TITLE: Redemption
AUTHOR: Kestabrook
E-MAIL: Kestabrook@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Archive if you'd
like. Please let me know where, and do
use my name.
SPOILER WARNING: Season five, up to a
mention of "Emily"
RATING: PG-13 (Language and violence)
CONTENT WARNING: M/S friendship; MSR
(hinted at); M/A; S/A
CLASSIFICATION: X
SUMMARY: Mulder is taken hostage by a
militant group, and Scully deals with
that and with her brother.
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files characters belong
to Chris Carter and the X-Files gang; all
others are mine.
COMMENTS: Major thanks to Laine for the
website and for her wonderful commentary,
help, and friendship. Also, special
thanks to Lisa for friendship beyond
compare.
FEEDBACK: If positive or helpful only,
please.


Redemption (01 of 08)
by Kestabrook

The small group watched from the windows
of their van as the modest fishing boat
faded farther out to deeper waters off
the Baja Peninsula. Pink and orange
stripes lined the horizon behind as the
sun began to make its disappearance on
this side of the globe. Farther out to
sea, barely visible, a U.S. Navy
destroyer headed toward port in San Diego
Bay.

The Pacific's waves were calm, slapping
into the coastal rocks and cliffs, and
merely bouncing the Mexican fishermen who
drifted farther away toward where they'd
drop net for the night's haul. Seagulls
chattered noisily around them while
others squawked above the dusty, old blue
van.

"C'mon," a high-pitched, male voice
urged, breaking the serenity. "Let's do
it. We've got a plane to catch. Gotta be
in D.C. at the right time. I'm psyched
now, man. Don't want to have to postpone
plans."

"He's right," a female replied. "We've
still got to get past the border patrol,
and Tijuana's a pain in the ass in the
evening."

"Your plane leaves tomorrow, though,
right?" the high-pitched voice asked.

"Yes, but yours leaves tonight," she
replied. "Too much is riding on
Washington. Let's not screw it up. Do it
now."

A man in the front passenger seat sighed
heavily. "I often ponder your lack of
patience." He removed a small device from
his suitcoat pocket. "But to appease you,
I suppose I could do this now." He gazed
out the window and then at the device in
his hand. His right forefinger moved
slowly over the object, then stopped. It
pressed a red button.

Bright yellow light instantly reflected
off the van's tinted windows and its
occupants' faces. The fishing boat had
burst into tiny pieces, and flames
erupted from what remained. Gulls around
the boat and van darted in each direction
as the accompanying "boom!" reverberated
around them. Those in the van smiled or
laughed, the men in the back high-fiving
each other as yet another of their
home-made concoctions proved successful.
The van did a three-point turn and made
its way back toward the United States.

X           X           X

FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder reached up
and slowly pulled off his glasses, laying
them on the pile of finished paperwork.
Then with both hands, he rubbed his
tired, aching eyes, and left his fingers
covering them, elbows propped on the
wooden surface of the desktop. "Well,
Scully," he breathed, "in the morning
we'll be glad we got all this done."

His partner, Dana Scully, sat across from
him and looked equally exhausted. Dark
circles had formed beneath her eyes, and
a few strands of her hair were actually
out of place. She sat back in her chair
and flexed her cramped fingers. "We
really should keep up on these reports,
you know," she intoned. "It's only
Tuesday, Mulder, and already I feel as if
I've been here a month this week." She
scowled at her choice of words. "Well, I
know what I meant."

Mulder clasped his hands behind his head.
"Even I understand what you meant," he
grinned. "Let's tell Skinner we want the
rest of the week off."

She laughed sarcastically, her eyes
flashing to check his expression.
"Mulder, you never take time off;
Skinner'd only be suspicious of your
intentions."

"You're probably right." He yawned then
fixed her with a gaze. "We could make up
an X-File and go AWOL. He tends to
forgive that."

Scully had returned to business.  "There
can't be any case left for us to write
up, can there?  Or do you have more under
all these piles of--vital information--
you preserve in this--office?" She
scowled at the disheveled stacks of his
accumulated references, then glanced at
the clock, surprised to see it was
nine-fifteen. "My God, Mulder, do you
realize we've worked on this for eight
hours straight?"

He checked his watch which he'd long ago
taken off and laid on the desk. "Time
flies when you're having fun."

"If this is what you call fun," Scully
informed him with a smile, "then you need
a life."

He grinned again. "So they say." He
watched his partner as she neatly put her
glasses in her purse and shuffled her
paper pile until all the edges were
completely straight. He admired how neat
she was--that she even needed or wanted
to be neat. It was hard for him to
believe those dainty hands with their
perfect nails were capable of firing a
gun or of tearing the life from someone,
unaided. Hard to believe there was so
much power and strength in that compact
body topped off by such a pretty--and
beguiling--face.

"Mulder--you're staring," she said
cautiously, interrupting his thoughts.
"Anything wrong?"

He blushed and sat up, his hands coming
down to try to mold his own stack of
papers into some semblance of order. "No,
I just--". He cleared his throat and
engaged her eyes. "Any chance you want to
go grab some dinner--or go out for a
drink? Something like that?"

Scully allowed a brief laugh. "I think I
can skip your day's ration of greasy
burgers and fries, Mulder. Thanks
anyway."

"Um, no--I mean, I'd actually take you
somewhere nice, Scully," he murmured,
abashed. "Once in a while, they do let me
into some better restaurants--if I don't
mention UFOs. And I'd like to take you to
one--if you'd like to go."

As she stared at him, she swallowed,
wondering if this was different from the
usual partner invitation. She noted his
exhaustion but also how intently he was
looking at her. But as usual, it was hard
to read his expression. She inhaled
deeply. "Yeah, I guess I would."

Mulder nodded and started to his feet,
sitting again as Scully's cell phone
rang.

"Damn," she spat as she pulled it from
her purse and readied it for
conversation. "Scully," she said, and
listened. "Really? Wow!...Tonight? Now?
Mom, I--" She half-scowled, half-smiled
as she listened to her mother's voice.
"But I've just made plans--"

Mulder waved to get her attention until
she told her mother to "hold on," took
the phone from her ear, and directed her
attention to him. "What's going on?" he
asked.

"Bill just came home. He's got business
in D.C.--only here until Saturday. His
wife and my new nephew are with him, no
less. Mom's having a little celebration
right now, and she wants me to come home
for it."

Her partner nodded. "Scully, we can have
dinner any time. Your family's more
important. Go on home."

"But, Mulder--" She was torn. She didn't
want to pass up dinner with him, but she
didn't often get to see Bill and his
family either.

"No buts," Mulder replied. "We've been
partners for five years; we can have
dinner any other time. You've got a great
family, and you need to be part of it
when you can." He meant that--for two
reasons in particular: one, aside from
his mother, he had no family--certainly
no siblings he could call or visit--and
he envied her opportunity; and two, he
knew how brother Bill felt about Scully's
work on the X-Files, her friendship with
Mulder, and her devotion to her career--
if Scully denied her family this chance
to see her, she would anger Bill even
more.

"Are you sure?" she was asking him. When
he smiled and nodded, she thought she saw
a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "I
want a rain check, Mulder," she said.
"Promise I'll get one?"

"Of course," he replied. He stood and
stretched as she hurriedly finished her
conversation with her mother.

"Sorry," she grumbled to him seconds
later. She quickly put her phone away and
grabbed up her jacket, purse, and
briefcase. "Bill could have at least let
us know he was coming."

Mulder came around the desk. Putting his
hand on her arm while slinging his
suitcoat over his left shoulder, he
ushered her to the door. "Just be glad
he's here," he told her quietly. "Just be
glad he can still come home."

Scully nodded, hearing the personal loss
in his tone. She stepped into the hallway
and looked up at him. "Mulder! How stupid
of me! Why don't you come, too? You
should be a part of this; you're
certainly no stranger. I'd love to have
you there."

He was shaking his head, remembering his
last meeting with her brother. "Thanks
anyway. It's for *family*, Scully.
Besides I've got some laundry to
do--might find some more case files
underneath it," he said, referring to her
earlier taunt. "And there's a Godzilla
marathon on the Sci-Fi channel."

She knew there'd be no sense in arguing
with him, so she just shrugged. "More
likely you're going to visit a strip
joint in hopes of getting lucky." She
suddenly felt her own exhaustion and
disappointment. "I get a rain check,
Mulder; don't you forget it."

He gave her a Scout's Honor sign and
closed his office door behind them. They
walked from the hallway, taking the
elevator to the parking garage below the
J. Edgar Hoover Building.

"So his wife's here, too, huh?" Mulder
asked, breaking the silence as they
neared their cars. "She seems nice."

Scully shrugged. "Yes, Tara's a good
person. They're really happy together--a
perfect marriage, if there is such a
thing." She reached her car and unlocked
the door. Tossing her briefcase and purse
onto the front seat, she checked her
watch. "Shall we pull another twelve hour
day tomorrow, Mulder? We spend more time
here than anywhere."

Her partner's arms were on top of his car
as he turned his keys over in his
fingers. He watched her distractedly.
"Scully--you ever wonder what it would be
like to be married?"

She sat behind her wheel and glanced over
at him, an incredulous look crossing her
features. "We practically are, Mulder,"
she smiled. "Hey, tell Godzilla I said
'hi'." She saw him smile as she closed
her door and started the engine.

X         X          X

Heidi King was perhaps two years older
than William Scully, Jr., and she was
with him in Washington as some sort of
consultant concerning his business there.
Her skin, though not really leathery, had
a toughness to it as if it had been
exposed to the elements more often than
most people's. She was no great beauty
though far from ugly, and her tall, wiry
frame was perhaps ninety-eight percent
muscle. It seemed as if she were trying
to subdue a Brooklyn accent as she told
Maggie Scully of her days at Vassar and
Eckerd and her subsequent work in
California as a marine biologist. Her
drab black and grey hair was cut short,
and she wore no jewelry save the
waterproof black watch on her right
wrist. An intelligence burned from her
eyes, yet Scully found it difficult to
like this woman and could give no reason
for that. For the time being, she chalked
it up to jealousy, aware that she would
have to share her older brother with this
woman during his visit.

"She's super, isn't she?" Bill asked as
he refilled Scully's champagne glass then
sat beside her on the couch.

"How long have you known her?" Dana
asked, relieved to be able to have a few
minutes with him.

"About two months," he replied, sipping
from his own glass and watching Heidi.
Tara and his son had retired early,
exhausted from the long flight. "We've
had some trouble with a fanatical
environmental group causing some major
fuss in the waters off Mexico and a bit
in San Diego. Heidi is, of course, an
expert in marine biology and has lots to
say about that group."

Scully nodded but wanted to change the
subject. "How's family life?"

He smiled. "Wonderful. Sometimes you just
know when you've got it made, Dana." He
turned his eyes to his sister. "How about
you? Any prospects?"

Scully took a minute, imagining Mulder
home on his couch, heavily engrossed in
Godzilla movies. A faint smile touched
her lips. "Haven't got the time, Bill.
Guess you could say I'm married to my
job. For now, I like it that way."

He scowled. "Some things never change.
You should live a little, Dana. This
Mulder kook--"

"Bill, Mulder happens to be my best
friend, and I'm not going to hear you put
him down. We've been over all this
before. Let's not let it get in the way
tonight."

Her brother stared into her eyes, shaking
his head. "Maybe someday you'll come to
your senses--"

"Bill? Please?" Scully asked, tried
patience evident.

He scowled again, then nodded. "Okay.
Whatever you say, sis." He swallowed a
few more sips of his drink. "You look
good. Are you feeling well?"

She relaxed against the couch, relieved
for the change of topic. "Yes, I am. Dr.
Zuckerman can't believe the progress and
recovery I'm making. I have to say I
think it's pretty miraculous myself."

Her brother leaned over and kissed her
forehead. "Thank God for that."

"I do," Dana replied. She gave in to a
sudden yawn. "Oh, my goodness," she
apologized. "It's not the company."

"I sure hope not," her brother chuckled.
"Could be the time, though."

Scully looked at her watch. "Geeze, it
*is* after eleven; I should go home. It
was a long day at work and--"

"Why don't you take tomorrow off?" he
asked her. "You could come over here
and--"

"No, Bill. I want to go in tomorrow. Not
all of us can just have a vacation
whenever we want!" She started to rise.

"Dana, wait," he said quietly, pulling
her back down to the couch. "Look, I hate
to take advantage of your job and all,
but--I've got some evidence and rather
incriminating information on a senator.
That's why I'm in Washington; it's no
vacation. In fact, I've agreed--secretly
for now--to testify against him before a
senate sub-committee. I believe he's
linked to that environmental group I
mentioned, the Deep Wates Confederacy. My
superiors think it's a good career
opportunity for me politically, and they
also know my sister is a top FBI agent.
Dana--would you have any time to
investigate it?"

Scully looked at her brother, surprised,
seeing how very serious and concerned he
was. "Well, nothing like getting right to
the point." She noticed Maggie's and
Heidi's conversation had stopped, the
latter was looking on with interest.

"Dana, this group's a hundred times worse
than Greenpeace. Killing people who are
in the way doesn't phase them. To think
that a senator's involved--well, it makes
me sick."

Scully nodded, his words not making her
happy either. "I guess I could check some
things out. Mulder and I finished all our
paperwork today, so yeah, I guess we
could--"

"No. Just you, please. I don't want to
owe him any favors." As he saw her anger
crossing her features, he said, "Sorry.
Look, just as a favor to me, could *you*
look into it? Maybe we could meet
tomorrow, and I'll tell you what I know."

She rose, handing him her glass. "All
right. But I'm calling Mulder in on it,
if necessary.  He knows some senators,
Bill. He's a superb investigator. He's a
top agent--no matter what kind of case
he's on. And if you want me on this,
that's how it's going to be." With that,
she turned from him, said her good-byes
and thank you's, and headed for home.

X         X         X

The next morning at five minutes past
eight o'clock, Scully stood outside
Mulder's office, wondering why the door
was still locked. That rarely happened
unless her partner was already out on a
case. Rather than just entering, she
knocked a few times, checked to be sure
the hallway was void of listening ears,
and called, "Mulder? Put that stripper
away. I hope you're decent!" And she
unlocked and opened the door.

Further surprised, she found the lights
off and everything untouched from the
night before. Fox Mulder was never late
for work and was rarely absent. She
grabbed her mug, flicked on the lights,
and went out to the machines for coffee,
taking her time, waiting for him to come
sauntering off the elevator. But still,
he didn't arrive.

Returning to the office, she started to
tidy the desk, stacking the paperwork
they'd soon deliver to Assistant Director
Skinner. As she rounded the desk to
Mulder's side, she found he'd left his
watch there. She shook her head,
remembering how hurriedly they'd left
eleven hours earlier. Checking the clock
to find it was now eight-thirty, she
mused, "God, Mulder, how many Godzilla
movies did they make?" 

She picked up the phone's receiver, then
dialed her partner's home phone. It rang
until she heard the familiar "This is Fox
Mulder; please leave a message" of the
answering machine. "If you're not there,
Mulder," she said after the summoning
beep, "I assume you're on your way in.
About time." She hung up and hoped he'd
come in soon. She was eager to bounce
Deep Waters Confederacy off him. It
wasn't an X-File, but knowing her
partner, he'd probably filed something
about it away in his superlative,
photographic memory at some point.

The office phone suddenly rang,
interrupting her thoughts. She answered,
expecting her partner's voice. "Scully."

But it was Skinner's voice that she
heard. "Agent Scully? Put Mulder on,
please."

"Oh," she replied in surprise. "I'm
sorry, sir. He's not here." 

"Where is he?"

"Um..." Scully thought of stalling, but
gave it up. "To be honest, I don't know.
He's usually here long before this."

"Did he call in sick? Maybe his mother
has had some problems again."

She hadn't thought of that. "I'll check."

"Can you find the report on that Indiana
cult, Scully?" Skinner knew well the mess
that was Mulder's office. "I need to see
it."

"As a matter of fact, I was about to
bring up a stack of paperwork which we
finished yesterday, sir. That one's in
there."

"Very good, Agent Scully. See if you can
find your partner, too, please."

After she'd hung up, she called the
personnel office, finding there'd been no
call from Mulder. She tried his cell
phone next, letting it ring countless
times. When there was no answer, she
shrugged it off;  this wouldn't be the
first time he might have left it home by
mistake. She delivered the paperwork to
Skinner's secretary, ran some errands
around the building, and found herself
back in the still-empty office. Again,
she tried Mulder's phones, getting no
response.

She left him a note on his desk--just in
case--and headed toward her car. Now that
the time was past ten, Mulder's tardiness
or absence had her worried. There were
other possibilities, of course. Maybe
something had happened to his mother, and
he'd not had time to let anyone know.
Maybe he was hanging out with The Lone
Gunmen for God-only-knew-what-reason.
Maybe he really had found some
stripper...

After she parked outside his apartment
building, Scully first noticed Mulder's
car. She peered through the driver's-side
window but saw nothing unusual. Next, she
saw two maintenance workers hosing down
the sidewalk to the entrance. She jogged
toward them, observing water tinged with
solvent and red, flowing down the steps
toward the gutter. There were particles
of glass in the mixture and some
alongside in the grass.

One of the workers, a thin, old man with
thick glasses and few teeth, turned to
her as she touched his arm. "We're
cleaning up here, Miss. You can still get
inside, though."

"Cleaning up what?" asked Scully, afraid
she already knew the answer.

"Gotta be blood," the old man said.
"There was a lot of it. Glass, too.
Broken bottle. Looks to me like somebody
got beaned with an empty Jim Beam." He
laughed at his own joke, and his friend,
another older fellow, joined in.

Scully rolled her eyes. "Do you know who
got hurt?"

Both men shook their heads. "Nah. Must've
happened last night. Somebody reported
the mess this morning, but there wasn't
anybody here."

"Was an ambulance called, do you know?
Any injury reported?"

"Not that we know of."

"How about--was there any blood in the
building?"

"We didn't see any, and none was
reported."

Scully thanked them and hurried toward
Mulder's apartment, taking the elevator
to the fourth floor. Her skin had gone
cold, her spine numb, immediately after
hearing of blood spilled the night
before. Maybe it wasn't Mulder's. Yet
maybe it was, and maybe he was hurt and
in need of medical attention. Or could he
be at a hospital? A police station?

She didn't even knock at number
forty-two; she used the extra key he'd
long ago given her and let herself in.
Again, no lights, and a quick search of
each room turned up no Mulder. And no
blood. In fact, no evidence that he'd
even been there in the last eighteen
hours.

She crossed the living room to his desk,
noting there were two phone messages. She
pushed the "play" button and listened.
"Fox?" Scully recognized Mrs. Mulder's
voice. "It's ten-thirty, Tuesday night.
You usually call me on Tuesdays. Oh well.
Hope you're having a good time. Call me
tomorrow."

The second message was the one Scully had
left him earlier. After it concluded, she
pressed the "save" button and left his
apartment.

As she headed down in the elevator, she
experienced a wave of jealousy. Maybe the
blood was someone else's, and Mulder had
taken her suggestion, gone out, been
picked up by some woman, and "gotten
lucky." She pulled out her cell phone,
called Headquarters, and requested
Mulder's extension, but there was no
answer. "Geeze, Mulder," she said under
her breath. She passed through the door
and went outside. "I turn down one dinner
invitation--" She stopped as she saw the
skinny old man behind the hedge,
retrieving something. When he stood up
and saw her, he raised the object.
Without going closer, she knew it was
Mulder's suit jacket. Her panic surged,
eradicating her jealousy.
  
"Guess somebody did get hurt." The old
man shook his head, examining his find.

Scully, sagging as fingers of chill
gripped her body, dazedly walked over and
took the jacket from him. She recalled
that her partner hadn't been wearing it
when they'd left the Hoover Building;
he'd carried it, tossing it into his car
in the garage. She examined it now,
finding blood spattered on the neck,
lapels, and shoulder, and she suddenly
felt very ill.

X         X         X
     
The first thing that hit Mulder as he
regained consciousness was a heartless
wave of nausea which made him choke back
bile. He opened his eyes but could see
nothing though he wasn't sure if it was
his vision or just that he was in a dark
place. His head pounded and ached. It
made him dizzy. He tried to lift it, but
a blinding flash of white accompanied by
piercing pain made him lower it again
instantly. The left side of his face felt
tight and itchy, and he realized some
dried substance seemed to cover it and
that side of his head.

He felt groggy, unable to focus his
attention on anything other than the
chaos in his stomach and the agony behind
his eyes. He didn't know where he was or
how he'd gotten there. In fact, the last
thing he did remember was getting out of
his car and stepping onto the sidewalk
outside his building. How long ago had
that been? What time was it now? What
day?

He grunted as he again swallowed bile and
realized he felt too miserable for this
to be a bad dream. Terrible cold gripped
him--a bone cold that no blanket would
help.  He'd felt this way before, and he
could hear Scully saying, "Mulder, you're
in shock. You have to keep warm." He
shivered uncontrollably and tried to curl
himself so as to concentrate body heat,
but he couldn't. Nothing moved.

He was lying half on his right side, half
on his back. For some reason, his arms
were stretched tight and straight above
his head. His wrists ached, and as he
tried to pull his arms down, he
discovered his wrists were tied to
something in the darkness.

