sister was an 
integral part of his life. A package deal."

Kristen inclined her head, index finger tracing the wood grain of 
the tabletop. "But she was his *sister.* He could allow himself to 
love you without feeling as if he'd somehow betrayed her."

**Old Memorial Bridge. Mulder, wrapped in a trenchcoat and his 
own despair. The pains in her own body secondary to the ache in 
her heart...

"Mulder, why didn't you tell me on the phone that it was her?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd never let me go through with it."**

Scully blinked, focused in on Kristen's voice.

"...not like he hasn't been up front with me. I knew it wasn't going 
to be easy."

"You said you're 'pretty sure' he loves you." Quiet. Tentative. 
Scully left the opening but didn't press.

"He shows me every day, in lots of ways." Kristen's hand crept up 
to massage the flesh over her right temple. "But he can't seem to 
say the words. He's come close a few times but..." She chuckled 
bitterly. "You know, I would swear I could feel Kate there, 
standing right between us." The smile dried up. "I'm not in a hurry, 
Dana. I'm more than willing to give Grey all the time he needs to 
come to terms with his feelings. I'd just like to be sure he'll get 
there, eventually."

Scully pursed her lips. "Mulder sometimes refers to himself as 
'high maintenance.'" She shrugged. "The truth is, nothing worth 
having comes without a price. You just have to decide whether the 
end result is worth the cost." She cocked an eyebrow. "From what I 
can see, we've both made our decision."

"God help us," Kristen muttered, and they both burst into laughter.

The conversation turned to work-related topics as Kristen helped 
Scully clear the table, pack away leftover food in the dreaded 
plastic bowls, and wash the dishes. As the evening progressed, 
however, the silences grew thicker and more awkward as the 
phone stubbornly remained mute and uncooperative. By ten 
o'clock Kristen was ready to take her leave, her pale, drawn face a 
good match for Scully's rigid shoulders and jangling nerves.

"Thank you for dinner." Kristen's eyes involuntarily searched for 
the phone, then darted back to Scully's face. "I doubt they'll call 
now. Grey told me he avoids driving those roads at night."

"Try not to worry. They both have their weapons and Grey is more 
than capable of navigating the woods. We'll probably hear from 
them in the morning." Scully mouthed the words without feeling 
them. 

Kristen's expression said she wasn't fooled, but she played along. 
"I hope you're right. Good night, Dana."

Scully engaged the deadbolt and wandered through the apartment, 
turning off lights as she went. She paused in the doorway to the 
bedroom, staring at a bed that looked too big, too cold, and too 
empty. She closed her eyes, remembering solid warmth along her 
spine, a whispery tickle of breath on the back of her neck, the 
scratchy hair on long legs tangled up with her short ones. The need 
to see him hit her with the force of a wrecking ball, crumbling the 
composure she'd so carefully maintained in front of Kristen. 

And abruptly, unreservedly, she acknowledged what she had 
known all evening. That he was in trouble. Serious trouble.

In three quick steps she'd crossed the room and scooped up the 
phone. For the next hour she punched numbers, drawing on both 
her credentials and her diplomatic skills to track down warm 
bodies in the Spring Creek Police Department, the state police, and 
the local forestry service. The answers were maddeningly the 
same. "No, we haven't heard of any trouble or disturbances up that 
way. Sorry, there's nothing we can do until morning. We'll call if 
we hear anything." One foolhardy officer at the Spring Creek 
Police station, irritated by the disruption of his normally peaceful 
graveyard shift, had the temerity to suggest Scully's concern was 
not only unfounded but indicative of a neurotic, overly-possessive 
wife. By the time she'd finished with him he'd offered profuse 
apologies, promised to send someone up to check on the cabin as 
soon as it was light, and volunteered to canvass the local hospitals 
in case anyone with Grey or Mulder's description had been 
admitted.

When she hung up the phone, Scully's worry and frustration 
reached critical mass. Her nature, when faced with a problem, was 
to act. To tackle the situation head on and let nothing stand in her 
way. Mulder in danger only intensified the impulse, the *need* to 
do something. 

Yet even Scully had to admit that she'd exhausted all avenues of 
investigation available to her at 11 o'clock on a Saturday night. 
Now she could only wait for daylight. And pray, for Mulder and 
for the one who stood in her place.

"Grey," she murmured, oblivious that she'd spoken aloud. "Keep 
him safe."



Great Smoky Mountains
Sunday
5:33 a.m.

The fire was dying.

Grey carefully shifted his brother forward and then eased him to 
the ground, settling him on his good side, cheek cushioned on a 
backpack. Fox made a small sound of complaint, eyelids fluttering, 
and drew his arms more tightly against his body. Grey tucked his 
jacket up around the hunched shoulders, laying one hand lightly on 
his brother's head until Fox quieted.

He stood slowly, wincing at the pins-and-needles sensation in his 
legs as circulation returned. The muscles across his shoulders and 
neck felt stiff and tight from the rock's damp chill. He gingerly 
rolled his head and stretched, hands propped in the small of his 
back. The cold air raised gooseflesh on his bare arms and he 
hastily gathered several sticks and crouched closer to the fading 
warmth of the weak fire.

The flames eagerly accepted his offering, and he'd soon rekindled a 
respectable blaze. The first pale threads of light penetrated the 
trees, but in the small ravine the shadows remained thick. Grey sat 
with knees bent, arms linked loosely around his legs, and wished 
mightily for a cup of coffee--for Fox as much as for himself. Chills 
had wracked his brother's body on and off throughout the cold 
night, at times so violently that he could hear teeth clicking 
together.

Grey had done the best he could with limited resources, stripping 
off his own jacket and wrapping it around them both in an effort to 
contain body heat. Toward dawn Fox had quieted, the shivers 
tapering off, and Grey had managed a light doze which, though 
brief, had taken the edge off his own weariness.

Soon it would be full daylight, time for them to strike out for the 
cabin. No way to tell exactly how much ground they had yet to 
cover, but he figured they'd traveled close to eight miles so far and 
his internal odometer was usually accurate. That left another three 
miles.

Three miles. It didn't sound like much. Until you factored in Fox's 
rapidly deteriorating physical condition. They'd limped along at 
little better than a snail's pace yesterday, his brother stubbornly 
insisting he didn't need to rest while desperately trying to conceal 
how badly he was hurting. How much worse would it be today, 
after a night spent on the cold ground?

Grey tipped his head and ran one hand along his stubbled jaw, 
shifting his eyes from the flames to scan his brother's face. Too 
pale, drawn, the flesh under each eye darkening to a bruised 
crescent. In the flickering light cast by the fire he looked far too 
young and fragile to be an almost-40-year-old FBI agent adept at 
tracking down aliens and serial killers.

Responsibility, weighty and encumbering, pressed down on Grey's 
shoulders like a knapsack of rocks. It was all up to him, now, to 
elude a killer, navigate them safely to the cabin, and get Fox the 
medical attention he so desperately needed. And meanwhile the 
clock ticked relentlessly.

Piece of cake.

"Whatsa matter? Something wrong?"

The raspy voice startled Grey. He watched Fox wrestle his eyelids 
open and blink owlishly, brow furrowed.

Grey snorted. "Wrong? What could be wrong? There's a deranged 
killer after us, you've got a bullet in your leg, and we're still a good 
three miles from any kind of help."

"Oh, is that all. I was afraid the Mets won the World Series." 
Deadpan. Sarcasm and dry wit intact.

The fist around Grey's heart loosened, and he rolled his eyes. 
"Very funny. How's the leg?"

Mulder licked his lips, grimaced. "I'd rather talk about the Mets."

"Water?"

"Yeah."

Grey snagged his pack and extricated the canteen. He turned back 
just in time to grab his brother's shoulder as he swayed 
precariously close to the fire.

"Whoa! Easy, Fox."

Mulder sucked in a deep breath, then batted Grey's hands away. 
"I'm okay. Just sat up too fast, that's all." He stared down at the 
jacket that now lay pooled in his lap, obviously noticing it for the 
first time. A mixture of shame and gratitude clouded his eyes, and 
he thrust the coat at Grey without looking up. "Take this, you're 
gonna freeze."

Grey held his tongue as he accepted the jacket and handed over the 
canteen. He fished several energy bars from the pack and held 
them up while his brother drank.

Mulder's lip curled and he took on a greenish hue. "Pass."

Grey opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, handing 
over three ibuprofen caplets instead. 

"Breakfast of champions." Mulder tossed the pills into his mouth 
with a wink and washed them down with more water, then passed 
the canteen to his brother.

Grey ate two of the energy bars and some water before reaching 
for the first aid kit. Mulder watched him lay out the supplies for a 
moment, then turned his face away.

"I've been meaning to ask you about something. Where did you 
learn so much about survival and navigating your way through the 
woods?"

Grey's answering chuckle was little more than a cloudy puff of 
vapor. "I was wondering when you were gonna ask me that 
question. Guess it's time I shared that part of my sordid past."

"Bring it on." Mulder gave him a brief smirk, quickly returning his 
gaze to the fire when Grey began to remove the bandage from his 
leg.

"I hit a bad patch when I started high school, what my parents like 
to call my PITA phase--you know what I mean?"

"The 'pain in the ass' phase? Are you kidding? Most of the brass at 
the Bureau would swear I'm still there." Mulder ground the words 
through clenched teeth. Despite Grey's efforts to be gentle, just 
unwrapping the leg had caused him to break into a cold sweat.

"I see your point." Grey stared at the angry red flesh surrounding 
the wound, loath to admit that it appeared even more inflamed.

"Anyway, I got in with the wrong crowd. Guys whose sole purpose 
in life was to party hard, who believed that rules existed so that we 
could break them. It was life in the fast lane and I was having a 
great time. Until two things happened."

Grey poured the remaining hydrogen peroxide into the wound. His 
brother choked off a moan, eyes squeezed shut and hands 
clenched. When the bubbling and fizzing began to taper off, 
Mulder cracked open one eye.

"Two things?"

Grey picked up a gauze pad. "Yeah. And they were doozies. First, 
I got my midterm report. I was failing English Lit and only pulling 
Ds in Geometry and Chemistry. This from a normally A and B 
student." Grey shook his head, mouth twisted in a rueful grin.

"My folks hit the roof. Grounding me for life was discussed as a 
viable option. Then, while they were still making up their minds, I 
was arrested for possession of marijuana. Now I was dead meat."

Mulder snickered, groaned when the motion jostled his leg, and 
snickered some more. "I can imagine."

"Anyway, to make a long story short, since it was my first offense 
and I'd basically been a good kid, the judge let me off with a slap 
on the wrist. My parents, however, weren't so forgiving. Next thing 
I knew I was packed off to a kind of...boot camp for troubled teens. 
I spent my spring break slogging along the Appalachian Trail using 
muscles I didn't know existed and serving as dinner to mosquitoes 
the size of horses. And the strangest part was, I loved it." Grey tied 
off the bandage and sat back on his heels, a bemused smile on his 
lips.

"I came back cured of my rebellious ways--" He chuffed. "Well, 
mostly. And I continued to attend survival camps over the next few 
summers, just for the fun of it." Grey shrugged a little sheepishly. 
"And that's about it."

Mulder's eyes panned the ravine, the shadows all but banished by 
the early morning sunlight. He glanced sideways at Grey, the 
barest hint of a smile curving his lips. "Final exam time, Bubba. 
Hope you studied hard."

Grey collected their packs, slipped his brother's arm around his 
neck, and slowly stood. "Got it covered, little brother. Smooth 
sailing."


10:30 a.m.

"So this is what you call...smooth sailing...huh? Remind me...never 
to get in a boat with you."

"Here. Sit down and stop being a smartass."

Grey settled his brother onto a fallen log, dropped the packs, then 
used the hem of his tee shirt to mop his face. Though the 
temperature was pleasantly cool in the shade, he was drenched in 
sweat and his muscles trembled with fatigue. He uncapped the 
canteen, barely a quarter full now, took a few swallows, and 
crouched down in front of Fox.

Despite his exertions and two sweatshirts, Fox's arms were tightly 
laced around his shivering body. Cheeks flushed, eyes too bright. 
Grey pressed the back of his hand to the damp forehead, dismayed, 
though not surprised, by the heat. He rummaged through his pack 
for more ibuprofen, peeled one of his brother's hands away from 
his torso, and placed the caplets in the palm. Fox obediently 
swallowed them with some water, his movements jerky and 
mechanical.

A twig snapped somewhere off to their left. Grey stood, sharp eyes 
carefully scanning the vegetation as he placed his body 
deliberately in front of his brother. After several tense moments of 
seeing nothing but a squirrel and several birds, his shoulders 
slumped and he turned back to face Mulder.

"I know you're done in. But as near as I can figure we're almost 
there. I just need you to keep going a little longer."

Mulder dipped his head. "Let's get this...over with."

Packs on his shoulders, Fox's arm slung around his neck, they 
lumbered onward. Though Fox valiantly tried to help, with each 
step Grey found himself bearing more and more of his brother's 
weight, until his back screamed in protest and each breath cut like 
a knife through his lungs. They scrambled up a small hill, nearly 
tumbling head-over-heels on the way down when Grey's foot 
caught on a protruding root.

Ahead, the vegetation thinned and the sunlight blazed brightly. 
Grey's heart soared with hope, but his body could do no more than 
maintain the steady plod forward. They dodged a pine tree, skirted 
a bush bearing bright red berries, and staggered into a clearing. 
Two hundred yards ahead, shaded by several large maple trees, 
was the back of a log cabin nearly twice the size of theirs.

"That's it!" Grey crowed. "We made it, Fox! We made it!"

Caution abruptly dampened his euphoria and he tugged his brother 
backward several steps into the cover of the woods while he 
scrutinized the cabin and the surrounding area. A blue jay chased 
several smaller birds from a feeder before settling down to claim 
the spoils. Two smaller trees served as anchors for a clothesline, 
where three white tee shirts and a pair of navy pants flapped in the 
light breeze. Wisps of smoke drifted from a stone chimney.

The heavy thump of his brother's head hitting his shoulder made 
Grey's decision for him. Fox's eyes slipped shut, then shot open as 
he fought to hold onto consciousness.

"Looks quiet to me," Grey muttered. "C'mon, little brother. Just a 
few more steps and we'll find you a place to lay down."

They limped around the side of the cabin. A long gravel driveway 
snaked through the trees and up to an attached garage, the door 
three quarters of the way closed. A porch ran past the front door 
along the entire front of the cabin and an empty rocking chair 
creaked back and forth in the wind. To the left of the door a 
wooden sign proclaimed "Welcome" in bright, cheery colors.

Grey nudged his brother as they moved closer. "See that?"

Mulder snorted, winced. "Some hermit. 'S a disgrace...to recluses 
everywhere."

"Not so loud," Grey cautioned. "We need that recluse to..."

One foot on the porch, hand coming up from his side to knock, 
Grey froze. Eyes locked on the two- by ten-foot slice of garage 
revealed by the partially open door. Lips tightening to a thin line 
he shuffled back around the corner to press their backs tightly 
against the side of the cabin.

"What's wrong?" Like the flick of a switch, Mulder's voice was 
sharp, alert. "What is it?"

Grey eased him to the ground, dropping both packs and opening 
his own. "I got a peek at the car in the garage. Tires are flat." He 
pulled out his gun and stood. "Stay here. I'll be back."

Mulder squinted up at him. "Are you crazy? What good's that 
going to do, you don't have any bullets!"

"We've played poker--you should know by now I'm good at 
bluffing," Grey hissed. "Besides. Even empty it feels good in my 
hand."

He left before his brother could argue further, continuing along the 
side of the cabin, around the corner, and toward the back door with 
his spine firmly against the wood. French doors opened onto a 
large deck. Grey flattened himself to the left of the door, inching 
his hand out until he could curl his fingers around the knob.

It turned, easily.

Sucking in a deep breath, Grey nudged the door open.

"Chris? Chris Peterson?"

Nothing. The jay and several other birds took flight, the laundry 
continued to flap in the breeze, and smoke still wafted from the 
chimney. Grey tilted his head to peer through the glass. Colorful 
braid rugs on a polished hardwood floor. A large stone fireplace, 
the remains of a log smoldering on the grate. Everything neat and 
in place. Except Chris Peterson.

Grey slipped inside but remained near the door. "Mr. Peterson? 
Are you here?"

On the wall a large carved clock ticked relentlessly, the sound 
absurdly loud in the silence. Grey crept through the greatroom to 
the kitchen. Not a single crumb marred the spotless countertops 
and the sink was free of dishes, with the exception of a lone water 
glass. A desk in the corner bore a stack of opened mail and a 
shortwave radio. Grey glanced quickly over his shoulder before 
crossing to the desk and reaching for the power switch.

Nothing. Frustration welled up and he found himself muttering 
whispered curses under his breath as he twisted dials and punched 
buttons. The end result was the same--the radio might as well have 
been a box of rocks.

Grey left the radio and strode down a narrow hallway to the front 
of the cabin, anger undermining some of his caution. To his right a 
nearly empty coat closet and a study, books lining the walls. To his 
left a bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

Abruptly, inexplicably, the hairs on the back of Grey's neck stood 
up. He swallowed, dry throat clicking, lay his palm against smooth, 
six-paneled pine, and pushed.

The smell hit him immediately. Thick, coppery, it filled the air and 
left a bitter tang in the back of his throat. A large four-poster bed 
faced the door, a handmade quilt covering the distinctive form of a 
man lying prone atop the mattress. Crimson splatters adorned the 
quilt, walls, and even the ceiling like a bizarre work of modern art. 

Still clutching his weapon, Grey walked slowly forward on stiff 
legs, the back of his hand pressed across his nose and mouth. The 
quilt cocooned all of the motionless form but a small fluff of steel 
gray hair. Grey stretched out his hand and plucked at the blanket 
with thumb and forefinger, drawing it carefully back to expose a 
face.

"Oh my god."

The words felt torn from his numb lips, and he actually staggered 
backward two steps before he caught himself. He closed his eyes, 
breathed through his mouth, and waited for his pounding heart to 
slow.

"Grey! Are you all right?"

He gasped, spinning, eyes wide. Fox leaned in the doorway, a 
white-knuckled grip on the jamb all that was holding him upright.

"Grey?"

"We made a mistake, Fox. It's not what we thought."

His brother's eyes darted to the bed, took in the carnage. "What are 
you talking about? You're not making sense."

Grey gestured to the body, face pale. "None of this is about you, 
Fox. It never was. Our friend--it's me he's after." He paused, 
swallowed. "And I know exactly who he is."


Reagan National Airport
Sunday
8:16 a.m.


"What do you mean, 'nobody's home'?"

Scully balanced the cell phone precariously between shoulder and 
ear while she attempted to heft her bag into the overhead 
compartment. The absence of the long legs and strong arms that 
normally performed the task fueled her worry and frustration, 
sharpening her voice.

The voice on the other end of the line remained patient and 
excruciatingly polite. "Ma'am, it's like I already told you. I sent one 
of my best men, Jim McCullough, up the mountain first thing this 
morning. He radioed in not fifteen minutes ago from the cabin. 
According to him, when no one came to the door, he walked 
around the area calling for Mr. Mulder and Mr. McKenzie. 
Nobody answered."

"Agent Mulder and Detective McKenzie." The bag was tugged 
from her grasp and shoved into the bin. Scully turned to flash 
Kristin a tight smile before zeroing in on the hapless sheriff. "Well, 
was the door locked? Did he try to look inside the cabin? What if 
they were sick, or injured? Did he stop to consider..."

"No, the door was not locked, and yes, he searched the inside of 
the cabin." The smooth drawl took on an edge. "Everything was in 
place. The bed had been slept in, there was the remains of a fire on 
the hearth, and a pot of coffee in the kitchen that was still warm." 
A pause, and she could almost hear him gathering his composure, 
see the patronizing smile. "They probably just went out for an 
early morning hike, the weather's good and the fall colors are 
awful pretty right now. I know for a city gal the idea of being 
without a phone can be intimidating, but I don't think one skipped 
call should unduly alarm you."

Scully dropped into her seat and fastened the belt, ignoring the 
flight attendant's pointed glare at her cell phone. "Sheriff Edwards, 
I am a federal agent, not a possessive wife. Believe me, I wouldn't 
have insisted someone check on my husband and brother-in-law if 
I didn't have solid reasons for doing so. But we can discuss that 
when I get there."

An extremely long pause. "Ah...get here?"

Only her concern for Mulder kept Scully from laughing out loud at 
the dismay in his voice. "That's right. I'm on an eight-thirty flight 
to Raleigh, so with any luck I'll be in Spring Creek by early 
afternoon."

"Now hold on, Agent Scully, I really don't think..."

"I have to go, Sheriff, the plane is about to take off. I'll see you in a 
few hours." Scully stabbed the power button and glared at the 
phone, her emotions a confused blend of anger, worry, and wry 
amusement.

"Something tells me they don't get many female law enforcement 
officers in this neck of the woods. Either that, or the sheriff has a 
death wish."

Kristen's dry sarcasm wrenched an explosive puff of air from 
Scully's lips, coaxing them into a weak grin. "I wish I could say 
that attitude was limited to small towns in the sticks, but I've come 
across a fair number of my fellow agents that share Edwards' 
views."

"Yeah. I've butted heads with a few myself." Kristen shook her 
head and stared out the window as the plane pulled away from the 
gate. "As women we work twice as hard to get half the respect. So 
much for equality."

"That's the thing that impressed me about Mulder, right from the 
start." Scully felt Kristen's eyes leave the window to study her face 
but couldn't seem to suppress the wistfulness in her voice and 
features. She countered with a chuckle that held equal parts humor 
and regret. 

"There I was, a virtual babe in the woods entering the dragon's lair. 
Mulder knew I'd been sent as some kind of ringer, commissioned 
to debunk his work. He was more than aware of Blevins' desire to 
shut down the X-Files, and he had no way of knowing I didn't 
intend to be a part of that agenda. Yet from the very first time I 
walked into his office, he treated me as an equal, as someone of 
value. He tested me, baited me...made me want to strangle him. 
But..."

When she didn't resume speaking, expression pensive, Kristen 
nudged her. "But...?"

"Even when he was acting like the world's biggest ass, he listened 
to me. When he asked for my opinion, it wasn't just to follow 
protocol or be politically correct. He really wanted to know what I 
thought. We didn't agree--didn't even come close--but he respected 
what I had to say. Took me seriously." Scully's mouth curved, her 
gaze on a distant memory from a motel room in Oregon. "Even 
when I gave him a pretty compelling reason not to."

Kristen leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Is it ever...I mean..." 
She sat back, cheeks pink. "Never mind."

An arched eyebrow. "Go on."

"No, it's kind of personal and really none of my business."

"Now I'm really intrigued. Go ahead, ask me."