He tried to pry himself to a sitting
position by using his feet, but he
discovered they were tied, too. He was
positioned like a downed human hammock.

Mulder suddenly felt sicker than he had
before. Where was he? Who had tied him,
and why? He blinked himself into as full
a consciousness as what he now figured
was a concussion would allow, and still
he saw nothing but darkness. He could
smell dirt--and blood--and he became
aware of sounds--footsteps and the
scraping of chair legs--on a floor
somewhere above him. He knew he wasn't
outdoors, then, and surmised he must be
captive in somebody's cellar.

"Anybody here?" he asked loudly enough to
be heard within ten feet, but there was
no answer. He debated yelling louder, but
he wasn't ready yet to meet his captor or
captors; he had to have better awareness
before that, so he chose to try to think
while he could.

Through the fog in his mind, Mulder tried
to sort out whether any existing case he
and Scully were working might have
prompted this kind of retaliation, but
really, there was none. Then he
considered old cases--people he'd helped
put away who might have escaped or been
paroled, or simply someone who might have
gone unpunished who'd now resurfaced. Of
course, he couldn't vouch for them all,
but no one came to Mulder's mind
presently. And he hadn't stepped on any
government toes lately, so he doubted
they were responsible. Who then? Why?

Since no answers came to him, he decided
to test his bonds and to try to guage his
surroundings. Due to the damp, cold, and
grit he felt beneath him, he knew he was
lying on a dirt floor. He lifted his legs
with great effort, and found that, at
most, he had a two-inch range of
movement. They were tied to something on
the floor, and no matter how hard he
strained to pull, the ropes were secured
perfectly. His hands were bound just as
securely, but to perhaps a ring imbedded
in the wall, allowing them even less
range of movement and keeping them above
his head so they were nearly numb. With
his fingers, he could feel the half-inch
thick, heavy rope and the superbly tied
knots at his wrists. Without some sort of
tool, there was no way he could escape
his bonds by himself.

And on who else could he depend? He'd
been kidnapped, and that was never done
for no reason. Scully would obviously do
what she could, but the FBI wouldn't give
in to ransom demands, nor would Mulder
have advocated such a thing. In the back
of his mind was a chilling thought: no
one would kidnap an FBI agent and hope to
release him alive; his captors had
already decided his fate.

Fighting a rising wave of panic, Mulder
summoned all his energy to lift his head,
again fighting back nausea and possible
blackout to raise himself as far as
possible. He stared into the darkness,
giving his eyes time to adjust, but there
was no source of even faint light--no
cracks in doorways, no air vents, no
partial windows. Nothing. It was as if he
were totally blind. And he realized with
sudden extra horror that he'd not been
gagged--which meant there was no fear of
him being heard by anyone. No other
houses, no other people nearby. If he
wanted to live, he would have to invent
an escape of which even Houdini would be
in awe.

Mulder let his head and shoulders down,
faster than he should have, his head
clunking hard on the dirt floor, shooting
torture through his brain. He squeezed
his eyes closed, panting from exertion,
until the torment passed. He didn't want
to play this game, wished whoever had him
had just let him go home to watch
Godzilla as he'd planned. But he was
trapped, and he'd already been hurt, and
he shuddered at the prospects of what was
to come.

Suddenly, Mulder heard a phone ring, a
chair scrape the floor above, and one set
of footsteps walking maybe seven feet
above him. He could make out three
different male voices, but he'd no idea
what they were saying. Mulder scowled at
the three-to-one ratio--not even that
when he remembered ropes and a
concussion. He decided to give in to the
grogginess still menacing his mind and to
rest while he could. He closed his eyes,
trying to forget his very precarious
predicament, and trying to imagine
himself being warm.

He'd just started to doze when he heard a
door open, and a beam of light spilled
into the basement darkness.

X         X         X
*********************
End Redemption (01 of 08)

Redemption (Part 02 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Scully followed the maintenance worker
toward Mulder's building. She'd asked him
to show her the discarded, bloodied,
broken glass found on the sidewalk that
morning, and he was about to take her to
the dumpster out back. She hoped there
might at least be one salvageable print
that could help lead her to Mulder. She
knew she also had to have the blood
tested to be sure it was that of her
partner, though she had no doubts. Then
she'd go to Skinner. She'd need manpower
to canvass the neighborhood for
witnesses.

She was filled with guilt, wondering if
Mulder would have been taken if she'd
gone with him the night before instead of
going to see her brother. She'd never
know, of course, but guilt plus fear and
horror were making investigating on her
own very difficult.

She smoothed her hand down her new brown
suit slacks, trying to dry her palm. It
was a rare sunny and warm day for
January, the kind of day Mulder would
have savored for some laps around the
Georgetown U. track. For a moment, she
could imagine his long, lithe body in
dark sweats as he ran, his movements
strong, graceful, and fluid. She closed
her eyes, fighting for composure,
wondering how and where he was.

"We can go right through the building,
Miss," the old man was saying. "Be
quicker 'n goin' round."

Scully was about to reply when her cell
phone rang. She grabbed at it--such a
habit when it was usually Mulder calling
to confer on a case. "Hang on a minute,"
she mumbled to her maintenance guide.
Then she raised the phone to her ear.
"Scully."

Someone on the other end took a long
breath. "Ms. Scully," said a voice
electronically altered. "May I compliment
you on how very lovely you look today,
and commend you on finding your partner's
suitcoat?"

Scully instantly spun, trained eyes
searching for whoever had to be watching
her in the five minutes she'd been
holding Mulder's jacket. "Who is this?"
was all she could say.

"I realize you're going to try now to
find fingerprints on glass, but really,
it's a waste of time. I assure you they
wore gloves when they attacked your
partner."

Scully swallowed hard; she wanted to keep
the fear from her voice. "I assume
Mulder's alive," she replied. "Otherwise
you wouldn't bother to call me."

"You're an intelligent FBI agent, Ms.
Scully. Yes, he's alive--for now. We'll
keep him that way as long as you do what
we ask."

Scully wished she had a way of tracing
this call, but she didn't, and no matter
in what direction she turned, she
couldn't see anyone who might be watching
her. "Who are 'they'?" she asked,
stalling, hoping soon to come out of the
shock of talking to Mulder's kidnapper.
She needed to concentrate.

"Oh, you'll probably find out within the
day."

"How?" Scully murmured.

"We'll most likely have to tell you, to
get you to do what we ask," the voice
replied in feigned patience.

"And what is that?"

"All in good time, pretty lady. All in
good time. However, for the present,
let's have you hold off on calling in any
local authorities or the FBI, okay? This
matter--what *we* want--and what *you*
want, which, I assume, is Mr. Mulder's
safe return to you--can be handled just
between you and me. A very amicable
agreement--"

"Mulder's blood spilled all over the
sidewalk doesn't sound very amicable to
me," Scully interrupted bitterly.

Again, the caller took a deep breath.
"Yes, I can understand your point of
view. But you see, I need you to take us
very, very seriously, and had we just
asked him to get in the car, I doubt he'd
have obliged, just as I'm sure you'd not
be listening to me now if you didn't fear
for his life. Sometimes force is
necessary, Ms. Scully. Most of the time,
playing by the rules gets one nowhere."

Mulder's philosophy. Scully looked up at
the sun without seeing it. "So what do
you want me to do?" she asked, anger
replacing fear.

"Just take things easy. This afternoon
we'll call you with details, but for now,
don't let anyone know Mr. Mulder's
been...abducted; don't let anyone know
you've been contacted. Fox Mulder's
disappearances without leave aren't
terribly uncommon, I've learned, so I'm
sure you can make up some excuse--some
case he's mavericking. And we'll be in
touch, okay?"

"Wait!" Scully commanded. "I want to talk
to Mulder. Do you understand me? I want
to know he's alive--or you can kiss any
of this ransom crap good-bye."

"Oh no, no, no, Ms. Scully," the voice
mock-scolded. "We're asking for a favor,
not for ransom. But I'll see what I can
do about having your partner converse
with you. I suppose it'll depend on
whether he's regained consciousness--they
were a little over-zealous in striking
him, I'm afraid."

"You bastard," Scully spat.

"Now, now. That's no way to open amicable
negotiations." The voice paused, waiting
to see if she'd reply. When she didn't,
it instructed, "Stay by the phone, Ms.
Scully. We'll be in touch. Oh--and one
more thing--we are watching you. You'd be
foolish to think we weren't. Should you
attempt to call the authorities or to
inform Assistant Director Skinner, we
*will* know, and unfortunately, your
partner will die." The voice laughed.
"Spooky, isn't it?"

Scully heard the click of the other
phone, ending the conversation and
deadening the line. "Let's go," she said
to the old man, putting her phone away,
and wondering how she could not tell
Skinner, wondering how she could rescue
Mulder on her own, wondering if she'd
ever see her partner alive again.

X         X         X

Mulder's eyes blinked as soon as the
flashlight beam centered on his face. The
white light's focused brightness
prevented him from seeing any of the
cellar and possible escape routes...or
the man who now stood above him and
seemed to be surveying Mulder's condition
while nudging him with a leather boot.
The agent averted his eyes from the beam,
but mumbled, "Funny thing happened to me
on the way home; I don't think I'm in
Kansas anymore. You wouldn't know
anything about that, would you?"

His captor knelt, one knee resting on the
agent's chest. Suddenly, his hand reached
out and grabbed Mulder by the hair,
lifting his head high enough to tie a
blindfold around it and over his eyes.

Mulder couldn't fight and didn't want to
show fear. "Come on," he said
sarcastically, grimacing against the
pain, "as if it wasn't dark enough
already." Head let down hard, he next
felt the ropes around his wrists being
tugged and realized the main rope had
been untied from the wall. His captor
roughly pulled him to a sitting position
and wrapped the rope around Mulder's arms
and waist--his wrists still bound
tightly. Fighting more nausea and
lightheadedness from being upright, the
agent gasped, "You know, even some of the
worst motels I've stayed at served meals.
Can I get room service?"

The kidnapper was now working at his
feet, and Mulder felt a tiny bit of
relief as the ropes slid off his ankles.
He considered kicking out, knocking the
captor over and taking his chances, but
he needed a better idea of the building's
lay out before he could hope to escape.
And even though feeling was again
flooding into his arms, he couldn't move
them. For now, he focused on what the
next few minutes would bring. "Are we
going somewhere?" he asked in the
silence. "Take me to Mc Donalds--I'll
buy."

"I've got your weapon pointed right
between your eyes, smartass," his
opponent snarled. "Don't try anything.
Now get up."

Mulder figured the owner of the voice to
be in his twenties, not very mature and
maybe a bit nervous. "Hey, know the
punishment for kidnapping a federal
agent, kid? It ain't pretty. Get me out
of here now, and we can work out
something easy for you."

"Shut up!" growled the captor. "We know
what we're doing. We'll take the risks.
Now get up!"

Clumsily off-balance, Mulder turned until
he was on his knees, then shakily stood.
He was close to passing out; he had to
have lost a lot of blood. That coupled
with his obscured eyesight made him
swoon.

"Move!" The kidnapper put the muzzle of
Mulder's gun to the back of the agent's
head.

Mulder catalogued this captor as "A" and
noticed the voice had come from not too
far below his shoulder; the kid wasn't
much taller than five feet, eight inches.
Feeling the gun jam into his skull, he
uncertainly moved his right foot forward,
then his left. He counted his steps,
figuring he was heading for the stairway
he'd heard A descend. After sixteen
steps, his foot hit a stair, and he
asked, "Are we almost there yet, Dad?
I've got to go to the bathroom."

His answer was to be shoved hard, causing
him to stumble and fall on the wooden
steps, his knees hitting hard, his head
hitting harder. He involuntarily gasped
out in pain as he again felt white-hot
flashes sear through his brain. Breathing
heavily, he bit his lower lip to stop
himself from moaning. "A" let him lay
there a moment, but then grabbed the back
of his shirt collar and pulled him to his
feet. Mulder felt the blindfold becoming
soggy on the left side of his head and
knew the bleeding had resumed. He was
extremely dizzy now and wanted nothing
more for the moment than to sleep.

"Move!" barked A.

Mulder sighed, weakly replying, "You're
gonna have to help me out here, buddy.
You ever go up these steps with your eyes
closed?"

Reluctantly, the captor clutched the rope
securing Mulder's arms with his free hand
and half pushed, half guided the agent up
ten stairs.

Brightness suddenly seeped into the
blindfold as Mulder reached the first
floor. He instantly relished the warmth
of a nearby space heater. "A" continued
to guide him twelve more steps, all over
linoleum, and then they stopped. The door
was closed behind them, and Mulder was
shoved into a straight-backed wooden
chair. Being off his feet was a relief,
and he heard himself panting from the
exertion of the trip upstairs. As he
slowly calmed, he became aware that more
people than he and A were in the room.
"Somebody want to tell me what's going
on?" he finally asked. To his left, he
heard someone shift position, perhaps
crossing his leg. Mulder knew A was still
behind him, gun still pointed at the
captive's head. But he heard footsteps
approach him from the front.

"Hello, Agent Mulder," said the deep,
forty-ish voice. Mulder catalogued him as
"B". "I regret we have to meet this way,
but we need your help--well, not
necessarily your help. We need your--uh--
presence."

"So I guessed," Mulder replied. "Now tell
me why."

"Only on a need-to-know basis," B told
him. "You're not here to solve anything
for us; we're hoping that those who can,
however, will want you back badly enough
to do so."

Mulder forced a laugh. "If you know
anything about me, you know that list is
almost non-existent."

"Ah, but it's quality we're after, not
quantity. Agent Scully's help will be
quite sufficient," the man mused.

"Don't count on it," Mulder replied,
sorry to hear his partner's direct
involvement in this confirmed. "Scully's
FBI first. She won't give in to demands."

"Perhaps you underestimate her," B
countered.

"Perhaps *you* do," Mulder rejoined.

B seemed to contemplate this as the
person to Mulder's left got to his feet.

"Let's cut the crap and get on with it,"
C said to B. His voice was high-pitched
but confident and seething. "It's time."

"Quiet!" B admonished. Then he returned
to overly pleasant tones. "It was nice of
you to donate your cell phone for our
use, Agent Mulder. And both your
weapons."

"I'm a real nice guy," Mulder intoned,
hearing B dialing.

"And popular. This was ringing quite a
bit this morning." There was a pause, and
then B's voice brightened as if speaking
to a long-lost friend. "Agent Scully?"

As Mulder's head throbbed, he had mixed
emotions at hearing Scully's name. He was
glad to have her in the room, so to
speak, but he loathed having to put her
through this horror.

"We've been told you wanted to speak with
your partner," B was saying. "Keep it
short. This is his phone, by the way. No
sense in trying to trace the call. And
our friend will contact you later with
the details you need."

Suddenly B shoved the phone against the
left side of Mulder's head, nearly
imbedding it in his ear."Don't get cute,"
B warned him.

Mulder swallowed hard, and he tried to
calm his breathing. Much went through his
mind quickly--what to say, how to help
her. Or how to warn her off.

"Mulder?"

Her voice was like novocaine to the gash
in his head. "Scully?" he replied,
trying to sound normal. He paused,
picturing her pretty face in happier
times. But he could sense her dread, and
lines of worry creased the familiar,
lovely features his imagination had
conjured. "I didn't get to see Godzilla.
Did you tape it?"

"Mulder, are you okay? I went to your
apartment; I saw the blood. Are you badly
hurt?"

He could picture her concerned face; he
wondered where she was. "I'm okay. A
little sore maybe."

"Can you tell me anything?"

Mulder had already worked out his code;
he hoped she'd understand it. "Scully, I
feed my fish three times a day--can you
do that for me? I don't think I'll be
home. I don't know where I left the fish
food, though. Maybe under the bookshelf--
you know, on the bottom? You should be
able to find it; there's nothing else
there."

A pause ensued--maybe she was taking
notes; maybe she was trying to determine
if the knock on his head had eradicated
what sanity he'd had left. She finally
said, "Okay. Look, I'm going to do
whatever I can for you, Mulder. I'll get
you out of this. Somehow."

But he shook his head. "No, Scully. It
won't work. Don't play their game.
They--" The phone was yanked away, and
Mulder felt himself being shoved from the
chair. Unable to break his fall, he
crashed onto the floor hard. Before he
could register that pain, a foot suddenly
smashed into his ribs, knocking the air
from him, causing him to double up. He
writhed, trying to squirm away. The foot
pounded into him again--and then
again--crashing into his bound wrists,
his legs, his chest. Weakened and
helpless, he could do nothing more than
suffer the blows.

"You fool!" C was screaming above him.
"Do you want to die? She *will* play our
'game', or you'll never see daylight
again!"

"That is enough!" B had stepped between
them and pulled his accomplice away from
Mulder's gasping, injured body. "You kill
him now, and we don't have much to
bargain with. Go on out and calm
yourself."

As C slammed the door behind him, Mulder
was lifted roughly back into the chair.
He tried to sit up straight, in defiance,
but there was too much pain, too little
breath, and an overwhelming weakness. He
slumped toward his knees, his body
stinging.

B's voice was suddenly more stern. "Mr.
Mulder, you're at our mercy. It won't pay
to get us angry. Especially our friend; 
he's a bit short-tempered--as you may
have noticed. Should you be allowed to
speak to your partner again, don't tell
her to ignore us. That's not what we
want--nor do you if you plan to stay
alive. What we need--"

"Shove it," Mulder growled.

B heaved a heavy sigh. "Well, obviously,
we'll have to work on gaining your
cooperation. And we will eventually gain
it, I promise you. The proud fall hard,
Agent Mulder, but they do fall. We'll
allow you one amenity today--how about a
bathroom privilege? But should you want
more, such as food or water, you'll have
to earn them."

Mulder felt too miserable to argue. His
whole body burned with pain, and his mind
threatened to black out. He'd never stand
a chance of escaping if he stayed in this
condition. Yet what were his odds anyway?
He debated letting B kill him now and
getting it over with.

X         X         X

Scully sat in Mulder's office, dazed. It
had been good to hear him joke, yet she
knew he'd done it to relieve her. She was
dismayed at the abrupt end to the
conversation and wondered how dearly he'd
paid for trying to warn her off. She also
felt anger that she couldn't use the
Bureau's resources to find her partner--
what if another agent was her
"watcher"?--and that Mulder's captors
still hadn't told her what "favor" they
wanted from her. Even that would give her
more to go on, to work with than what she
had at the moment.

She'd just started to think about fish
food when the office phone rang. She
answered with her name.

"Hey, sis," Bill greeted her. "Have you
had lunch yet?"

"Bill--" Scully replied, surprised. She
didn't have time for him, for this. "I--I
can't take time for lunch with you today
after all. I'm sorry. Something's come
up."

Her brother paused. "Dana," he finally
said, his voice showing great annoyance,
"I said I'd talk to you today about
that--uh--problem I have. With the
Confederacy? Heidi and I are eager to get
it taken care of. I *need* your help."

Scully closed her eyes, trying to find
patience. "I'm sorry, Bill. I completely
forgot. I've had...a hectic morning."

Bill's anger erupted. "Can't you see that
this is what worries Mom and me? You may
still be in remission, Dana, but the
pressure this kook Mulder puts on you
isn't worth it! Who knows what this kind
of stress could do to your condition?
Damn it, sis, why are you so gullible
when it comes to him?"

"Bill!" she nearly screamed into the
receiver. "I won't listen to this! You
won't insult him like that to me. Not if
you want my help--"

"What's ol' Spooky got you chasing today,
Dana? Little green men again? Ghosts?
Bigfoot? How about Elvis?" His tone
became sardonic. "How do you explain your
work to other people? I would think you'd
be ashamed to admit to any of it. Maybe
Dad would have been a little happier with
your switch from medicine to the FBI if
you'd at least have stuck to being a
respectable investigator instead of being
kooky Spooky's little assistant!"

Tears brimmed in Scully's eyes. It was
too much--Mulder's abduction, Bill's lack
of respect for her and the good work she
did--and then to top it off with
reference to her father's disappointment
in her--too much. "You're being an ass,"
she quickly spat. "And I haven't got the
time or tolerance to listen to it. Find
yourself a *respectable* agent and get
him or her to listen to your problems,
Bill. If I'm such a disappointment--such
a shame to the family--then I wouldn't
want to embarrass you further by doing
any investigation for you!" She slammed
the receiver back into its cradle, bit
her lower lip, and stared at the wall
until she regained her composure. She let
her head fall back, and in her mind she
told Mulder, "I didn't have to tape
Godzilla; I just talked to the monster
himself!"

She rose and began to pace about the
office, her mind running the gauntlet
between Mulder, Bill, and her own father,
flooded with memories and thoughts but
unable to focus on any. The phone's
ringing brought her back to full
awareness, and she grabbed the receiver.
"Scully."

Bill sounded sheepish. "That was wrong of
me. I'm sorry. I'm under a lot of
pressure right now. This testimony I'm
going to give...well, it's got me a bit
unnerved. I know you're good at what you
do, sis. That's why I'm asking for your
help. Could you tear yourself away from
your partner--"

"For your information, Bill, Mulder's--
not even here today," she told him, her
tone of voice assuring him she'd not
totally forgiven his outburst. "And
you'll have to wait until I can focus on
your Confederacy."