"It's just that you're together all day at work. And now that you're 
married, you're together nights and weekends, too. Does it ever get 
to be--I don't know--too much of a good thing? How do you keep 
from bringing the work home, getting on each other's nerves?"

Scully pursed her lips. "We have our moments." Sighed. "To be 
truthful, getting married hasn't changed us very much. We always 
seemed to wind up spending our free time together, even after a 
long day at the office or a week in the field. He's my best friend, 
even when he's irritating the hell out of me."

Kristen nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to the window. "It scares 
me sometimes." Softly, unsure.

"Grey?"

Another short nod. "I can be a control freak, you know? I like to 
make lists, plan ahead. Even my job involves taking something 
seemingly abstract and making it concrete." She chuffed a rueful 
little laugh. "I'm not big on surprises."

Scully smirked. "And he turned out to be a doozy." She sobered. 
"That's not a bad thing--is it?"

Kristen dipped her head. "It's amazing. But I can't... He's never 
been anything but honest with me, Dana. Kate's death hurt him so 
deeply. He may never be ready for any kind of lasting 
commitment."

"Are you all right with that?"

"I thought I was." Kristen rolled her eyes. "Surprise."

"It's that damn lower lip." The seatbelt sign flicked off and Scully 
reclined to a more comfortable position. She turned her head, 
studying Kristen's profile. "Add to it the open vulnerability and a 
somewhat irreverent sense of humor..."

"Not to mention a great ass." Kristen looked momentarily shocked 
by her own words until they both erupted in laughter.

Scully laid a finger beneath her nose as she struggled for control. 
"And before your know it..."

"It's too late." Kristen's eyes still sparkled, but her voice was 
solemn.

 "Welcome to life with a Mulder. Sounds like a bad sitcom, doesn't 
it?" She closed her eyes. "Let's just hope this particular episode has 
a happy ending."

Kristen's reply was soft, nearly inaudible. "It has to."


Spring Creek Sheriff's Office
Sunday
3:36 p.m.

The coffee, at least, was good. 

The conversation, on the other hand...

"I still think you ladies are making a mountain outta a molehill. 
One missed phone call is no reason to panic. Those boys are 
probably off somewhere having a grand ol' time, not realizing what 
a fuss they're causing."

Scully sucked in a long, slow breath, examining a black scuff mark 
on the toe of her boot while mentally counting to ten. "Sheriff 
Edwards, I have neither the time nor the inclination to relate the 
eight years of history that qualify me as an expert on what my 
husband would and wouldn't do. Suffice it to say, Ms. Harding and 
I are not alarmists, prone to flights of fancy. We are trained federal 
agents with enough experience to sense when something is wrong 
and enough confidence to trust that judgement.

"Now all I need from you is directions to the cabin and five 
minutes with the officer who searched it."

Edwards' eyebrows knit together and he drew in a great lungful of 
air. Before he could launch into the expected diatribe, however, 
something in Scully's face pulled him up short. Clenching his teeth 
together until he looked remarkably like an older Skinner with hair 
and a paunch, he jerked to his feet and stalked across the room.

Flinging open the office door, he stuck his head out and bellowed, 
"McCullough! Get your tail in here." To Scully and Kristen, he 
added, "Jim'll answer whatever questions you have. Give you 
directions to the cabin, too. If you're dead set on driving up there 
now, I'd plan on spending the night. It's gonna storm and those 
roads can be treacherous in the dark--even for folks that know 
what they're doing."

Dignity intact, more or less, the sheriff tipped his chin and exited 
the office, leaving them to wait in solitude for his subordinate.

Scully sighed and took a sip of coffee. "No one could accuse him 
of being subtle," she muttered.

Kristen raised her own mug in a mock salute. "I'd heard through 
the Bureau rumor mill that the X-Files division had a knack for 
pissing off local law enforcement. It's kind of fun to see you in 
action."

Scully nearly inhaled her next swallow. Coughing and spluttering, 
she accepted the napkin from Kristen, glaring as she pressed it to 
her lips. "That's Mulder's MO, not mine. He's the one that can't 
seem to get along with the other kids in the sandbox."

Kristen's mouth twitched. "Uh-huh."

"It's true!"

"So those stories about you in Bermuda..."

"That was completely different; Mulder's life was at stake. We 
found him floating facedown in the ocean, for God's sake! If I 
hadn't pulled rank on that mealy-mouthed police chief..."

"And that bombing in Dallas? Something about you two being in 
the wrong building, tampering with evidence..."

"That 'wrong' building turned out to be the right building and we 
saved a lot of lives! Maybe I wasn't exactly patient when we were 
trying to evacuate, but we didn't exactly have time to go through 
proper channels and make nice. As for the evidence, we were 
obligated to find out the truth, even if that meant..." Scully trailed 
off, chagrined by the amusement in Kristen's eyes and her own 
lame explanations. "Oh, God. I really have become more like 
Mulder."

Movement drew her gaze. A uniformed officer stood nervously in 
the doorway, dark eyes darting to Scully, then Kristen, and back 
again. He looked to be in his mid twenties, still a little green 
around the edges.

"I'm Jim McCullough. Sheriff says you ladies want to talk to me?"

Scully and Kristen stood, accepting the proffered hand. 
McCullough's grip was firm, if slightly moist.

"I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Harding. My husband and 
brother-in-law are currently staying in the Preston cabin, and are 
overdue in contacting us. I understand you're the one who drove up 
there this morning in order to check on them." Scully moved 
casually around the desk as she spoke, claiming the sheriff's chair 
and motioning for McCullough to occupy the one she'd vacated.

"Ah...yes, ma'am. Yes, I did." McCullough perched on the edge of 
the seat, palms smoothing up and down the material of his neatly 
pressed slacks.

"Can you tell us what you found?"

McCullough stared at her, slack-jawed for a moment. 
"Uh...nothing. Didn't the sheriff tell you?"

"I'm aware you were unable to locate Agent Mulder or Detective 
McKenzie. What I'd like to know, is what you did find."

McCullough's brow furrowed. "Not a thing. Far as I could see, 
they'd had breakfast and gone out--most likely for a hike. Sheriff 
said you ladies were worried, but I sure didn't see any reason to 
be."

Kristen leaned forward, capturing his attention. "Nothing 
looked...odd? Out of place or disturbed? An overturned chair, 
maybe, or a broken window? We're not looking for bloodstains or 
a smoking gun, Officer. It could be something as innocuous as a 
spilled cup of coffee."

McCullough shook his head. "'Fraid not. Only coffee I saw was in 
a pot--still warm, even. Do you really think if something terrible 
had happened they'd be taking time to make coffee?"

Scully glanced at Kristen, seeing her own frustration mirrored in 
pursed lips and rigid spine. She sighed. "Sheriff Edwards said you 
could give us directions to the cabin."

McCullough bobbed his head. "Be glad to. It's not complicated--
there's basically only one way up once you get out of town. Here." 
He grabbed a small notepad and pen from the desk blotter and 
began jotting down notes.

Scully glanced at the wall clock, dismayed at the lateness of the 
hour. By the time she and Kristen reached the cabin the sun would 
be setting. Too late to do much more than search the interior. Any 
forays into the surrounding area would have to wait until morning. 
Her heart sank with the realization that she held no hope of finding 
Mulder or Grey safely inside.

"Here you go." McCullough handed her simple but specific 
directions written in neat, block printing. "If that's all, ma'am, I 
really should be getting back to work."

Scully nodded, eyes scanning the piece of paper without really 
seeing it. McCullough was halfway out the door when she abruptly 
lifted her head.

"Officer McCullough?"

He turned, shuffling feet betraying his impatience. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Why were you so certain they'd gone hiking?"

His face screwed up. "Ma'am?"

"Earlier you said Agent Mulder and Detective McKenzie had 'most 
likely' gone hiking. Was there some reason you believed that to be 
the case?"

Puzzlement smoothed into indulgence. "Well, of course, I can't say 
for sure. But being that they were gone so early and didn't answer 
when I shouted, I just figured it was the logical explanation. 
'Specially since it wasn't like they could drive anywhere until they 
fixed that flat."

Scully's eyebrows soared. "Excuse me? Are you saying they had a 
flat tire?"

McCullough blinked. "That's right. The one up front, on the right."

"You didn't think that was important enough to mention?" Kristen's 
voice could have cut glass.

An unperturbed shrug. "It's not like we don't see plenty of 'em 
around here. All you have to do is hit a sharp rock or slip off the 
road into a ditch and you can kiss your tire good-bye. I wouldn't 
worry--those fancy SUVs always have spares." He looked at 
Scully. "Was there anything else?"

"No, I think you've given us all you're able." Scully's dry tone was 
lost on McCullough, who seemed grateful to make his exit.

Kristen looked at Scully. "What do you think it means?"

"Maybe nothing." Scully stood and walked around the desk. 
"Maybe everything, I don't know. What I do know is that it's been 
24 hours since they were supposed to call, and it doesn't sound as 
if they ever made it down here for supplies. Something is wrong, 
despite that pot of coffee Officer McCullough finds so reassuring."

"I'm beginning to suspect Officer McCullough couldn't find his ass 
with both hands," Kristen observed.

Scully chuckled, a little amazed she could. It loosened the fist 
around her heart just a bit. "An apt assessment. What do you say 
we get up there and see for ourselves?"

Kristen nodded, her face turning grim. "I say the sooner the better."


Peterson cabin
Sunday
12:03 p.m.


Somehow he made it across the room. Every step sent bright 
shards of agony through his injured leg, telegraphing the pain from 
hip to toe. His body was a jumble of contradictions, limbs 
shivering uncontrollably though heat flushed his cheeks and 
burned the tender skin beneath his eyes. His heart hammered 
wildly in his chest, fueled by the horror on Grey's face, while his 
brain felt sluggish and disconnected.

Three steps from the bed Mulder stumbled and nearly went down 
on the slippery hardwood floor. His sharp hiss of pain snatched 
Grey from his own nightmare just in time to snag a handful of 
Mulder's jacket and halt the plunge. 

"Thought I told you to stay put." The gruff words were a reflex, 
spoken without malice. Grey draped his brother's arm around his 
neck, steadying him.

Mulder stared at the bloody sheet, which had fallen back over the 
dead man's face when Grey grabbed him. "Looks like Jed...won't 
be much help. What did you mean...?" For the first time Mulder 
noticed an odd but familiar odor lurking beneath the heavy, 
metallic smell of blood. "What the hell...is that?"

Grey grimaced. He gingerly reached down and tugged back the 
sheet. Mulder blinked, swallowed.

Chris Peterson's eyes bulged from the sockets like two pale blue 
marbles, mute testimony to the terror he must have experienced.  
His skin, leeched of color, contrasted sharply with the bright 
crimson droplets that splattered his cheeks and pooled over his 
chest. His lower jaw sagged, revealing a white, crystalline 
substance that filled his mouth and spilled from between blue lips.

"Mothballs." Grey's face was still, his voice flat.

Mulder's beleaguered stomach did a long, slow roll, the 
combination of sight and smell proving too much for his already 
tenuous self-control. He closed his eyes and breathed through his 
mouth, swaying a little despite Grey's firm grip. 

Grey immediately drew the soiled sheet back over Peterson. 
"Enough. Let's get you somewhere you can lay down before you 
fall down."

Mulder shook his head, feet dragging as his brother steered him 
toward the bedroom door. "Wait! Not yet. I need to know..."

"You will. I'll tell you the whole story. But not until I get you 
settled and finish securing the house."

Mulder allowed Grey to propel him onward, feeling as if he were 
operating in slow motion while events around him hit fast forward. 
His normally fluid thought processes lurched and stuttered as badly 
as his shivering body, images of the dead man tangled up with his 
yearning for Scully and his fear of what he'd seen written on Grey's 
face.

Back in the family room, Grey lowered him onto the large couch 
and disappeared. Mulder flopped back against the cushions like a 
rag doll, unable to do more than listen as his brother checked the 
locks on doors and windows, rummaging through drawers and 
cupboards as he passed through each room. A loud thud from the 
front hallway and Mulder bolted upright, fingers reflexively 
scrabbling at his waist for a nonexistent gun.

Several smaller thumps and Grey's muttered curses assuaged the 
tightness in his chest. Mulder willed tense muscles to relax, 
keeping his ears keyed to his brother's every movement until 
Grey's footsteps signaled his return. His brother engaged the lock 
on the French doors, fingers absently massaging the crown of his 
head.

Mulder frowned. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Grey dropped his hand, expression sheepish. "I was ambushed by a 
box of files."

Mulder just quirked an eyebrow.

"It fell off a shelf in the coat closet," Grey growled. "I was hoping 
to find a gun, not a decade's worth of tax returns."

"No luck."

An impatient puff of air. "Plenty of luck--all of it bad." Grey's eyes 
panned the windows, his posture stiff and guarded.

"Tell me. All of it."

His brother's quiet command regained Grey's focus. He ran a hand 
over his face and around to cup the back of his neck, dropping chin 
to chest. With a gusty sigh, he wandered over to sink into the chair 
opposite Mulder. Elbows on knees, he laced his fingers together 
and chewed on his lip.

"About six years ago..." His voice faded to a whisper and he 
stopped with a sharp shake of his head. "This is hard. You're 
asking me to go back to a place I...I never wanted to revisit."

Mulder nodded, hugging his arms against his body to conserve 
heat and hide his shivering. "'S Okay. Take your time."

Grey drew in a long breath. "About six years ago there was a string 
of unsolved murders in Raleigh. The victims seemed random--
male, female, black, white, professional, blue collar. All ages, all 
backgrounds. Under normal circumstances it probably would have 
taken us quite a while to link them together as products of the same 
killer. Except for the fact that he was leaving a very specific 
calling card."

"The mothballs."

Grey tapped a finger to his nose. "We knew we were in trouble by 
victim two, and we'd called in the FBI after the discovery of 
number three. The profiler was useless." He hunched his shoulders, 
shot Mulder an apologetic grin. "In my opinion. He spouted a lot 
of suppositions about the killer that could have been attributed to 
half the population--white male, thirty-five to fifty, average height 
and above average intelligence. Said the condition of the bodies 
showed anger, rage. That the reduction of time between killings 
indicated he was escalating, getting good at what he was doing and 
enjoying it. All very interesting, but..."

"It didn't put you any closer to catching your killer."

The effortful, thin sound to his brother's voice drew Grey's eyes 
like a magnet. "You look awful," he said, digging into the front 
pocket of his jeans. "I didn't find a gun, but I did manage to 
scrounge these prescription painkillers from the medicine chest. 
Looks like our friend the hermit got migraines."

Before he could stand, Mulder waved a weary hand. "Later. Keep 
going."

The line between Grey's eyes deepened. He looked about to argue, 
but Mulder's steely glare evidently caused him to reconsider. He 
leaned back, raking his fingers through unruly hair.

"Finally, after the fourth death, we made a connection. It was so 
simple, really. All the victims had achieved success. In some cases 
that success didn't fit into the normal definition of the word. Along 
with a dead lawyer, we had a construction worker. Turned out he 
not only owned the business, he'd built it from the ground up." 
Grey snorted softly at his unintentional pun. 

"Then there was the high school literature teacher. Nothing 
unusual about her at first glance. 'Till we found out she'd won 
several prestigious awards for her poetry and had recently been 
approached by a major publishing house interested in printing a 
collection of her work. Even our housewife was voted citizen of 
the year by her hometown in recognition of her charity work."

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like your profiler wasn't so 
worthless after all. That's a nice piece of work." 

Something in Grey's face shifted, a hint of color rising in his 
cheeks, but he just nodded. Mulder's eyes widened and delight 
nudged the exhaustion from his expression. "You? You're the one 
that made the connection?" When his brother's silence spoke 
louder than words, he continued, "I'm impressed, Bubba. That's 
downright...spooky."

"There were a lot of folks working on the case," Grey disclaimed. 
"I was just lucky enough to put the pieces together. Anyway, in the 
end it really didn't matter. Thanks to my blunder, our killer fled a 
crime scene and got away clean."

"What happened?"

Grey stood, walked over to gaze out the French doors, his back to 
Mulder. "Fate? Blind chance?" A sigh. "Kate had already been 
diagnosed and she...she wasn't doing so well. She was in the 
hospital overnight, having a treatment. Visiting hours had ended 
and I was headed home.

"It was late--the nurses had cut me some slack and let me stay 
longer than usual. I was walking to my car in the parking garage 
when...I smelled it."

Mulder blinked. "Smelled it?"

"Camphor. Like someone had been packing away sweaters for the 
winter. Sharp and bitter. I just...stopped dead in my tracks. Stood 
there sniffing the air like some kind of bloodhound, thinking I'd 
gone round the bend. That I was so far into the damn case I was 
starting to smell things that weren't there."

Mulder strained to see his brother's face. Gave up. "I've been 
there."

Grey didn't turn, but his hunched shoulders eased a bit. "Yeah. I 
bet you have." Seconds passed with no sound but Mulder's ragged 
breathing. "So just as I was about to start walking, convinced I was 
crazy, I heard a sound. Like something heavy being moved, 
dragged across the concrete. It only lasted a second, but it was 
enough to send me in the right direction. Straight into the middle 
of a God-awful mess." Grey's voice trembled. He cleared his throat 
and plowed on.

"I never saw his face. He was bent over the body at first, then took 
off running as soon as he heard me coming. I chased him, but he 
lost me among the cars." Grey huffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I 
was lucky. I wasn't armed, and judging from the condition of the 
victims, he uses one heck of a hunting knife."

Mulder frowned at the self-deprecation; let it go. "The victim?"

"Survived--sort of." Grey finally turned, his face blank. "A doctor 
from the hospital. Attacked inside the car, according to the forensic 
evidence, then dragged outside. Guess he needed more space. I 
interrupted the bastard as he was putting on the finishing touches. 
The doc pulled through, but there was brain damage. I heard he 
wound up in a nursing home."

Mulder let his head drop onto the back of the couch, struggling 
against eyelids increasingly determined to close. "It wasn't your 
fault he got away. You stumbled onto something you were 
completely unprepared for and unequipped to handle. No one 
could blame you."

Grey blinked, animation seeping back into his features. "This from 
the master of self-castigation." But he slowly returned to sit in the 
chair. "The fact of the matter is that I had the perfect opportunity to 
stop the monster, and I came up empty. A permanently crippled 
victim and a vanished perpetrator. Hell, I blame me."

"Vanished..." Comprehension bypassed the fuzziness. "You never 
found him?"

"Never had the chance. After that close call in the garage he must 
have packed his knife in mothballs--or left town. The murders 
stopped, and as time passed the case sank to the bottom of the pile 
and was filed, unsolved. I had other things on my mind by then. 
Like watching my wife die." Grey's long fingers curled into fists. 
"I thought that was the end of it. I haven't thought about the sick 
bastard in more than three years."

"And now he's back."

Grey's eyes darted to his brother's face. "Why now? And, more 
importantly, why me?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was out of circulation for a while. It's 
not uncommon for a killer to be temporarily sidelined--even 
apprehended--by some other crime. He could have spent the last 
few years in jail.

"As for why you? You got in his way. He had a good thing going 
until you came along and spoiled it. A lot of serial killers are 
meticulous about the process of death--compulsively so. When you 
interfered with that ritual, he may have fixated on you." Mulder 
gnawed his lip. "Did you receive a lot of attention after the incident 
in the garage? Media coverage?"

Grey's lips tightened to a thin line. "Yeah. Didn't seem to matter 
that the man I saved was little more than a vegetable. The press 
had me billed as the hero, taking on the killer with my bare hands. 
I even got a letter of commendation for it."

"A sign of success in our business--wouldn't you say?"

Grey's intense gaze shifted from Mulder's face to his injured leg. 
"I'm so sorry, Fox. I know you only came up here for me, and now 
you're stuck in this nightmare because of it."

Mulder shrugged, though the normally fluid movement looked 
stiff. "Hey, forget it. To tell you the truth, it's a refreshing change 
to have someone else be the target of the crazed killer."

Grey expelled a short puff of air and shook his head. "Gotta hand it 
to you, little brother. You always know the right thing to say."

He stood and walked into the kitchen, returning moments later 
with a glass of water and an amber bottle. At the sight of the clear 
liquid Mulder's thirst, forgotten in the distraction of Grey's story, 
returned with a vengeance. He accepted the glass and tried not to 
guzzle, watching over the rim as Grey shook two small white pills 
into his palm and extended it.

"What's that?"

"I told you, remember? Something with codeine. If it'll treat a 
migraine, I'm sure it'll take the edge off the pain in your leg."

Mulder set the glass on an end table, disconcerted by his own 
jittering fingers. "Uh...I'll pass. But if he's got some ibuprofen in 
that medicine chest, I'll take a couple."

Grey's brow furrowed. "Take the pills, Fox. I'll still consider you a 
manly man, I promise."

A firm shake of the head, accompanied by a grimace. "You don't 
get it. This has nothing to do with a fragile ego. In my present 
condition those pills will knock me out--not something I can afford 
considering our killer is out there somewhere, just waiting for the 
right opportunity to renew your acquaintance."

"You said it yourself--he's out there. And that's where he'll stay if I 
have any say in the matter. You, on the other hand, are in very 
rough shape. That leg is infected; you're already running a fever. 
Antibiotics would be real handy at this point, but we both know 
that ain't happening. So I'm going to clean and dress the wound, 
and then you're going to get some sleep. I'll keep watch for our 
friend."

"And then what? How long do you think we can just sit here, 
Grey? We have no weapons to speak of, and pretty soon it will be 
dark. Odds are, that's what he's waiting for." Mulder's voice 
trembled with anger and fatigue. "You know what has to happen. 
You just don't want to face it."

Grey's scowl deepened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The storm passed abruptly, and Mulder became very calm. "We 
know who he is, and we know what he wants. He's orchestrated 
things very carefully to get you here--isolated, weaponless, and 
hampered by my injury. We can't just hang out, waiting for him to 
play the trump card."

Grey's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I like where this is headed."

"If you get started now, you'll still have a good five hours of 
daylight. If you stay off the road, keep to the trees..."

"NO! Forget it! I'm not leaving you, Fox. You're in no shape to 
defend yourself. You'd be a sitting duck."

"Better me than us both!" Mulder leaned forward, face twisting in 
anger and pain. "I'm tired of being a liability to you. Without me, 
you can make it out of here, get help. Think, Grey. Look at this 
logically, objectively. You'll see the truth."

Grey clenched his fingers around the pills, stalked across the room. 
For a split second Mulder thought his brother was going to drive 
his fist into the wall. Instead his shoulders relaxed, and he walked 
back to sit in the chair. He bent forward, locking eyes with Mulder.

"The truth is, you're my brother, Fox. There's nothing logical or 
objective about it. So whatever happens next, we'll deal with it. 
Together."

Mulder looked away, struggling to push words past a closed throat. 
"You're crazy."

Grey leaned back. Smiled. "It's been said. Look, Dana and Kristen 
have got to suspect something is wrong by now. Knowing those 
two, I think I can say with confidence that they will track us down. 
We just have to dig in and give them time."

He stretched out his hand, the two little pills still nestled in his 
palm. "At least take one. I'll go raid Jed's medicine chest for 
something with a little less kick."

Mulder stared at the pills for a long moment before fumbling one 
to his lips with unsteady fingers. He washed it down with the 
remaining water, still evading Grey's eyes. His brother collected 
the empty glass and stood, intending to refill it.

"Grey."

The subdued voice stilled his feet, turned him back. "Yeah?"

"It's not logical for me either. That's why I wanted you to go."

Grey's mouth curved and he tipped his head in acknowledgement. 
"United we stand, little brother. The bastard doesn't have a 
chance."

Mulder's tentative nod sent him on his way.


Great Smoky Mountains
Sunday
7:18 p.m.


"...It took Grey twelve hours to hike back out, and another fifteen 
for the rescue workers to reach us. Mulder was in pretty bad 
condition by then--shocky, cracked ribs, a concussion. His injuries 
would have been serious enough on their own, but coupled with 
the blood loss from the original attack.... Well, he was incoherent 
for most of the trip to the hospital." Scully tightened her fingers on 
the steering wheel, peering through the windshield at the slice of 
road illuminated by headlights.

"You must have been terrified. Alone in those woods after dark, 
Mulder hurt and that...that thing just a stone's throw away." 
Kristen's voice held equal parts fascination and dismay, the voice 
of a woman witnessing a car wreck.

"I've had better nights. I wish I could say it was the first time I had 
to deal with Mulder under those conditions." Scully formed her 
lips into a hard little smile to conceal an overwhelming sensation 
of vulnerability. "I'd certainly hoped it would be the last."

Kristen gazed out the window at the dappled shadows of passing 
trees and foliage. When she eventually spoke, her voice barely 
broke the drone of the engine. "It's not your fault. Whatever has 
happened, whatever we find--there was no reason to expect it."

Scully's gaze swung to Kristen's face, the car drifting to the right 
along with her eyes. She snapped both forward, concentrating on 
the rutted, uneven stretch of road for several long minutes before 
responding.

"He didn't want to go. He joked about it--we both did--but I think 
underneath..." A sharp shake of her head and anger crept into her 
voice. "It's not surprising, really. I mean, every time the man has 
ventured into a wooded area not part of a city park system 
something terrible has happened. I don't know why I..."

Kristen's hand on her arm stopped the deluge of words.

"You did it for him. Because every hour spent hiking, or playing 
basketball, or...or even arguing who's going to win the World 
Series--each moment he and Grey can spend together--chips away 
at those thirty-seven years they were cheated." 

Kristen's fingers tightened briefly before retreating. "They needed 
this trip, Dana. Whatever has gone wrong doesn't change that."

Scully concentrated on dodging potholes, ignoring stinging eyes 
and the burn at the back of her throat. Feeling...unstrung. And just 
a bit bemused. Kristen's appearance at her door that morning, 
suitcase in hand, had taken her by surprise. Her own worries for 
Mulder and Grey, and the driving need to do something about 
them, had been single-minded in intensity. Adding another person 
to the mix, one with fears and intentions just as urgent, was a 
complication Scully had neither time nor energy for.

She'd never expected the resignation to become gratitude.

Gone was the tentative, uncertain woman she'd shared Chinese 
takeout with the previous evening. Unexpectedly calm and 
coolheaded, Kristen was revealing a keen eye for detail and a 
wickedly dry sense of humor. The former had already proved 
invaluable during their interview with Sheriff Edwards; the latter a 
welcome escape valve when the pressure became unbearable.

Scully's lips twisted in a rueful smile. The old saying about misery 
and company wasn't so far off the mark.

"Stop! I think you just passed it."

Kristen's warning tugged Scully's attention back to the road. Her 
foot reflexively hit the brake and the car jerked to a standstill, tires 
spitting gravel. She checked the rear view mirror--more from habit 
than from necessity--and carefully inched the vehicle backward to 
a break in vegetation that signaled the private drive.

Scully cranked the wheel hard to the left and jockeyed the car 
around the curve. "Sharp eyes. I completely missed it in the dark."

"Don't thank me. Officer McCullough may be a rotten investigator, 
but he draws a heck of a map."

They traveled the quarter mile or so in silence, eyes fixed straight 
ahead. When the cabin solidified out of the darkness into the 
headlights' glow, Kristen sat forward, eyes narrowed.

"No lights."

Scully pulled up behind the crippled SUV and turned off the 
engine. Her gaze moved over Grey's car, to the darkened cabin, 
and back again. "You didn't really expect them to be gathered 
around a fire toasting marshmallows--did you?"

Kristen's expression remained impassive. "Are you kidding? Give 
me some credit." She opened her door and slipped outside, then 
leaned back in, her face unusually pale in the harsh dome light. 
"Telling ghost stories, maybe. This is Mulder we're talking about."

The laugh snuck past Scully's lips before her brain could rein it in. 
She sucked in a deep breath, released the steering wheel, and 
stepped out of the car. The temperature had dropped with the sun, 
the crisp air a sharp but welcome contrast from the car's stuffy 
interior. Though the day had been fair, incoming clouds obscured 
the moon and most of the stars. Without headlights, darkness 
shrouded Grey's car, softening edges to an indistinct blur. Scully 
pulled a flashlight from her pocket and thumbed it on.

Her legs felt tight, muscles cramped with inactivity and tension. 
Evidently plagued by the same discomfort, Kristen was shuffling 
her feet, one hand propped on the hood as she pointed and flexed. 
She followed Scully in a slow tour around the SUV that ended 
beside the jacked-up rear axle.

Scully crouched down, panning the flashlight beam over the jack 
and the damaged tire that lay on the ground beside it. "There could 
be any number of causes for this. The question is, why didn't they 
fix it?"

Kristen's head popped around the rear of the vehicle. "The answer's 
right back here. The spare is flat." When Scully joined her she 
gestured with her own flashlight. The tire was still mounted on the 
tailgate. Kristen had peeled back the cover, exposing the sagging 
rubber. "It's not obvious at first because of this covering. It must 
have been a very unpleasant surprise."

"No doubt." Scully's gaze shifted from the tire to the cabin, the 
crease between her brows deepening. 

Easy enough to get a flat tire navigating roads as rough as those 
leading up to the cabin. A pothole, an especially sharp rock--even 
briefly slipping off the shoulder could cause that kind of damage. 
Nothing unusual there. Nothing to set off an alarm bell, even for 
someone as paranoid as Mulder.

"What are the odds." Kristen's soft utterance, not exactly a 
question, drew Scully's attention. She met Scully's intense stare 
without flinching. "One flat, sure. But two? And one of them brand 
new?"

Scully's tongue snaked out to moisten dry lips and her fingers 
drifted to the weapon at the small of her back. "Let's take a look 
inside." In the distance, a low rumble of thunder underscored her 
words.

The door was unlocked. Gun now in hand, Scully nudged it open 
and swept the flashlight beam across the dark room. She could 
sense Kristen at her shoulder--could feel the faint puff of the other 
woman's breath ruffle the hair at the nape of her neck. The air 
inside the cabin, only marginally warmer than outside, smelled 
faintly of coffee grounds and ashes.  The slow, measured tick of a 
clock and the low hum of a generator seemed to enhance the 
stillness, rather than break it. 

Scully stepped all the way into the room and crossed to the brass 
floor lamp that stood beside the couch. Her fingers fumbled with 
the switch until a soft click and a flood of golden light signaled 
success. Kristen squinted against the abrupt shift from darkness, 
her eyes leaving Scully to scan the room. She glanced uneasily 
toward the opening at her back, closing the door firmly before 
moving into the kitchen.

The darkened bedroom caught Scully's eye. She crossed to the 
open doorway, the light from the greatroom providing sufficient 
illumination until she could locate another lamp. As officer 
McCullough had indicated, the bed gave every appearance of 
having been slept in--the pillows rumpled, the sheet and blankets 
tangled together. A pair of faded jeans was flung over a chair and 
Grey's duffelbag, familiar from his many visits, sat on the floor, 
unzipped, one sleeve of a navy thermal shirt trailing out.

Frowning, Scully left the bedroom and returned to the greatroom. 
She crossed to the fireplace and sat on the hearth, first placing her 
hand inside the opening and then fingering the cold ashes. Teeth 
sunk into her lower lip, she swiveled to face the large couch. A 
pillow and a neatly folded sleeping bag occupied one end, Mulder's 
duffel perched on top.

Scully stood and walked over to the bag. She tugged open the 
zipper and reached inside, operating on autopilot, her hands taking 
on a mind of their own. Her fingertips encountered soft cotton, and 
she pulled out the New York Mets tee Mulder slept in on cold 
nights. The sharp, twisting pain, centered somewhere between her 
heart and her gut, took Scully by surprise. Blinking hard, she 
brought the worn fabric first to her nose, then to her cheek.

"Dana?" Kristen's head popped into view, her expression 
immediately turning contrite. "Sorry. Could you come over here?"

Scully tucked the shirt back into the duffel before joining Kristen 
in the tiny kitchen. Kristen's face was oddly expressionless except 
for a slight crease between her brows. Scully quickly took in the 
short, L-shaped counter beside a small refrigerator and sink. A 
coffeemaker sat on the butcher-block surface, about an inch of 
dark brew in the glass carafe.

"Does Mulder drink coffee every morning?"

Scully's eyes jumped to Kristen's and she couldn't help the smile 
that tugged her lips upward. "Neither Mulder nor I are what you'd 
call morning people. Caffeine is a necessity."

"How does he take it?"

Scully arched an eyebrow. "How does he take it? His coffee?" 
When Kristen nodded, she continued in a voice coated with 
impatience. "Sugar, no cream. Why?"

Kristen held out a red ceramic mug bearing the inscription "Hot 
Stuff." "Officer McCullough was right about the coffee. He just 
overlooked an important detail--there's only one mug. Grey is 
every bit as addicted to his morning cup of coffee as you say 
Mulder is. Did you notice another mug around here anywhere?"

"Well...no. But I wasn't exactly looking either."

"Don't bother. You won't find one."

Scully pursed her lips, studying Kristen's face. "What are you 
trying to say?"

"Dana, someone was in this cabin last night, but I don't think it was 
Mulder or Grey. Not only are we short one mug, this coffee is 
black--I tasted it. Grey always uses creamer..."

"And Mulder adds sugar." Scully turned to gaze at the bedroom 
with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?"

"The bed is unmade, but Mulder's sleeping bag is folded up."

Kristen's response was soft, painful. "Grey's one of the neatest 
guys I've ever met. He wouldn't leave the bed unmade, Dana. I'm 
sure of it." She set the mug on the counter as if loath to continue 
touching it.

Scully met her frightened gaze without flinching. "Okay, let's go 
over what we know. They were going to drive into town Friday 
afternoon for supplies."

"And to touch base with us."

"Yes. We know they arrived safely because Grey's car is here, but 
we can't be sure when they discovered the flat tires. Suffice it to 
say, they were unable to drive into town as planned. What would 
have been their next logical move?"

Kristen's eyes went wide. "The radio! Grey told me there was a 
short wave radio for emergencies."

Both women began moving through the cabin, searching. Scully 
was the first to spy the small, rolltop desk in the corner across from 
the fireplace. She pushed back the cover, exposing the radio 
beneath.

"Here it is."

As Kristen looked on, she manipulated knobs and switches without 
success. Finally giving up, she dropped the mic and stepped back 
with a grimace. 

"I don't claim to be an expert, but I think we can safely say this 
radio is useless."

"Two flat tires and a broken radio. Factor in our mysterious third 
party, and I'm starting to see a pretty disturbing pattern."

Scully eyed Kristen sharply. "Anyone can have a run of bad luck--
Mulder's turned it into an art form. But this is all beginning to feel 
a bit..."

"Contrived?"

"I was going to say planned. Lacking transportation or the means 
to radio for help, Mulder and Grey wouldn't be left with many 
options, would they?"

"Only two that I can think of. Sit tight and wait for someone to 
come. Or hike out, find someplace with a radio or a car." Kristen 
uttered a wobbly laugh. "Grey is the original Grizzly Adams, 
Dana. I've no doubts what he'd do."

"Nor do I. Mulder might not know a maple tree from an oak, but 
he'd never be content to stay put and do nothing. Their duffel bags 
are here, but their backpacks and hiking boots are missing. I don't 
think it's a matter of if they went, but where."

"Back to town?" But doubt laced Kristen's voice.

Scully wandered over to the window, arms folded tightly across 
her chest. "That's a twenty-five mile trip. On the other hand, 
Sheriff Edwards mentioned a neighboring cabin about ten to 
twelve miles up the road. The owner resides there year 'round."

Peripherally, she could see Kristen's head bob.

"We could take it slow and still be there in half an hour." Scully 
locked her eyes onto the indistinct strip of road leading away from 
the cabin. Leading toward Mulder.

So tempting. 

"It's raining." Kristen peered over Scully's shoulder. "The roads 
will be wet, slippery. And I guess there's the very real possibility 
that whoever brewed that cup of coffee is out there, somewhere." 
She uttered the observation in a painstakingly neutral voice.

Scully turned to face Kristen, prepared to reassure. Her impatience 
to reach Mulder had been steadily growing, inversely proportional 
to the distance between them. They were close now--she could feel 
it in her heart, in the very marrow of her bones. The prospect of 
waiting impotently at the cabin for another ten hours was 
unthinkable, and yet...

They'd be going in blind, wide open to whatever threat might be 
waiting for them. Lacking the illumination from moon and stars, 
flashlights and headlights would be indispensable--and possibly 
deadly. Blunder over the edge of a ravine or stick out like a sore 
thumb? Neither was a viable alternative.

Yes, she'd ventured into risky situations before, but usually with 
Mulder at her back. Though Kristen was an FBI agent, she lacked 
field experience. Her expertise involved a microscope, not a gun. 
Rushing headlong into the unknown with such an inexperienced 
partner could land Mulder and Grey in deeper trouble. Or worse, 
get someone killed.

Scully slowly released a breath of air. "You're right. We won't do 
them any good by driving into a ditch or stumbling into a trap. 
We'll talk out our next move and try to get some sleep. We can 
head up the mountain as soon as it's light." 

Kristen's eyes looked very large in the pale glow of the lamp. 
"Dana. What do you really think happened here?"

Scully laid her index finger under her nose, considering the 
kitchen, then the bedroom. When her gaze returned to Kristen, her 
eyes were granite. "I think they were set up. I think someone 
followed them here--maybe even got here ahead of them. I think 
they were manipulated into navigating these woods on foot in 
search of help. Possibly--though I don't like to consider it--without 
weapons."

Another long pause as Kristen absorbed her words. "And then?"

It was a question she didn't want to answer, though it had been 
foremost in her mind. Scully shook her head. "Mulder and I have 
made enemies, some powerful. It's been more than 48 hours now, 
with no contact from either of them. We both know that's not a 
good sign."

Kristen's chin came up and her jaw tightened. "I feared the worst 
when Grey was kidnapped, and again when that bomb went off at 
the hospital. He proved me wrong both times."

Scully smiled but merely tipped her head toward the door. "I'm 
going to grab our bags from the car."

"Need some help?"

"I'm fine. No sense in both of us getting wet."

Stepping into the darkness felt a little like escaping, despite the 
frigid drizzle bombarding her. Scully didn't want to squash 
Kristen's determined optimism, but she also didn't feel up to 
supporting it. Her investigator's intuition told her something bad 
had been waiting for Mulder and Grey, hiding in the trees like an 
animal stalking its prey. Had they sensed the danger?

Unlikely. 

She pictured them hiking up the road, trading insults and inane 
observations. Mulder and Grey could get into heated discussions 
on the damnedest topics. She'd once endured an hour-long 
argument over the veracity of NYPD Blue.

Scully's throat constricted and hot tears mixed with the cold rain on 
her cheeks. Odds were, they'd never seen trouble coming until it 
was too late.

A twig snapped in the bushes, startling Scully from her morose 
thoughts. A shiver worked its way up her spine like icy fingers. 
Eyes darting around the clearing, she popped the trunk and pulled 
out the two bags. The warm spill of light from the cabin windows 
beckoned her, hastening her footsteps. Kristen flung open the door 
as Scully approached, her silhouette a welcome reassurance.

She hoped Mulder was warm and dry. Prayed he was safe.


Peterson Cabin
Sunday
8:16 p.m.


All-encompassing darkness. It wraps itself around him like a living 
blanket, so thick he can't see his hand in front of his face. Worse 
than the darkness, though, is the death. It's everywhere—in the 
leathery skin brushing his cheeks and arms, the brittle bones that 
snap and crack beneath his boots, and the rich, sick-sweet smell of 
decay that fills his nostrils.

He crouches under the mound of inhuman corpses, sweat trickling 
between his shoulder blades, breathing in short, sharp pants. The 
rusty screech of the trap door, the thump of boots hitting the 
ground, and barked commands double his heartrate and dry his 
mouth. He becomes stone, unmoving, barely breathing. Wishing 
for Scully's presence even as he's grateful she's hundreds of miles 
away.

Calm, he thinks. Just stay calm.

Until all hell breaks loose.

A blast of sound and hot air, scattering bones like popcorn and 
singeing the small hairs at the nape of his neck. The hissing 
crackle of flames ignites a fear within him that is decades old, a 
panic he struggles to control. 

Out. Got to get out.

Tunneling through bodies, the acrid stench of fire and ash lends a 
new potency to the odor of death. Scrabbling with his fingers, 
kicking with his feet. He gulps for oxygen, finds none. The 
superheated air sears his throat and melts his lungs.

Can't think. Can't breathe.

Have to get…

"…out. Gotta get out."

"Shh. Easy, Fox. Easy."

Grey refreshed the washcloth in a pan of water and resumed 
running it over Mulder's face and neck. Heat radiated from his 
brother's body like a furnace, quickly turning the cloth from cool to 
tepid. Grey didn't need a thermometer to tell him that the fever had 
grown dangerously high. Though lucid an hour previous, Mulder's 
condition had rapidly deteriorated into delirium. Wherever he'd 
gone, it wasn't a nice place.

"No…the fire…gotta…trapped… I gotta…" Mulder's fingers 
scratched at the cushions, his breathing harsh and labored.

"There's no fire, little brother. You're right here with me. It's just a 
dream."

Grey returned the cloth to the pan, grimacing at water already too 
warm to be effective. An image of Mulder, convulsing with fever 
caused by pneumonia and the mysterious alien virus, flashed 
vividly before his eyes. Terrifying enough in a hospital with 
trained medical personnel. If it happened here…

Despite the closed blinds, darkness pressed through the cabin's 
windows, accented by the restless, grasping shadows of tree limbs 
stirred by the wind. Rain drummed a staccato beat on the roof and 
burbled in the gutters. The fire crackled and snapped on the hearth. 
And the clock on the wall kept a steady rhythm, sounding the hour 
with a mellow chime.

Sounds that should feel familiar, even comforting, instead served 
to increase Grey's gnawing uneasiness. The cabin might give the 
impression of a safe haven, a refuge from the elements and a killer, 
but that was illusion. They were trapped, virtually unarmed, and 
Fox had become a liability rather than an asset. 

Grey had never felt more alone in his life.

"Okay, Dana, what do I do?"

He uttered the question aloud, but mumbled. Slightly embarrassed. 
Mostly desperate.

Mulder's legs thrashed and he sucked in a shallow gulp of air. 
"Hot…Scully, can't…can't…."

Grey dropped the cloth and stood, grasping his semi-conscious 
brother beneath the arms and hauling him upright. "Dana might not 
be here, but I know what she'd say. We gotta cool you down, Fox, 
and that little bowl of water sure as hell ain't doing the trick."

Mulder whimpered as Grey levered him off the cushions, his knees 
buckling and his head sagging until his chin brushed his chest. 
Grey draped his brother's arm around his own shoulders and gritted 
his teeth, struggling to manipulate one hundred and eighty odd 
pounds of nearly dead weight. Fox's body felt like a live coal, his 
overheated skin uncomfortably hot where it rested along Grey's 
side.

"Jeez, Fox. What's Dana been…feeding you?"

They staggered down the hallway like two soldiers after an all-
night drinking binge. Mulder alternated between silent passivity 
and agitated ramblings that made little or no sense. Unintelligible 
muttering, most of the words were garbled from the fever. Yet the 
few Grey could decipher left him with a prickly feeling at the back 
of his neck. Krycek. Alien. Merchandise.

Father.

They finally reached the end of the hallway. Grey propped his 
brother against the wall and reached for the bedroom doorknob, 
hesitating when his fingertips brushed the cool metal. He let his 
eyes slip shut, took a deep breath. Preparing or postponing--he 
couldn't have said which.

He shoved open the door and groped for the light switch, the other 
hand knotted in Mulder's shirt as he struggled to prevent his 
brother from sliding down the wall. The air inside the room felt 
heavy, the slightly musty fragrance of damp wood tainted by the 
underlying sick-sweet odor of decay. Grey shouldered his brother 
and steered him past the bed, wrinkling his nose and keeping his 
eyes fixed on the bathroom doorway. 

Once inside, he lowered Mulder to the closed seat of the toilet. 
Two beige bathsheets were draped over a long towel bar near the 
shower stall, and Grey was able to rustle up two more from a 
cupboard under the sink. He turned on the shower and fiddled with 
the dial until the water temperature felt lukewarm but not cold, 
absurdly grateful that Craig Peterson's plumbing was more 
sophisticated than the Preston's.

Pausing with hands on hips, Grey watched his brother teeter 
precariously to the right, eyes glassy and unfocused. "All right, 
Fox, here we go. Believe me, I don't like this any better than you."

He rolled up his sleeves, then proceeded to strip Mulder down to 
his boxers. When he slid the jeans down his brother's legs he was 
dismayed by the condition of the bullet wound. In just a matter of 
hours the surrounding skin had turned tight and inflamed, the 
wound now oozing infection.

"Dear God, Fox, no wonder you're burning up. We've got to get 
you out of here."

He hauled Mulder to his feet and wrestled him into the stall. The 
cool spray shocked his brother out of his stupor. Mulder flailed his 
arms, spluttering and choking when his struggles succeeded in 
earning him a mouthful of water. Resistance rapidly gave way to 
exhaustion and he slumped mutely in Grey's hold.