"How about dinner? I'll stop by your
place at, what, seven? Okay?"

She sighed. She knew her brother and his
persistence; if she didn't agree to
dinner, he'd just continue to call. And
she had to admit that having company
would be helpful to her own peace of
mind. "All right," she finally told him.
"But one negative word about Mulder,
and--"

"I promise. I won't even mention his
name."

After Scully hung up, she checked her
watch and found it was already past
three. She was fidgety, waiting for the
call that would supposedly tell her how
she could get Mulder back. The bloodied
remnants of glass she'd pulled from the
dumpster, slipped into an evidence bag,
and smuggled under Mulder's coat and into
her car, had exhibited no prints--she'd
dusted them herself. They'd been shards
from an ordinary whiskey bottle, so she
couldn't even trace that back to the
purchaser. The only information the glass
and jacket had confirmed was that the
blood was definitely Mulder's type. The
phone call was going to be her only hope.

Sometime between it and seven o'clock,
she'd have to go back to Alexandria to
feed Mulder's fish, though she knew he
didn't feed them three times a day--

She stopped in mid-pace. He knew that,
too. Three? Her mind clicked. "Three
kidnappers," she whispered. The fish
food..."under," "bottom," "nothing else
there"--this was where he was being held.
She pondered aloud, "A basement or
cellar? Most likely in the middle of
nowhere?" It wasn't much, but she
realized it was probably all he knew at
this point. His "I don't think I'll be
home" now chilled her as she realized
what else he meant. 

The cell phone's ringing made her jump.
She was on it in a second. "This is
Scully," she stated urgently.

The electronically altered voice said,
"Ms. Scully; that was quick. Eager to see
your partner soon?" There was a slight
chuckle. "It's nice to speak with you
again. I'm happy to hear that you've
complied with my request this morning. If
things continue like this, perhaps Agent
Mulder could be back with you by
Saturday."

"I hope you're right," she said, clicking
on a tiny phone recorder. "Let's talk
about that favor you want."

"Most certainly. It's really quite minor,
my dear. A very simple thing to ask, and
a very simple thing to do. You see,
someone close to you--"

"Let's not play games," Scully hissed.
Her anger at the situation, at the
caller's slowness, at the idea of
Mulder's death, and at her brother's
earlier words had pushed her into
fighting mode. "Be specific."

The caller paused, somewhat surprised at
her taking the offensive. "All right.
Your brother, Ms. Scully, is about to
make a major mistake by implicating a
group and, more importantly, a senator,
to a senate sub-committee. Do you know
anything about that?"

Scully was stunned. This was all taking
place because of Bill? She stammered,
"Y-Y-Yes, he mentioned that much to me."

"Yes, so I feared. And he wants you to
look into the allegations--to be sure of
their validity?"

"Something like that."

"And therein lies your favor to me, Agent
Scully," the captor said. "I need you to
convince your brother there's nothing to
his information, nothing to substantiate
his claims. In other words, I want him to
realize he'd only be ruining his own
career by giving that sub-committee
false, misleading, inaccurate
information. Do you follow me, Ms.
Scully?"

She found breathing a difficult task. "In
other words, you want me to hide the
truth."

"Truth is relative, my dear. The Deep
Waters Confederacy only does what needs
to be done--what is right to protect the
environment."

"And you're punishing Mulder for this?"
she asked incredulously. "He doesn't even
know anything about what Bill told me."

"Irrelevant details, madam," the voice
scolded. "We took Mulder to make this
persuasive to *you*. If your brother is
convinced his information is wrong, he'll
be forced to cancel his testimony."

Scully swallowed. "So if Bill doesn't
testify, Mulder is returned?"

"Well, perhaps. Your brother's testimony
is scheduled for Friday morning. The
hearing will be over by afternoon. But he
also has certain evidence which we need
returned to us. No duplicates can be
made, and I'm trusting you to take care
of that. If the committee fails to find
any reasons to investigate the senator
and Deep Waters Confederacy, I'll assume
you've granted me this favor. I'll call
you Friday evening to make arrangements
to meet you on Saturday--after your
brother has taken off for California.
Bring the evidence, and Agent Mulder will
be returned to you at that time."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Scully
asked.

"You don't." The caller sounded annoyed.
"But what other choice do you have? If 
Mulder is not enough incentive for you,
may I say that we know where your mother
lives? We know all about Tara and that
lovely newborn son." He paused, letting
this sink in. When he spoke again, he'd
relaxed. "I warn you, Agent Scully. Don't
tell your brother--or anyone else--what
you're up to. We are watching--and
listening--and your partner will suffer
if you breach our agreement." With that,
the connection went dead.

Scully spent the rest of the afternoon
checking the office, the phones, her
purse, and even her person for bugs and
found none. All the time, frustration,
fear and possibilities for what she could
do to resolve the whole situation ran
through her mind.

X         X         X

Mulder was back in the cellar, bound
hopelessly again, his head and body still
reeling. After B had finished, A had been
ordered to allow Mulder his "one
amenity"--a major feat when blindfolded
and tied, one hand freed only partially.
Then A had mostly dragged Mulder back
down the stairs, re-tied him, and removed
the blindfold in the darkness.

Mulder still had no idea what time of day
it was, but for now, he'd given up
caring. He was unbearably thirsty, and
had his ribs not throbbed so much, he
might have felt hungry, too; he and
Scully had only had sandwiches for lunch
and had skipped dinner. His mind felt
groggy, and he was aware of his body
shaking--from the cold of the cellar, the
cold of shock, the cold of apprehension.

He'd vowed to himself that B's claim to
eventually gain Mulder's cooperation
would never come true, but he could
already feel the temptation to break that
promise. Beatings, the lack of food and
water, being kept in constant darkness,
being constantly bound, were all steps
used in breaking a captive's will.
Holocaust victims, POWs, and certainly
other kidnapping victims could all
testify to that. The key to surviving
physically--and mentally--was to not
succumb to those temptations. Mulder
hoped he could remain alert and strong
enough to do that.

After a while, awareness dawned that
there were no more noises upstairs, save
the low hum of what he assumed was a
generator; having electricity strung to
an old, dilapidated place like this would
have aroused curiosity, but surely
kidnappers couldn't be expected to
operate without heat or lights! Mulder
decided night must finally be upon them.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out
the pain, but instead, it overwhelmed
him, and mercifully, he passed out.

X         X         X
******************
End Redemption (Part 02 of 08)

Redemption (Part 03 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Scully couldn't believe the irony of the
situation. She sat in one of D.C.'s finer
restaurants near a table she'd once
shared with a one-time date, Rob. She'd
met him at a birthday party given for her
godson and had gladly accepted his offer
for spending an evening with him. Those
had been her early days with Mulder when
she'd still had hope for--and desired--a
fulfilling private life to parallel her
FBI work. That evening, though, she'd
half-listened to Rob's stories of raising
his son and thought how mundane it all
sounded compared with her work with
Mulder. Because of her partner's wild
theories and weird pursuits, she
willingly admitted her job was never
dull, nor her life. And that night she'd
spent most of the time thinking of
Mulder. He'd even beeped her about the
Jersey Devil case before dessert, and
she'd welcomed the chance to leave Rob to
call him.

And now she was half-listening to her
brother's words about the fanatical
environmental group while worrying about
her partner at the same time.

She and Heidi had both ordered salad, and
though it was delicious, Scully found it
repulsed her. She wondered what Mulder
had been given to eat. She vowed that if
she ever saw him again, she'd take him to
dinner. To hell with the rain check.

"Dana? You with me?" Bill was asking. He
touched her shoulder.

Scully half-smiled sheepishly. "Yes.
Sorry, Bill."

"You seem as though you've got too much
to think about tonight," Heidi said,
though her concern sounded too fake to
the trained FBI agent.

Heidi had been a dinner guest Scully
hadn't anticipated, and try as she did,
she still couldn't warm to her brother's
consultant. She sipped some wine. "You
could say that," she replied.

"Maybe it would help if you talked about
it." Heidi looked across the table.
"Don't you think so, Bill?"

Before he could speak, Scully said,
"No...no, it's not something I can
discuss outside the Bureau. No, we're
here tonight to hear your news. Go on.
I'll stay focused."

Her brother cleared his throat. "Well, as
I was saying, Deep Waters Confederacy
seems to be attacking all the small
fishermen in that area. They claim larger
marine life is being adversely affected
by their fishing practices."

"Is it?"

"No more than it ever has been. Their
main concern seems to be protecting
swordfish."

Scully scowled. "I thought that was only
a problem in the North Atlantic."

"Swordfish are swordfish," Heidi
bristled. "I don't think we want to see
them doomed to extinction anywhere."

"True," Bill replied. "But there are
legal ways to prevent that--and they
don't involve the shedding of human
blood." He winked at his consultant. "As
you can see, Dana, Heidi's true love is
the sea and its creatures."

Scully sat up a bit straighter, not
wanting to "see" anything about Heidi.
"And the DWC has done what--
specifically?"

Her brother sobered as he returned to his
main topic. "The DWC have obliterated
four fishing boats in the past two months
using explosives. Dana, at least
thirty-two people have died in those
incidents. I'm telling you, this group
has no conscience--they care more about
fish than they do people."

Scully nodded, stunned. Bill's last
statement merely confirmed what she
already knew. Thirty-two dead? What would
one more death mean to these people? "Why
not report this to the authorities?" she
asked, hoping despair hadn't crept into
her voice. "Can't local police do
anything?"

"That's where the Senator comes in. He's
been channelling funds to the DWC under
the guise of them being an environmental
research group. Dana, the money's paying
for their whole operation. It's also
finding its way into the pockets of
Mexican police to keep them quiet.
Dashmeil's sub-committee deals with
environmental research. One of my
superiors recommended I go before it
because of jurisdictional problems as
well as the Senator's ethics."

Scully gave up on the salad, pushing her
plate away. She felt ill for hers was not
an easy position. She wasn't about to
surrender Mulder's life, but she couldn't
let murderous fanatics and a traitorous
senator go free. "What evidence do you
have of this, Bill?" she asked quietly,
still hoping he was misinformed.

He reached inside his dress uniform and
pulled out a small manilla envelope.
"This," he said gravely as he looked
around at the other tables before handing
it to Scully.

She also surveilled the other diners,
mostly Washington's upper middle class.
Her eyes stopped at two different
tables--one directly beside them at which
two men sat, and one two tables behind
Bill but within hearing distance. At the
first, both men could easily have been
government agents; they had the slick,
professional look she'd come to recognize
and adopt. At the second were three men,
possibly of Mexican descent. Could one of
them be her "watcher"?

Concealing it as much as possible, Scully
opened the envelope and removed its
contents. There were two photographs,
both taken through a telephoto lens.
"Senator Ian Greeley?" she exclaimed
under her breath. The robust fifty-
seven-year-old, white haired Senator was
shown handing a packet to a forty-ish,
smartly dressed man near a beachfront.

The second photo showed the younger man
with two others. Each of them had the
same rugged, outdoors appearance. They
stood near a dusty, blue van and carried
backpacks.

"The other man is Richard Faulkner,
leader of the DWC. He did a stint in the
army--demolitions expert. He was also
educated at UC Berkley. Ph. D. in marine
biology," Bill told her. "Bit of an
anomaly, really. A very cultured man with
the ethics of a parasite."

Dana looked up at her brother
skeptically. "This can't be your only
evidence."

He blushed. "My superior says I really
only need to raise the issue; if it's
convincing enough, the sub-committee can
have its investigators start digging. But
the facts are that the Senator has been
seen in San Diego with Faulkner. I also
have these..." He handed her a larger
envelope from the small briefcase he'd
brought with him. "They're signed
affadavits from the fishermen's family
members saying the police and local
officials refuse to do any serious
investigating into the deaths of their
loved ones."

"Just seeing Greeley there doesn't tie
him to the police," Scully warned him.

"Some of those affadavits also say
Greeley's name was mentioned by some of
the officials as launching his own
investigation, but it's never been done.
How would those police even know
Greeley's name, Dana?"

Scully had to admit that though the
evidence was not solid, it might be
enough to get someone to look into the
situation. "And what do you expect me to
do?" she asked.	

Bill smiled, assured his sister was going
to help him. "I'd appreciate it if you
could-- unofficially, of course--see what
you can turn up on Greeley, Faulkner,
and--there are some other names listed on
a paper in that little envelope. You
know, things like criminal records--and
maybe phone records?"

Scully shook her head. "There's no way I
could legally get phone records without
making this an official investigation."

Bill frowned. "Okay. Then whatever.
Anything you can find that can strengthen
my evidence."

His sister sat back in her chair, feeling
a chill running up her spine. "You expect
me to create a case for you by Friday
morning?"

"I was hoping so, yes--" Bill stopped and
swallowed, his expression turning to
wariness. "How'd you know it's Friday
morning? I never told you that. Very few
people know my testimony has been
scheduled at all."

Scully suddenly drew a blank and simply
shrugged. "I can't tell you that."

He scowled, then sneered. "What? Was it
Mulder? I asked you not to say anything
to him about this. Damn. Maybe everyone
should call him 'Snoopy' instead of
'Spooky'."

"It wasn't him!" Dana said sharply. She
noticed a few heads turn her way, and she
rested her forehead on her palm for a few
moments, hoping they'd return to their
conversations. "I haven't spoken to
Mulder--he's miss--" she broke off,
regretting she'd slipped as much as she
had. She glanced at the diners she was
suspicious about but wasn't sure if they
were listening.

"What?" Bill asked sarcastically. "He's
missing? Was that what you were going to
say? Did those little green men finally
come for him? Or was it the men in the
white coats?"

Scully squeezed her eyes shut; tears
threatened. She didn't trust herself to
speak.

"Dana? Are you all right?" Heidi asked,
her hand covering Scully's and giving it
a little pat. "Is something wrong with
your partner? Bill, you shouldn't have
said that."

Bill touched Scully's shoulder again.
"Sis? Hey, look, I'm sorry. I know I
promised I wouldn't say anything about
him." When his sister didn't respond, he
cupped her chin in his hand, lifting.
When she opened her eyes, he saw they
were brimming with tears and refusing to
meet his. "What is it now? Something
*has* happened to Mulder?"

Scully had a brief lapse. The comfort the
two of them gave at that moment was
solace she'd craved all day. How she'd
wanted to confide in someone. Very
quietly, she replied, "Let's just say
your DWC's terrorism isn't limited to the
West Coast."

Her brother's jaw dropped, and Heidi
closed her eyes and looked away. "They've
kidnapped him, haven't they? To stop my
testimony." Bill's words were merely a
solemn, incredulous statement. When his
sister didn't contradict him, he breathed
a deep sigh. "Dana, I'm so sorry. Tell me
what you want me to do."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I
mean, you *have* to testify. Mulder's
obsession has always been the truth, and
even though it could mean his life, he'd
want you to tell it. It's obvious these
people must be stopped."

Heidi squeezed her hand. "Look, you two,
I think maybe this is something you need
to discuss alone. I'm going to visit the
ladies' room. Back in a few."

Brother and sister watched her go; then
Scully nervously noticed one of the suits
from the next table also rise and walk
toward the rest rooms. Surely he couldn't
have heard their conversation. Perhaps
she was too paranoid. She sighed, then
quietly told Bill the things the
kidnappers had requested and of her words
with Mulder earlier in the day.

Bill listened closely, his scowl
increasing. "Dana, can't you get help
from the Bureau?"

She shook her head. "Somehow Faulkner's
group is watching me. I don't know if
others in the FBI are involved. I don't
want to tell the wrong people."

"Why Mulder? Why would they take him?"

Scully shrugged. "Somebody's done some
homework--they knew you'd ask me to help
you; they knew Mulder's abduction
would...worry...me. Yours or Heidi's
disappearance would give this sub-
committee every reason to investigate.
Why didn't they take me and blackmail you
directly? Well, of course, you weren't
supposed to know anything about Mulder's
disappearance. In other words, I was just
supposed to sway or prevent your
testimony. Your knowledge of the
kidnapping would--and will--give you all
the more reason to testify. It
substantiates everything you'll be
saying."

Bill let his forefinger repeatedly trace
the brim of his glass. "Mulder's not my
favorite person, but he didn't deserve
this. Sis, I never meant to bring this
kind of trouble to either of you."

They sat quietly until the waiter came,
cleared their plates, and left the folder
with their bill. Heidi returned,
smoothing her dress over non-existent
hips.

Scully stood as she saw the suit also
returning. "Look, I really want to go
home and try to get some rest. Maybe
things will be more clear to me tomorrow.
Let me sleep on it tonight, okay?"

The car ride was also silent. Dana felt
relieved to have told someone of her
burden, and she was nearly certain no one
had overheard. She said her good-nights,
kissing Bill on the cheek after he walked
her to her door. Once inside, she checked
for messages and glanced at the clock.
Her partner had now been a captive for
twenty-six hours.

X         X         X

Mulder was vaguely aware of someone
working on his ropes again, and he tried
to rouse himself from the murkiness that
pain, bloodloss, and sleep forced over
his mind. He felt his feet come free, but
even if he'd wanted to kick out to injure
A, he could summon neither the energy nor
the awareness to do so.

The rope from his hands to the wall also
came loose, and he was jerked to a
sitting position. He groggily stared into
the darkness, dizzy and disoriented, as A
wrapped the ropes around Mulder's torso,
trapping his arms inside as in a straight
jacket. "A" pulled upward and hard on the
rope from the back.

"Get up," he commanded.

"Why? What's going on?" his captive
murmured as he struggled to keep his
balance.

"The boss wants you to be in a video he's
gotta make."

Mulder started to fall back to the dirt.
He was too tired, too weak to sit up. "A"
pulled on the ropes to keep him upright.

"But I'm not ready for my close-up, Mr.
DeMille," Mulder breathed.

"A" hauled him to his unsteady feet, but
the agent sagged, dropping to his knees.
"Move!" his captor screamed, tugging on
the rope again. "Get your ass up the
stairs!"

"You guys kicked it too much earlier,"
Mulder said as he weakly rose, falling
against A before getting his balance. He
was suddenly aware that he'd not been
blindfolded. He grasped at the fact and
fought for the consciousness he'd need to
note floorplan if he made it up the
stairs.

"A" stood him up, then shoved him
forward. Mulder tried desperately to
ignore pain and to keep his balance as
they slowly climbed to the first floor.

The brightness of the lights affronted
Mulder's eyes, and he squinted at the
dingy brown hallway that led past a tiny
bathroom. Old house. Not lived in, in a
long time. No furnishings. Cobwebs.
Footprints in gathered dust. Musty smell.
His kidnappers certainly weren't holding
him in the Ritz.

He was ushered into the first room to his
left. It was about ten feet by twelve
feet, with cracked, faded, and ripped
yellow wallpaper. The room's only window
had been smashed from the outside; the
shards of glass lay on the filthy wooden
floor. The window itself had been boarded
up and offered no glimpse of the outside.
The only light came from a bare bulb in
the ceiling. A straight-backed chair
stood in one corner, and on the wall near
the window, an old light chain dangled
from the ceiling. At its end, strangely
enough, horizontally hung a metal bar.

"A" shoved Mulder toward the further wall
then turned him around. The agent now saw
why he was without blindfold for A wore a
black ski-mask and sunglasses along with
a black windbreaker, black jeans, and
black boots. Two others, dressed
identically, entered the room. One
carried a video camera.

Mulder felt A unwinding the ropes from
his torso and watched as they were thrown
over the bar hanging from the chain. His
arms were hoisted over his head, and the
ropes were secured. His ankles were tied
together, and his feet just touched the
floor. He sort of dangled in front of his
three captors. Pain continued to flood
his body; the new position and the extra
strain it put on damaged, bruised muscles
and ribs was almost unbearable. He
groaned in spite of himself but struggled
to hold his head up. He stared into the
sunglasses of one man whose voice he
recognized as B's.

"Mr. Mulder, we're sorry we had to wake
you. To be honest, we're sorry we had to
wake, too. But there's been a
development--a problem that requires a
warning before it gets any worse."

Mulder swallowed hard, willing his eyes
to stay open. "I don't understand. What
problem? Crisis of conscience?"

B turned to A. "Let's begin the tape,
shall we? No sense explaining it twice."

"A" moved from Mulder's side and took the
video camera from B. He put it to his
shoulder and focused it, then nodded.
"Okay, it's taping."

B moved back into the doorway but talked
more loudly as C slowly walked toward
Mulder. "You see, Agent Mulder, your
partner did something tonight that she
wasn't supposed to do. She told someone
about your...situation. That was a no-no,
and she'd previously been warned of the
consequences. Unfortunately, now we must
show her what those consequences may
include. Ms. Scully needs to know we're
quite serious."

Mulder forced a sardonic laugh. "Scully's
wanted to knock some sense into me for
years. Maybe she'll thank you."

"And if we kill you?" B asked, not
laughing.

"Then the FBI will thank you."

B motioned to C. "Let's commence." He
turned back to the captive. "Remember,
you've Agent Scully to thank for this. if
she'd kept her mouth shut, you wouldn't
have to suffer."