After ten minutes Mulder's skin had noticeably cooled and he was 
able to stand mostly on his own, leaning heavily against the tile 
wall. Grey's arms quivered with fatigue and the abused muscles in 
his back voiced their protest by tightening into painful spasms. He 
turned off the water and wrapped two of the towels around his 
brother. Mulder allowed himself to be guided back to his seat on 
the toilet, where he huddled, shivering.

Grey glanced down at his own drenched shirt with a grimace. He 
peeled it off and added it to the pile of discarded clothing, helping 
himself to another of the large towels. Once he'd dried off, he 
draped it around his neck and crouched down in front of his 
brother. 

"How are you doing? You gonna be all right while I try to find us a 
change of clothes?"

Mulder's dark hair clung to his skull, accentuating the pale, nearly 
translucent hue of his skin. Water droplets trailed like tears down 
his cheeks and pain had etched lines around his mouth. To Grey's 
intense relief, however, his brother met his gaze, clear-eyed.

"Something in flannel," he croaked. "'S what all well-dressed 
hermits are wearing."

"I'll keep that in mind." Unreasonably reassured by the sarcasm. 
"You just concentrate on staying vertical."

It got him a long-suffering roll of the eyes that left him chuckling 
softly. 

Grey searched the bedroom quickly, rifling through the closet and 
pawing through drawers. Always mindful of the dead man at his 
back, a constant prickling between his shoulder blades. Two 
sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants. A bit large--Chris was a 
jumbo-sized hermit--but they he figured Fox could manage. 

Back in the bathroom he found Mulder had removed the wet 
bandage from his leg and was staring at the wound with horrified 
fascination. 

Grey handed his brother the clothing. "The latest in high fashion." 
He pulled on the second sweatshirt, then began removing bandages 
and antiseptic from the medicine chest.

"Green Bay? You've got to be kidding."

Grey favored him with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, it's warm and it's 
dry. Would you rather have the Chicago Cubs?" Gestured to his 
own shirt.

"God, no." Mulder struggled into the sweatshirt, lip curled. "If it 
looks like I'm going to die, please take this off."

"That's not funny."

"You're telling me. Not bad enough we're stuck with a dead hermit; 
we have to wind up with a dead hermit who has terrible taste in 
sports teams."

"You must be feeling better. You've got your smart mouth back."

"Yeah." Wearily. "I feel just peachy."

Grey rebandaged the wound without further comment. The routine 
was becoming painfully familiar to them both--Grey doing his best 
to be gentle but thorough; Mulder striving to cooperate by holding 
still. Once he'd slathered on antibiotic cream and swathed the leg 
in gauze, Grey sat back on his heels.

"Need some help with those pants?"

A sharp shake of the head, and Mulder discarded the wet towel and 
boxers, working the soft fleece up to his waist. Even tightly 
cinched the pants were almost comically large, riding low on his 
hips and pooling around his ankles. He endeavored to tie the 
drawstring with trembling fingers, swaying on his feet. 

Grey grabbed hold of his arm, steadying him. "Whoa! Easy, Fox. 
Sit down."

Mulder yielded, unconsciously leaning into Grey's solid support. 
He curled forward, forearms braced on thighs, and closed his eyes. 
Concentrated on his breathing and waited for the dizziness to pass. 
"Just…just give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

It struck a nerve, sparked an abrupt, irrational flare of temper. 
Mulder's head came up, his eyes overbright. "You should. Screw 
this, Grey! You ought to hike out, go for help. We both know you 
could make it without me slowing you down. The only reason 
you've stayed is to play nursemaid. I'm not helpless, damn it; I'll be 
all right."

The words, meant to be determined and forceful, sounded as 
fragile as dry leaves in a strong wind. Grey didn't react to the fury 
in his brother's voice. He crouched down until they were eye to 
eye, hands clasped loosely between his knees. When he spoke, his 
voice held a mixture of irritation and compassion.

"I'm gonna say this one more time, and then I don't expect you to 
bring the subject up again. I'm not going to leave you, Fox. Not to 
get help, and sure as hell not to save my own skin. I understand 
why you think I will--why you've come to expect it. But those days 
are gone, little brother. I'm not Samantha, or Pheobe, or…or 
Diana." Softer. "And I'm not Bill or Teena. I'm here now. And I'm 
here to stay. Okay?"

Mulder blinked, his eyes cutting away to fix on the darkened 
bedroom. "I…yeah."

"Glad we got that settled." Grey laid a hand briefly on his leg, 
stood. "You about ready to head back to the couch? I've seen about 
all I care to of this bathroom."

It earned him a phantom smile, not much more than a flicker at the 
corners of Mulder's mouth. "I'm ready."

They were halfway across the bedroom when Mulder's feet began 
to drag and Grey noticed him staring at the shrouded figure on the 
bed. "Fox? What is it?"

"Just trying to see…Jed--was he a big man?"

Grey frowned at the effortful sound of his brother's voice; chose 
not to comment on it. "You gotta ask? Those sweats make you 
look like a kid playing dress up." When Mulder didn't respond, 
Grey tugged him forward. "Come on, Fox. You look ready to fall 
on your face, and it's getting to the point where I'm not sure I could 
stop you. You're no lightweight, you know."

"Sorry."

Grey regretted the sharpness of his words when he felt his brother 
struggling to bear more of his own weight. "Why?" Softer. An 
apology without apologizing.

"Why what?"

He held onto patience--barely. "Why did you ask how big Peterson 
was? What difference does it make?"

"Because… Hold up a minute."

Grey leaned against the wall, waiting for Fox to catch his breath. 
From the pinched look around his brother's eyes and mouth, the 
pain had to be bad. Very bad.

"If he's a big man…means he'd be hard to overpower." Mulder 
swallowed; licked dry lips. "Stands to reason…he wouldn't go 
down…without a fight."

Grey's brow furrowed. "Not much evidence of a struggle."

"Just what I…was thinking."

And then he got it--saw where his brother was headed. "You 
think… You think Peterson *knew* him?"

One shoulder lifted. "'S possible." But his face said that was 
exactly what Mulder thought.

Grey stared at his brother for a long moment before tightening his 
hold and resuming the trek to the family room. "I don't know, Fox. 
What you're suggesting makes sense--in an odd sort of way--but 
I…"

Grey stumbled back a step. Nearly dropped his brother in a 
reflexive grab for a gun that wasn't there. Froze.

A man on the couch. Dark hair slick from the rain, mud-caked 
boots. One arm casually slung across the cushions. The other 
extended, fingers curled around a gun aimed at Grey's head. 

"Well, don't just stand there. Come on in, sit down. I was 
beginning to think you two died back there." A shark's grin. "But 
that would be just a little premature, wouldn't it?"


Peterson Cabin
Sunday
10:02 p.m.


Mulder sensed a subtle shift in his brother's posture as Grey 
tightened his grasp on the arm slung across his shoulders. At the 
same time he released his hold on Mulder's waist, allowing his left 
arm to drop behind the shield of their bodies. Slowly, discreetly 
inching his fingers toward his back pocket. Grey's face smoothed 
into a blank mask as he tipped his head toward his brother and 
arched an eyebrow.

"I don't remember hearing the doorbell, do you?"

"No. Of course...I don't remember...inviting anyone in, either." His 
tissue paper voice was a far cry from the glib, breezy tone Mulder 
had hoped for, but it would have to do.

Their intruder raised his free hand, idly spinning a keyring around 
the index finger. "No invitation necessary. I picked these up when I 
stopped by earlier." His smile widened but his eyes went flat as he 
rose slowly to his feet. "And Detective McKenzie? When you've 
finally located whatever it is you're searching for in your back 
pocket, you can put it right over here on the table."

Grey stiffened, anger turning his muscles rigid. Mulder dropped 
his head, turning his face away from the killer. "Not now," he said, 
sotto voce. "He's holding all the cards."

Grey yanked an object from his pocket and tossed it onto the 
coffee table. A Swiss Army knife, the one he kept in his pack. He 
bared his teeth in an insincere smile.

"Anything else I can get you? Coffee? Tea? Mothballs?"

The killer's face contorted into a snarl and his finger tightened on 
the trigger. He seemed to catch himself, consciously pushing aside 
anger as his expression smoothed and he gestured casually with the 
gun. "Take a seat. Our boy Fox, there, looks like he's about to keel 
over."

Grey had already begun moving Mulder toward the couch. The 
killer's words hit him like a verbal slap, and his feet momentarily 
tangled up with his brother's. Mulder's soft grunt of discomfort 
regained his attention.

"Sorry," he murmured, lowering Mulder carefully. "You okay?" 
He watched his brother lose the battle to remain upright, his head 
flopping back onto the cushions. 

Mulder's eyes, the only bit of color in his face, blinked lazily and 
his tongue swiped at dry lips. "You're kidding...right?"

Grey straightened and turned. "Look, whoever you are--I want to 
get one thing straight. I don't know how you tracked us here or 
figured out my brother's name, but any grudge, any unfinished 
business, is between you and me. Leave Fox out of it."

The killer circled slowly until he was standing directly opposite 
Mulder and Grey. "No, you get something straight, Mr. Bigshot 
Hero. In case you haven't noticed, you're in no position to give 
orders. Now shut the hell up and sit down or the next bullet's going 
right between your brother's eyes."

The threat, backed by the cold fury in the killer's eyes, effectively 
extinguished Grey's defiance. He dropped down beside Mulder, 
lips compressed to a thin line.

"You know, I'm hurt." The killer pocketed Grey's knife and then 
strolled over to perch on the arm of a chair. "I know I don't exactly 
have the most memorable face, but I still thought you'd've 
recognized me by now." His lip curled. "Detective."

"I don't know what the heck you're..." Grey's voice faded away, his 
eyes widening in astonishment as he scrutinized the killer. 
Shoulder-length dark hair caught into a ponytail at the nape of his 
neck. Brown eyes, a long, thin nose, and the mouth... "Wait a 
minute, I...oh, my god."

Mulder's gaze darted to his brother's face. "Grey?"

Grey was slowly shaking his head, oblivious to the anxiety in 
Mulder's voice. Tension crackled in the air as he and the killer 
continued to lock eyes. "You...you're.... Jake?"

"Aw, you do remember. I'm touched."

All the color drained from Grey's face and his left hand clutched 
the arm of the couch in a white-knuckled grip. "B...but...that's 
impossible. That can't be."

Mulder frowned at the stutter. In the space between one breath and 
the next, the killer's revelation had transformed Grey from cool 
professional to bewildered child. Mulder pushed back his own pain 
and fatigue, leaning forward to lay a calming hand on his brother's 
shoulder while turning studiously neutral eyes on the killer.

"So. I take it you two know each other."

The killer laughed--a harsh, humorless sound sharp enough to draw 
blood. "We've crossed paths once or twice, nothing earth 
shattering. But we do share a bond that's much more...intimate."

Grey seemed to get hold of himself, regaining a bit of his 
composure. "Where are my manners? Fox, this is Jake Preston."

Mulder stared at his brother for what seemed like an eternity while 
his sluggish brain tried to process the significance of the name. 
When synapses finally fired and the connection became clear, he 
knew his own face probably looked nearly as shell-shocked as 
Grey's.

"Preston? As in...Mark Preston? Your partner?"

Jake grinned toothily. "We're cousins. There's a family 
resemblance--don't you think?"

"You're responsible for this? For Peterson?" 

Jake's smile flattened out and he stared at Grey. A slow, deliberate 
nod.

"Brandmeier? Feeney? All the others?"

"All except the good doctor. And we know whose fault that was, 
don't we? I have to say, I was sweating that night. I thought sure 
you'd seen my face and would eventually realize who I was."

Mulder felt the tremors thrumming through Grey like electrical 
current. He tightened his fingers on his brother's shoulder, a subtle 
reminder of both support and warning. Grey shrugged it off, his 
teeth clenched.

"Why? Why would you do it--to them, to your cousin? Innocent 
people who never..."

"No one is innocent, Detective! We all have our debts to pay, even 
those of you who've been handed life on a silver platter. 
Everyone's marker gets called in eventually."

"That's how you attempt to justify cold blooded murder? As some 
kind of...of cosmic reckoning with you working the scales? Is the 
dead man lying in that bedroom supposed to be your twisted idea 
of justice?"

Jake leaned forward, arms crossed so that the gun rested easily in 
the crook of his elbow. "What would you know about justice, 
McKenzie? You and Mark, you're exactly alike. It's easy to be self-
righteous when you're standing on the mountaintop. Try slogging 
through the mud with the rest of us before you pass judgement."

Grey sucked in a sharp breath and his face went very still. "It's no 
coincidence, is it, you killing those people on our beat? This is just 
as much about Mark as it is about them."

Jake's eyes narrowed. "I had a job to do. If it happened to impact 
my cousin, to shake up his picture perfect life, well, so be it."

"That's bullshit! He's been good to you, gone out of his way to try 
and help. I know for a fact that he hired you to do landscaping and 
yard work for him when you couldn't find a job anywhere else."

"Spare me the guilt trip! My saintly cousin is nothing more than 
the favored son of a favored son. A twist of fate is all that separates 
us--our positions could just as easily have been reversed."

Grey's hands curled into fists, his body a tightly coiled spring. 
Mulder dug his fingers into his brother's shoulder, speaking over 
the resulting grunt of pain.

"How so?"

Jake's gaze jerked from Grey and he seemed to really look at 
Mulder for the first time. "What's this? Some kind of game to keep 
me talking?"

Mulder returned his stare, face guileless. "You keep harping 
about...fate and justice. I assumed you...want us to understand."

Jake studied his face for a moment, then smiled--the barest curve at 
the corners of his mouth. "All right. I'll play." He leaned back, feet 
casually crossed at the ankles. "It's an old story, really. My father 
was one of two sons born to a poor family in rural West Virginia. 
My grandfather, Lucas, was one in a long line of Prestons to work 
the mines--backbreaking, thankless work for minimum wage that 
destroyed your body until you were old before your time. But 
Lucas was different, a dreamer, determined for his children to have 
a better life." Jake's lip curled. "One of them, anyway."

"I'm guessing it...wasn't your father."

Grey frowned at the heat from the hand on his shoulder and the 
tremor in his brother's voice, but held his tongue. 

"My father, Benjamin, was the oldest. From a very young age he 
was expected to be the second man of the house, responsible for a 
lot of the chores his father couldn't do after a twelve-hour shift in 
the mine. That included helping his mother take care of his brother 
and two sisters. 

"He loved school--maybe because it was the only time he had for 
himself--but he studied hard and earned good grades. He knew an 
education was his only chance, his ticket out of the mines. And that 
was the last place he wanted to wind up.

"But when he was fifteen, my grandfather got sick. Black Lung. 
Within six months the old man couldn't work at all, and there 
wasn't enough food on the table.  Three weeks before his sixteenth 
birthday, my father quit school and went to work in the mines. He 
had no choice."

Grey made a small noise in his throat and Jake glowered at him. 
"What?"

Grey scowled back. "I've heard this story. Mark's dad remembers it 
well."

"Really? Did he tell you the rest? That when my grandfather died a 
year later, he left the little bit of insurance money that remained 
after the burial to his younger son, Jonathan?" Jake bared his teeth. 
"My father spent the next twenty years of his life at the bottom of a 
hole, eating coal dust, so Mark's could go to college. How's that for 
justice?"

"Is that your father talking? Or you?" Mulder asked. "Seems to 
me...it's not your bitterness...to carry."

"Oh, but you're wrong. My grandfather's...tunnel vision concerning 
his younger son resulted in more than just a college diploma for 
Mark's dad. Pop quiz, Mr. FBI. One brother earns a degree in 
mathematics and winds up working as a CPA at a respected 
accounting firm. The other quits high school for a manual labor 
job, crawls into a bottle and never comes out." Jake tipped his 
head, sarcasm dripping from his words. "They each have a son. 
Which winds up the detective? And which one the detective's 
gardener?"

Jake lurched to his feet, pacing back and forth with the gun tapping 
restlessly against his thigh. "I always knew I deserved better than 
what my father got. Yeah, the only way I'd go to college would be 
on my own dime, but I had that covered. I never had the highest 
GPA, but hand me a football and I could work magic. By my 
senior year I had a scholarship to WVU in the bag." 

He chuckled, a harsh, jagged sound. "Second to the last game of 
the season, we're losing by six points, and I make a 40 yard run for 
the goal before they take me down. A hit from the left, another 
from the right, and my knee just...popped." Jake stopped pacing, 
expression blank, focus turned inward. "Sixty seconds and both my 
football career and my life were over. All my plans, dreams...I had 
to pack them away along with my jersey."

"In mothballs."

Mulder's soft rasp drew Jake's glare. "Yeah. Now you're getting the 
picture. I deserved that scholarship; deserved the chance my father 
was denied. If it wasn't for that injury I'd be making big bucks by 
now, hiring a gardener not being one. Instead, I had to sit back and 
watch while my classmates, kids I could think circles around, went 
off to school, graduated, and began successful careers."

Jake's eyes went distant, his expression a mixture of pride and 
vindication. "They took what should have been mine. Everything I 
fought for, worked so hard to achieve, was handed to them on a 
silver platter. And with every stroke of the knife, with every drop 
of their blood I spill, I take another piece of it back."

Mulder slowly shook his head. "You view success like a jealous 
lover. If you can't have it, no one can."

A predatory smile spread slowly across Jake's face. "Well, well, 
well. You actually live up to your reputation. Mark said your 
brother's always telling him what a genius you are. That you used 
to be the FBI's boy wonder, catching killers who had everyone else 
chasing their tails by figuring out how they think."

"Is that how you knew I was coming up here?" Grey cut in, voice 
low, rigid. "You pumped Mark for information?"

"He might have mentioned it." Jake's grin never touched his eyes. 
"And it's amazing what you can overhear while trimming bushes 
under an open window."

"Then you also had to have realized that I wouldn't be alone. That 
Fox would be with me."

"Realized? I counted on it. The dead fox was a nice touch, don't 
you think?" He chuffed at Grey's incredulous stare. "You're a cop, 
not some high school teacher. Alone you were twice as dangerous. 
You needed a handicap."

"And I thought...Spooky was insulting," Mulder muttered.

Grey threw him a quelling look. "I meant what I said, Jake. This is 
between you and me. I want you to leave Fox out of it."

"And I meant what I said. You aren't in control, I am."

Mulder snorted derisively and Jake rounded on him. "You think 
this is funny?"

Mulder pressed a shaky hand to his chest, widened his eyes 
theatrically. "Me? No, I don't think you're funny." He waited a 
beat, then added, "I think you're pathetic."

Color crept up Jake's neck until his whole face flushed, and he 
went very still. "Pathetic?" He ground the word between his teeth 
like chewing a bone.

Grey tensed, alarmed that his brother had inadvertently provoked 
their captor. Until Mulder's fingers squeezed his shoulder and he 
caught a gleam of satisfaction in his brother's eye, the truth hitting 
him like a sucker punch. Mulder's needling was calculated, 
deliberate. Grey swallowed thickly and waited.

"Yeah, pathetic. All of you are. Remember...I used to catch 
dirtbags like you...for a living. You're all the same...think you're 
Manson, Bundy, and Hannibal Lecter rolled into one. Superkiller." 
He laughed.

Jake lifted the gun, his finger twitching on the trigger. "You won't 
think it's so funny when I add another hole to your head."

"Fox..."

Mulder waved Grey off, his brief glare communicating his 
intentions as clearly as words. Wait. Be ready.

"Oh, come on," he said to Jake, laughter still lingering in the smirk 
twisting his lips. "You're a smart guy...right? Surely you...can see 
the irony. You think you've got control...'cause you wave around a 
gun...when the truth is...you're powerless. You're enslaved by...the 
sick compulsion...to kill. You get away with it...but you keep 
coming back. Eventually...your own weakness...will get you 
caught. It already...almost did." 

As Mulder spoke, Jake's breathing had accelerated to short, sharp 
pants nearly as effortful as his own respiration. Every muscle in the 
killer's body seemed wired, like a cat poised to pounce.

"You don't know what you're talking about. I've planned every 
move I've made. I've run circles around you both, you never knew 
what hit you." He jerked a thumb at Grey, nearly vibrating with 
anger. "Him catching me with the doctor in that parking garage 
was just dumb luck."

Mulder braced himself, licking his dry lips and forcing another 
chuckle. "It was dumb all right. Told you...you're just like all the 
rest."

The jab found its mark. Jake launched himself at Mulder with a 
growl, the gun nearly forgotten in his rage. Mulder had just enough 
time to choke out, "Grey, now!" before the killer seized him by the 
throat and dragged him to his feet.

A fierce but eerily silent struggle commenced as Mulder fought to 
break Jake's grip while Grey wrestled him for the gun. As Grey 
clutched Jake's wrist with both hands, desperately searching for the 
pressure point that would compel him to drop the weapon, the gun 
swung wildly--first toward Grey, then Jake, and finally discharging 
harmlessly into the ceiling. Now cursing, the killer tightened his 
fingers around Mulder's throat until a high pitched whine filled his 
ears and black dots obscured his vision. His eyelids fluttered and 
his arms fell loosely to his sides.

Grey ground his foot onto Jake's and shoved, momentarily 
throwing the killer off balance. Before he could press his 
advantage, however, he sensed his brother's stillness. He turned, 
terrified to see Mulder hanging limply in Jake's grasp, lips blue. 
The split-second distraction was all Jake needed. He flung Mulder 
onto the couch like a rag doll and brought his fist around in a hard 
blow just under Grey's ribs.  All the air whooshed out of Grey's 
lungs and he reflexively released Jake's wrist, tumbling back down 
onto the couch beside his coughing, gasping brother.

Snarling, Jake backhanded Grey with the barrel of the gun, 
splitting his lip and smashing his cheekbone. He then grabbed the 
semi-conscious Mulder by the hair and jammed the weapon up 
under his chin.

"You stupid son of a bitch! I oughta waste him right now. Is that 
what you want? Huh?"

Grey struggled to remain conscious, spitting and gagging on the 
blood that flooded his mouth. "No! Jake, don't!" Tears, whether 
from pain or fear, blurred his vision, trickled unheeded down his 
cheeks. "Please."

The broken, pleading tone mollified Jake. "You try something 
stupid like that again and..."

"I won't. I swear I'll cooperate. Just...just don't hurt him."

Jake smiled, relaxed. "That's more like it. Stand up. Turn around 
and put your hands behind your back."

Grey obeyed, wincing when cold steel bit his wrists. He watched 
his brother laboriously haul himself upright. The violent coughing 
had tapered off, but Fox still gulped for air in wheezing pants and 
the flesh under his chin had already begun to darken in angry, 
finger-shaped bruises.

"What now?" Grey asked, hating the defeat in his voice. He tried to 
rally. "You know, you've made your point; you outsmarted us. 
We're overdue checking in; it's just a matter of time before 
someone comes looking for us. Fox's partner and another agent 
from the Bureau are probably already on their way. If you cleared 
out now..."