Mulder watched C getting closer. "A" was
also moving to be sure he got a good shot
of the action. Mulder's body tensed,
anticipating another beating. Scully
would see it, would feel responsible. He
didn't want that. "I'm proud of you,
Scully," he said, looking into the
camera, voice as strong as he could make
it. "Don't play their game."

Mulder saw C's right fist pull back, and
he barely withheld a groan as it quickly
crashed into his jaw. It stunned him, and
he could do nothing to avoid C's left
hand taking its turn. Mulder felt blood
stream from his nose and the corners of
his lips. He felt his consciousness fade
and return as the bones in his face and
neck screamed. Blows continued to his
torso. Hard-muscled fists impacted his
ribs like a concrete block falling
against cardboard. Mulder tried to hold
back reaction, but the beating went on,
and he heard himself moaning and
eventually crying out as his torture
continued. Every now and then, C would
kick Mulder's legs, causing him to hang
from his wrists, jarring abused muscles
until he was able to get his feet beneath
him again. He became aware of fluid
sliding down his wrists and realized his
short fingernails were digging into his
palms so badly as to bring blood. The
ropes binding his wrists had also cut
through his already raw skin.

C stopped for a moment, enjoying watching
Mulder sag. His captive seemed lethargic,
head lolling, obviously suffering. C had
done well, and beneath his mask, he
grinned. He reached into his jacket and
removed a folded piece of cloth. "Hey,
look what we borrowed the other night.
It's your tie, G-Man! Think your
partner'll recognize it? Think she'd like
to see you die?" C's high-pitched voice
sneered. "Why don't you tell her how much
you want to live?"

"Why don't you...go to hell?" Mulder
mumbled through swollen lips. He felt a
fist slam against his left temple,
instantly blurring his vision, nearly
causing him to black out. Then he sensed
C move behind him, and shortly, the tie
was slipped around his neck.

"Come on, Mr. FBI," C smiled. He slowly
began to tighten the tie. "Tell her you
want to live."

As the pressure on his neck increased,
Mulder began to gasp for breath. He
struggled, twisting against his bonds
instinctively. But he could not fight off
his captor. In a bevy of whirling sounds
he again heard C yell, "Tell her!!"
Mulder knew he'd soon lose consciousness,
but if Scully were to watch the tape, he
was determined to go out fighting.

"A" was coming nearer; he seemed to want
a better close-up of the agony etched on
Mulder's features. The FBI agent felt the
tie break his skin, and he tried to gasp
once more. "A" was now about four feet
away. Using adrenaline and the strength
he had left, Mulder put all his weight on
his bound wrists. He quickly lifted his
legs and kicked outward. His feet hit the
camera, sending it spinning upward, then
crashing to the floor. Surprised, C lost
hold of the tie and fell back against the
wall.

Mulder didn't fare much better. The extra
weight on the ropes caused them to come
loose from the bar. Collapsing, he
heavily landed face down upon the broken
shards of glass from the window. He lay
gasping, bloodied hands clawing at the
floor as if he could crawl away from his
torturers. But C and A angrily got to
their feet and began to kick his torso,
hips, and legs. He writhed, but he could
not escape their boots, which gnawed into
his bones and muscle as the men shouted
their rage.

But Mulder struggled to maintain
awareness. On the floor, his fingers had
managed to find the sharp glass. Now as
he fought for breath and cried out as
feet battered him, his hand slowly closed
around a triangular shard.

Vaguely, he heard B tell the two goons to
stop and to take the "son of a bitch"
back to the "hole." They did so, jerking
the rope still around Mulder's wrists and
dragging him down the stairs head first.
Already numbed by pain, he felt nothing
except relief that for now they were done
with him. They threw him into position
and re-tied him.

"Die, shithead!" C screamed, kicking
Mulder once more as an exclamation mark.
He loudly laughed at his captive's groan
as he and A ascended the stairs again.

As the light from the doorway
disappeared, Mulder felt satisfaction
through his fleeting senses. He
concentrated all awareness on his right
hand which now laboriously dug a shallow
hole beneath his fingers. The glass slid
from his bloodied left hand and dropped
into the newly dug cavity. Then he
lightly covered his find. Closing his
eyes, he began to succumb to his agony.
But he knew that if he ever woke again,
he'd cut through his ropes and escape.

X         X         X

Scully padded toward her living room,
tying her long bathrobe around her and
grabbing her service weapon off her
computer desk. She'd slept fitfully, but
had been awakened by someone pounding on
her door. It was twenty-five minutes past
five, a.m., not the time she'd expect
visitors. She wondered if Bill had more
to tell her, or if he had simply come to
provide company.

She peeked out her window but saw no one
in the pre-dawn darkness. She did hear a
car pulling away, but its lights were
off, and it was obscured by the remnants
of night. Going next to her front door,
she cautiously peered outside and again
found no one. She quietly undid the locks
and slowly eased the door open, but no
one was in the hallway. Then her eyes
fell on a videocassette leaning against
the casing.

Lifting the video as if it were a bomb
about to explode, she tiptoed back inside
her apartment, her nerves icy. She turned
on one living room light and examined the
tape, seeing it was unlabeled and
slightly marred. She'd uncharacter-
istically forgotten to keep it "clean"
before fingerprinting, but if any prints
were on it, she might be able to lift
them later. She had no doubt the tape had
come from the DWC, and she shuddered to
think what might be on it. But she was an
FBI agent, and a good one. And if clues
to Mulder's whereabouts existed on the
tape, she needed to see it. Taking a deep
breath, she slid it into her VCR, pushed
"play," and sat on the edge of her couch
cushion.

Scully's stomach immediately lurched as
the first image came onto her screen. She
saw a close-up of Mulder practically
hanging by his wrists in front of her.
How quickly he'd changed since she'd last
seen him. Gone was the confidence, the
clean, polished look. Instead, her
trained eyes took in the dried blood on
his face, neck, and white shirt which
hung loosely from his shoulders. His
shirt, slacks, and skin were grimy with
dirt. His eyes were nearly closed as his
head fought to stay erect. Dark circles
beneath them looked like macabre shadows
on his ghastly white face. She shouldn't
have expected him to look much different,
she knew, but she'd never expected this.

In shock, she heard the words of one of
the kidnappers, and instantly her mind
recalled the "suit" who'd left for the
rest rooms after Heidi. She cringed,
knowing she'd made perhaps a fatal
mistake. She looked at the screen,
wanting to scream out apologies and
promises, but suddenly she saw a flash of
satisfaction cross Mulder's features just
before she heard his message to her.

Nausea threatened Scully as Mulder began
to suffer the consequences of her
actions, as he helplessly received the
punishment her uncharacteristic
impulsiveness had caused. She heard his
heroic attempts to stifle his reactions
to the torture, and then his cries when
the continued beating made that no longer 
possible. 

And suddenly, her revulsion erupted. She
ran to the bathroom and vomited, tears
streaming down her cheeks and into the
toilet. Images of Mulder's blood
splattering on the wall behind him, of
his instinctive struggles to wriggle away
from the pummeling fists of his torturer,
of his further weakening, of his screams,
made her more and more ill. None of the
horrors she'd seen on autopsy tables
throughout her career compared to the
sight of her Mulder's suffering. And not
one of the cases on which she'd ever
worked had made her feel as helpless,
guilty, or terrified as that tape. She
let her sobs louden to drown out the
sounds from the video which continued to
play in the living room.

When she could retch no more, she
breathed deeply and clutched a towel to
her mouth. Weakly, she stood, feeling her
knees protest having to support her. The
agent in her had to know what else would
happen, and she felt the need to stand by
Mulder, even if only symbolically. She
returned to the couch and slowly raised
her eyes.

One captor--the same torturer, she
assumed--was now strangling Mulder with
his own tie. As the cameraman got closer,
she saw her partner's struggle, his pain,
his desperation--and then, suddenly, a
fleeting look she recognized as he,
despite his predicament, decided on an
action. Scully gasped as she saw Mulder's
feet lurch upward and fly toward the
camera. The picture instantly spun out of
control and then went black.

Grabbing the remote, she fast-forwarded
for a few minutes, hoping to see at least
a glimpse of Mulder still alive, but no
further pictures had been recorded. She
then shut the tape down. Sickened yet
somehow proud, she decided they could do
great damage to Mulder's body, but they
couldn't defeat his spirit. Through her
tears, she smiled and nodded. "I'm proud
of you, too, Mulder," she whispered. She
just hoped she'd still be able to tell
him so.

X         X         X
*******************
End Redemption (Part 03 of 08)

Redemption (Part 04 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Two hours later she stood in the hallway
outside Skinner's office. Too early for
work, she'd seized the opportunity to
wait for him where and when she'd be able
to survey all who went by her, all who'd
see her. She checked her watch and
huddled further into her long wool coat.
Her body still shivered from the chills
the tape had inflicted when she'd first
viewed it. The images of Mulder's
senseless agony continued to cause her
stomach to lurch, though its contents
were long gone, but those images also
made her desperate to find him, and no
longer afraid to seek the help she
needed.

She heard the elevator doors open, and a
certain relief flooded her when she saw 
Skinner emerge. He was alone. He saw her
immediately, and his face changed from
wary freshness to wary concern. His pace
quickened as he brought his keys out of
his pocket and sorted for the correct
one.

"Agent Scully?" He headed for his office
without stopping.

She checked the hallway to be sure no one
was nearby, but apart from them, the
corridor was empty. "Sir?" she began,
meeting his eyes. "I need your help.
Mulder's in danger." Her voice exhibited
a toughness she didn't feel.

Skinner's only visible reaction was a
quick blink of his eyes. He unlocked the
outer office door and ushered her inside.
"Where is he?" he asked as he went to his
door and held it open for Scully.

"I...I...don't know. He was kidnapped
Tuesday night."

"Kid--" Her boss did a double-take then
exhaled loudly. "You've known about this
since when?"

Scully automatically moved to her usual
seat. She looked at her tightly clasped
hands resting in her lap as she replied,
"Yesterday morning--after I went to his
apartment."

"Yesterday--" Skinner's shock at this
registered in his voice. He sat heavily
into his desk chair.

"Yes."

"Agent Scully, I think you'd better start
talking. Now."

Skinner's face appeared like granite as
he listened to everything Scully had to
say about the past thirty-six hours. He
only questioned for detail clarification,
and he scratched a few notes onto a
yellow legal pad which rested on his
blotter. When Scully showed him the tape,
he made no move or comment, but his eyes
closed a few times out of respect to
Mulder's suffering. Skinner was a very
intelligent FBI man who'd had enough of
his own agony, particularly in Viet Nam.
He was tough, and he was strict, and he
managed to watch the torture of one of
his best agents without showing the
horror and sadness he deeply felt. He did
allow the corners of his mouth to turn up
slightly, though, when Mulder dispensed
with the camera.

"That's all of it," Scully said flatly.
"I've already checked to the end of the
tape. I didn't dust it for prints
initially as I should have, but a later
dusting showed none--other than mine."

Skinner sat back, his hand resting under
his chin, his elbow propped on the arm of
his chair. He thought deeply for several
moments. Eventually, he fixed her with a
gaze. "You should have come to me
immediately, Agent Scully. We've lost
twenty-four hours of search time." He
leaned forward, not waiting for her to 
answer. He clasped his hands on the top
of his desk. "Since we don't know who is
or how they're watching you, go back to
Mulder's office and play it business-
as-usual. I'll see what intelligence on
Deep Waters Confederacy I can find. Say
nothing to anyone--not even to your
brother. We don't know what's bugged or
tapped, and there's no time to ascertain
that. Come back here at ten, and we'll
discuss course of action." He paused as
she stood, and then he quietly said,
"Scully, I don't think I need to tell you
this, but unless we find Mulder, I don't
have much hope for his survival."

Scully slowly nodded, confirming what
she'd feared since the previous morning.
"Thank you, sir." She left the office,
suitably feeling the guilt of not having
come to the Assistant Director sooner,
but relieved to have him aiding her.

In the elevator, she headed down to the
basement, feeling Mulder's absence now as
nearly tangible. She whispered a prayer
for him and for her and Skinner's 
investigation. And was interrupted by the
ringing of her cell phone. She removed it
from her purse, clicked it on, and heard
the dreaded, now-familiar altered voice.

"Ms. Scully, you've disappointed me. I
trust the videotape you saw this morning
may prevent you from doing that again."

She leaned against the elevator's back
wall, glad she was riding alone. "You
vicious bastards! I want to talk to
Mulder," she replied sternly through
clenched teeth.

"I'm afraid you don't call the shots
here, my dear." 

Scully swallowed hard. "Really? Listen,
you cowardly son of a bitch, I either
talk to my partner within the hour and
tomorrow--and on Saturday--or don't
bother to call me again. If you want to
stop my brother's testimony, then you
give me what I want, too!" She hung up,
shaking from fear that she'd taken too
big a step in playing with Mulder's life,
but for the first time, feeling somewhat
in control.

X         X         X

"Hey! You alive?"

A's voice seemed to be miles away. Mulder
stirred slightly but couldn't force
himself awake. He was freezing, his body
shaking violently. The cold ground and
dampness of the dirt seeping through his
clothing chilled him, as did the trauma
his body had received only hours before.
He imagined Scully there, pulling him
over onto her lap to keep him warm as she
had not so long ago. The image consoled
him briefly.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He felt his shoulder being nudged by a
boot. When had he been beaten? It had to
have been during the night. He wondered
what time it was now and how long since
he'd been kidnapped.

"No smart-ass comments today?" A
continued.

Mulder's legs, torso, neck, and head
throbbed in searing jolts of pain. His
face felt bloated, the swelling in his
left eye and lips having reached
agonizing extension. He felt so lethargic
that he suspected even raising his right
eyelid would take a devastating toll on
his depleted energy level.

"C'mon. You've gotta make a phone call."
Another nudge, this time harder.

"Shove it," Mulder mumbled, barely
audible. To his surprise, he heard A
retreat up the stairs. He allowed his
consciousness to surrender to oblivion
again, but it was short-lived. A heavy,
rapid stream of chilled water on his face
brought his right eye open and started
him gagging. He shuddered more vehemently
from this new cold. The stream stopped,
and when he could blink the water from
his eye, he focused on the three men in
black staring down at him, C holding a
now-empty pitcher. Lights were on in the
cellar, but Mulder could only focus on
what was immediately before him. He gave
in to the instinct to lick the water from
his lips, though it did nothing to quench
his thirst or to soothe his parched
throat.

"You don't look so good, asshole," C
laughed.

"Quiet!" B warned. With his right hand,
he pushed C back a step. "Mr. Mulder, you
have to make a phone call to Agent
Scully."

Slowly, Mulder shook his head. "No," he
breathed. "I won't help you."

B knelt beside him, heaving a deep sigh.
"Oh, but you will. You will cooperate.
Let me tell you something. This morning,
we delivered our tape to your partner--
right to her door. We *can* get closer.
Would you want her to suffer as you
have--or worse? She is quite attractive,
don't you think? And I doubt that she
could fight off the three of us all at
once."

Mulder grimaced involuntarily at the
thought of Scully being tortured or
raped. He knew they were capable.

B noted Mulder's reaction. He dialed
Scully's number and then lodged the cell
phone beside Mulder's head. "Don't get
smart this time. I really don't think you
can survive much more punishment."

As Mulder heard Scully answer, he knew B
was right. "Scully, it's me," he
breathed. Attempting his normal voice was
futile. He heard her gasp.

"Mulder? Are...are you...all right?
Mulder, I saw that tape--"

He could discern guilt in her voice.
Though he felt miserable, he needed to
put her at ease. "Think I'm Emmy caliber,
Scully?"

She paused. "Sorry, Mulder," she said in
nervous mock comfort. "If you're not on
*NYPD Blue* you don't stand a chance with
those awards."

He allowed a brief laugh.

She returned to seriousness. "That
beating you took--are you in a lot of
pain?"

"Aspirin wouldn't hurt," he murmured.

"Or morphine?" 

"Got any?" He noticed B start to reach
for the phone. "Look, Scully...Gotta go.
Anything else?"

"Yeah," she said quickly. "Are you sure
you feed your fish three times a day?"

Mulder smiled to himself. She'd
understood his code; she was checking to
see if the numbers had changed. "Yeah.
Find the food?"

"Not yet, but I'm looking. Another thing:
do you want me to tell your mother
about...this?"

He closed his right eye, thinking sadly
of his mother. "Only if she calls you."

"Okay...Mulder, have they told you why
you were kidnapped?"

"No," he replied. "I've wondered."

"It has nothing to do with you," she told
him. "Supposedly, they'll release you in
two days if I comply with their demands."

"Scully, don't--"

"I said I'm working on it, okay? I don't
play games. There are other ways."

"Okay," he replied drowsily. "Just don't
trust these bastards."

B suddenly yanked the phone away,
pressing it to his own ear. "Agent
Scully? I was told to let you talk to
your partner, so we've done that. You be
sure to take care of your part of the
bargain. And remember the consequences if
you don't." He clicked the phone off.

Mulder glanced up. "We weren't finished
yet," he couldn't resist saying. He was
wondering about Scully's comment. If his
kidnapping had nothing to do with him,
then why the hell was he here?

B just stared down at him as if trying to
think of something to say. Finally, he
responded, "On the contrary, I think
you're very nearly finished." He rose and
walked toward the steps, C following and
laughing at the joke.

"A" remained behind, checking his
captive's bonds. Mulder hoped he'd buried
the glass well enough so A wouldn't
discover it. "Why call from down here?"
Mulder asked to distract the other just
in case the tool was visible.

"'Cause you're a pain in the ass to get
up the stairs and back," A replied.

"Thanks. Lots of people call me that."

"Yeah? Bet I'll be the last, though," A
sneered through the ski-mask's mouth
hole. "Your time's running out." With
that, he rose and headed for the stairs.
"You make another call tomorrow. See you
then, pig."

Before the light was turned out, Mulder
summoned what strength he had and lifted
his head. Ignoring the stinging, painful
reverberations, he glanced around the
dingy cellar, feeling hope as his gaze
fell on cracked cement stairs at the
further end. In old houses like this,
such steps usually led outside. If there
was a door there that would open, he
could escape.

As the light went out, he gladly lowered
his head, and his fingers began to dig
for that glass shard.

X         X         X

By the time Scully was seated in
Skinner's office again, she'd compiled
her own data about the DWC and its known
members from internet and FBI sources.
And according to what she'd found, the
group was gaining members and travel
access due to an "unknown" financial
source. She'd even found some "unknown"
expenses in Senator Greeley's  accounts,
but she'd run out of time before she
could access the U.S. government's
records on funding for marine research.
All of this was enough for Bill's
testimony, but the one thing she'd found
most intriguing for her own use was that
one of the people mentioned in Richard
Faulkner's group owned property in rural
West Virginia. Could this be the "nothing
else around there" of which Mulder had
initially tried to tell her? She quickly
informed the Assistant Director of her
findings, trying to keep the eagerness to
get on the road to West Virginia out of
her voice.

"Agent Scully, if you're being watched,
you could easily be followed. If your
movement tips the kidnappers off, it
could be disastrous," Skinner now
replied, leaning back in his chair, idly
twisting a gold pen in his fingers.

"I know that, sir," she said, "but I can
take precautions. Now that I'm aware I
might be followed, I can make maneuvers
and lose any tail. I've done it before."

"But we could have field office agents
check it out first."

"Sir, I could be there in as much time as
it would take them to arrive," Scully
pleaded. "If I find activity there, I'll
call in the troops for backup. But we
don't know who's involved here. You said
it yourself--tipping off the wrong people
could be disastrous. *I* need to go have
a look."

Skinner nodded slowly. "You're right.
I'll go with you, and we'll take my car."

Scully breathed a sigh of cautious
relief. "Thank you."

"Now as to the sub-committee hearing. If
Mulder isn't in West Virginia, we'll have
your brother cancel his appearance. I've
talked to one secure source who can
persuade Senator Dashmeil to hear Bill
after hours in private. He can give his
full testimony then."

Scully considered this. "I didn't know
you had such connections, sir." She gave
a brief smile.

"If I told you everything I can do, Agent
Scully, it would deny me these moments
when I impress you." Skinner's face was
straight as he sat up and opened a folder
of his own notes.

But Scully allowed herself a small
chuckle, a slight tension reliever. "And
I live for those moments," she told him.

"Good. Glad to hear it." One corner of
his mouth lifted fleetingly. "Now, I
called an old friend at the San Diego
office this morning; they'd unfortunately
just suffered a minor earthquake,
however. At the moment, their power is
out and they're cleaning up damages in
the offices. Obviously, that also means
their computers are down. He says they
have some very recent photos and updated
information on the DWC, and he'll fax
those to us this afternoon, if possible.
Let's hope that by then, we'll have
Mulder safe and not need that information
as badly."

Scully nodded her agreement and stood. "I
left my coat in Mulder's office."

"Go ahead. I'll meet you there in ten
minutes, and we'll go to the garage
together. Two sets of eyes can be better
than one."

Scully again nodded and headed for the
door where she stopped and turned. "Sir,
I appreciate your help."

Skinner had donned his suitcoat and was
straightening it. His gaze met her eyes.
"Despite how it may sometimes seem, Agent
Scully, I have a great deal of respect
for you and Agent Mulder. Leaving either
of you to twist in the wind wouldn't be
my style."

She turned the doorknob and left the
office, feeling a rush of gratitude for
Skinner as well as an overwhelming hope
to see Mulder in a few hours.

X         X         X
*******************
End Redemption (Part 04 of 08)


Redemption (Part 05 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Sawing through thick ropes with a
one-inch triangular shard of glass wasn't
Mulder's equivalent to the Godzilla
marathon he'd missed. In fact, it was
damn frustrating. He'd dropped the glass
several times and had to stretch and
contort his bound body so his hands could
search the dirt for the tool. Each search
had brough searing pains which he'd
endured since his life depended on
escaping. Several times the glass had
sheered from the rope, plunging into the
skin of his left arm or hand. What was
worse was he'd been sawing for what had
to have been an hour, and there seemed to
be so little progress. He could feel a
slight indentation and frayed edges where
the glass had cut, but he'd foolishly
hoped to have been through the bonds by
now.

He was grateful it was mostly mindless
effort because he felt quite mindless. He
shivered badly, and very few parts of his
body didn't ache. Breathing was becoming
more difficult. The work at the ropes
added to what was already heavy
exhaustion; fighting to stay conscious 
was a constant battle. To do so, he kept
thinking of Scully's words, and he truly
hoped she'd be able to find him. He also
remembered how he'd felt in the times
she'd been abducted--the absolute horror
and the utter frustration of helpless-
ness. He knew she'd be feeling that now,
and his heart went out to her.

Mulder admitted to feeling a bit of that
helplessness himself, but he fought it.
He fought panic and fear, too. Without
the glass, he knew those feelings would
be intensified by now. But no matter how
frustrating using the shard was, it
represented life, hope, and victory. He
wasn't about to surrender to such gutless
wonders.

As he continued to saw, he pictured his
sister and grimaced at the terror she
must have known when abducted. At
thirty-six, and a trained FBI agent and
psychologist, he had mental tools to cope
with his situation. How must it have been
for an eight-year-old girl who'd been
sheltered by a very loving family? Her
screams for help and of his name rang in
his ears even now, and he felt the
moisture in his eyes again as he sensed
her terror.

He thought of his mother and wondered if
she'd called Scully. Days were lost to
him, but he was nearly positive he'd
missed calling her for the week. He
wondered what losing her last family
member might do to her, and he shook his
head at even more emotional horror.

Suddenly, light plunged down the stairway
as the upstairs door opened. Mulder
gasped involuntarily and quickly hurried
to bury the glass. As footsteps slowly
descended the steps, he again felt his
ropes and was glad he'd made so little
progress. What could they want now? It
was a little early for the daily
beating--his body recoiled at the
thought. He shakily lifted his head to
gauge the distance to the further stairs
and to observe any obstacles that might
be in his way, but aside from him, the
cellar was empty. Twenty of his own steps
would get him to those other stairs and,
hopefully, to safe passage outside.

Mulder lowered his head then and
concentrated on his visitors. He
recognized B's voice, but a new one had
been added--one that was resonant and
cultered.

"It's too bad to have to kill her. She's
a pretty woman. I hear they almost lost
her to cancer several months ago. A
shame," the new voice--Mulder catalogued
him as "D"--said quietly.

"But Ian, it's a necessity," B replied.

"*Now* it is, Richard. I told you this
was a stupid plan in the first place. If
you'd merely dispensed with the brother,
none of this would have had to take
place. It's going to conclude in a bigger
mess, I'm afraid. My career is on the
line, you know, and so is yours."

"We'll pull if off, my friend. Don't you
worry. And think of the statement it will
make. That's the key. We must show that
marine life is every bit as important as
human. We must co-exist--humans don't
dominate nature."

"You've too many loose ends."

"Our source is constantly watching the
Scullys now. Nothing can happen without
our knowing."

"Richard, how foolish that sounds. How
arrogant. I don't like the feel of
it--any of it. You're playing with the
wrong people this time. These aren't
Mexican fishermen who disappear in the
sea and whose relatives can be fooled.
We're in a different kind of deep water
here."

"Ian, just trust me, will you?"

D, or Ian, didn't reply as they stepped
into Mulder's view. He did, however, say,
"My God," when he saw the fallen agent.

Both men wore ski masks although Ian's
was stretched tightly on his plump head. 
Instead of the all-black garb, he wore an
Italian silk suit and reeked of expensive
cologne. Mulder eyed him for a moment
while his mind rehashed their words--all
the more reason to make the shard work. 
He didn't want Scully walking into a trap
that would get her killed, too. He had to
escape, and he had to do it before the
next morning's phone call. If he wasn't
there to talk to her, she'd revise her
plans.  

"So this is the infamous Fox Mulder, eh?"
Ian was asking. He stepped closer,
leaning down to examine the FBI agent as
one would a rare archeaological find.
"You sure he'll live until Saturday? His
appearance is dreadful."

Mulder grunted. "Untie me...I'll clean
up."

"I've heard things about him," Ian told
Richard, warily ignoring Mulder's
comment. "They call him 'Spooky'. You'd
better watch him carefully."

Richard chuckled. "Surely you jest. Look
how he's tied. He won't be going
anywhere. Besides, the boys worked him
over fairly well. He's been deprived of
food and drink. He's weakening by the
minute."

"Couldn't you drug him or break his
legs?" Ian wanted to know.

"My dear Ian, what would be the point?
How harmful does he look to you right
now?"

Ian cleared his throat. "I'd feel much
better if he were no longer a threat."

"In forty-eight hours he won't be--and
never will be again."

"That's too long, Richard. I'm telling
you, I don't have a good feeling about
this. He could get loose; your whole plan
could be eradicated almost instantly."

"And you said they think he's paranoid!
Ian, look," Richard said, trying to be
patient, "damage has been done here. I
saw it myself. He's hurt--there's nothing
to worry about."

"Hey!" a high-pitched voice said from the
steps. "I couldn't help overhearing. I
can help you out, sir."

"Willie," frowned Richard, "it's not
necessary."

"No, it's really not," Mulder groaned.

But suddenly a foot jammed into Mulder's
side, hitting hard. The agent could not
hold back the cry it brought. He looked
up at C in hatred.

"I can break his legs for you. I can bash
his friggin' head in. I'd like to get
even with the bastard."

Mulder noticed the metal bar from the
light chain now in C's hand and tried to
writhe away from the sadist, knowing he
could do nothing to avoid an attack. But
desperate to protect himself, to keep
himself intact for escape.

Ian nodded. "A leg will do, Willie. He
couldn't run far on a broken leg, could
he? Don't touch his head. We need him to
talk to his partner again tomorrow. She's
proving more of a challenge than I
anticipated. Yes, go ahead."

Willie raised the bar and paused,
watching the captive squirm. With a
smile, he brought the bar down viciously
on Mulder's left ankle and laughed as the
agent cried out and cringed, futilely
struggling to protect himself. Again, the
bar crashed into Mulder's leg, and
screamed through gritting teeth. A third
time the metal smashed against his ankle.
Mulder, eyes squeezed shut, bit into his
lower lip, stifling a bone-chilling howl.
He heard Willie's amusement.

"I hope you die, you son of a bitch!" the
agent heard himself rasp.

Willie, still laughing gleefully, again
raised the bar, but before he could
complete its swing, Richard suddenly
shoved him, causing C to lose his balance
and fall on his backside. The bar
clattered to Ian's feet.

"Enough!" Richard scolded. "We are not
barbarians! When it's time to kill him,
we will do so--in a humane manner. This
man's done nothing to us; I'll not see
him tortured so meaninglessly."

"He's done nothing to you *yet*!" Ian
scowled. "You'd better hope he doesn't
get a chance."

"I'll make sure he doesn't get a chance,"
Willie spat, climbing to his feet. "And
I'm telling you, Richard, that's the last
time you'll ever touch me!" C started
toward the stairs but came back, kicked
Mulder's ribs one more time, enjoying the
sound of the agent's torment, then picked
up the bar and retreated to the first
floor.

Mulder lay gasping, pain and shivers
magnified. He closed his eyes, willing
oblivion to come. For the moment, all
fight had abandoned him.

He heard Ian say, "Take his shirt off.
It's bloody. Have it delivered to Ms.
Scully's door today--let's be sure she
stays on track."

Mulder felt the long-sleeved, once white
shirt being torn from his arms and torso,
heard the seams ripping till the shirt
came free. He also wore a T-shirt, but it
was still soaked from the earlier cold
water drenching, and without the outer
shirt, more chill settled into him.

"I wish I felt more assurance this will
succeed, Richard," Ian said as he turned
toward the stairs.

"You worry too much, my friend. I'm not
stupid, Ian. When Bill Scully cancels his
testimony and we have the evidence in our
hands, we'll finish off our threats and
head back to San Diego. Just wait. Things
will be fine."

As the two captors walked toward the
stairs, Mulder felt his ankle throb as it
swelled beneath his sock and the rope
binding his feet. He felt the pain in his
side growing. He felt consciousness
slipping away, and he succumbed gladly.

X         X         X         

"According to the town clerk," Skinner
said as he slid behind the wheel again,
"we take the first right outside of town,
and it's about a half mile further on the
left. But she says it's been years since
anyone's seen William Ferguson. They send
his tax notices to an El Cajon address.
She also says if there'd been activity
around that house, the news would have
been around town by now."

Scully heard the disappointment in
Skinner's voice; it matched her own
reaction. "Of course, no one would
advertise a kidnapping," she replied.
"Mulder was taken at night and if
delivered that same night, no one would
have noticed."

Skinner nodded. "We'll do a slow drive
by, then stake it out wherever there's
foliage."

As they left their parking space, Scully
stared out at the huge flakes of snow
falling like confetti to the barren
ground. The small town had only the Town
Hall, a gas station-mini mart, two
churches, and a bar. Winter had settled
in, leaving the ground brown and the
trees bare, their upstretched limbs
reminding Scully of old bones or remains
on which she'd performed autopsies. This
combined with the snow made her feel so
cold and so alone. She missed Mulder's
quirky sense of humor; she missed talking
with him or just being beside him. How
she hoped they'd be rescuing him within
the hour.

"Town clerk didn't care much for Willie
Ferguson," Skinner said as he spotted the
right-hand turn and signalled. "Said he
was a--and I'm quoting--'hot-tempered
S.O.B.' He was often suspended from
school for fighting."

"Do you suppose he was the one..." Scully
paused, remembering her horror at
watching the videotape. She finished
quietly, "...hurting Mulder."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Skinner made
the turn onto a badly maintained dirt
road full of craters which might once
have been potholes. "Good God!" he
exclaimed as he swerved to miss one and
drove the car through one much worse.

Scully sat straighter and started to
examine the left side of the road,
waiting for Ferguson's property to come
into view. Hundreds more barren trees
lined this one-lane cowpath, the falling
snow looking like flittering ghosts in
between them. Though it was only
two-thirty in the afternoon, fading light
engulfed the car--trees and snowflakes
becoming so dense, little skylight
filtered through.

"There!" Scully pointed. Somewhat hidden
by overgrown brush was an old, two-story
clapboard house. Its windows had been
boarded up, and its small front porch had
long ago sagged to the ground. She
noticed the rotting roof had fallen in,
leaving at least the second floor no
protection from the elements. Scully
gasped when she saw an outside entrance
to a cellar at the house's foundation.
"Cellar doors!" she told Skinner. "If I
understood his words correctly, Mulder's
being held in a cellar!"

"The mailbox says 'Ferguson'," Skinner
replied. "This is the right place, but
there are no tire tracks in the driveway
and certainly no vehicle." He drove
farther up the road, passing two more old
houses on the right. Only one appeared
liveable. He turned the car around in the
driveway of the second, then slowly
dodged potholes until he secluded the car
safely behind a thicket just short of the
Ferguson driveway.

Scully's eagerness intensified. A hard
wind rocked the car, and she felt the
cold air coming through the glass of the
passenger-side window. If Mulder was in
that cellar, he'd be freezing, and with
his injuries, that was an even worse
place to be. There was also her fear that
this wasn't the right house, and if that
was true, they needed to get back to D.C.
to try to get new leads. Voluntarily
forgetting all precautions she'd learned
at Quantico, she quickly grabbed the door
handle and exited the car. "I'm going to
have a look."

Skinner's face reddened as he said
angrily, "Scully! What are you doing? Get
back here--that's an order!"

Scully looked at him, at the house, and
back. "I have to do this, sir! I have to
know!" And she darted off, drawing her
weapon and crouching when brush didn't
shield her small body.

Skinner sighed heavily through frowning
lips, grabbed the car keys, and followed
the suddenly impulsive agent, backing her
up. She was nearly to the doors leading
to the cellar, her flashlight in her left
hand, aimed automatic in her right.

X         X         X
   
"Mulder! Are you down there? Mulder?
Where are you?!"  

"Here, Scully! I'm in the cellar!"
Mulder's groggy mind heard gunshots, saw
light, and heard footsteps coming toward
him. He couldn't believe it! Scully had
come for him! They'd both be free. No
more beatings, no more danger, no more
game. He badly wanted to stand and hug
her.

"He looks dreadful," said her voice,
although to whom he wasn't sure. Nor did
it matter. The footsteps stopped before
him, and he heard her sit in the dirt
next to him.

His eyes still closed, he felt his head
being lifted gently and placed on her
firm yet comfortable lap. He was no
longer tied, no longer in pain, no longer
cold. When he'd basked long enough in the
knowledge he'd been rescued, he looked up
and saw Scully smiling at him, only
inches from his face. The light caught
the blue of her eyes, the red glint of
her hair. Mulder had never seen a more
pleasant sight.

"Scully," he heard his voice saying, "I
don't know how you did it, but thanks for
finding me."

"Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked as she
slowly caressed his hair.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What about those guys
upstairs?"

"I shot them," she said matter-of-factly.

"All of them?" He was incredulous. "Did
you have back up?"

"Not really. I didn't need it. I just
shot the bastards dead. They won't hurt
anybody else."

"Wow, G-Woman, remind me to never tangle
with you."

"See that you don't," she replied, a
warning note in her voice. "Want me to
sing?"

Mulder was taken aback. "What?" He
shrugged, his eyebrows raising.
"Sure...if you want to."

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog," she began but
was stopped by the ringing of her cell
phone. She produced it quickly and
responded "Scully." She listened briefly
then said "okay" and put the phone away.
"Gotta go, Mulder. My brother's home."
She lifted his head, moved from beneath
him, and stood.

"Wait, Scully; I'm going with you." He
tried to stand, but, instantly chilled,
he found he was again tied. "Scully?"

"You get a rain check, Mulder," she told
him, buttoning her long coat around her.
"Sheesh, it's cold down here. See you
tomorrow."

He watched her walk away, stunned at her
departure. He called her name repeatedly,
louder and louder, panic escalating. He
felt a gust of cold air as she walked up
the steps. "Scully!! Wait!!" He heard the
upper door open.

"Hey! Shut up!" Willie screamed. "Shut up
or I'll come down there and shut you up
for good!!" The door slammed.

Mulder's eyes slowly came open,
dejectedly focusing on nothing but
darkness. Scully'd never been there; it
had all been a dream. With that
realization came the pain and cold again.
His left foot was numb; he remembered the
metal bar and knew his ankle had swollen
so much the rope was now cutting off
circulation. And he was behind schedule.

Mulder thought of Scully and dug for the
glass, teeth grinding as he stretched.
And despite cold, numb fingers, he
pressed as hard as possible, willing
glass to sever rope.

X         X         X
*******************

Redemption (Part 06 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Scully parked in front of her building,
numb to the cold creeping into the car
after she turned off the motor. She
leaned her head back on the headrest and
heaved a despairing sigh. Snow streamed
onto the windshield and melted, blurring
the streetlights as brimming tears of
frustration, anger, and fear blurred her
vision. Scully, like her partner, was 
rarely one to show or give in to her
emotions--at least before others--but in
the silent darkness of her car, she felt
the floodgates might open.

She'd had it. The empty West Virginia
house, the San Diego office's computers
still down, the fast-approaching deadline
for her brother and, quite possibly, for
Mulder. She had no plan of attack, and
she was absolutely powerless. And
exhausted. The time was well past eleven;
she'd moved in high gear since five
o'clock that morning, yet she knew
there'd be no sleep for her this night.

How could she sleep, knowing that Mulder
was badly injured and so far away from
help? How could she live with herself if
she enjoyed the luxuries of a warm
apartment, a comfortable bed, and
freedom? Survivor's guilt. She'd felt it
before for Melissa, for her own father,
for Emily. Tonight it was hitting home to
her what Mulder had suffered for
twenty-four years.

She grabbed her keys and locked her car,
letting the snow pelt her head and face
as she slowly walked to her building's
outer doors. She knew her make-up would
streak, but it didn't matter. None of it
mattered. She felt a failure.

She didn't flick on the lights as she
entered her apartment. The darkness felt
right and reminded her of her impetuous
journey into the cellar of William
Ferguson's old house that afternoon.
She'd crept alongside the house,
listening at the boarded windows for any
noises betraying the kidnappers. She'd
heard none. Aware of Skinner covering her
back from a nearby hedge, she'd edged to
the cellar doors, quietly lifting one and
shining her flashlight into the opening.
Slowly, she'd crept down those crumbling
cement steps, apprehension giving way to
despair when she'd found fallen parts of
the first floor blocking further
entrance. Dust patterns on the cracked
concrete and undisturbed mud showed her
no human feet had crossed the basement
for ages. But she'd searched that dark
cavern. Searched it three times until,
finally, Skinner had gently guided her
back to the car.

Now she kicked off her wet shoes, hearing
Skinner's voice alternately trying to be
soothing but still reprimanding her for
her actions at Ferguson's old house,
telling her she'd become as "impulsively
reckless in regard to FBI protocol as
Mulder." She smiled through threatening
tears, knowing Mulder would tell her to
take that as a compliment, or maybe he'd
take it as one himself since his
influence may have caused her rashness.
However, she knew her actions could have
led to heightened danger--had the
kidnappers actually been there. And, of
course, the West Virginia trip had been a
waste of time since it could have been
handled by agents closer to that house.
She realized she'd probably screwed up a
lot this day. And her apartment's
darkness matched the blackness in her
soul.

Scully let her coat and purse slip to the
hardwood floor. She had brought every
print-out on the DWC and its identified
members home with her even though she'd
already studied them intensely since
returning to the Hoover Building that
afternoon. Only two items in that
information stood out to her: one, there
was no formal link of Ian Greeley to the
group--no explanation of why he became
involved with them in the first place;
and two, a woman in the group named
Alicia Kirkland seemed to have appeared
from nowhere; Scully could find no
details whatsoever of her origins or
background. She thought of calling
Skinner to see if he could find
additional information, then remembered
the time. Also, he had left work early to
attend an unavoidable dinner engagement
somewhere near the Virginia-North
Carolina border and probably wasn't even
home yet. Scully shook her head at
herself; calling about a case this late
at night was something she would do with
Mulder, but not with Skinner.

She heaved another sigh and wiped at her
eyes. She decided to wash her face and
moved toward the bathroom, but as she did
so, something unusual caught the corner
of her eye. She stopped in the darkness,
turning toward her bedroom door. At
first, she thought a man was standing
there, but as her eyes narrowed to focus,
she realized it was nothing more than a
shirt hanging in the doorway. She turned
on the nearest light and gasped.

Scully instantly knew it was Mulder's
shirt, and to her horror, she saw the
cuffs had been tacked to the top of the
doorframe--imitating the position in
which he'd been tied in the video. As she
slowly walked toward it, she observed
blood stains, each varying in size, age,
and degree; dried mud in which he must
have laid; and black boot marks on both
sides and the front of the shirt. She
unpinned a note from the soiled collar.
She unfolded it and focused on the typed
words: "Just a reminder: do play our
game, or Mulder dies."

Scully sank to the floor, tears
cascading. As if Mulder's suffering
weren't bad enough, she also realized the
bastards had been in her house--she felt
violated and vulnerable. She saw the
ripped seams of the shirt and knew they'd
torn it from her friend; she felt
overwhelmingly guilt and frustration. In
her utter brokenness, she silently
prayed, "Help him, Father. Help me." And
she continued to cry.

She had no idea what time she finally got
up and went to the bathroom, soaking her
face in a washcloth. She knew her eyes
were puffy and bloodshot; she wondered
how she'd explain it at work the next
day. She was about to remove her blouse
to blot out its mascara and lipstick
stains when the phone rang. She swallowed
hard and quickly moved to her computer
desk. Had the kidnappers gotten her home
phone number, too?

"Scully," she croaked warily.

"Agent Scully?" a voice unkown to her
said. "Look, I just realized how late it
is there. Sorry, ma'am. I'm Special Agent
Mike Burke. I'm with the San Diego field
office. Walt Skinner told me that when
our computers were up to fax you our
updated info on the DWC. Ma'am, do you
still need that?"

Scully relaxed and shrugged. "Yes, thank
you."

"Okay, Agent Scully, it's coming
through."

"Wait--Mike? Anything in this about
Alicia Kirkland? I find her name in our
material, but she seems to have just
appeared."