"Partner? His wife, you mean." Grey didn't have to see Jake's face 
to detect the disdain. "A woman. I think I'll take my chances." He 
grabbed Grey above his right elbow and spun him around. "We're 
gonna take a little trip, a walk down memory lane. Back to the 
beginning, to where it all went wrong."

"What about Fox?"

"In his condition he'd only slow us down. He stays right here. Only 
question is whether or not I put him out of his misery before we 
go."

It took every ounce of strength Grey possessed to suppress his 
emotions. "If you let him live, I'll do whatever you want. You kill 
him, and I've got nothing left to lose."

"No!" Mulder's hoarse cry startled them both. "Grey, you can't..." 
His protest was cut off by another round of coughing.

"Shut up, Fox." In contrast to the words, Grey's tone was gentle. 
He looked back at Jake. "Well?"

Jake's eyes darted between the two brothers. "You're forgetting 
again," he told Grey, gesturing to the gun. But there was more 
amusement than anger in his demeanor as he watched Mulder 
struggling to stand. "All right. But I swear, you give me any 
trouble and I'll waste you on the spot, then come back for him. 
Understand?"

"Yeah." Grey blinked, jaw clenched, and looked down at his 
brother. "Now give me a minute, okay?"

Jake looked ready to argue but shrugged instead, stepping back a 
few paces but keeping the gun trained on them both. "Make it 
quick."

Grey carefully sat down on the coffee table, facing his brother. 
Mulder shook his head, his pale face showing equal parts distress 
and anger.

"Don't you do this...don't you dare do this. You can't...trade your 
life for mine.  I won't let you."

Grey leaned forward, wishing desperately he could lay a calming 
hand on his brother's leg. Fox was trembling and it was obvious he 
was very close to complete collapse. "It's not your decision to 
make, Fox. You were never supposed to be a part of this equation. 
I'm taking you out of it. Now."

Mulder stared at him, eyes glazed with fever and tears, lip 
trembling. Before Grey knew what had happened his brother's fists 
were knotted in his shirt with an adrenaline-fueled grip.

"You promised me, you bastard! You promised you'd never leave 
me, said you were here to stay. You got me to trust you--damn it, 
you made me believe." His voice cracked and the tears spilled 
over. "Grey, please don't..."

Grey tipped his forehead down to rest against his brother's and 
fought to squeeze words past the chokehold of grief. "Whatever 
happens, however this ends, I will still be with you, little brother. 
Remember that. 'Cause if I find out you're blaming yourself for this 
I'll find some way to kick your ass."

"No. I won't let you...I won't..." Mulder tightened his grip, past the 
point of reason.

A grunt of impatience, several quick footsteps, and Jake was 
between them. "Let him go."

Mulder's face instantly transformed from anguish to rage. "No. 
You let him go...or else take me, too."

"Oh, for..." 

Jake drew back his foot and kicked Mulder's injured leg. Mulder 
shrieked, his eyes rolling back in his head as he slid to the floor.

"No!" Grey lunged against the hand that snagged him by the arm 
until the muzzle of the gun nudged his temple. He froze, shivering, 
as he was forced to listen to his brother's incoherent moans.

"Are we finished now?"

The implication was clear. Leave Fox, or watch Jake shoot him 
where he lay. Grey's shoulders slumped and he nodded, squeezing 
his eyes shut.

"Let's go."


Preston Cabin
Monday
2:43 a.m.


Scully slipped out of the sleeping bag and walked to the window, 
oblivious to the shock of the cold floorboards on her bare feet. The 
worst of the downpour had passed, tapering off to light drizzle, but 
heavy clouds still obscured moon and most of the stars. She laced 
her arms tightly across her chest and watched leaves skitter wildly 
across the dark, rain-drenched earth. And remembered...

A quiet evening at her apartment just after they'd returned from 
Antarctica. Both jetlagged and bearing marks from their ordeal--
physical and emotional. They'd been watching a terrible B movie 
that Mulder had insisted was a classic, munching popcorn and 
sipping cider.

She'd turned, prepared to offer a scathing comparison of the lead 
actress's bra size and IQ, only to be derailed by the sight of the 
still inflamed gash along Mulder's temple. A gash she'd mistakenly 
assumed he'd acquired while they were making their escape, until 
Frohike had set her straight.

A bullet to the head. Glancing off his thick skull rather than 
penetrating it. Just a slight alteration in trajectory and it would 
have meant the end. The only thing more amazing than Mulder's 
luck was that he'd completely disregarded the seriousness of his 
injury, journeying halfway around the world to find her.

Mulder had turned, then, and caught her looking. He'd waggled 
his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. "Hey, Scully. See something 
you like?"

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been shot?'

His expression went still, guarded. "Well, I was kind of busy, for a 
while--you know, dodging those aliens you don't believe in on that 
ship you didn't see. Not that you were in any shape to listen."

"Mulder..." She'd traced the wound with a feather-light fingertip, 
pleased when he shivered but didn't pull away. "You belonged in a 
hospital, under observation, not chasing after me. If there had 
been a slow bleed, some other complication..."

He'd gently encircled her wrist and lowered her hand, lacing their 
fingers together. "Scully, I will always come after you when you 
need me. Doesn't matter how far I have to travel, or how many 
roadblocks they throw in my way. As long as I can still draw 
breath, I won't quit until I find you."

She'd squeezed his hand, struggling to clear her tear-clogged 
throat. "Guess those rumors are true. You are crazy."

His answering chuckle warmed her to her toes. "Nope. Just your 
partner."

Scully pressed her palm to the cold glass, blinded by a sudden rush 
of tears. He'd come for her--crossing a frozen wasteland to enter a 
real-life chamber of horrors, all while sporting what could have 
been a fatal head injury.

Why in God's name was she still standing here?

"Can't sleep?"

Scully stiffened at Kristen's soft query, blinking hard and brushing 
at stray tears with trembling fingers. "Not for lack of trying," she 
answered without taking her eyes from the window. "You?"

"I'm intimately acquainted with every lump in that mattress."

Scully took a deep breath, drew herself up to her full height--such 
as it was--and turned. "Look, Kristen, I know what I said about not 
rushing in half-cocked, but..." She trailed off, staring.

Kristen stood in front of the fireplace, fully clothed, right down to 
her hiking boots. She lifted an eyebrow. "You were about to 
say...?"

Scully couldn't manage a smile. "Nothing's changed, you know. 
All those reasons for waiting until morning are still valid."

Kristen inclined her head. "So, are you getting dressed, or what?" 
When Scully still hesitated she plunged ahead. "Look, Dana, I 
know I'm not the person you'd choose to have at your back right 
now. But I'm all you've got. And I, for one, can't stand another 
minute of staring at the ceiling while my imagination runs horror 
movies of what might be happening to Grey and Mulder."

"I know, I'm seeing them, too." Scully paused, taking in the folded 
arms, furrowed brow, and determined set to Kristen's mouth. "I'm 
afraid of what we might find up there. And frankly, I'm not 
convinced you're ready for it."

Kristen's chin came up. "I have to be."

Out of arguments, Scully scooped up her overnight bag and headed 
for the bedroom to dress. Five minutes later she emerged to find 
Kristen had usurped her place at the window. Unobserved, Scully 
studied her face, reading the anxiety and doubt that Kristen 
normally concealed.

"Ready?"

Her soft question brought up Kristen's guard, her expression 
shifting from apprehensive to resolute. "Definitely."

Wind whistled through the tree branches and drove a fine, cold 
mist into their faces as they made their way to the car. Scully 
reached for the driver's door, halted by a hand on her arm.

"Let me drive. You can ride shotgun--literally." Kristen raised her 
voice to be heard above the storm.

Scully hesitated, then pressed the keys into Kristen's outstretched 
hand and circled around to the passenger side of the car. The 
interior, though frigid, provided a blessed relief from the bitter bite 
of the wind. Kristen cranked up the heater and navigated down the 
dark, rutted drive, fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel, lip 
caught between her teeth.

Twenty minutes later, after multiple skids--one that nearly sent the 
car into a deep ravine bordering the road--both women were 
hunched forward, eyes straining to peer through the misty 
darkness.

"I never realized what a great invention street lights are. I...hold 
on!"

Scully clutched the dashboard, stifling a gasp as Kristen wrenched 
the steering wheel hard to the left in a desperate attempt to avoid a 
downed tree. Tires squealed protest, the car sliding dangerously 
close to a plunge off the shoulder before regaining traction. Kristen 
brought the vehicle to a complete stop, her face white.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. That was quite a save. Where'd you learn to drive like 
that?"

Kristen brought one trembling hand up to tuck a strand of hair 
behind her ear. "Older brother. Lots of speeding tickets."

"Remind me to thank him, if I ever..." Scully leaned even farther 
forward, eyes squinted against the glare from the headlights. 
"Kristen, up ahead on the right. Is that...?" She pointed to a break 
in the trees about five feet down the road.

Kristen followed Scully's finger with her eyes. "It looks like a 
drive. That must be it!" She stepped on the gas, inching the car 
forward and then right, down the narrow gravel lane. 

"Pull over and park. We'll walk from here."

Kristen jockeyed the car to the edge of the driveway beneath the 
large, overhanging bow of a tree. She turned off headlights and 
engine, immersing them in darkness. Without the mechanical 
rumble for competition, the wail of the wind sounded louder, more 
savage. Scully touched the gun snugged in the waistband of her 
jeans--a reflexive need for reassurance--and opened her door.

They hadn't walked more than thirty paces when a large, 
motionless mass, sprawled by the side of the drive, appeared out of 
the darkness at the edge of Scully's flashlight beam. She jerked to a 
stop, heart hammering, and slowly adjusted the light to focus 
directly on the form. Her breath caught in her chest and she darted 
forward with a low cry.

"Mulder!"

She knelt beside him, only vaguely aware of Kristen at her back, 
taking the flashlight from her limp fingers. He lay on his stomach, 
face pressed into the mud, arms curled beneath his body--as if he'd 
been trying to get to his feet, right up until the moment he'd lost 
consciousness. He was drenched, dark hair plastered to his skull, 
the waterlogged sweats clinging to his body.

Scully began running her hands over him, beginning with his arms 
and working her way downward, checking for broken bones. 
"Mulder? Mulder, it's me. Wake up for me now, okay?"

"Where's Grey? Why isn't he with Grey?" Kristen's voice was 
ragged and the flashlight wavered in her grasp. She stood and 
began panning the beam in a circle.

"Kristen, get that light back here! I need it."

Kristen obeyed, but her gaze continued to dart around the area. 
When Scully reached Mulder's right knee, he moaned, fingers 
scrabbling at the dirt. Scully pulled her hand back and stared at the 
flash of red, then gently probed the area a second time. 

"His leg is injured--a gunshot, I think." Her steady voice couldn't 
disguise the alarm in her eyes. "I'm going to turn him over."

As gentle as she tried to be, Mulder groaned when she rolled him 
to his back, a low, animal cry of pain. 

Kristen gasped. "Oh, my God. Look at his neck."

The finger-shaped bruises had turned a livid purple, contrasting 
starkly with the milky skin of Mulder's throat. He sucked in a 
shallow gulp of air, eyelids fluttering.

"Mulder?" Scully ran her knuckles over his cheek and pinched his 
earlobe. "Come on, Mulder, wake up."

His hand swatted ineffectually at hers and his eyelids cracked open 
to reveal cloudy hazel. "Scu...llee?"

"Right on the first try." Scully tried to shield him with her body as 
a vicious gust of wind drove the drizzle into his upturned face.

His forehead scrunched. "I don't...where...?" He tried to move, 
stiffened, eyes slamming shut. "Hurts."

Fortunately, whoever had loaned Mulder the sweats must have 
been twice his size. Scully worked the right pants leg up past his 
knee, exposing the blood-soaked bandage. She grimaced.

"Looks like you've got quite an injury to your right leg. What 
happened?"

Mulder's eyes opened but they were vague and unfocused. 
"I...Scully, where...why 'm I on the ground?" His voice, faint to 
begin with, quickly deteriorated to a breathy rasp.

Kristen, nearly vibrating with impatience, leaned in to hiss, "Dana, 
for God's sake, ask him where Grey is!"

Scully turned on her, voice pitched low but hard as steel. "He's 
barely coherent. If we push too hard he'll just become more 
confused." She stroked a lock of dripping hair back from Mulder's 
face. "You're in the mountains, remember? You came up here to do 
a little camping with..."

"Grey!" Mulder's eyes flew open wide and he began struggling to 
sit up, oblivious to any pain in his leg. "Can't let him...I can't...gotta 
stop..." 

Scully held him down, hands planted on his shoulders. "Mulder, be 
still! You'll increase the bleeding."

To her relief, he complied. Yet his fingers plucked at her jacket 
and he continued to plead with her, words and phrases that seemed 
little more than gibberish.

"Killed Jed...shot me. 'S gonna kill Grey. Said he wouldn't 
leave...promised...but he's...he's gone, Scully. Gotta...gotta..." His 
voice dropped to a mumble, snatched and scattered by the wind.

"Where's Grey, Mulder? Is he up at the cabin? Who's going to kill 
him?"

"Took him away. Back to the beginning."

"This isn't getting us anywhere. I'm going up to the cabin." 
Kristen's attempt to stand was pulled up short when Scully snagged 
her wrist in an iron grip.

"Wait! You can't go alone and unarmed into what could likely be a 
hostage situation. Help me get Mulder into the car and we'll go 
together."

Kristen gritted her teeth, obviously chafing under the delay, but 
helped Scully drag Mulder upright so they could each slip an arm 
over their shoulders. Maneuvering him over to the car and then 
loading him into the back would have been difficult under the best 
circumstances--the buffeting wind and uneven, rain-slicked ground 
made the task nearly impossible. By the time Scully and Kristen 
had him stretched out on the seat, their jackets cocooning him, they 
were both trembling from cold and exertion and he'd lapsed into 
unconsciousness.

"Leave the headlights off," Scully said, cranking the heater as high 
as it would go. "We'll have to rely on the parking lights."

"Aren't you afraid they'll betray the fact that we're coming?"

"I'm more afraid of driving into a tree or landing in a ditch." Scully 
tore her eyes from Mulder's face. "Look, Kristen, we have to go in 
fully prepared to find Grey and whoever did this to Mulder. But I 
don't think we will."

Kristen's gaze reflexively jerked to her face before she forced it 
back to the road. "What are you trying to say, Dana? Why not?"

"For the simple reason that we found Mulder where we did. Do 
you honestly think he'd be allowed to wander around out here if 
someone was holding Grey hostage up at the house?"

Kristen worried her lip between her teeth. "But why would they 
take Grey and leave Mulder? And where would they have gone?"

"I don't know. But I think Mulder does." 

Mulder muttered something unintelligible, squirming under the 
confinement of their makeshift blanket. Scully reached between 
the seats to lay her hand on his head until he subsided. She sighed. 
"You could have given us a little bit more to go on, Mulder."

"There it is." Kristen cut the engine and stared at the cabin and the 
rectangular swathe of light spilling from its open front door. She 
swallowed, her voice wavering. "Not a good sign."

Scully cast one more look over her shoulder and checked the clip 
in her weapon before getting out of the car and locking Mulder 
inside. She did a 360-degree scan of the clearing, senses hyper-
attuned to the slightest sound or movement, then motioned Kristen 
forward. 

"Stay behind me and keep your eyes and ears open. We both know 
what this looks like, but trusting appearances could get us all 
killed."

"There's obviously a reason I'm not a field agent," Kristen 
murmured, offering her a tight smile.

Scully's nose picked up the smell the minute they stepped inside. 
She eyed the closed door to her right, but turned left. The short 
hallway opened into a small room--a den with bookshelves lining 
the walls, a small oak desk and an overstuffed lounge chair with a 
reading lamp. Empty. Kristen reached for the doorknob on the coat 
closet but she waved her away, cautiously nudging the door open 
and examining the rack containing a parka, a slicker, and several 
lightweight jackets and sweaters. Parting the garments she 
searched behind them, both disappointed and relieved to find only 
boxes and a pair of boots.

Scully retraced her steps and turned right, pausing in front of the 
closed door.

"Why do I get the feeling I really, really don't want to know what's 
in there?" Kristen's eyes looked huge in her pale face.

Scully inclined her head, gesturing with her weapon. Kristen 
turned the knob and pushed, moving aside as Scully stepped 
around the corner and into the doorway, gun raised. Death, a faint 
suggestion in the hallway, became an overwhelming presence--in 
air heavy with the ripe odor of decay and in the motionless lump 
on the bed, shrouded by a bloody sheet.

Scully bypassed the bed to conduct a brief, cursory search of the 
bedroom and bath, but Kristen wandered closer, one hand pressed 
beneath her nose. She stretched out trembling fingers, halting just 
before they brushed the sheet. Jerking her arm back and tucking it 
close to her body, she shook her head.

"I can't.  I... Oh, God, Dana, what if...?"

Scully moved past with a gossamer touch to Kristen's sleeve. 
Mulder's words echoed in her head: "Said he wouldn't 
leave...promised...but, he's...he's gone, Scully."

Grey. No.

She grasped the sheet firmly and drew it back, exposing the stiff 
limbs and contorted features of...a stranger.

All the air exited her lungs in a whoosh and she heard a smothered 
sob as Kristen sagged, swaying. Scully grasped her elbow.

"Are you all right?" When Kristen nodded, she continued, "I'm 
going to do a quick sweep of the rest of the house. Wait here."

Kristen's lips quivered in a precarious, wobbly smile. "I know it's 
illogical to feel any relief. I know Grey's out there somewhere, still 
at the mercy of a killer. But he's alive, Dana. He's alive."

Scully thought of Mulder, unconscious and bleeding in the back 
seat of the rental car. A bullet in his leg. Fingerprints on his throat. 
Left to die.

She looked at Kristen; mustered a weak smile. "I'll be right back."


Asheville Memorial Hospital
Monday
10:21 a.m.


The high-pitched trill of her cell phone pulled Scully from a 
restless doze. She fumbled it out of her pocket with sleep-drunk 
fingers, nearly poking herself in the eye with the antenna as she 
lifted it to her ear.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully. I was hoping you could give me an update on 
Agent Mulder's condition and the search for his brother." Skinner's 
voice drove away remaining cobwebs, straightening her spine.

She stood and paced slowly over to the double doors, tucking a 
particularly unruly lock of hair behind her ear. "Of course, sir. He's 
in surgery at the moment to remove the bullet."

"How bad is it?"

Scully let her eyes slip shut, head bowed, bombarded by memories 
of the nerve-wracking ambulance ride from the clinic in Spring 
Creek to Asheville Memorial. Ironically, Mulder's exposure to the 
icy rain had served to temporarily counteract both the high fever 
and the inflammation from his infected leg. By the time Kristen 
had driven them back down the mountain, however, he was 
delirious, his skin on fire. It had been all she could do to keep him 
from thrashing about and further injuring his leg.

"It's.... He's not good, sir. They think the bullet fractured his right 
femur. Lack of medical treatment coupled with less than sanitary 
conditions caused infection to set in rapidly and gain a firm hold. 
In addition, he's lost a significant amount of blood. The body--even 
a healthy one--can't sustain an assault on multiple systems for long. 
He's very weak." Part of her was proud of her nearly clinical 
detachment; part of her was horrified.

A pause while Skinner digested her words. "Has he been able to 
tell you anything more about what happened, or where Grey might 
be?"

"I'm afraid not. He did a lot of talking in the ambulance, but very 
little of it made sense. Forensics is going over the cabin as we 
speak. The local bureau in Charlotte sent out a team immediately. 
An agent by the name of Henderson is in charge." Scully massaged 
the ache above her left eye. "A warning, sir. You may get a call 
from Sheriff Edwards in Spring Creek. He...ah...wasn't pleased 
when I ordered him off the investigation."

"I'll take that under advisement. Of course, I'll be forced to point 
out that if his man could tell his ass from his elbow such measures 
wouldn't be necessary. In fact, we might have avoided this whole 
mess." Skinner's sarcasm faded to gruff concern. "I spoke with 
SAC Larraby. You've been officially relieved of duty on the 
Englewood bombing. He asked me to convey his thanks for all 
your hard work, and that he understands you're more urgently 
needed elsewhere."

The unexpected kindness of the gesture rocked her tenuous 
composure, but Scully hung on. "I appreciate that, sir."

Another, longer pause, and she could almost picture the small 
muscle twitching along his jaw. "Stay in contact. I'm doing 
everything I can from this end."

"Thank you."

Scully slipped the phone into her pocket and turned around, 
confronted with a styrofoam cup and Kristen's weary, halfhearted 
attempt to smile. "Taste it before you thank me. I thought coffee 
like this was against the Hippocratic oath. First, do no harm...?"

"I'm hardly in a position to be choosy." Scully took a sip, winced. 
"At least it's hot." She eyed Kristen over the rim of the cup. "Any 
news?"

Kristen shrugged. "I talked to Henderson, but he was pretty tight-
lipped. They've come up with four distinct sets of prints, some on 
the dead man. His identity has been confirmed as Chris Peterson, 
the owner of the cabin. The preliminary estimate for time of death 
is late Saturday night, early Sunday morning." She sank listlessly 
into a hard plastic chair. "All very interesting, but it doesn't put us 
any closer to finding Grey."

"It's a start. Once they run the prints..."

The double doors to the surgical wing snapped open, derailing 
Scully's thoughts. She scrutinized the approaching surgeon's face 
and body language as a Rosetta stone for the verdict he was about 
to deliver.

"Dr. Hawkins. How is he?"

Hawkins, a forty-something orthopedic surgeon with slick, dark 
hair, roving eyes, and a condescending smile had evidently played 
hooky on the day they taught bedside manner. "Truthfully, not 
much has changed since we last spoke, Dr. Scully. I removed the 
bullet. As the x-rays indicated, it had grazed the femur, fracturing 
the bone. Our real concern, however, is that the wound has gone 
septic. I've left the wound open and started him on intravenous 
antibiotics--we'll worry about setting the leg if we get the infection 
under control."

"When."

Hawkins eyes, which had been focused on her chest, crawled up to 
her face. "Excuse me?"

"When you get the infection under control. Not if."

Hawkins frowned, then waved his hand dismissively. "Of course, 
of course."

"When can I see him?"

"He's still in recovery. We'll be moving him to the ICU shortly. 
One of the nurses will come and get you once he's settled in."

"It's very important I see him as soon as possible."

Hawkins practically rolled his eyes. "Where's the fire? Between the 
fever and the anesthesia it's highly unlikely he'll be conscious, let 
alone lucid. Look, I know you're worried about your husband, but 
the best thing you can do..."