"Alicia Kirkland? Let me write that
down...I'm not sure, ma'am. I'll see what
I can find around here for you. My
number's on the fax, so if you don't find
what you're looking for, give me a call,
and I'll ask around. If I find anything,
I'll call you back...if this isn't too
late?" He sounded curious about the night
hours Scully kept.

"No, that would be fine. This case
is...quite close to me."

"So Walt said. Okay, Agent Scully; coming
through. And good luck."

She hung up and waited until her fax
started printing sheets and sheets of
data and photos. She let it all collect. 

In the kitchen, she set Mr. Coffee to
brewing a full pot, then returned to the
bathroom for a towel and some facial
cream. She next went to her bedroom,
avoiding even looking at Mulder's stained
shirt, and changed into a sweatshirt,
jeans, socks, and running shoes. Back in
the living room, she took the thirty-
three pages Agent Burke had sent her in
hand, sat on her couch, and started
reading.

By page five, she'd not found anything
new or of great help. Page six contained
a photo as did page seven. Seven's showed
several people, including Senator Greeley
and Richard Faulkner. As Scully started
to turn to page eight, her eye caught a
female figure at Greeley's side--one who
looked awfully familiar. She grabbed a
magnifying glass from her coffee table
and peered closer, her jaw dropping in
recognition. Her eyes searched the names
under the photo and found the only
woman's: Alicia Kirkland. Scully then put
all the papers on the coffee table,
quickly leafing through the remainder
until she found dossiers on all of DWC's
players.

Alicia Kirkland's first name was Heidi; a
failed marriage had left her with
Kirkland as a last name. At nineteen, she
had joined Ian Greeley's campaign staff
and had gone with him to the Hill as a
research staffer. The dossier mentioned
that Alicia had been treated almost as
family and that Greeley had eventually
helped pave her way through college and
grad school. He'd even given her a small
piece of property in rural Virginia and
money to either fix up an existing house
there or to build another. But Alicia's
interests had run wild, and the dossier
mentioned Greeley's private funding of
many of her travels and causes.
Apparently, there was also rumor that he
supported her to silence her about an
alleged affair they'd had while she
worked for him. Scully shook her head as
she looked at the picture again and at
the face of Heidi King, her brother's
consultant--and deceiver.

Scully scanned the other dossiers to be
sure no other DWC members owned property
in the area and found none did. She want
back through Greeley's financial reports,
finding an old list of a wide number of
properties he owned, several of which
were in Virginia. She compared them to an
updated list and found only one missing:
a farm in Moorefield, just northwest of
Sky Line Drive. On her computer, she
checked a map, finding Moorefield and
printing out not only how to get there
but also a map of the road on which
Heidi's property was located. Moorefield
was a tiny town, and she could be there
in two hours, tops.

Her heart raced. She felt hope again, but
it seemed more grounded this time. She
debated whether to question Heidi first,
to call Skinner, or to investigate
whether Kirkland's property was where
Mulder was being held. If it wasn't, she
could be at work on time, and Skinner'd
never know she'd been as "impulsively
reckless...as Mulder" twice in
twenty-four hours.

Scully thought quickly. She could call in
the troops if she spotted signs of the
kidnappers--all necessary FBI squads
could be assembled by dawn. But she had
to isolate Heidi first; Scully's own
family wasn't something she could risk.
And if she found Mulder? She grabbed a
garbage bag and absently packed it with a
pillow, blanket, and first aid kit. She
would summon an ambulance and medical
helicopter, when necessary. She grabbed
flashlights, checked her ammo supply, and
packed a second, personal gun into her
purse; she loaded a pair of binoculars as
well. She poured Mr. Coffee into a
thermos, making herself a good supply of
caffeine; she'd done stake-outs many
times before. At last, she grabbed her
coat and started to load her arms with
all she'd assembled. To be doing
something, possibly to really find Mulder
this time, filled her with renewed hope
and spirit.

And then her doorbell rang.

Scully tensed. Another tape delivery? She
dropped everything onto the floor and
readied her service weapon. She moved
stealthily to the door, looking out the
tiny peephole into the lit hallway. And,
perplexed, she lowered her weapon, then
undid the locks.

"Bill? What the hell are you doing here?"

Her brother moved past her. "I couldn't
sleep, Dana. I feel so horrible about
this whole thing, nervous about tomorrow.
I took Mom's car for a drive, saw your
light--what's all this?"

"Is Heidi with you?"

"No. She can sleep through anything
apparently."

"Too bad she's not sleeping permanently."
Before her brother could protest, she
held up her hand to silence him. "We're
going to pay a visit to your helpful
marine biologist." She grabbed the photo
and shoved it into his hands. "You should
research your consultants more carefully,
big brother. At least I know I can trust
*my* partner." She added the last simply
for old vengeance.

Bill stared at the photo. "I can't
believe it, Dana. I...had no idea."

"Obviously. Nor did I. And I played right
into her hands last night at dinner."

He paced the floor. "So...you're going to
arrest her? Now?"

"Yes. And then I'm heading out to
Moorefield where she has property. I
think there's a good chance that's where
they're holding Mulder."

"My God! What's this?" He'd spotted
Mulder's shirt still hanging in the
doorway. He started toward it.

"Just--leave it, Bill. I'll photograph it
for evidence later. Right now--I'm--
I was just on my way out. I want to get
moving on this as soon as possible.
Mulder's injuries and condition can't
wait too much longer for treatment."

"I'm driving," he said. "I want to go
with you."

"No! I can't let you go any farther than
Mom's. FBI policy."

He laughed sarcastically, picking up the
garbage bag, binoculars, and thermos. "Is
it FBI policy to go after terrorists
alone? C'mon, Mom's car is warm and has a
full tank of gas." He smiled at his
sister's doubtful expression. "Hey, I'm a
substitute for the partner you can trust.
And Dana, you told me where the place is;
I'd just follow you anyway. Let's not
take any more time."

Scully grabbed her purse, the maps, and
the faxed report and followed him out to
the car, finding she didn't care that
Bureau protocol was receiving its third
violation from her for that day.

X         X         X

At first, he couldn't comprehend what had
happened. A sudden, prickly pain surged
through his left arm which instinctively
dragged itself to shield his agonized rib
cage. But as complete sensation slowly
returned to the numbed limb, Mulder
realized his sawing with the shard had
finally succeeded. New hope awakened his
groggy mind. He forced the left arm back
above his head where he grabbed the
binding on his right wrist. By pushing
and straining, he eventually pulled his
right arm free and welcomed the pain as
feeling returned to it.

Mulder's swollen lips formed a brief
smile of victory. But there was still a
long way to go, and the smile faded as he
lay quietly and listened for noises above
him. Nothing but the generator--night
still engulfed the house.

Slowly, he rolled until he could prop
himself into a sitting position and edge
closer to his feet. He clenched his teeth
against the tortured groan threatening to
escape him as damaged ribs, aching
muscles, pounding head, and uprighted
body all collided, making him swoon and
nearly collapse. But he'd tasted victory
over the bastards upstairs, and he'd not
allow himself to be defeated now. He
hadn't broken; he wanted them to know
that. His fingers fumbled with the rope
at his feet until they loosened it enough
for him to pull both feet out. New agony
hit him as his left ankle began to throb.
He clutched it, panting heavily and
grimacing at the pain bending forward
caused his ribs. His mind seemed to be
emptying, and he realized how terribly
weak he'd become. Starvation, dehydra-
tion, blood loss, shock, fever, injury--
all had taken their toll. Escape would
tax him far more. He had to move while he
still could.

Forcing torment from his mind, trying to
focus on the old steps' location, Mulder
slowly crawled on hands and knees in the
darkness. He couldn't risk standing and
falling; he had to be as quiet as
possible. He was still breathing hard,
but he didn't seem able to control it. He
hoped they couldn't hear that upstairs.
Each movement jolted his injuries, but he
crept along regardless.

His left hand finally touched cement. He
let his right hand move farther till it
felt out a step. Though Mulder wasn't
really religious, he silently prayed for
those doors at the top of the steps to be
unlocked.

He laboriously pulled himself upward, a
climb that seemed to take forever, seemed
to tax every muscle, and then--his right
hand brushed rotting wood. This was it.
Mulder took as deep a breath as his
screaming ribs would allow. He pushed.
Part of the wood crumbled away, then
thumped onto the cement--a noise that
seemed to echo through the cellar. Mulder
gasped, then listened. He let minutes
pass but heard nothing above him. Turning
slightly, he sat on the third step from
the top and felt with careful fingers
until he found a crosspiece on the door.
With both hands he pushed on the
crosspiece. More stress hit his ribs, but
he resisted the urge to double over. And
the door moved. The door lifted. Colder
air rushed through the crevice.

Euphoria washed over Mulder as he stared
up into a clouded night sky. He pushed
further and managed to crawl out of the
cellar and to sit in the tall, chilled,
dead weeds. He let the door down
soundlessly then paused to let his eyes
adjust to slight light. The house sat
before him, an old, once-white, two-story
clapboard whose windows had been badly
boarded up long ago. Briars and brush
surrounded its walls. To his right, he
could see that rampant ivy had overtaken
a run-down porch. And further out was the
outline of a road.

Mulder looked behind him. Fifty yards
away was a forest. His eyes followed it
to his left. The trees were closer at the
back of the house. He decided he needed
to go there, then to wind through them
and back to the road far from the house.
He truly believed the kidnappers were
sleeping now, but he didn't want to take
stupid chances.

Mulder fought his way to his feet, his
arms instantly covering, hugging his
weakened ribs. He reeled, trying to keep
his balance. Standing was difficult--his
ankle throbbed. Walking suddenly seemed
impossible. But he had to beat them. He
had to save Scully. Without his usual
grace and confidence, Fox Mulder stumbled
and staggered until he was hidden in the
trees behind the house.

Once there, he decided his ankle would
have to be splinted if he wanted to walk
farther on it. He wasn't sure if it was
broken, but it was too damaged and
painful to be trusted, untouched.

He laboriously lowered himself to the
forest floor and slowly felt the ground
around him. There were many twigs and
pine needles. His fingers clutched a
stick that would be thick enough, and he
broke it into roughly ten-inch lengths.
He then removed his belt, positioning the
sticks on either side of his leg. He
wound the belt tightly around all of it,
buckling it as best he could when done.
He wished he had something handy so he
could do the same for his ribs.

He glanced back at the house. No signs of
life emanated from it. So far he was
clear. What Mulder could see of the road
showed it to be very secondary--more like
a cowpath--and he wondered how far away
the nearest house or town would be. He
had no idea how many hours of darkness
could shield him from his captors. He
grabbed at pine branches and pulled
himself up. Shuddering at his body's
revolt, he again wrapped his arms around
his ribs and willed himself to move,
keeping the road to his left.
 
Mulder hobbled through the forest,
blindly running into branches that
slapped his head and body or viciously
tore at him. Adrenaline had gotten him
out of the cellar, but it and energy were
now deserting him. He felt like a piece
of brittle, burnt bacon--ready to crumble
at any given moment. Darkness and
exhaustion clouded his vision and his
awareness. He slipped countlessly on the
dried, dead needles beneath his feet,
falling several times or just catching
himself, straining or jarring his
suffering body more and more each time.

His mind focused only on surviving--on
forcing one foot ahead of the other. Yet
three women's faces, Scully's, his
mother's, and Samantha's, occasionally
flashed in his brain. But it was Scully's
that flashed most. He longed to see her
again.

And suddenly there she was. He could see
a car ahead of him. His partner was
sitting behind the wheel, glancing at her
watch, then staring out the window until
she caught sight of him. She rolled the
window down three inches as he neared,
and as he draped himself against her
door, he felt the comforting warmth of
the car's heater as the fan drove it
toward him.

"So Mulder, you're finally here," she
intoned, perhaps a little angry that
she'd had to wait.

"Got here...soon's I could," he panted
heavily.

"How's it going? You okay?" she asked,
giving him the once over.

He ignored her questions. "Gonna...rescue
me...this time?...Let me...in the
car...please," he groaned, his body
sagging.

"Want me to sing?" She didn't wait for a
reply. "Jeremiah was a bullfrog," she
began, but her cell phone interrupted.

"Bet that's...your brother," Mulder
rasped dejectedly.

Scully didn't even answer her phone.
"Yep. Gotta go, Mulder. You get a rain
check. See you later." With that, she
revved the engine, shifted, and sped off,
bouncing Mulder off the car and off his
feet.

He found himself on his hands and knees,
gasping for breath, shivering
uncontrollably, feeling weak and groggy.
He'd fallen again, and he'd been too
unconscious to realize it. He pushed
himself up once more, clinging to a
nearby tree until dizziness and nausea
went away. He didn't remember from which
way he'd come, but he stumbled forward,
deciding to find the road. He could at
least stay near it and maybe find an
inhabited house. He didn't see himself
lasting much longer than that.

X         X         X

Scully waited anxiously as her brother
struggled with the key to their mother's
door. She shone the flashlight, but he
was shaking noticeably and found it hard
to hit the hole, the key scraping against
brass as he missed.

"I'm out of practice at sneaking into Mom
and Dad's house in the middle of the
night," he mumbled.

His sister's smile was tight-lipped.
"Hate to tell you this, but you were
lousy at sneaking. We heard you every
time." She watched him try again; then
she took the key from him. "Here, I'll do
it. We're just going to arrest her, Bill.
No need for you to be nervous."

The door opened, and Scully reached
inside to flick on the hall light. Both
stepped inside but took a quick breath
when they saw their mother at the foot of
the stairs. She looked equally shocked to
see them.

"Bill? Dana? Will one of you please tell
me what's going on?" Maggie Scully asked,
exasperated, her gaze going from one to
the other of her children.

"Be quieter, Mom," Dana pleaded, starting
toward the stairs.  "We're here to get
Heidi."

Maggie's hands went out to stop her.
"Well, you're a little late. That's why I
want to know what's going on."

"What do you mean 'late'?" her daughter
asked, perplexed eyes narrowing.

"She got a call just about an hour ago. I
heard it ring, and when I answered in my
room, she'd already picked it up down
here. It was some man, and she said it
was for her. I let it go, but I wasn't
too happy about her getting calls at
midnight. If you ever bring another--
consultant--home, Bill, she can stay in a
hotel. This woman really pushes her way
around, and I'm--"

"Mom,"  Scully interrupted. "Is Heidi
here now?"

"No. I heard a car and some commotion
downstairs about quarter to one. When I
looked out the window, there she was with
some man, loading her suitcases into a
car, and off they went."

Scully's mind raced. "Did you hear any
conversation--even on the phone?"

"When I picked up the receiver, the man
was saying something about 'private
testimony,' but that's all I heard. I
don't eavesdrop, you know."

"Can you describe the voice?"

Maggie gave an annoyed sigh and tucked a
piece of brown hair behind her left ear.
"No, of course not. I'd just woken; I
heard two words--"

"Did you get a clear look at the man with
the car or at the car itself?"

She nodded. "Yes, the man was rather
plump. His hair was silver grey; I could
see by the streetlight."

"Do you know Senator Ian Greeley,
Mom--what he looks like?"

"No. I've heard of him--"

"What kind of car was it?"

Maggie shook her head, flustered. "I've
no idea. Four door and black. Expensive.
Other than that, I couldn't tell you."
She looked at the shocked faces of her
two children. "Please tell me what this
is all about."

"Did you look in Heidi's room after she
left?" Dana wanted to know.

"Yes--neat as a pin. All her things were
gone. I don't think she'd even been in
bed. It was perfectly made. What is--"

"Mom, Bill and I are going to take your
car for a while, but I want you to lock
the house and not let anyone in until I
come back or call. Okay?"

"Dana! Tell me what is the matter!"
Maggie grabbed her daughter's arm before
she could leave with her brother.

"The quick version, okay?" Scully said,
anxious to get on the road. She looked
into her mother's worried eyes. "Mulder
was kidnapped Tuesday by this group
Bill's been talking about. And Heidi's
one of them. Bill and I are on our way to
Moorefield, Virginia. We think that's
where they're holding Mulder."

Maggie's hand came up to cover her mouth,
her eyes widening. "Is Fox all right?"

"Gotta go, Mom. We'll let you know when
we find out. C'mon, Bill." Scully headed
for the passenger's side. "You drive.
I've got a call to make."

"You two be careful!" Maggie's concerened
voice called.

"We will. Now lock up!"

As soon as she was in the car, Scully was
on the cell phone, asking the switchboard
at the Hoover Building to call Skinner
and to have him contact her immediately.
She could no longer worry about breaching
protocol or being impulsively reckless.
No more time could be sacrificed; Skinner
had to know now. She and Bill had just
pulled away from the house when her boss
called.

"Sir? Sorry to wake you, but I think
Mulder's in Moorefield. The fax from San
Diego came through, and I'll tell you
about it later. I'm on my way out there
right now; I think it's all coming down.
Greeley picked up my brother's
consultant--she's with the DWC-- about
forty-five minutes ago. Somebody from
Dashmeil's office must have leaked what
we were going to have Bill do." She
paused only briefly to let him digest the
information. "The best I could get was
that they're in a black, four-door,
expensive car," she continued, her
training taking over. "Look, we'll need
all available units, and I want Med Star.
If Mulder's in as bad shape as I think he
must be, I want him flown to Georgetown
stat." She listened to her boss, gave him
directions for the house in Moorefield,
and hung up shortly. "Drive faster, big
brother. If we get pulled over, I promise
you won't get a ticket."

Bill increased the car's speed. "What
were you and Skinner going to have me
do?" he asked as streetlights began to
blur.

Scully explained about the after-hours
testimony and saw her brother nodding.

"Would have been a good idea," he
replied. "Too bad somebody leaked it.
God, can't anybody in D.C. be trusted?"

Dana's smile was sardonic. "Trust no one,
Bill. Those are words to live by. With
one or two exceptions."

"So you think Heidi's--where?" he asked.

"I've got a hunch," she replied, thinking
of the countless times she'd frowned on
her partner's hunches, "that Greeley is
taking her to Moorefield. To be honest, I
think they're going to run--to be long
gone before your testimony's given. They
know you're not backing down; they know
too many others are aware of what they're
up to. They know their plan didn't work."

"Wouldn't they fly out? It's faster."

"But far more noticeable. Skinner said
he'd get cover for the airports just in
case. No, they could beat a fairly hidden
path anywhere--even into the Blue Ridge
Mountains--and be lost...for a while."

"What will they do with Mulder?" he
wondered aloud.

Scully swallowed hard, trying to force
away the images his words brought to her
mind. "They've got two choices, don't
they?"

He pondered this. "He'll slow them down
if they take him, and he might be able to
identify them if he's alive--." He
stopped, knowing he'd given voice to his
sister's worst fears.

"That's why we've got to get there now."
Scully looked out the window, watching
the last of D.C.'s lights fade in the
rearview mirror. She felt her brother
increase the car's speed even more; she
only hoped it was fast enough.

X         X         X
*******************

Redemption (Part 07 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Mulder's mind registered the crunching of
dead twigs beneath his feet as he fumbled
forward. He'd tripped over a loose branch
minutes before, and while scuffling to
get up again, he'd found the fallen
branch was long and thick enough to serve
as a cane. That helped offset some of the
pain of his ankle--yet stressed his ribs
more. Since he made better progress with
it, though, he opted to sacrifice the
ribs.

He'd become aware of how cold he was, his
teeth now chattering. The frosty air
stung his bare arms and chilled the damp
T-shirt. Though he revelled in the
sights, smells, and sounds of his
freedom, he cursed the cold and the
darkness. If only the moon would show
through those hellishly black clouds!

He couldn't control his breathing, and it
worried him. He gasped for breaths, but
each was short and rapid. His heart
pounded rapidly against his aching rib
cage. He'd stopped to rest, but that
hadn't helped. No matter what he did, he
couldn't get enough air or calm his
heart.

Dizziness plagued him, and when it
didn't, his sight was blurred. He now
fell more often. His pants had torn at
both knees, and his palms were bleeding.

Thirst tantalized him, and several times
he'd thrown himself to his knees,
thinking he was by a pond from which he
could drink. He could see it shimmering
even in the murky night and could hear
its quiet rippling. Nothing but dead pine
needles had met his hands, though, as
he'd tried to scoop water to his parched
lips. And after every such moment, he'd
reluctantly risen, no longer sure whether
he could trust his perceptions. 

He was near the road; he knew that much.
Moments before, a car had passed. He'd
seen the headlights off to his left--he
guessed maybe thirty yards. Somebody had
to live here, in this area. He wanted to
stay close to the road, even closer
maybe, to avoid letting his failing mind
lead him deeper into the woods. But if
his captors were out looking for him, his
T-shirt would give him away if he was too
close.

Suddenly he crashed again to the cold,
hard ground. This time he'd tripped over
another fallen limb but he'd belly-
flopped, his reactions too dulled to
break his fall. Agony from his ribs,
ankle, and torso flooded him. He heard
himself moan. The pain was so great he
clenched both teeth and eyes against it.
This fall, this torment seemed to weaken
him even more. Could he go on? He felt
his consciousness draining, knew his
determination was dying.