"Agent Mulder is the only person who can shed some light on the 
whereabouts of a kidnapped police detective. Every hour that 
passes, every minute, the trail grows colder. And a man's life hangs 
in the balance." Scully's frigid glare actually drove him a half step 
backward. "That's the fire, Dr. Hawkins. Now can I expect your 
cooperation or do I need to speak to someone in authority?"

"That won't be necessary." Hawkins tugged the surgical mask from 
around his neck and crumpled it in his fist. "I'll inform the nurses 
of the...unusual circumstances behind your request. I assure you, it 
will be honored."

"Thank you."

Scully watched his rigid back disappear through the doors, the 
blood pounding in her ears. She slowly turned back toward 
Kristen, expecting to find her still hunched in the uncomfortable 
chair. Instead, she appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation 
with a stranger. They both looked up as she approached, Kristen's 
haunted, red-rimmed eyes matched by the man's equally grim gaze. 

"Dana." Kristen darted a glance at the stranger, then smoothed her 
fingertips across her cheeks, brusquely brushing away tears. "How 
is he?"

"In recovery.  I should be able to see him soon." She carefully 
studied the man as she spoke.

Tall, his sandy hair was close cropped in a style reminiscent of 
Mulder's "weed-whacker" days. He had the stocky, muscular build 
of a football player, the square jaw and formal bearing of a marine. 
Though he was dressed simply in faded jeans and a worn leather 
jacket, she detected a slight bulge at his hip that suggested a 
weapon.

"Dana, this is Mark Preston--Grey's partner? Mark, this is Dana." 

"Of course." Scully's hand was engulfed in a firm, yet gentle grip. 
"I've heard a lot about you from Grey."

"Me, too." A hint of humor softened his expression. "I've been 
giving him a hard time for a while now because I still haven't met 
his brother. Told him I'd decided the guy was a figment of his 
imagination. He said if he was going to conjure up an imaginary 
brother, he'd sure as heck pick a more believable name than Fox."

"That sounds like Grey." Scully stole a quick look down the 
hallway before continuing. "I don't know how thoroughly you've 
been briefed on the situation." She frowned. "In fact, I'm surprised 
you were able to get here so quickly."

"Agent Scully--Dana, I know more about this mess than you 
think." Preston paused, then gestured that they all sit down. When 
they had each claimed a chair, he continued.

"I got a call from the bureau in Charlotte at the crack of dawn this 
morning. They arranged for a helicopter to fly me out here ASAP."

Scully arched an eyebrow. "That seems unusually...solicitous."

"My emotional well being had nothing to do with it. They 
contacted me as soon as they heard about the condition of 
Peterson's body, because they realized exactly what they were 
dealing with. And with Grey out of the picture, I'm the closest 
thing to an expert." 

Kristen looked into her cooling cup of coffee; set it down with a 
thump. "I don't understand. What are you trying to tell us? I got the 
impression when I talked to Henderson that something else was 
going on here, that he knew more than he would say. Now you're 
making cryptic remarks, hinting that you know who took Grey. 
Just give it to us straight, because I'm sick and tired of everyone 
beating around the bush."

Scully put a steadying hand on her arm. "Kristen..."

"It's okay, she's right. I suppose I do sound as if I'm stringing you 
along, but it isn't intentional. I'm still struggling to deal with all this 
myself. See, that phone call this morning brought back an old 
nightmare I'd thought Grey and I had put behind us."

Mark took a deep breath, then slowly, haltingly began to talk. He 
described the string of grisly murders, their attempts to work with 
the FBI in creating a profile, and Grey's final confrontation with 
the killer in the hospital parking garage. By the time he'd finished, 
Kristen was white-faced and silent.

"So I've been proceeding from the wrong assumption," Scully 
murmured. "This guy was never after Mulder in the first place. 
Grey was his target."

The muted squeak of crepe soles caught her attention and her head 
swiveled toward the nurse headed in their direction. The woman's 
eyes scanned the group, fastening on Scully's copper hair.

"Doctor Scully? If you'll follow me I'll take you to your husband 
now. Dr. Hawkins left instructions that you can have fifteen 
minutes with him. After that you'll be expected to comply with the 
usual schedule of five minutes per hour."

Scully was on her feet and had taken two steps before catching 
herself and turning back to Mark and Kristen.

"We'll be right here," Kristen said, her voice rusty but firm. "Give 
Mulder my love and..."

Scully nodded, a sharp bob of her head. "I know. I'll do my best."

"He's been in and out since recovery." The nurse's brisk stride, 
twice as long as Scully's shorter legs could manage, had her nearly 
trotting to keep up. "Don't be alarmed if he doesn't make much 
sense or keeps asking the same questions. His temperature is 
elevated and he's receiving strong pain medication; as you know, 
some disorientation is to be expected."

"How high is the fever?"

"The last reading was 103.4. We're monitoring it closely. If it 
continues to rise..."

The woman's voice faded to an indistinct drone as the still figure 
behind a pane of glass filled all Scully's senses. She stepped into 
the cubicle, cataloguing the output from each piece of machinery 
before walking to the bed. 

Slipping her cool fingers between Mulder's, she watched his eyes 
flicker beneath closed lids. Though he was a far cry from the man 
who had kissed her good-bye just four days previous, transfusions 
had already bestowed a hint of color to his pale cheeks.

"What are we doing here, Mulder? We had a deal."

Like a flower seeking sunlight, Mulder turned toward her voice. 
His tongue slipped out to moisten dry lips and he grimaced. 
"Scuh...Scully?"

"Right here, love."

He swallowed, shivering. "Where...?"

"You're in the hospital. You were shot, remember?"

"Cold."

Scully stroked her fingers along the tender underside of his arm. "I 
know. They're trying to keep your temperature down." She glanced 
through the glass at the hovering nurse; leaned closer. "Mulder, the 
man who shot you still has Grey. Do you know where he was 
taking him?"

Mulder's eyes slid open to half-mast and his hand jerked from her 
grasp. "Grey. Don't...don't go with him."

Scully placed one hand on his forehead, trying to still his restless 
movements with the other. "Shhh. Calm down, Mulder. Where? 
Where did Grey go?"

"Where it...it went wrong."

She kept her voice low, reassuring. "You have to help me, I don't 
understand. Do you mean when you were shot?"

"Not like the others...promised." Fingers plucking fretfully at the 
sheet, his eyes looked through her, focused on a truth she could 
neither see nor comprehend.

"Mulder..."

"Hurts, Scully." 

"I know it does, but..."

"What happened? Where 'm I?" His voice thinned, the words 
slurring.

Scully bit her lip, shoulders curled under a crushing weight of 
helplessness. She moved her hand down to cup his hot cheek, 
thumb sweeping slowly back and forth.

"Shhh. You're in the hospital. You need to sleep, Mulder. Let go 
and don't worry. Everything will be all right, I promise."

He leaned into her touch with a sigh, fingers quieting, eyes 
fluttering shut. "No promises...Scully. Jus'...jus' stay."

Within seconds he'd drifted off again and the nurse loomed in the 
doorway.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Scully, but your time is up."

"I know. I was just leaving."

Scully took her hand from his cheek, replacing it briefly with her 
lips. Walking away from him was almost as hard as confronting 
the hopeful faces in the waiting room.

Kristen studied her cautiously, the animation draining from her 
expression. "He couldn't tell you anything."

"He tried, I think. It just doesn't make any sense."

"What did he say?"

"He said our killer was going to take Grey 'where it went wrong.' 
Whatever that means." Scully folded her arms tightly across her 
chest, struggling with an irrational burst of irritation with Kristen. 
"He's sick and in pain. He can't even remember he's in a hospital, 
let alone what happened to his brother."

Kristen appeared too preoccupied to acknowledge the sharpness of 
Scully's reply. "Could he be talking about where their camping trip 
went wrong? Maybe where he was shot?"

"I doubt it," Mark answered. "The theory is that Fox was shot 
somewhere along the road as he and Grey attempted to hike to 
Chris Peterson's cabin--not a likely destination to take a hostage 
considering the whole area is now crawling with law enforcement. 
This guy pulled off four murders without getting caught, then laid 
low for nearly six years. He's managed to overpower a police 
detective and a federal agent. That takes cunning and careful 
planning, down to the smallest detail. He wants Grey for 
something. Wherever he's taken him, it wasn't a random, spur of 
the moment decision."

Kristen, who had been watching Mark intently while he was 
speaking, caught her breath. "Wait a minute. You said Grey was 
responsible for preventing the last murder, didn't you? A doctor?"

"That's right. He interrupted the killer before he could finish the 
job. The doc lived--barely."

Scully nodded, excitement lighting her eyes. "I see where you're 
headed, Kristen. Up until that point, everything was going 
smoothly for the killer. He'd had both the pleasure gained from the 
murders, and the satisfaction of making the police look foolish.  
But Grey changed all that. He did more than just prevent our 
UNSUB from finishing with the doctor. He forced him to stop 
killing altogether and go into hiding. What if that's what Mulder 
meant? What if that's 'where everything went wrong'?"

"The parking garage at the hospital? Do you really think he'd be 
crazy enough to go back there?" But Mark's voice was hopeful.

"Serial killers can be almost superstitious about the mode and 
method of the act. And you yourself said this guy has issues with 
success. Grey stole his thunder that night in the garage, grabbed 
the media's attention and became the star. What better way to take 
it all back?"

Mark pulled out a cell phone. "I'll call Henderson. He can assemble 
a team and..."

Scully's hand shot out and clamped over his wrist. "Wait. Let's 
think about this."

"Think about it? What's there to think about? If we move fast, just 
maybe we can beat this guy at his own game, get there ahead of 
him."

"I agree. But this has to be handled with kid gloves. As you said, 
this guy is smart and he plans ahead. We have to proceed quickly 
but quietly, without betraying that we're on to him. One misstep, 
the slightest hint of a set up, and things will turn ugly."

"You think Henderson doesn't know that?"

"I think I don't know SAC Henderson, or anything about the way 
he operates. I think I'm not willing to place my brother-in-law's life 
in the hands of a stranger."

Mark shook his head. "Grey once said you and his brother were the 
two most paranoid people he'd ever meant. I thought he was 
joking." He stared at the phone in his hand, then slipped it into his 
pocket. "All right. What do you suggest we do? And please don't 
say handle it ourselves, because I stopped operating under the 
delusion that I was Dirty Harry at least ten years ago."

Scully pulled out her own phone. "I'm a trained federal agent, 
Detective Preston. I don't intend to enter a hostage situation 
without reinforcements. But I do intend to be the one running the 
show."


Asheville Memorial Hospital
Monday
11:47 a.m.


"Yes, sir. I'd appreciate it if you'd continue to keep me 
informed...I'll call you as soon as I know more...Yes, I'll tell 
him...Thank you, sir."

Scully replaced the receiver on the cradle and turned, visibly 
startling when confronted by Mark Preston's bulk looming at her 
back. He held up his hands, palm out, with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry. I thought you heard me walk up."

"I was a bit preoccupied." With a clipped nod and a smile, Scully 
passed the phone to a nurse in rose-colored scrubs. After several 
pointed stares, she'd traded the convenience of her cell for the 
phone located at the nurses' station.

Mark nodded, a line appearing between his brows. "Yeah. Look, I 
couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation just now, 
and..." The line intensified. "It sounded as if you're not planning to 
come to Raleigh."

Scully resisted the urge to drop her eyes. "That's right."

"I see."

"Do you?" When Mark's only answer was folded arms and thinned 
lips, she plowed on. "My partner--my husband--is lying in the ICU, 
half dead from a gunshot wound. He needs me."

"And what about Grey? What about what he needs? Or doesn't that 
count?"

Scully controlled her temper--barely. "Of course it counts. Why 
else would I have arranged for an Assistant Director of the FBI to 
oversee the operation tonight? Despite what you may think, I didn't 
easily arrive at the decision to remain behind. Grey is family to 
me; I'm just as worried about him as you are. But my place has to 
be here, with Mulder. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check on 
him. I promised Kristen I'd be..."

Preston caught hold of her arm just above the elbow. When she 
rounded on him, he released it as if scalded, shoving both hands 
into his pockets. "I...ah...I'm sorry I came on so strong. I know 
you're doing what you can for Grey. It's just that... I've seen what 
this guy is capable of. I've examined too many crime scenes, ID'd 
too many victims. The thought that Grey..." His jaw snapped shut 
and he glared off down the hallway.

Scully released a long, slow draught of air. "I understand. But 
please believe me when I say that I would trust Assistant Director 
Skinner with my life."

"I believe you, Dana. But I don't think that's the real issue. What I'd 
like to know is, would you trust him with Fox's life?" When 
several seconds passed and she still struggled to answer, he 
nodded. "That's what I thought."

He'd taken several steps toward the elevators before Scully found 
her voice. "Mark..."

He waved a hand over his shoulder without turning around. "I need 
a cup of coffee before I check in with Henderson. He's going to be 
extremely pissed about your little coup."

She didn't stay to watch him board the elevator. Irritation and 
anxiety, laced with a hefty dose of guilt, stiffened her spine and 
quickened her pace. When she stepped into Mulder's cubicle, a 
nurse was just removing a blood pressure cuff from his arm. 
Kristen had vacated the chair beside his bed to allow the woman 
room to maneuver. 

Though countless questions lurked in Kristen's eyes, she merely 
said, "I was just coming to get you. He woke up a few minutes ago 
and he's been asking for you."

"He's doing better--pressure's up and temperature's dropped a 
degree," the nurse said, stepping aside to give Scully her first 
glimpse of heavy-lidded hazel eyes. She returned the chart to the 
hook on the end of the bed, adding in a tone for Scully's ears only, 
"He's a bit agitated; see if you can calm him. I'll be back with 
another shot of morphine in about five minutes."

"Scully?"

She was already moving toward the bed, Kristen's mute 
interrogation and the nurse's words of caution eclipsed by the need 
in Mulder's voice.

"Hey." 

Fingers still too warm, eyes glazed, yet he latched onto her hand 
with unexpected strength. "He has Grey, Scully."

"Shhh. I know, love."

"Have to...have to find him. Stop him before..."

"We're doing everything we can, Mulder. We're pretty certain he's 
taking Grey back to Raleigh. Skinner is putting together a team as 
we speak."

"He's smart, Scully...too smart. Can't...can't underestimate...always 
step ahead, like before… He's…"

"Not this time. This time we'll be ready for him." Scully glanced at 
the monitors, frowning. "You need to calm down, Mulder. Rest. 
Skinner will..."

"No!" His fingers bore down until the small bones in her hand 
ground together and his restless movements intensified. With a 
mixture of irritation, amusement, and disbelief, Scully realized he 
was attempting to get out of bed. "My brother. 'M not trusting...not 
even Skinner..."

He was weak as a kitten--even his bullheaded determination 
couldn't prevent her from holding him down with a firm hand on 
his chest. "Mulder, stop. You're in no shape to get out of this bed; 
you'll only wind up tearing stitches."

Mulder abruptly went still and the look of sheer emotional agony 
in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs like a punch to the 
stomach. "Scully...you go." 

"Mulder..." She shook her head, fumbled for the words to refuse 
him. "I can't leave, you need..."

"Grey needs...needs you more. Scully, he...he gave up...without a 
fight. For me." His voice, already paper-thin, trembled and broke. 
"You have to...to go, because..."

With impeccable timing, the nurse chose that moment to glide 
back into the cubicle, stainless steel tray in hand and a slight crimp 
of disapproval in her lips. She emptied the contents of a syringe 
into Mulder's IV, glancing pointedly at the wall clock on her way 
out the door.

Mulder ignored the intrusion, never taking his eyes from Scully's 
face. His whole body thrummed with grief and exhaustion. 
"Please, Scully…go."

"Shh. All right, I'll go." She moved to sit on the bed, cradling his 
face in her hands. "I'll go, Mulder. I'll do everything in my power 
to make sure Grey comes back to us safe and sound."

"You don' understand…somethin'…need to tell you." The 
morphine was obviously hitting him hard, slurring his words and 
dilating his eyes until only a thin ring of hazel remained.

"I do understand. You need to stop fighting the meds and relax. 
Deep breaths, nice and slow." One hand drifted up to smooth damp 
hair back from his forehead while she continued to murmur 
reassurances. 

His eyes fluttered shut, then popped open. "No…no, Scully. Have 
to tell…tell who he is."

"We already know, Mulder. We realize he's the same serial killer 
Grey almost apprehended five years ago. We understand how 
dangerous he is, and we're taking every precaution." She carded 
her fingers through his hair, stroking, soothing. "Skinner has his 
best people on this. Sleep, love. We'll take care of Grey." 

Mulder mumbled something unintelligible but his eyes drifted shut 
and remained that way. Within moments he'd dropped into an 
uneasy doze, face pinched by pain and worry even in slumber. 

By the time Scully had carefully extricated herself from his side, 
Kristen was already out in the hallway, her face a study in 
conflicting emotions.

"Did you mean what you said? Are you coming to Raleigh?"

Scully watched through the glass as a nurse--a different nurse--
proceeded to hang another unit of blood.

"I promised, didn't I?" 

Kristen's sigh of relief was audible. "Dana, I know how difficult it 
must be for you to leave him, but..."

"It is difficult. Terribly difficult." She spoke slowly, carefully. "But 
there's really not much I can do here right now. I'm of more use to 
Grey, and Mulder, in Raleigh. No matter how much I might want 
to remain here, I have to put aside my personal feelings."

Kristen's expression turned guarded. "Why do I get the feeling 
you're trying to tell me something?"

"Kristen, you're not a field agent. You must know Skinner will 
never let you anywhere near that parking garage."

"I could at least be nearby. Close enough that when you do get to 
him... Dana, don't ask this. You of all people understand."

"It seems a fair trade. I'll watch out for Grey in Raleigh, and you 
keep an eye on Mulder for me while I'm gone." 

"Dana..."

"I can't do the job in Raleigh if my head is back here, worrying 
about him. You want to help Grey? Help me. Please."

Kristen's face twisted into a scowl, but the glaze of tears in her 
eyes betrayed her. "All right! I'll stay. But so help me God, Dana, 
if anything happens to him and I'm not there..."

"Only two things will happen in that garage tonight. A killer will 
be apprehended, and Grey will walk away, alive." Scully met 
Kristen's gaze without flinching. "So help me God."

"I hope you're right." 

"Me, too." Scully turned to look at Mulder, her voice dropping to 
little more than a whisper. "For all our sakes."


Pine View Motel
Burlington, NC
1:33 p.m.


"Sit here. I'm gonna get us a room." Jake unlocked the cuff on 
Grey's right wrist and fastened it to the steering wheel. He got out 
of the car, then leaned in the open door, pulling aside his coat to 
reveal the gun tucked in his waistband. "I'll be watching through 
that window. You try to get loose, signal anyone--hell, you even 
blink wrong and the guy behind the desk won't be coming home to 
his family tonight. Got it?"

Grey's lip curled. "Yeah. I got it."

He watched Jake saunter into the shabby motel office, greeting the 
proprietor with a brilliant and completely insincere smile. One tug 
on the cuffs told him escape was futile, and he noticed Jake had 
positioned himself so that he could still see the car as he paid for 
the room. Cursing under his breath he slumped down in the seat, 
wincing at the pressure on his already bruised wrist.

Fox's pale, anguished face appeared before his eyes, and he 
squeezed them shut against traitorous moisture. He wondered if his 
brother was still alive. Blood loss, fever, infection--it was unlikely 
he'd survive for long, alone and without the medical treatment he 
so desperately needed. 

"You promised you'd never leave me, said you were here to stay."

Oh, God, Fox. I did it for you. You have to know that.

The car door opened and Jake slid behind the wheel. "Number 13," 
he said, jiggling the room key before proceeding to transfer the 
cuff from the steering wheel back to Grey's wrist. "Last one on the 
right, around the corner. Told him we'd been driving all night and 
needed a real quiet place to catch some Zs."

Grey stared out the window as Jake navigated the car to a parking 
spot in front of their room. As indicated, the entrance was 
secluded, far from the few occupied rooms.

"You're awful quiet," Jake sneered. "What happened to the cop 
who tried to talk my ear off for the last ten hours?"

"Maybe he finally figured out you're not gonna say anything worth 
hearing."

The smug amusement vanished from Jake's face. "Oh, you're 
gonna hear me. Everyone's gonna hear me."

He got out of the car, shut the door with a bang, and circled around 
to open Grey's. Dropping a coat over his captive's bound hands, 
Jake motioned with the gun carefully concealed by his own jacket. 
"Move it."

Dark paneled walls and heavy brocade bedspreads, the room 
reeked of stale cigarette smoke and mildew. Grey stood just inside 
the doorway, nearly swaying with exhaustion, while Jake engaged 
the locks and drew the drapes. More than 48 hours had passed 
since he'd gotten any real sleep, and his brain and body were 
beginning to shut down. He stared, hypnotized, at the nearest 
double bed.

"Lay down."

Jake's hard shove in the small of his back sent Grey tumbling face 
first onto the mattress with a soft grunt. He could muster little 
more than a token protest as the killer efficiently cuffed him to one 
of the solid pine bedposts and yanked the phone from the wall, 
tossing it across the room.

"It's still not too late to stop this. If you turned yourself in, it would 
look good on your record."

Jake pasted on an expression of exaggerated interest. "Hey! Why 
didn't I think of that? I'll bet letting a cop go and giving myself up 
to the police would make them forget all about all those other dead 
people. Probably get off with just a slap on the wrist, huh?"

"No. But it might mean the difference between life in prison and 
the electric chair."

"Yeah? Well, I think I'll just take door number three, Monty--none 
of the above. I've done time, and it was an experience I don't intend 
to repeat."

"You've been in prison?"

"Don't look so surprised. What did you think I was doing the past 
few years, traveling abroad? After the night you nearly caught me 
doing that doctor, I figured I'd better get out of town for a while. I 
got dragged into a bar fight down in Florida and wound up cutting 
a guy pretty bad. Bam! Assault with a deadly weapon, carrying a 
concealed weapon, destruction of public property..."

"Even prison is better than..."

"Like you'd know? When was the last time you were on the wrong 
side of the bars, Detective? You know, I cursed you every single 
day I spent in that hellhole."

"Me?"

"If it wasn't for you, I never would've had to leave town and I 
never would've gotten into that mess. I had a good thing going 
until you stuck your nose in where it didn't belong."

Grey struggled to raise himself on one elbow, ignoring the bite of 
the cuffs. "A good thing? You sick bastard, you were murdering 
people!"

Jake flopped onto the adjoining bed and laced his hands behind his 
head. "We've been through this. I already explained why they have 
to die."

"Right. Poor Jake, always dealt the rotten hand, never gets what he 
deserves," Grey jeered. "If you didn't like where your life was 
going, you had nobody to blame but yourself. Maybe if you'd done 
something to turn it around instead of whining and complaining..."

In one swift move Jake rolled off the bed and buried his fingers in 
Grey's hair, yanking his head back until his neck screamed in 
agony. "You think I didn't try? I went the community college route, 
tried to take classes at night. I was tired after working all day, too 
tired to deal with lectures and homework. Besides, it would've 
taken way too long to get a degree that way. I wanted more. I 
deserved it all."

He reversed the motion of his hand, pressing Grey's face into the 
mattress until he couldn't breathe. "I'm done talking. Now shut the 
hell up and let me get some sleep, or I'll gag you."

The fingers disappeared and Grey managed to turn his head, 
gulping air like a drowning man. The muscles in his neck sent 
bright shards of pain down his spine and the edges of his vision 
wavered in and out of focus. Jake ignored his distress, stretching 
back out on the bed and closing his eyes. Within minutes his 
breathing was slow and even. 

Eventually, Grey's respiration eased and the pain in his neck settled 
down to a dull throb. Trying to free himself from the handcuffs 
only succeeded in bloodying his wrist, and Jake had been careful to 
remove from his reach anything that might possibly serve as a 
weapon. Energy depleted, Grey could only attempt to find a 
position that would spare both his raw wrist and aching neck. 

He didn't want to admit there was no way out of the desperate 
situation in which he found himself. He didn't want to wonder if 
he'd done the right thing back at the cabin. Most of all, he didn't 
want to sleep with a cold-blooded killer not five feet from his side, 
but his body had other ideas. His last thought, as he lost the battle 
with leaden eyelids, was to hope Fox was warm and safe.


Asheville Memorial
Monday
10:53 p.m.


If only it weren't so damn dark.

He creeps along, all senses on alert, Scully a vague shadow off to 
the right. The gun feels heavy, oily against his sweat-slick palm. 
The bass rumble of heavy machinery humming in his ears and 
vibrating the metal plates beneath his feet echoes the 
overpowering sensation of danger that thrums through his blood.

Evil is watching, waiting.

With a jolt of uneasiness, he realizes Scully has drawn ahead, her 
bright copper hair barely visible in the gloom.

Where is his flashlight?

He quickens his steps, even as a figure coalesces out of the 
shadows at her back. The shape dwarfs Scully's small form--huge, 
hulking, dark. The upraised knife glitters like a cold star.

Time slows to a crawl. He can't shoot--the monster and Scully are 
as close as lovers, though she remains unaware.  He can't cover 
the distance quickly enough to arrest the blow. All he can do is 
warn her.

Terror fuels the cry that begins somewhere around his toes, 
swelling to an ear-splitting scream when it reaches his lips. 
"Scully, behind you!" He hears the words in his head, opens his 
mouth...

To silence.

Panicked, he tries again. And again. Each time, the words lodge in 
his throat, unspoken. 

And the knife plunges in a smooth arc...

"Sculleeeee! Sculleeeee!"

"Shh! Mulder, wake up. It's a dream. You're having a bad dream."

Hands, gripping his shoulders. A pair of worried green eyes. The 
rapid beep of a heart monitor. Pain.

Mulder blinked, shivering as clarity seeped into his muzzy brain. 
He was sitting bolt upright, the sheet clenched in his fists and 
sweat trickling down his back. If the monitor was any indication, 
he'd just given his heart quite the workout.

"Just a nightmare, Mulder. Lay back now, before you hurt 
yourself."

Kristen was seated on the edge of the bed, a nurse hovering just 
over her shoulder. Relief smoothed the lines across her forehead 
when he allowed her to guide him back onto the pillows. 

"Sorry." The word left his dry throat as a croak. "Water?"

Kristen nodded and reached for the pitcher. 

"Where's Scully?"

All his perceptions seemed jumbled, mixed up, like a stack of file 
folders dumped onto the ground, their pages in disarray. The 
relentless pain in his leg and the residue of drugs in his veins 
conspired, making it harder to focus, to think.

Kristen offered the cup, holding it to his lips when his own hands 
proved too unsteady. The water slid easily down his sore throat, 
cool and soothing.

"Dana went to Raleigh, remember?"

Like the flick of a light switch, memory flooded his brain, driving 
back the cobwebs and illuminating the dark corners with 
frightening clarity. Scully had gone to rescue Grey, to trap a killer, 
and he'd never told her...

He locked his hand around Kristen's wrist, nearly spilling the cup 
of water. "Have to...I have to talk to Scully."

Kristen peeled away his fingers and set the cup on the tray table. "I 
spoke to her a couple hours ago. They were setting up the stakeout 
at the hospital. I don't know if there's any way to contact her now."

For the first time Mulder noticed the restless movement of 
Kristen's hands, one minute fiddling with the water pitcher, the 
next smoothing the sheets. Her gaze kept wandering to the clock 
on the wall and the silent phone.

"I'm sure she'll call as soon as there's any news," she continued, but 
the slight quaver in her voice betrayed the calm she was obviously 
attempting for his sake.

"No, you don't understand. This can't wait, it's important. I know 
who the killer is."

"It's all right, Mulder. I guess you weren't exactly operating at full 
speed before when Dana tried to explain. We know who he is, too. 
Mark told us all about the murders, and how Grey..."

"Mark?" It felt like the bottom dropped out from beneath him. 
Mulder heard his heartrate soar through the pounding in his ears as 
well as the monitors. "Mark Preston?"

"That's right, Grey's partner. He was here earlier, but he went back 
to Raleigh with Dana." Kristen eyed the monitor, frowned. 
"Mulder, you have to calm down or the nurse is going to boot me 
out of here."

As if on cue, the ICU nurse was back, hypodermic in hand. The 
look she turned on Kristen was both irritated and reproachful. "I'm 
sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Mr. Mulder is less 
than 24 hours out of surgery; he can't afford to become agitated 
like this."

"No!" Mulder struggled upright, snagging Kristen's sleeve for fear 
she might obey the woman's order. "Kristen, listen to me. We have 
to get word to Scully before it's too late. Mark Preston shouldn't be 
on that stakeout. He'll get her killed."

Impatience flared in Kristen's tired eyes. "That's hardly fair, is it? I 
know you don't trust anyone else to watch Dana's back, but in this 
situation you don't have a choice. Grey spoke...speaks very highly 
of Mark; he's a good cop."

Not to be ignored, the nurse stepped closer and began swabbing the 
IV port with an alcohol wipe. "Miss, I want you to leave. Now. Mr. 
Mulder, let go of her and lie back. You're going to tear your 
stitches if you aren't careful."

"This has nothing to do with how good a cop he is! The man who 
has Grey--it's his cousin. Do you hear me, Kristen? The killer is 
Mark Preston's cousin."

"Mr. Mulder, I'm going to give you something for the pain and to 
help you sleep..."

"Wait!" Kristen's hand shot out, waving the nurse away from the 
IV. 

The woman, silver-haired and bearing the tough demeanor of a 
veteran, pursed her lips. "I will not wait. Now, I've asked you 
nicely to leave. If you persist in disrupting this ICU, I'll be forced 
to call security and have you forcibly evicted."

Kristen faced off across the bed, her own expression just as grim 
and determined. "I'm with the FBI. This man is a federal agent, and 
he has information vital to the rescue of a kidnapped policeman 
and the apprehension of a serial killer. Now back off and let him 
talk."

The nurse's eyes flew open wide, and her lips formed a little "o" of 
astonishment before she turned and stalked out of the cubicle, 
muttering under her breath. Mulder sank back, panting, against the 
pillows, too relieved to find humor in Kristen's victory.

Kristen spared a brief glance at the nurse's stiff back before 
pinning him with a sharp glare. "Did I hear you correctly? Did you 
say that the man who has Grey is Mark Preston's cousin?"

Mulder nodded. "His name is Jake; Grey recognized him. That's 
how he knew where we were, how he was able to set us up."

"All those years ago--it was Mark's cousin killing those people? 
He...he did that to the man in the cabin? How could...what kind of 
monster is he?"

"A sick one. He's a sociopath who has a perfectly good reason for 
every terrible thing he's done--in his own mind, anyway. Kristen, if 
Mark sees him, if he finds out who his killer really is in the middle 
of the action..."

"Oh, God. You're right, of course, you're right." Kristen began to 
pace, her hands pressed to her cheeks. "What do we do? They 
could show up in the garage at any moment, if they haven't 
already."

"Call Scully's cell. Now."

Kristen seized the phone from the bedside table and punched in 
numbers as Mulder rattled them off. He watched, willing Scully to 
answer, as Kristen paced within the short reach of the cord. After a 
moment she cursed and slammed the receiver down.

"All I get is a message saying the cellular customer is unavailable. 
Mulder, they're in the garage under the hospital. It's a good bet the 
signal's not strong enough."

Mulder stared blankly at her for a moment, then snapped his 
fingers. "Call Skinner. There has to be a way to get ahold of him, 
he's an assistant director. He'll know how to get word to Scully."

Kristen nodded, expression tight. "I'll find him--even if I have to 
call Kim at home."

Mulder watched her scoop up the phone, only half listening as she 
proceeded to track Skinner like a bloodhound on the scent. His leg 
burned like fire, but for now the blessed relief of morphine was out 
of the question. There might be nothing more he could do for 
Scully and Grey, but he'd keep vigil until he knew they were both 
safe.


St. Alexius Hospital
Raleigh, NC
11:33 p.m.


"It's been more than a year since I've participated in a stakeout. I 
haven't missed it."

Scully watched Mark shift his long legs in a futile attempt to work 
out the kinks. They sat in a nondescript, Bureau-issue sedan about 
twenty feet from the elevators. The interior of the car was heavily 
shadowed--thanks to the removal of several fluorescent bulbs from 
the garage's overhead lights.

"The only aspect of the job more tedious than the paperwork." 
Scully leaned back against the headrest but continued to scan the 
area outside the car. "I usually have to fight Mulder for control of 
the radio. I'm afraid I've never understood the allure of listening to 
baseball."

"He's going to be all right."

It took Scully a moment to realize Mark was speaking of Mulder, 
not Grey. 

When she didn't answer, he added, "Sure, it'll hurt like hell for a 
while. But he's safe now, and getting the best care."

"It's not his leg I'm worried about," she admitted, a bit surprised by 
her own candor.

"You're afraid how he might react if Grey...if something happens 
to Grey?"

"Mulder's...gone through a lot of hard times. More grief, more loss 
than any one man should have to bear. Finding Grey has made a 
huge difference in his life. If he loses him now..."

"He won't. We won't." Scully turned at the vehemence in Mark's 
voice; watched his fingers tighten in a white-knuckled grip on the 
wheel. "That man has been my partner, my friend, for nearly ten 
years. I'm not about to lose him to some sick little bastard carrying 
a grudge. Not as long as I can still draw breath."

Scully turned back to the window. What could she say? Mark's 
determination was admirable, but as law enforcement officers, they 
couldn't blind themselves to the cold, hard facts: the most 
dangerous thing about hostage situations was their inherent 
unpredictability. All the conviction in the world could be undone 
with one twist of the knife, one pull on the trigger.

"For what it's worth, Fox has made a big difference in Grey's life, 
as well." Mark nodded in response to Scully's raised brow. "Grey 
and Kate...I've never seen a bond like that. They were like two 
halves of a whole. Her death decimated him. There was a time I 
was afraid he'd never be able to pull himself together."

"But his parents, his sisters..."

"Oh, they--we--all tried our best to comfort him. And don't get me 
wrong, he got better. At least, I stopped worrying that he might do 
something crazy. But he'd lost a piece of himself somewhere along 
the way. He worked, he played--but it was as if he were on 
autopilot. The man I once knew, the spark, wasn't there any more.

"And then you and Fox showed up on his doorstep. And it was 
like..."

"Finding that missing piece," Scully murmured, eyes stinging.

Mark opened his mouth to answer when Scully's radio crackled to 
life. "Agent Scully? This is Henderson. What's your status?"

She raised the radio to her lips, grimacing at the clipped, cold tone 
to the SAC's voice. "Nothing to report, sir. Everything has been 
quiet so far."

"I'm patching in a call from Assistant Director Skinner. He says it's 
urgent he speak with you immediately."

Scully blinked, lifting one shoulder in reply to Mark's inquisitive 
stare. "Thank you, sir."

"Agent Scully?" Skinner's gruff baritone was followed by a brief 
burst of static.

"Yes, sir, I'm here. Is there a problem? Is Mulder all right?"

"Mulder is fine. Scully, there's something you need to know 
before..."

Mark's fingers wrapped around her neck and yanked downward 
until she was lying on her side, face pressed into the cushion with 
his bulk draped over her back. Skinner's voice cut off midstream as 
the radio tumbled to the floor.

"Mark! What's going on? You're crushing me!" she hissed.

"A car just pulled in. I think it's our boy." 

The weight on her eased and she cautiously lifted her head to see 
Mark peering through the windshield. "Are you sure? Why 
wouldn't Henderson have warned us?"

"Not sure. Must have slipped through. Maybe the fact there's only 
one person in the car fooled them."

"Maybe the fact that there's only one person means it's not our 
man. What makes you so sure this is our UNSUB?"

Mark pulled out his weapon, checked the clip, and slid it into the 
waistband of his pants. "A long time ago, when we were first made 
partners, Grey and I came up with a signal, a kind of...of code, that 
we'd use to let each other know we'd landed in deep sh--trouble."

Scully carefully slid upright, her eyes glued to the still glowing 
taillights of the car now parked several rows from where they sat. 
"Go on." When Mark made a gesture with his right hand, she 
frowned. "That's it? You hold up three fingers?"

"Three. As in, three strikes, I'm out. Last chance--get it?"

"And this relates to our situation...how?"

"I was looking out the window while you were talking to A.D. 
Skinner. So I got a real good glimpse of that car when it drove 
past. It's filthy--a real dirtball. You ever used to write in the dirt on 
your parent's car, Dana? You know, like 'wash me' --stuff like 
that?"

"Every kid used to do that, what are you..." Scully broke off, eyes 
wide.

"Someone drew a number 3 on the passenger side door. Bit of a 
coincidence, don't you think?"

Scully reached for the radio, stopped by Mark's iron grip on her 
wrist. "Leave it. We wait for Henderson now, and it'll be too late."

"Procedure dictates..."

"Screw procedure! I'm going."

Mark opened his door and slipped out, using their car for cover as 
he circled around towards the suspect vehicle. Letting out a string 
of curses that would have impressed her brothers, Scully scooted 
across the seat and followed.

They converged at the back of the suspect's vehicle, a dilapidated 
Dodge with rusted paint and a plethora of dents and scrapes. 
Crouched behind the bumper, they could just make out the rumble 
of two voices in heated conversation. Mark tipped his head, 
expression triumphant.

"What'd I tell you? It's got to be them," he said, sotto voce. "You 
take the passenger side; I'll take the driver."

"Wait! What if..."

Sounds of a struggle erupted from within the car and Mark pulled 
his gun. "Now! Get into position. On the count of five, I'm making 
my move."

Frustrated with the way things had spiraled out of control, Scully 
watched Mark creep along the side of the car, then followed suit.

She silently counted to five, springing to her feet and bringing up 
her weapon as she heard Mark's shouted command.

"Out of the car, punk, hands where I can seem them!"

Several things happened at once, in a rapid-fire blur of images:

Grey's face peered through the window, unnaturally pale, eyes 
huge.

A hand wrapped around a large hunting knife, the blade pressed to 
Grey's throat.

The back of a dark head.

Mark's gasp--a guttural sound, filled with bewildered horror.

"Jake?"

"Mark, look out!"

Mark's gun dipped for only a moment, but it was more than enough 
time for the man behind the wheel to act, flinging his door open so 
that it connected squarely with Mark's midsection. A sickening 
thud as metal connected with flesh and bone; Mark landed on his 
back, weapon flying from his fingers to skitter across the cement 
floor. 

By the time Scully moved into position for a clear shot, it was too 
late. The dark-haired killer had Mark clutched to his chest, the tip 
of his knife dimpling the skin at the base of Mark's throat. He 
grinned toothily at Scully, putting his lips to the ear of the man in 
his grip.

"Hey, cous. Surprise!"


St. Alexius Hospital
Tuesday
12:06 a.m.


"Jake? How? I don't...why would you..." Mark's confused, 
overwrought babbling broke off into a low cry and blood 
blossomed where the knife's point lay against his throat.

"Put the gun down, Red. I've never put much stock in that saying 
about blood being thicker than water."

Scully met Jake's cold, humorless gaze. She slowly lowered her 
weapon, but left it resting at her side. "You're the one in charge, 
Jake. Let Mark go; don't make things worse for yourself. Surely 
you can see you're not going to make it out of here."

"What I see is that I'm the one with the hostage. Shortly to be a 
dead hostage unless you drop that weapon."

Mark's quiet words took them both by surprise. "Don't do it, 
Dana."

She hesitated until Mark's breath caught and fresh blood trickled 
down his neck. Jake's lip curled. "You never did know when to 
shut up, cousin. I'm getting tired of waiting... Dana."

She laid the gun on the hood of the car, raising both hands, palms 
out.

"Step around to the front of the car, Dana. Grey, isn't it about time 
you joined us?"

Scully did as instructed, checking her peripheral vision for signs of 
Henderson or the other team members. The garage appeared 
empty, silent as a morgue. Pushing the unwelcome image from her 
mind, she moved to stand beside Grey, who had crawled from the 
car. She took in his shackled wrists and stiff, awkward movements.

"Are you all right?"

Grey flashed her a grin, but his sunken eyes and bruised cheek 
belied its sincerity. "Depends on your definition." He looked at 
Mark. "Sorry, partner. Didn't mean to get you into this mess."

"Considering the source...seems like I'm the one...should do the 
apologizing." Mark ground the words out between clenched teeth.

"This is all very touching, but I'm on a tight schedule. Grey, get 
over here."

Grey glanced at Scully, then walked slowly over to stand beside 
Jake. "I'm the one you want--you've got me. Let Mark and Dana 
go."

"You think I'm stupid? I know there's more where they came from. 
Let them go, and I'll have a whole pack of Feds breathing down 
my neck. I've started this, and I'm going to finish it."

"You're the one who decides how this turns out. It doesn't have to 
end badly. Give me the knife--releasing your hostage and turning 
yourself in will only help your case," Scully said, holding out her 
hand.

Jake responded with a sharp shove that sent Mark tumbling into 
her, nearly knocking them both to the ground. He grabbed Grey, 
looping one arm around his neck and pressing the knife to his ribs.

"That's better. Now, Dana, I want you to take Mark's cuffs and put 
them on him."

Lips pressed to a thin line, Scully removed the handcuffs from 
Mark's jacket and began shackling his wrists. 

"Ah, ah, ah." 

She froze; turned steely eyes to Jake's face.

"Not in front, sweetie. Behind his back. And make 'em tight."

She sent Mark an apologetic look, but obeyed while covertly 
eyeing the gun still lying atop the car's hood. When she'd finished, 
Jake removed his arm from Grey's throat long enough to fish a 
keyring from his pocket.

"Here." He tossed the keys, acknowledging her one-handed catch 
with a grudging nod. "Open the trunk and put Mark inside."

"I can't do that."

The retaliation was swift and brutal. The knife flashed and Grey 
screamed, the blade slicing his right arm from shoulder to elbow.

"No! You bastard!" Scully fumbled for the correct key, her fingers 
shaking so badly she could barely hold onto the ring.

"Next time it goes right between his ribs. Hurry up."

"Why are you doing this, Jake?" Mark's voice was dazed, 
uncomprehending. "We're family; we grew up together. I've 
always tried to help you out. I thought we were friends."

"Let's just say I got tired of being the charity project who gets all 
your sloppy seconds. Friends? You don't know me--you never 
have."

"Then if your beef is with me, let Grey go. He's never done 
anything to you..."

"You'll never begin to understand what he's done to me, you 
spoiled son of a bitch. Like I said, you don't know anything about 
me. Dana, get him in there now. I'm losing my patience."

Grey watched her help his partner fold himself into the 
compartment. Sticky warmth ran down his arm, pattering crimson 
drops onto the cement, and his head felt thick and fuzzy. He hung 
on to consciousness, blinking back the darkness crowding the 
edges of his vision. He knew what came next, and what he had to 
do. Last chance. Once Dana was in the trunk with Mark, it would 
all be over.

"Put on your own cuffs, Dana."

"No."

The protest, and the quiet force with which it was delivered, 
startled both Scully and Jake. Her hand stilled on the way to her 
pocket and his arm clamped down on Grey's throat.

"She's being a good girl, Grey. Shut up and let her do as she's been 
told."

An edge to Jake's voice, the first real hint of anger. An image 
flashed before Grey's eyes--a memory so clear it hurt. Fox, barely 
able to hold his head up, his lip curled in contempt...

"It was dumb all right. Told you...you're just like all the rest."

"Don't do it, Dana. He's finished and he knows it."

As swift as a rattlesnake, Jake's hand clamped onto Grey's 
wounded arm, spinning him around until they were face to face. 
He leaned in close, the point of his blade digging into the flesh just 
above Grey's belt.

"This won't be finished until I've done what I should've done five 
years ago, hotshot." He bared his teeth in an expression that held 
too much fury to be a smile. "I'm going to enjoy myself."

Grey's arm felt as if hot spikes had been driven into the bone, but 
he ignored the pain. He had Jake's complete and undivided 
attention now. He could only pray Dana would follow his lead. 
Gritting his teeth, he raised his voice in an effort to drown out the 
ringing in his ears.

"It's over, Jake. You're just too stupid to realize it. They've got you 
trapped here, pinned down like a bug on a piece of cardboard." 

"Shut up! I've got a few tricks up my sleeve; I know what I'm 
doing. You're just running off at the mouth 'cause you know you're 
dead meat." Jake brought the knife up to caress Grey's cheek but 
his voice shook with rage. 

Grey chuffed, forcing his lips into a mocking grin. "Sure, cut me. 
You're a big man as long as you're the one holding the knife. But in 
the end, it won't change a thing. Six months from now no one will 
remember your name. You're still a failure, my friend. Just like 
you always were."

Jake's face turned blood red, eyes dilating and breath speeding up. 
"A failure? I'll show you who's the failure you arrogant..."

The knife left Grey's cheek and plunged toward his chest. 

"Dana, now!" He let his entire body go limp, legs folding, a dead 
weight that slithered out of Jake's one-handed grasp and crumpled 
to the concrete.

One shot rang out, then another. The knife skittered across the 
floor.

Grey cautiously lifted his head. Jake lay on the ground in a 
growing pool of blood, sightless eyes open wide in an expression 
of astonishment. Dana stood motionless by the hood of the car, 
arms extended and feet spread in the classic firing stance, her 
weapon clutched in her hands.