Though chilled and solid, the ground
actually felt good to him. It was now a
refuge. Sprawled there, he no longer had
to bear his own wight, no longer had to
suffer the horror being vertical brought
his savaged body. He no longer had to
fight to stay conscious. He was down
where he could no longer fall. He let his
exhausted eyes close, allowed his being
to relax into the dirt.

"Mulder? What are you doing?"

He heard her voice but didn't see her. He
tried to answer, but opening his mouth
seemed too difficult.

"Mulder? Get up!"

His eyes seemed glued, his body depleted.
"Scully...Scully...I can't," he gasped in
his mind.

"Bull. Mulder, c'mon! Up!" She sounded
angry at him.

"Just let me stay here a few minutes," he
mumbled. He was shutting down, and that
idea no longer bothered him.

"You can't! You don't have the time.
They're coming, you know. They're coming
after you."

"Can't find me in the dark."

She laughed. "*I* did. Now get up!"

He struggled momentarily, but he was too
weak, too exhausted. He lay still. "In a
while."

"You're giving up, aren't you?" she
accused. "You can't do that."

"Watch me."

"Mulder, you're the most tenacious person
I know. Nothing stops you. But now you
get a few injuries, and you're ready to
quit?"

"Just wanna rest."

"I don't work with quitters," she
replied, but then her voice softened.
"Get up now, or you're done."

Mulder's hands slowly began to claw at
the dirt; his right foot pushed against
tree roots. His lethargic movements felt
like slow motion, but he finally managed
to get to his sore hands and knees. A
car's motor came toward him. He dragged
himself to his feet, finding, then
leaning on his "cane." The car stopped
right before him. Scully was driving, but
she had passengers this time. Mulder
looked in curiously and saw himself in
the right front seat, but it wasn't his
posture. This passenger was slouched, and
he turned and spoke to Mulder.

"Geeze, loser, you should have gotten a
life when I told you to," said Eddie Van
Blundht's voice. "Well, I'm not going to
waste this damn good-looking appearance.
Me and Dana here--we'll make beautiful
music together."

"And *he* won't endanger my sister, you
sorry son of a bitch," Bill Scully
sneered from the back seat.

Next to him was Mrs. Mulder who looked
out at her son. "You disappoint me, Fox.
You were all I had left." She turned
away.

"Fox?" In front of Mulder, rolling down
the rear window, his eight-year-old
sister, Samantha, stared into his eyes.
"Fox, I waited for you all these years. I
called out to you.  Now you'll never find
me." The window closed.

"Scully? Take me with you. Please!" he
pleaded to his partner.

"No, Mulder. You wanted to give up,
remember? So give up. Want me to sing?"

"No!" he yelled. "No! Take me with you.
I'm not a quitter, Scully. You know that.
I'll keep going."

"Prove it, and maybe I'll come back
later, okay?" She looked at him somewhat
sympathetically. "You're a mess, Mulder.
Get onto the road; it's easier going. You
can see headlights and hide if you have
to. But get moving now. They're looking
for you. If they find you, you're a dead
man." She pressed the accelerator, and
the car disappeared.

Mulder fought to hold his balance; he was
near complete collapse. He struggled
through briars and dead branches which
tore at his skin and clothes even more.
Finally, his feet touched the gravel of
the road. Barely aware of his own
movements and seemingly switched on
automatic pilot, he plodded forward,
hoping Scully would return.

X         X         X

The only difference Scully could see
between the cowpath in West Virginia and
the one she and her brother were on now 
outside of Moorefield was the lack of
snow. Potholes abounded in the gravel
road, and they slowed Bill from the
eighty mph he'd been doing to twenty on a
good stretch.

Her map indicated Heidi's property was at
least five miles in from the main road.
They'd already gone three, and only one
of the five houses they'd passed in that
space had been inhabited. Mulder's
"nothing else around there" certainly was
true of this place--as was its name. It
*was* "more field" or forest than it was
anything else.

She'd half-expected local law enforcement
to have at least been posted at the end
of the road, yet she supposed Skinner was
either keeping apprehension low-key until
the FBI arrived, or perhaps local police
had been posted very well, and she'd not
seen them. She also knew Med Star would
land at a local pick-up site until either
Mulder was found or he could be brought
to the chopper.

"You think he's...do you think we're too
late?" her brother asked, breaking the
nearly hour-long silence.

Scully thought about the question. "Don't
ask me why, Bill, 'cause I don't know how
I know. But Mulder's still alive." She
could feel Bill look at her.

"Geeze, Dana, now *you're* becoming
spooky."

To herself, she smiled. "I'm taking that
as a compliment. Mulder would, too."

And again she thought of her partner and
yearned to see him, to get him out of
their clutches. Since D.C., Scully had
been unable to stop herself from
reminiscing about her times with Mulder.
And after five years of partnership,
there were lots and lots of memories, the
majority of them good. Now she just
wanted to start making new ones.

She was summoned from reverie by oncoming
headlights a quarter of a mile away. She
also glimpsed a spotlight's beam out the
vehicle's passenger-side window.

"What the hell--?" Bill said.

Scully saw the spotlight cease. "I've
heard that's done to hunt raccoons and to
illegally hunt deer. Awfully late to be
hunting, though."

Slowly, the headlights neared and passed.
She noticed the vehicle was a black panel
van, and she turned to watch as it
continued. At what its occupants must
have decided was a safe distance, their
spotlight resumed its search.

"You think *that* was something?" Bill
wanted to know.

She was still trying to sort it out. "I
don't know. It's weird. We don't see
anybody for miles, but the closer we get
to--"

"God!! What's that?!!"

Scully turned around quickly. "Stop!!!!"
She braced herself as her brother hit the
brakes, the car skidding perilously on
the cold gravel.

X         X         X

Mulder slowly crawled from the ditch he'd
dropped into when he'd noticed the lights
rounding the curve. Scully was right: 
his captors *were* looking for him. It
was still dark; how could they have found
he was gone so soon? Had Scully pissed
them off again? Had Willie needed to
punch something?

Scully. He'd had such hope to see her, to
work with her again. But with each step,
he now doubted that hope. He didn't want
to give up, but though the spirit was
willing, the flesh was too weakened. In
fact, the flesh had just about had it. He
knew he'd pushed his body beyond its
limits. Phrases such as "running on
empty" and "borrowed time" plagued his
beleagured mind. He could no longer feel
his legs or his ribs. The pain had grown
so intense it had somehow numbed him. And
his eyes could only tell him what was
road, what was light, and what was
roadside. Mulder knew he'd pass out
shortly; he could feel it coming. But he
didn't know if he'd wake up this time; he
didn't even know if he wanted to.

"Keep going, Mulder." Scully stood before
him, but no matter how hard he tried, he
couldn't get to her. He sensed how
off-balance he was, how he was probably
staggering all over the gravel beneath
him. She was smiling, beckoning, dressed
in soft clothes as if she were spending
an evening at home. She stretched her
hand out to him, and he tried to touch
it. Instead, he felt his torso then his
chin hit the gravel sharply. He'd
stumbled and fallen again, and Scully
disappeared.

"Wait...wait for me," his mind begged.

He began to allow his eyelids to close,
but suddenly there was light. This time
it was coming at him. He saw two lights--
headlights? They had him this time. He'd
not seen them soon enough, and he wasn't
sure he could move. But he wouldn't let
them win--even if it killed him.

For what he was sure would be the last
time, Mulder drew himself to his unsteady
feet. The headlights veered back and
forth, the vehicle in a skid. That gave
him only extra seconds.

He forced himself to the side of the
road, hobbling without the cane left on
the gravel. The vehicle stopped, and he
heard doors open. His legs hit a guard
rail, and he simply let himself fall over
it, collapsing on the other side and
rolling down a steep grade. He felt weeds
whip at and rocks stab into him as he
fell.

When his body stopped, he was on his
back, staring up into the dark sky.
Certain the end had come, he felt a
slight satisfaction in knowing he'd done
his best to escape them. But as he closed
his eyes in torture and exhaustion, he
sadly thought. "Sorry, Scully." 	

X         X         X

"Mulder!!" Scully had the door open the
minute the car stopped. When her friend
disappeared over the bank, she'd screamed
"no!" and then grabbed for flashlights.
"Park the car, Bill! Bring the blanket
from the trunk! Bring my first aid kit!
Hurry!!"

She was at the guard rail in seconds, her
light's beam searching for, then finding
Mulder who lay sprawled amid grass and
rocks some twenty feet below her. She
scrambled over the rail and down the
bank, slipping on dead weeds but catching
her balance, and shining the light to
guide her path. When she found herself at
her partner's side, she knelt quickly,
tears already brimming in her eyes in a
mixture of horror and joy.

Mulder was truly a sight. His bruised
face was masked by layers of dirt, mud,
and blood. His body shook so violently
that at first she thought he was in
seizure, but rejected that assumption as
she heard his teeth chatter between gasps
for breath.

"Mulder?" she asked, hoping he might
still be conscious. "Mulder? It's me."
She lightly patted his right cheek where
there were less bruises. "Hey, G-Man, you
in there?" A tear spilled as she saw his
eyes flutter open. She could see he was
in shock, and she continued to pat his
cheek and identify herself.

Mulder saw a flashlight beam aimed more
toward his shoulders, and he cringed.
Damn it! He'd lived through the fall only
to be captured again? He heard Scully's
voice, and his head thrashed from side to
side to rid himself of the illusion. But
it didn't work. He could feel her
touching his face--the touch of her
fingers unmistakable but a cruel
hallucination at this point.

"Mulder! C'mon, wake up; it's me. It's
Scully."

He felt something being put over him and
then a voice he didn't want to hear.
"What else do you need? Is he okay?" Bill
Scully asked.

"We need to warm him. He's in shock." 

But it didn't warm him, at least not
much. Scully watched her partner's spasms
continue even though the blanket, folded
in half, now lay over him. She tucked the
edges around his neck and shoulders. Then
she looked up in surprise as her brother
peeled off his heavy Navy topcoat and put
it over the blanket.

"He looks horrible," he exclaimed to his
sister.

"I know. I want to get him to the car and
the heater when we can. But I've got to
examine him first. Can't move him until
then."

"Scully?"

The whisper made her mouth drop open and
her eyes return to her partner. She
leaned closer. "Mulder? Yes, it's me."
She turned the flashlight beam to her own
face. "See? I'm here."

His eyes saw her only in blur. His left
hand fought to get out from under its
covers until he could culmsily grab at
her. He caught her wrist as she started
to lower the flashlight.

"Don't do this again," he rasped. "No
more."

Scully realized he wasn't fully
conscious, and his weak grip consoled
more than threatened her. With her free
hand, she gingerly caressed his forehead,
and in the serenest voice she could
muster, she told him, "Mulder, I'm here
with Bill. Skinner and company are on
their way. It's over. You're safe." She
watched him blink as he tried to focus on
her. She wished his breathing and pulse
would slow so he could calm.

Mulder finally closed his eyes; the
faulty vision was making him nauseous. He
concentrated on her voice as she
repeated, "It's over; you're safe."
Between breaths, he asked, "Are you gonna
sing?"

Scully paused. Mulder had said many weird
things in the past, but this one really
rocked her. "Sing? Mulder, you've heard
me sing. Aren't you suffering enough?"

Now it was his turn to pause. His grip
tightened slightly. "This is real? You're
really here?"

"You mean, I sing in your dreams?" she
wondered.

"In my nightmares."

Scully chuckled. She took his hand from
her arm and held it in both of hers,
balancing the flashlight on her knee.
"Insult me, and I'll leave you here."

A faint smile lifted the corners of
Mulder's mouth. His hand in hers, and she
by his side, he languished in her
presence. He felt exhaustion overwhelming
him. "They've been looking for me,
Scully."

"Were they using a spotlight?"

"Yeah...don't know how they knew so
soon...Scully, I'm so tired..."

Her right hand now gently smoothed his
sodden hair. "Sleep, Mulder. Get some
rest."

"You won't be mad?" His raspy whisper was
fading.

Scully felt puzzled by his words. "I
think it's best for now." She glimpsed
relief suddenly cross his features.

"Water?"

She shook her head in the darkness and
observed the dryness of his skin. And she
remembered the video. "Not now. Later, I
promise."  

He didn't seem to hear her. In his
exhaustion, his body settled against the
ground as if part of it. "Thanks for
comin' back, Scully."

The "back" surprised her also, but she
let it go. Her fingers had found the
crusted, bloody gash on the side of his
head. His hand went limp in hers as he
lost consciousness, and in the light's
beam, she saw his bleeding, skinned
palms, and the welts the ropes had left
around his wrists. She returned his hand
to his side. Using the flashlight, she
examined the wound on his head and
winced. "My God, that's at least
twenty-five stitches," she exclaimed. She
held the flashlight there as her brother
came to look.

"That was done with a bottle?" he asked
incredulously.

"Yeah. Must have been a hell of a hit."
Her eyes looked sympathetically at her
sleeping partner. "You went through hell,
didn't you, Mulder?"

Next she peeled back the covers to his
waist, then carefully lifted his T-shirt.
Both she and her brother drew quick
breaths as they saw the deep purple,
black, and blue bruises that composed the
skin over Mulder's ribs. Any resemblance
to a normal-looking torso was gone.
Scully felt her brother's comforting hand
on her shoulder as her tears welled
again. "The bastards," she whispered.

"I didn't mean to cause any of this..." 

"I know." Scully wanted to comfort her
brother; she could feel guilt radiating
from him. She also wanted to hug Mulder
to her, to make him well within her arms.
But there was no time for any of that.
She knew better. She willed her medical
knowledge to take over from her emotions.
She couldn't break down or spend valuable
time in pity and regret. 

She handed her flashlight to her brother,
giving him directions as to where to
hold it; then her skilled hands began
to examine Mulder's body, feeling for
injuries that would prevent them mov-
ing him themselves. The swellings and
lumps  increased her anger and sorrow.
"Something's happened to his ankle," 
she observed when she found the splint.
"We'll just be careful of that." When
she'd finished and had re-covered her
friend, she said, "I think we can make
the blanket work as a stretcher. You 
can take the head; I'll take the feet.
We've got to get moving, though. That
van'll be back, and we'll be sitting
ducks--"

"Maybe you should start quacking now."

The high-pitched voice at the foot of the
bank startled Scully. She grabbed for her
gun, bringing it up toward the voice's
location.

"Nah, little lady. This is my party. 
Drop the gun."

"No way, you son of a bitch." But to her
right, she heard a gasp and saw the
flashlight drop. There were footsteps on
gravel until the flashlight was picked
up, and then the light's beam shone on
Bill who was being held from behind. The
captor's arms were beneath Bill's, and
his hands were clasped behind her
brother's neck. The beam dropped to
Mulder.

"So you found him, huh? Good. I can
finish the piece of shit."

Then the light hit Scully in the face so
she had to shield her eyes.

"Now drop the gun before your brother's
neck snaps."

With no other sensible choice, Scully
knelt, laying the gun by her right foot,
nudging Mulder's left arm in the process.

"Hands up, sweet thing."

She did as told, but wasn't about to give
in completely. "Let me guess: the
infamous William Ferguson, right?"

"At your service." Willie seemed almost
flattered. The light started to move,
coming closer. "See what I did on that
video, did ya? Your poor partner really
howled. I wanted to kill the pig right in
front of your eyes. Now I'll get my
chance."

Scully shivered. "And then what--you kill
Bill and me? Don't you have to okay these
things with the boss first?"

"Well, they were debatin' whether to take
your partner with us, and me and Andy was
supposed to bring him back. But you know,
we think that's a waste of time and
effort."

"Who was debating?"

"Oh, Heidi and Richard. Then that fat-ass
Senator got all scared when he found out
Mulder here wasn't downstairs anymore.
Then when Heidi made it clear she's doin'
Richard now--and poor fat man ain't got a
chance with her--well, he started pissin'
and moanin', grabbed your buddy's gun,
and blew his own friggin' head off! Me
and Andy just laughed. What a moron that
guy was!"

"The Senator's dead?" Bill managed. 

"Deader 'n a doornail. Blood and grey
matter all over the wall. Real dead."
Willie laughed more. "Like your partner's
gonna be, babe. Hear that, pig?"

Scully's eyes squeezed closed as she
heard Willie's foot thump into Mulder's
body once more. 

"But I'm havin' a hard time decidin'
which of you all to kill first." He moved
to Scully yet kept a safe distance. He
shone the flashlight slowly down the
length of her body and then slowly back
up. "Mmm, I can think of a few things I'd
like to *do* myself," he leered. "Talk
about a *hard* time. How about you,
Andy?"

Bill lurched, but Andy managed to hold
him back.

"You slimeball!" Bill spat.

"Ooo...I'm shakin'!" Willie snickered.
"What d'ya say, Andy? We kill these bozos
first; then we have a little fun with the
chick? Okay?"

"That has to be the only way you can get
any," Scully said coolly. "By force."

"C'mon, sweet meat," Willie replied,
snickering. "Take your clothes off, or I
shoot your brother."

Bill again lurched, this time pulling
Andy off balance. It was enough to anger
Willie.

"Yep! Gonna shoot him now!!" His voice
was wild as he swung the flashlight
toward Bill.

Scully jumped at the sound of two
gunshots. Suddenly the light was on the
ground. She reacted instantly. "Bill? Get
him!" Bending over quickly, she grabbed
the gun from Mulder's outstretched right
hand, and then reclaimed the flashlight.
Its beam found Bill and Andy struggling.
"Right now, Andy! Freeze, or I blow you
away!!"

Andy did as told, his young face showing
his fear. Behind her, Scully heard
gurgling and sucking sounds as Willie
Ferguson gulped his last breaths. Then
she ordered: "On the ground, moron!
Spread-eagled. I'll read you your rights
when I'm damn good and ready!" She found
Mulder's gun near Willie's bleeding
corpse and took it to her brother. "Keep
that on him, Bill. Don't let him so much
as move a finger. Hear that, Andy? I
don't give a damn if you die here or a
few years from now on the table."

She found a smaller flashlight in the
pocket of her coat and handed it to her
brother who seemed dazed.

"What the hell happened, Dana? Are you
okay?"

"We're both okay." She turned to Mulder,
aiming the beam toward his shoulders but
catching his open eyes. "Thanks to you,
partner. I didn't notice you take my gun,
but I was sure hoping you would."

"Mulder shot him?" 

"I heard you, Scully," Mulder rasped.
"Heard you tell me to wake up and help."

She knelt next to him and gently touched
his brow. "I never said a word, Mulder."

"I heard you." His eyes closed, and he
sank into oblivion once more.

"What?" Bill exclaimed.

"Does it matter?" she asked him, though
she wondered herself what her partner was
talking about. "He just saved three
lives. Remember that the next time you
put him down."

"I will," he replied honestly. "You
weren't too bad yourself, Dana. I'll
remember that when I think you should
have stayed in medicine." He hesitated,
then said quietly, "Dad would be proud of
you, sis."

She again held back tears as she went to
examine Ferguson's body. He was
definitely dead. Mulder's shots had made
two perfect holes in Willie's chest,
pretty much eradicating heart and lung
function.

"Agent Scully?"

The sound of Skinner's voice relieved her
greatly. She waved the flashlight. "Down
here, sir. We found Mulder. We also have
two of the kidnappers: one dead, one
waiting patiently for me to read him his
rights." She paused as she heard Skinner
and several others descend the bank.

Skinner's flashlight also found Mulder,
and the Assistant Director swore under
his breath. "Bring the stretcher!" he
yelled to someone above. "How's he look,
Scully?"

"He's dehydrated. I can't tell without
tests if he's bleeding internally or if
there's a skull fracture. Something's
wrong with his ankle, too. He's lost a
lot of blood, and he's been hallucin-
ating."

"The chopper's waiting, and there's an
ambulance to take you to it. I want you
to go with Mulder."

"But sir, Med Star can only hold--"

"Agent Scully, no offense, but you're not
that tall, and you don't weigh much more
than a bird. A doctor on board will be
more help to Mulder than the paramedics."

"But--"

"That's an order, Agent Scully, and one
you'd better not ignore this time."
Skinner almost smiled. "Besides, they're
expecting you."

She exhaled heavily, though she wasn't
sorry to be going with her friend. "Sir,
Senator Greeley may have committed
suicide. Heidi and Richard Faulkner--"

"We have those two. Local police
apprehended them a few minutes ago at the
end of this road. A black Lexus doesn't
really fit in with this area. We'll go on
up to the house for Greeley, and we'll
turn it for evidence. This morning we'll
start looking for the leak in Dashmeil's
office."

Volunteer ambulance attendants brought a
stretcher into the increasing beams of
light. Another agent was cuffing Andy,
the recitation of rights underway.

Scully felt Skinner's hand on her
shoulder. "You did good work. Are you
okay?"

She turned slightly toward him, giving
him a quick, assuring smile. "Yeah. I
will be--once it settles in that this is
over." She continued, briefing him on the
shirt in her apartment, Heidi's compli-
city, the San Diego office's fax, Bill's
presence, Mulder's sudden appearance in
the road, and the death and arrest of the
DWC's goons.

"How did Mulder escape?" Skinner wanted
to know.

She shook her head. "Right now, I've no
idea. He never fails to amaze me."