"Are you...are you all right?" The gun dropped slowly to her side.

Grey stumbled to his feet, swaying. "'M okay. You?"

A tentative step, then two, and suddenly she was pressed against 
him, her arms flung around his neck. "Thank God. I was so 
afraid..."

"Me, too, darlin'." He stiffened and pulled back, eyes searching her 
face. "Fox?"

"He's going to be fine. Kristen's with him."

Relief flooded his already weakened body so that he staggered and 
would have fallen had not Dana caught him around the waist. She 
pulled out her keys and removed the handcuffs, then wrapped her 
jacket around his injured arm to staunch the flow of blood. Grey 
blinked against a film of tears.

"He was so sick when I left him. If he'd died up there, all alone, I'd 
never have forgiven myself."

Dana drew his head down and gently brushed her lips across his, 
her thumb caressing the same cheek Jake's blade had touched. 
"Grey, you took care of him for me. He wouldn't be alive right now 
if it weren't for you. I'll never, never be able to thank you enough."

"Um…you know, I really hate to interrupt. But would you two 
mind helping me out of this trunk? My arms are falling asleep and 
there's a lug wrench digging into my back." A voice, muffled and 
longsuffering.

Grey's snicker broke off in a gasp of pain. "We're coming, partner. 
Just...just don't make me laugh."

Mark's answering string of curses set them both off again, Grey 
groaning between riffs of laughter. Scully's radio crackled static, 
and a moment later Henderson's anxious voice dampened their 
mirth.

"Agent Scully, we heard shots fired. What's your status?"

Scully tugged the receiver from her belt and thumbed it on. "We're 
okay--it's all over. Detective McKenzie needs medical treatment. 
The suspect is dead."

"Sit tight. We'll be right there."

"Great. Maybe Henderson will get me out of here." Mark's 
disembodied grumble was followed by rattling handcuffs.

Grinning, Scully tugged Grey's good arm around her neck and they 
headed for the trunk.


St. Alexius E.R.
Tuesday
6:32 a.m.


Grey glanced at the wall clock for the third time in as many 
minutes. Nearly an hour stuck waiting for a doctor to bring the 
paperwork that would allow him to leave. He flopped back onto 
the pillow, his frustrated sigh quickly turning to a grimace when 
the careless move jarred his shoulder.

"I hate to keep beating a dead horse, but a little morphine would 
make that arm a lot less painful."

Cleo leaned in the doorway, eyebrow raised and lips pursed. When 
Dana had half carried Grey in six hours earlier, chalk white and 
bleeding, Cleo had calmly taken charge as if the ER were a 
restaurant and they'd reserved a table for two. She'd quickly 
fetched a wheelchair and an orderly and settled him in a trauma 
room, pumping Dana for information on his condition while subtly 
reminding her she was the relative, not the doctor. Now that he'd 
been stitched and transfused, her current mission seemed to be 
convincing him to accept pain medication.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I wouldn't say no to a cab, though--if the 
doc ever shows up with the damn paperwork. I'm beginning to 
think this other emergency you keep telling me about doesn't really 
exist."

Cleo rolled her expressive brown eyes. "You've found us out, 
honey. It's all just an elaborate plot to keep you here. We figure if 
we stall long enough, you won't need those AMA forms."

Grey grinned at the sarcasm, shifting a little more cautiously this 
time. "Okay, so maybe that statement was a little self-absorbed. I 
just want out of here, Cleo. You've topped off my tank and stitched 
up my arm. Don't you need this bed?"

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, child. If I had my way you'd be 
in a room upstairs right now, pumped full of enough pain killers to 
keep you from bein' such a pain in the ass. Where's that cute little 
redhead, anyway? From what I saw, she could knock some sense 
into that stubborn, macho head of yours."

"She left--had to catch a helicopter back to Asheville." Grey stuck 
out his lip, oblivious to the fact that he'd just adopted his brother's 
trademark pout. "I should be with her right now, not stuck here 
playing patient."

Cleo's brows drew together and she stalked over to the gurney. 
"News flash, Mr. Detective. You ARE the patient. You may be 
feelin' your oats right now after getting a little blood, but once the 
rest of that lidocaine I numbed you up with wears off, you're gonna 
be hurtin'. That cut wasn't deep, but it was long. Thirty stitches is 
nothing to sneeze at."

Grey ran his fingers through tangled hair, sighing. "Look, you 
don't understand. I'm not trying to be a tough guy. The lunatic who 
did this to me hurt my brother a lot worse. Last time I saw him, I 
wasn't sure he'd make it. He's in a hospital in Asheville." He leaned 
forward, voice dropping. "Cleo, I have to see him."

Her irritation faded. "No wonder Red looked like she was caught 
between a rock and a hard place." She looked him up and down for 
a long moment, expression shrewd. "All right, I'll see what I can 
do. But the way I see it, gettin' sprung from here is the least of your 
problems. You're not fit to drive a car, and bouncing along on a 
bus is going to be mighty uncomfortable for that arm."

"I'll work something out."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I do believe you will. Now stay 
put and I'll be right back."

Grey relaxed into the mattress but doggedly refused to shut his 
eyes. Exhaustion pressed down on him, turning his eyes gritty and 
his limbs leaden. True to Cleo's prediction, the gnawing pain in his 
arm was quickly becoming impossible to ignore. Yet the need to 
go to his brother, to see with his own eyes that Fox was really all 
right, rendered all other considerations inconsequential.

And Kristen...

Lips curving, he pictured her as Dana had described--pushing 
down her own fears, determined to let no obstacle stand in the way 
of finding him. "Tough as nails," Dana had said. The genuine 
respect in her voice, an affirmation not easily earned, warmed him.

There'd been moments over the past forty-eight hours when he'd 
been certain Jake would have the revenge he so desperately sought. 
Forced to shake hands with his own mortality, he'd made an 
amazing discovery: his joy at the thought of reuniting with Kate 
was overshadowed by deep sorrow at the thought of parting with 
Kristen. Of never hearing her laughter, seeing her smile, feeling 
her in his arms. 

And somehow, on a level he could never have explained, he felt 
Kate was all right with that.

"Grey?"

Drifting, at first he mistook her voice for an extension of his own 
thoughts. Fingers smoothed tumbled hair from his forehead, then 
glided down his cheek. Grey's eyes flew open, locking onto a tear-
stained face and wide, green eyes.

"Kristen?"

"My God, you look like you've been through the wringer." She 
sank her teeth into a quivering lip and smiled, fresh tears welling 
up. "And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He grinned, holding open his good arm. "Back at ya, darlin'." 
When she folded onto his chest with a strangled sound somewhere 
between a laugh and a sob, he lay his cheek on the crown of her 
head. "Shh. It's all right now, Tippi. Everything's all right now."

For several long minutes their only communication was the 
whisper of his fingers in her hair and the chuff of her breath 
against his neck. Eventually Kristen lifted her head, one hand 
tentatively brushing along the sling.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like a sonuvabitch." He punctuated the reply with a smile, 
magically transforming her stricken expression to amusement.

"You're impossible."

"So I've been told." He sobered. "How's Fox doing? I thought you 
were under orders to stay with him."

"They were countermanded by a higher authority." She chuckled at 
his bafflement. "Fox told me to come. Once we heard you were 
safe, he practically kicked me out of the room." Her laughter 
faded. "He said I belonged here, with you."

"He was right." Grey traced a fingertip along her cheekbone, 
tucking blonde hair behind her ear. Veiled with tears, his eyes met 
hers, fused. "I love you, Kristen."

She jerked backward as if slapped, mouth working soundlessly 
until she finally managed a hoarse whisper. "I...what?"

"I love you. I have for a while now, I've just been too afraid to say 
the words." His hand found hers, fingers parting, meshing. "I wish 
I could tell you I'm not afraid anymore, but that would be a lie. 
Truth is, I'm terrified." He huffed softly. "But back in the parking 
garage, when Jake had the knife at my throat..." His fingers 
tightened in crushing grip. "I could have died, and you never 
would have known."

Kristen curled her fingers around the nape of his neck, bringing his 
face so close he could feel her breath feather across his lips. "I 
knew. You've told me in just about every way possible except 
saying the words.  And I've tried to convince myself it didn't 
matter. But, oh God, Grey..." Her voice wavered, catching in a 
tear-clogged throat. "...it matters."

He kissed her, tenderness quickly giving way to passion, lips 
parting and tongues caressing. His hand had found the warm skin 
of her stomach and her teeth were fastened on his earlobe when 
someone cleared their throat. Loudly.

It might as well have been a bucket of ice water. They broke apart, 
Grey cursing lustily when his injured arm inadvertently hit the 
bedrail. Kristen slid off the mattress and tugged down her sweater, 
cheeks pink.

Cleo lounged in the doorway, white teeth flashing in a satisfied 
smirk. "Well, now. I see you got your own painkiller. Looks like 
you're feelin' much better."

Grey willed himself not to lick his tingling lips, wondering why he 
suddenly felt like a sixteen year old caught making out in his 
parents' living room. "Ah, Cleo, this is Kristen. Kristen, meet Cleo. 
She's been taking care of me."

"Not nearly as well as Kristen has," Cleo replied, voice like honey. 

If possible, Kristen's flush deepened. "Nice to meet you, Cleo."

"Likewise. Now how about you sign these papers...," she laid a 
clipboard and pen in Grey's lap, "...and you can finally get out of 
here." She cast a sly glance at Kristen. "I can see you're in good 
hands."

Grey opened his mouth, shut it, and signed. He passed the forms 
back to Cleo, who handed Kristen a plastic bag and a few slips of 
paper. 

"There's prescriptions for an antibiotic and pain meds. I've given 
you some sample packets to get you started, but I'd suggest you get 
'em filled ASAP. Be sure you take the antibiotic with food, and 
finish the entire prescription--I don't want to see you back in here 
with an infection. If there's any sign of fever or inflammation, you 
need to see a doctor immediately. Otherwise, there's a sheet of 
instructions about the stitches. Follow them."

Grey nodded. "I will."

"You can keep those scrubs you're wearing; the Feds bagged your 
clothes as evidence."

 Grey winced, eyes distant. "After the last few days, that's no great 
loss." He forcibly shook off his darkened mood. "Thanks for 
everything, Cleo. You've been terrific."

"Yeah, yeah. So they all tell me." But the words were delivered 
with the ghost of a smile. "Take care now, children." A pause and a 
wicked grin. "Behave yourselves." A sly wink, and she was gone.

Kristen shook her head, still blushing. "Come on. Let's get you out 
of here."

Grey swung his legs over the side of the gurney, but made no move 
to stand. "Kristen, I want...I need to see Fox."

She paused in the act of collecting his shoes, hands propped on 
hips. "Then we'd better fill these prescriptions on the way out." 
When his jaw dropped in surprise, she smiled. "Did you honestly 
think I wouldn't see that coming? Now let me find the other one of 
these and I'll help you put them on--I think your shoe tying days 
are over for a while. Oh, and Grey?"

She stopped, turned back to look intently into his eyes. "I love you, 
too."

She left him with a goofy grin on his face and went to find the 
other shoe.


Asheville Memorial Hospital
Tuesday
11:49 a.m.


Grey paused outside the room, head cocked. Silence. He peeked 
inside, quietly wrapping his knuckles on the half-opened door. 
Dana startled, a light blanket falling from her shoulders as she sat 
up straight in the recliner. Her momentary confusion melted into a 
smile when she saw him hovering in the doorway. Motioning him 
inside, her sharp eyes cataloged the sling and his stiff gait.

"I didn't expect you so soon; you should be resting," she said sotto 
voce, then added grudgingly, "You look better."

"Darlin', I saw how I looked before, and the only direction was up. 
But if it makes you feel any better--I stopped by the house to clean 
up a bit, and I slept most of the way here. Kristen drove."

Scully peered over his shoulder. "Where is she?"

"In the waiting room, curled up on a comfortable couch--or what 
passes for one in this place. After all the driving she could barely 
keep her eyes open." He crossed to the bed where Mulder slept on, 
oblivious, and laid his hand on his brother's forehead. "Fever's 
gone," he murmured, more to himself than to Scully, then turned to 
search her face. "How is he?"

She stood, stretching her arms over her head, then gathered up the 
blanket and folded it into a neat square. "His condition is much 
improved, actually. The surgery went well and the infection seems 
to be under control. They moved him down from the ICU right 
after I got here this morning."

The line between Grey's brows betrayed his doubt. "I can tell he's a 
lot better than the last time I saw him. It's just... Fox is the guy with 
hair-trigger reflexes. How can he still be sleeping through all this?"

Scully returned to the recliner, motioning for Grey to pull up a 
chair. After a lingering look at his brother's pale face, he 
reluctantly complied.

"He was awake when I arrived at 5:30 this morning, Grey. From 
what Kristen and the nurses tell me, he stayed awake all night, 
refusing to sleep or accept pain medication until he could be 
absolutely certain you and I were all right. That refusal, while 
perhaps noble and stoic, made his transfer down from the ICU a 
very unpleasant experience. By the time we got him settled in this 
bed, he was exhausted and in agony, barely coherent. The nurse 
gave him a hefty shot of morphine and he's been out ever since."

"How could he be so stupid?"

Scully arched her eyebrows. "How indeed."

Grey flushed. "That's different. My injury wasn't life threatening. 
All I needed was a few stitches."

"THIRTY stitches. And a unit of blood."

"Yeah, well... I had to see Fox, and I couldn't very well do that 
from a hospital bed."

"Grey, it's wonderful that you love your brother and that you want 
to help take care of him. But you need to take care of yourself, too. 
I'm here, and you know I'm not going to let anything..."

"You don't understand. I HAD to come. I owe him that much, 
after... He needs to see that I'm still here for him." 

Scully had been massaging the back of her neck but her head 
snapped up at his words. Grey evaded her attempts to look into his 
eyes.

"Grey, you're not blaming yourself for any of this--are you?"

Grey stared out the window, jaw clenched. "I dragged him up there 
on that stupid camping trip; he never really wanted to go. Jake hurt 
him, nearly killed him, because of me. And as if that wasn't 
enough, when he was sick and scared and at his most vulnerable, I 
left him. I promised I wouldn't, and then I did." He swallowed, at 
last turning to meet her eyes. "You tell me, Dana. Who else would 
I blame?"

Scully closed her eyes and expelled a long, slow breath, shaking 
her head. "You two are incredible. I'm actually starting to believe 
there's a gene that controls guilt."

"Hold on a minute..."

"No, you hold on. Your brother"--she jerked a thumb in Mulder's 
direction--"has been beating himself up because he didn't tell us 
about Jake sooner. According to him, you were injured--and could 
have been killed--because he dropped the ball. Are you sensing a 
pattern here, Grey?"

Grey's jaw dropped and he struggled for words, frowning. "That's 
crazy! He couldn't help..."

"Look, before we become immersed in this game of 'What's My 
Crime,' how about we all just lay the blame where it really 
belongs--on Jake Preston. He's the killer, Grey. He's the one who 
shot Mulder, kidnapped you, and tried to cut you to ribbons. If you 
and Mulder would just set aside your overdeveloped sense of guilt 
and look at things objectively, maybe you'd both see the truth."

"She's hot when she's angry...isn't she?"

The soft, raspy voice redirected their attention to the bed, where a 
pair of sleepy hazel eyes regarded them with amusement.

"Hey." Grey popped to his feet and moved to the bed, clasping his 
brother's hand. "It's about time you woke up. You're reputation as 
an insomniac is on shaky ground."

Mulder licked his lips; grimaced. "Why do the good drugs...make 
your mouth taste like cardboard?"

Grey reached for the cup, only to stare helplessly at the water 
pitcher.

"I've got it." Scully liberated the styrofoam from Grey's grasp and 
filled the cup with water. 

Mulder drank eagerly, eyeing Grey's arm over the rim of the cup. 
He drained the liquid, waving off Scully's offer of more and 
tipping his chin toward the sling.

"That looks painful."

"It's not exactly a slug in the leg."

Scully rolled her eyes and set aside the pitcher. "I think I'll duck 
out for a cup of coffee. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves." She'd 
slipped out the door before either could formulate a reply.

Mulder let his head drop back onto the pillows, lips curved. "You 
know, I really hate to admit this, but Scully is right."

"That's easy to say from your perspective. Maybe you wouldn't 
feel the same if someone with a grudge against you hurt me," Grey 
pointed out, bitterness turning his relaxed drawl tight and harsh.

Mulder's fingers clamped onto his sleeve. "How can you say that? 
Grey, you were kidnapped because they mistook you for me. I 
know what you're feeling."

"You didn't leave me. You ignored your own health, nearly killed 
yourself, to find me and bring me home."

"If not for me, you never would have been taken, experimented on, 
in the first place."

Grey studied his face, then looked away, teeth gnawing viciously 
at his lip. "I didn't want to leave you, Fox. You have to believe 
that. It was the only way to give you a fighting chance."

"I know that. Hey." Mulder waited for his brother to look at him. 
"I'm sorry for what I said to you. I was half out of my head with 
pain and fever, Grey. I don't blame you for going with Jake. You 
had no choice."

Tears flooded Grey's eyes, and his voice dropped to a whisper. 
"I'm so sorry I brought you into that mess, Fox. I wish to God I'd 
never suggested that damn camping trip."

"Well at least one good thing came out of it. There's no way 
Crittendon can draft me into profiling for him now." When the 
attempt at humor fell flat, Mulder sighed. "Look, I'm never going 
to be Daniel Boone, but it really wasn't that bad until Jake showed 
up--well, except for the outhouse, maybe. You were right, it's 
beautiful up there. I don't have anything against communing with 
nature, it's just...maybe next time we could do our communing on a 
tropical beach."

Grey's lips quivered and he let out a short bark of laughter. I don't 
know, little brother. With your luck, there'd be a hurricane." He 
scrubbed at his face, fingers rasping over stubble and tears.

"How's Mark?"

"Still in shock, I think. And dealing with his own feelings of guilt."

"Understandable, I suppose. But none of us can assume blame for 
the actions of a family member." He chuffed quietly. "I may have 
an overdeveloped sense of guilt, but at least I've come to terms 
with that."

"A fact for which we are all grateful." Scully walked to opposite 
side of the bed, a cup of coffee in one hand.

Mulder eyed it, licking his lips. "I don't suppose..."

"Absolutely not. And you'll notice I didn't bring any for you, 
either," she said to Grey. "You and Kristen both need some sleep. 
I'm told there's a hotel just down the street--a nice one, not the type 
Mulder usually picks."

Grey touched two fingers to his brow. "Yes, ma'am."

Mulder pressed a hand to his chest. "Scully, I'm hurt."

"The truth often has that effect, Mulder."

Mulder sustained his wounded expression for a moment longer, 
then turned to Grey. "Scully says Kristen was partially responsible 
for them coming after us so soon. She was convinced you were in 
trouble. I'd say we both owe her our thanks."

Grey smiled. "I owe her a lot more than that."

Mulder exchanged a long look with Scully. "You sound like you've 
had some kind of epiphany," he said to Grey.

His brother chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd go that far." He sobered. 
"It's not like I figured out something new or unexpected. More like 
I finally acknowledged something I've known for quite a while."

Mulder's voice was soft, unassuming. "Did you happen to share 
that with Kristen?"

"Yeah. Scared the hell out of me, but...yeah, I did." Grey turned a 
shrewd stare at Mulder. "We had a deal, little brother. 
Remember?"

Mulder looked at him blankly for a moment, then remembered 
their conversation on the way up to the cabin. His eyes darted to 
Scully and a slight flush rose in his cheeks. "I remember."

Scully arched an eyebrow but her words were as gentle as the 
fingers she slipped between his. "Something you want to share 
with me, Mulder?"

He looked at Grey, who gave a slight nod, then back to Scully. 
"Not here, Scully. But...yes. I guess I do."

She studied his expression, determination and apprehension, and 
squeezed his hand. "You know where to find me."

One corner of Mulder's mouth turned up in a weak smile that 
abruptly became a yawn. Grey slid off the mattress, wincing a little 
as he stretched the kinks from his legs.

"I think that's my signal to find Kristen and the hotel."

"Take Scully with you. You need a bed, not that chair," he said 
firmly.

"I've got our rental downstairs. I'll go as soon as you're asleep. I 
promise." 

"I'll be back later, when we've all had a nap." Grey stopped near 
the doorway. "If you're a good little patient, maybe I'll even 
smuggle in some real food."

Mulder perked up considerably. "Thai?"

"Mulder!" Scully's voice held equal parts horror and amusement. 
"Soup," she told Grey.

"Sculleeee. I'm much better. How about Chinese?"

"You two complete negotiations. I'll check in with Dana before I 
come." Grey took a step, hesitated, his face suddenly open and 
vulnerable. "Fox, I..."

"Yeah." He smiled. "Me, too. Now go get some sleep."

Mulder waited until his brother had disappeared down the hallway 
before sliding lower in the bed, right hand moving restlessly across 
the mattress, his face tense and still.

Observing the searching fingers and perspiration-beaded forehead, 
Scully retrieved the button for the PCA pump and placed it into his 
hand. "Pain bad?"

"Only when I breathe."

"You should have said something, Mulder. You've been able to 
administer another dose for at least a half an hour." Concern more 
than anger clouded her tone.

Mulder pressed the button with an audible sigh. "Not while Grey 
was here. Scully, he's feeling enough guilt over me getting hurt; 
I'm not going to rub his nose in it."

She stroked the hair back from his forehead, watching tension 
leave his face and body as the drug took effect. Mulder sighed, 
eyes shutting, then slowly opening to half-mast.

"'S it for me, babe. No more sparkling conversation."

"I'll just have to turn on Jerry Springer back at the hotel."

Eyes closed again, he was too far gone to laugh, but his lips 
curved. "Ya watch Jerry? Marry me, Scully."

She touched her lips to his forehead, then his mouth, nuzzling his 
cheek. "Too late, love. I already did."

Tucking the blanket up around his shoulders, she sank back into 
the recliner. A promise was a promise, and she fully intended to 
head out to the hotel for some real sleep. But for now--just for a 
little while--she'd indulge herself. Seeing the soft, untroubled 
expression on his face. Hearing the gentle rhythm of his breath. 

Alive.


End


AUTHOR'S NOTES: Whew! Well, this was another seemingly 
simple little tale that took on a life of its own. A huge thank you 
goes to Michelle, Vickie, Mary, and Deb for riding this 
rollercoaster with me, offering their talent and insights, and to 
Suzanne for her expertise in all things medical. Thanks, as well, to 
all out there who follow this series and who gently stalked me 
throughout the writing of this installment. Your words of 
encouragement really kept me going through a time when I feared 
the muse had packed her bags and left me--for good!