"Spooky guy," Skinner replied. He allowed
a smile then took her elbow, turning her
toward the road. The ambulance attendants
had carefully loaded Mulder and strapped
him down. Several agents were helping
them take the stretcher up the bank.

"Hey, Dana?" Bill had retrieved his coat
and was sliding his arms into its
sleeves. He also handed her Mulder's gun.
"Okay if I head back to Mom's?"

She looked at Skinner who nodded, and she
said, "Yeah. After all, you've got some
testimony to give, don't you? You'll need
a shave--"

"This was as close a one as I'll need for
a while," he interrupted. He leaned down
and kissed her cheek. "Go help your
patient, doctor. Call home when you know
how he is."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him back.
"Bill, thanks. I'm glad you were here."
She handed both guns to her boss who put
them in an evidence bag. Then she
followed her partner and her brother up
the bank.

X         X         X
*******************

Redemption (Part 08 of 08)
by Kestabrook

Dana Scully half-smiled as her brother
stood and moved off-screen, his testimony
complete. She'd watched the sub-committee
hearings on the waiting room television
though she'd not fully concentrated on
what all had been said. She'd drank
several cups of hospital coffee since Med
Star had delivered her hours earlier, but
her mind still felt dulled by a mixture
of exhaustion, relief, and worry. But
through her fog, she'd beamed with pride
as Bill had articulately cited the Navy's
concerns about and evidence of the DWC's
actions, alluding to a summary-to-come of
the week's events. Ian Greeley's death
had not been mentioned, and she wondered
if the omission had been requested until
the government could put the proper spin
on it.

But the next witness called was a
last-minute insertion into the schedule.
Scully's eyebrows raised as A.D. Skinner
was sworn in and proceeded to testify as
to the DWC's kidnapping of an FBI Special
Agent and the related suicide of Ian
Greeley. He told everything he could
without jeopardizing the federal case
against King and Faulkner. She was proud
of Skinner, too. The truth was out.

She turned suddenly as someone touched
her elbow. "Mom!" Scully exclaimed. "I
didn't expect to see you! I thought you'd
be home watching Bill."

Her mother smiled. "Tara's doing that.
Besides, what are VCRs for?" She caressed
her daughter's cheek. "You look
exhausted, my sweet."

Scully patted the seat next to her and
waited until her mother sat down. "I'm
okay, Mom. It feels good just to sit
quietly for a while."

"You've been through hell this week. Bill
told me most of it. I'm so sorry, Dana."
She covered Scully's hand with her own.
"Thank God it's over. How is Fox?"

"He's in better shape than I expected.
His doctor thinks that's because he was
in such good physical condition before
this. They're in surgery now; he had some
internal bleeding, and there were some
bone fragments around his ankle the
doctors wanted to remove. But no skull
fracture as I'd feared."

"Bill said his ribs were a mess."

Scully remembered how repulsed she'd been
as Mulder's clothes had been cut away in
the helicopter, revealing the bruises
under the glare of lights. "Yes. Four
fractures. He's going to be in great pain
for several weeks."

Maggie squeezed her hand. "But he's
alive."

"Yes," Dana smiled and squeezed back, 
"and if I know him, he'll be back to work
by next week. In two weeks at the
latest."

"Your brother was very impressed with
your work, honey. He said--and I'm
quoting--'for a little thing, you sure
carry a lot of clout.' I think he's proud
of you...proud you're an FBI agent."

Scully's mouth fell open, and then her
gaze met her mother's. "How about you,
Mom? I cause you a lot of worry, don't
I?"

Maggie's face crinkled with love.
"Sweetie, I'm a mother. I'd worry about
you if you were a teacher or a doctor
or...a shoe salesman. It's not for me to
tell you what to do with your life. I
love you no matter what you do. The truth
is, I'm very proud you're in the FBI.
Most of all, I'm overjoyed that you love
your work. You're happy, and that's all a
mom could want."

Dana leaned forward and hugged her. She
made a mental note to ignore Bill's
opinions from then on. She patted her
mother's back. "Have I ever mentioned how
lucky I am to have you?"

"I see that the other way around," Maggie
replied.

Their embrace was interrupted by someone
clearing his throat, and they both turned
to see a middle-aged man in surgical
scrubs, sweat beading on his balding
scalp.

"Dr. Manning, you're done so soon?"
Scully asked.

He smiled. "Three and a half hours is
soon? Well, perhaps. The damage was not
as extensive as we'd feared. Mr. Mulder
is a very strong man. He'll make a full
recovery."

"Oh, thank God!" Maggie exclaimed.

"This is my mother," Dana said. She
paused, silently rejoicing about the good
report as the two shook hands. "How about
his ankle?"

"A small fracture. He'll need at least
three weeks with the cast. But
considering the walking you said he did
on it, it's a miracle the fracture wasn't
worse."

"I think his being alive at all is a
miracle," Maggie observed.

"That it is," Manning agreed.

"Doctor...I'd like to...could I see him?"
Scully's eyes turned to the floor. "I
know he's out of it, and he's in
recovery, but...I'd just..."

Manning's hand gripped her shoulder. "Dr.
Scully, anyone else I'd say 'no' to, but
I understand how important it would be
for you just to look in. Feel free. I'll
call upstairs to give you the green
light."

As he left them, they gathered their
things and headed for the elevator.

X         X         X

"You don't have to go with me, Mom,"
Scully said as she and her mother donned
sterile gowns.

Maggie smiled before tying on a mask.
"Dana, I went to the hospital alone for
your dad, for Melissa--even for you. It's
not an easy thing to do by yourself.
Besides, Fox is like family. I wouldn't
feel right not to look in on him."

Dana tied her own mask. "You like Mulder,
don't you?"

"Of course I do." Maggie's eyes widened. 
"Why would you ask that?"

Scully added latex gloves. In a quiet
voice, she replied, "I don't know...
'cause of some of the things Bill has
said, I guess."

Her mother's hand squeezed her arm. "Does
Bill speak for you,dear? He certainly
doesn't speak for me. Bill is much like
your father--strict, by the book. You're
a bit that way, too. But I think he feels
that as man of the family he now has to
watch out for all of us. I don't believe
he dislikes your partner; it's more that
Fox is a symbol of your job's danger.
Bill uses Fox as a scapegoat for venting
his frustration."

"Frustration?"

"Honey, think about it. You hold a job
that up until the last twenty or so years
was only held by men. You do dangerous
work, and you're exceptional at it. Bill
feels frustrated that he can't prevent
you from the jeopardy your job brings.
And since he can't yell at you or stop
you, he displaces all that anger onto
Fox. And to be honest, your partner has
more of...an open mind, and some people
find that threatening."

Scully considered her mother's words and
nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense, Mom."
She realized something else. "You know,
aside from his own mother, you're the
only other person he willingly allows to
call him 'Fox'. Even I have to call him
'Mulder'."

"I have a way with men." 

They entered the recovery room, gazes
searching between several nurses and six
occupied gurneys until they found Mulder.
Scully felt her mother's hand take hers
as they noted the tubes and IVs in his
nose and arms, and the blinking, beeping
monitors beside him. As a matter of
habit, Scully's eyes scanned the
information and then, satisfied with the
data, turned to her partner. His leg was
elevated, a cast encasing him from his
knee to his toes. Both hands were wrapped
in gauze from knuckles to forearms, and
on his head, a gauze bandage covered the
twenty-nine stitches taken to sew the
gash. Above the sheet, gauze covered his
torso up to bare shoulders.

Scully moved closer, gingerly placing
both hands on Mulder's left arm. His face
was so white his hair alone made it stand
out from the pillowcase. He'd been bathed
and shaved, and he looked young and
boyish in repose. And very ill. Small
cuts and purple bruises stood out around
his mouth, nose, and eyes, and though
he'd not had much to spare, weight loss
was evident. 

Scully knew he'd mend, but she silently
lamented the torture he'd endured, and
she wished she could just hold him and
comfort him for a while. Instead, she
prayed silently for him, then thought to
herself, "You get better, Mulder, and you
get better soon."

She turned back to her mother, instantly
noticing tears streaming down the woman's
face. "What kind of animals would do
something like this? What kind of
monsters live in this world?" Maggie
asked.

Scully put her arm around her mother's
shoulders. "Three of them are behind bars
today, at least. And one of them is
dead."

"Fox shot him?"

"Yes."

"Good." Maggie reached out and carefully
touched Mulder's cheek. "Well, that's one
of them who won't slip through the cracks
of our legal system. I hope it was the
one who did this to him."

"I believe it was, Mom."

Maggie nodded. Then in a low voice she
told Mulder, "I'll be praying for you,
Fox. Get well--there are many more
monsters for you and Dana to fight." She
turned and started from the recovery
room, wiping the tears with her gloved
hand. When she'd regained composure, she
looked to her daughter. "Honey? I think
you should get something to eat and take
a well-deserved nap. C'mon, I'll drive
you home."

Scully gripped her partner's arm once
more and silently promised him she'd
return. To know he was safe and cared for
was a great relief to her, but she
wouldn't feel at ease until he could talk
to her, until he could again be the
Mulder she knew. She sighed and
cautiously smoothed his hair back from
his forehead. Then she followed her
mother out of the room.

X         X         X

A light snow fell late Friday night, but
by Saturday morning, bright sun shone as
Scully re-entered the hospital. The
crisp, white day filled her with renewed
energy, and the tensions of previous days
began to leave her. At Reception, she
found Mulder had been moved to a private
room and was listed as serious but
stable. She looked forward to seeing him
awake, and a certain excitement
accompanied her into the elevator.

At Mulder's room, she quietly pushed the
door open and then peeked inside. He
looked much the same as the day before
except his head was elevated more, and
only an oxygen tube was at his nose,
though IVs still ran into his forearms.
Her heart leaped when she saw his eyes
were open, staring out the window on the
far wall. She watched him for a moment,
knowing what seeing the outdoors through
a hospital window meant to one who'd been
kidnapped. She noted that his shivering
and gasping for breath had ceased; he lay
heavily and calmly on the bed. He looked
peaceful, and that matched the mood with
which she'd woken that morning.

"Mulder?" She finally stepped into the
room, her smile broadening as he slowly
turned his head to see her.

His injured lips lazily managed a small
grin, and his hoarse voice weakly
whispered, "Hey, Scully." He lifted his
bandaged left hand.

She walked to his side and set a plastic
bag she'd been carrying on the floor.
Gingerly she took his hand in hers. "It's
good to see you, Mulder."

He felt as if he were fighting his way
through a dense fog. Painkillers surged
through his body, making his mind hazy,
his limbs deadened, and his senses slow
to respond. He could hardly hear his own
voice. But seeing her refreshed him. Her
eyes appeared tired, but her radiant
smile looked wonderful. And this time,
she was real. "How are *you*, Scully?
Have you rested?"

"Aren't you the one we should be worried
about?" she asked him, her gaze scanning
his pallid face, his darkly circled eyes.

"Already saw the doctor," he replied, his
breathing shallow. "I'll be okay...But I
know...what you went through...Did you
sleep?"

Scully realized Mulder had "been there."
He certainly knew the lack of sleep, the
worry, the fear those left behind
suffered. She nodded. "Yesterday when I
left here, I went home and changed; then
I saw Skinner. Later, I went to Mom's for
dinner. Last night, I went to your place
to feed your fish--for real. Mulder, I
sat on your couch, and the next thing I
knew, it was six a.m. I'm sorry; I didn't
mean to do that."

The corners of his mouth lifted. "It's a
comfortable couch."

"All these years, I've wondered why you
sleep on it," she agreed. "And now I
understand a bit better."

"You can't have my couch, Scully."

"I can if you get kidnapped again. I
won't look as hard for you next time."

He squeezed her fingers languidly.
"Thanks...for finding me."

"I think you found us. I couldn't believe
it when all of a sudden, there you were
in front of our headlights," Scully
replied, shaking her head slightly. She
felt the pressure of his fingers tighten
and saw him grimace as he tried to shift
his shoulders. She knew pain killers
could only do so much. "How are you
feeling, Mulder?"

He swallowed hard. "A little sore." His
eyes slowly rose to meet hers. "Tell me
what this...was all about."

She knew he'd never confess to how
miserable he felt, nor would she mention
that his suffering was obvious to her.
Instead, she decided to compensate. "The
brief explanation. We'll talk more when
you're up to it." She proceeded to tell
him about Bill's investigation of the
DWC, of Heidi, and of Skinner's help.
Mulder merely listened, eyes widening
briefly now and then, head slightly
nodding on occasion. When Scully
finished, she said, "And we want to know
how you escaped."

"Piece of glass...When I fell off that
bar, I grabbed glass...cut through the
ropes later."

"You mean after you kicked the camera?"

He nodded. "Old window. Broken glass."
His eyes closed as he fought the memories
of the beating.

Scully gently rubbed his arm, flinching
as images and sounds from that video
played in her own mind. She shook them
away, remembering something else. "Then
what? How on earth did you get out?"

He seemed relieved to be distracted.
"Doors...that led outside...Then I just
went through the woods."

She watched him, shaking her head. "I
told Skinner you amaze me. In the shape
you were in, it's a miracle you were able
to get away at all. Do you know you were
at least two miles from that house? I
don't know how you did it, Mulder." She
paused, and seeing torment line his
features, she decided to change the
subject. "Hey! I brought you a present!"

He seemed confused at her abruptness but
played along. "Didn't have to." He
watched as she retrieved the bag and
brought out a boxed set of videotapes.

"Viola!" she said, holding it closer to
his straining eyes. "Since you missed it
on TV..."

"Complete set of Godzilla?" Mulder slowly
grinned again. "Scully, that's great!" He
winced against the pain that trying to
lift his head brought. He settled
gratefully back on the pillow. "Really...
thanks."

"I'll put them over here for now, okay?"
She indicated the dresser.

He nodded. When she returned to his side,
he said, "You were there with me,
Scully...a few times...You helped
me...That's how I did it."

Realizing he referred to his escape and
his hallucinations, she said softly, "You
were delusional, Mulder. You suffered a
concussion, lost a lot of blood. You were
badly dehydrated; that alone causes
hallucinations. In fact, you couldn't
have had much food or water--"

"None," he interrupted. "But you *were*
there...I didn't imagine it...You kept me
going...told me when you'd come for me."

She saw his eyelids starting to droop,
yet his eyes burned into hers, imploring
her to agree. "Mulder, we'll talk about
it some other time. You need to rest
now--"

"Scully...it *was* you...How else did I
know...where to shoot?...I heard you
say...aim left of the light."

She sighed, exasperation creeping into
her mind. On one hand, she was flattered
he'd thought of her, but on the other,
she couldn't understand why he couldn't
just accept medical fact. "Mulder, I'm
not about to buy the theory that I can
somehow split from my body and go talk to
your mind."

"Could have been...some sort of psychic
connection."

"Only if it's on one of those
infomercials on late-night TV." She
stopped, not wanting to anger him. "Look,
I've no doubt you imagined speaking to
me--"

"It was you, Scully."

She shrugged helplessly, her voice
rising. "Or maybe it was a guardian
angel; did you ever think of that?"

He pursed his lips and raised his
eyebrows. "Why would it have had your
appearance and your voice?"

"So you'd listen to it without question."
She shook her head as she saw him trying
to decide if her latest theory had
substance. She thought it garbage, but if
it kept him quiet, fine.

"You think so?" he finally asked.

Just then, a knock sounded, and relieved,
Scully left his side to answer it. She
paused, then stepped back, pulling the
door open to reveal her brother. He was
in full dress uniform, his topcoat
breezing open as he moved into the room.
Scully saw Mulder's eyes widen again, a
glimpse of contempt touching them
fleetingly.

Bill took in the extent of Mulder's
injuries and his appearance, and then he
nervously approached the bed.

"Uh, Mr. Mulder...I, uh,...wanted to come
see you...Tara, Matthew, and I have to
leave in a few hours. I wanted
to--apologize--for this. I didn't see it
coming; I didn't mean to put your life in
danger." He turned his hat in his hands,
searching for more words.

Mulder wasn't surprised by what the elder
Scully said, and he saw no reason to make
him continue. "My boss once told me--" he
interrupted, "--it was after Dana had
been found...that every day, every life
is in danger." He tried to take a deep
breath but winced at the pain it brought
his bandaged ribs. "Nobody can predict
what others will do...how they'll
react...Don't worry about it."

Bill was stunned. "Surely you're angry
that my business here caused--" he
gestured to Mulder's body, "--this. You
wouldn't be injured, you wouldn't have
been taken or tortured if it hadn't been
for me."

"I'm angry at them...not you. You were
trying to do...the right thing...Not your
fault if they chose...a dumb-ass scheme
to try...to stop you...Avoid the guilt
trip...It doesn't change a thing."

Bill shook his head. "Mr. Mulder, I've
said some pretty rotten things to you--"

Mulder again tried to shift his shoulders
but instantly gave it up. He returned
Bill's gaze. "So we'll probably
never...be buddies...but respect isn't
that hard...I don't hold you responsible
for this...Let's just leave it."

Bill gently took Mulder's hand, doing his
best to shake it without hurting the
bandaged areas. "Thank you for your
understanding...and tolerance."

Mulder started to nod but looked away as
Skinner suddenly entered the room. The
Assistant Director hid a surprised look
when he saw both Scullys, and his
expression softened as his eyes turned to
his fallen agent.

"Agent Mulder. Agent Scully...Bill."
Skinner moved to the other side of the
bed so he could address all three.  

"I'd stand, sir," Mulder said slowly,
"but I'm having trouble with that today."

Skinner shrugged. "That's all right,
Agent Mulder," he replied. "Next time
you're in my office, you can stand
twice."

Mulder and Scully both raised eyebrows at
their boss's sudden use of humor. Mulder
told him, "I'll do that."

The Assistant Director nodded. "The
doctor seems to think you'll mend. How do
you feel?"

"I'll live."

"Good," Skinner retorted. "Nobody else
wants that basement office."

"But Scully wants my couch," Mulder told
him.

Skinner almost smiled. "Look, I won't
stay. I have a grudge hand-ball match to
attend." He indicated casual clothes
beneath his peacoat. "I just wanted to
tell you the sub-committee launched a
full-scale investigation and crackdown on
the DWC. The San Diego Field Office
picked up three DWC members last night.
They feel some members are hiding in
Mexico, but hopefully, we can apprehend
them eventually. Our agents found
electronic phone equipment in Greeley's
townhouse; he must have been one of your
callers, Scully. At any rate, we've
already got enough of a case to put these
clowns away for good."

Bill's hand shot out to Skinner who shook
it. "Mr. Skinner, I thank you for all
your help. Without you and Dana, I don't
know where I'd be. I appreciate all
you've done."

Skinner nodded. "Glad you brought it to
our attention. And I'm glad this incident
turned out as well as it did." He looked
down at Mulder as if he wanted to tell
his agent something. He held the eye
contact for several seconds, then finally
settled on just giving a nod which Mulder
returned. "Get better, Mulder. We
wouldn't want your office to get messy."

"Heaven forbid," Scully agreed. She also
extended her hand to her boss as he
headed to the door. She mouthed "thanks"
to him and received an extra squeeze of
her fingers. As she held the door for his
exit, she noticed her mother, Tara, and
the baby in the hallway. She motioned
them in. "Geeze, Mulder," she said,
facing him as she propped open the door,
"your room is as busy as the Mall in
tourist season. More company."

Mulder stifled a yawn as he saw more of
Scully's family enter. He felt exhausted.
Coping with visitors was tiring, yet it
was better than being alone and tied in a
dark cellar. He managed a small smile as
Dana's mother entered the room, but his
jaw dropped when he saw she carried a
huge arrangement of blue, pink, and white
carnations and roses. 

"Hello, Fox," she said cheerily. "I
brought these for you. After all you went
through, you need a reminder that life
can be beautiful." She set the flowers on
the windowsill then leaned over the
bedrail to kiss his cheek.

Scully hid a smile as she noted her
partner's surprised look. He rarely
showed emotions, but he couldn't hide the
shock and gratitude in his eyes. She
wanted to hug her mother, and she
couldn't refrain from glancing at her
brother whose own surprise at his
mother's actions and obvious affection
for Fox Mulder garnered mixed emotions.

Mulder stammered, "Mrs. Scully--you
didn't have to--"

"Shhh, Fox. I know that. I wanted to."
She smiled at him. "And here's something
else. I have a downstairs bedroom, and
it's right across the hall from the
bathroom. When they kick you out of here,
I want you to stay with me until you can
navigate by yourself and without pain."

Mulder quickly glanced at the others'
faces, noting Scully's impish expression.
He gave Maggie an embarrassed half-smile.
"No, I...thanks anyway...I'll be okay in
my apartment--"

"Dana tells me you use a couch for a
bed." Maggie's voice was adamant. "You'll
stay with me, Fox, and that's all there
is to it. I'd like the company and the
opportunity to help you out."

Scully was dumbfounded by her mother's
words, but pleased. She hadn't yet
thought about Mulder's difficulty in
caring for himself after the hospital.
Her mother's idea was perfect. But she
could see Mulder's pride standing in the
way, and she knew he felt ill-at-ease
arguing with her mother. She could also
see how tired all the company had made
him; the man so used to being a loner was
overwhelmed. She stepped in. "Great idea,
Mom. Let me talk him into it later.
Okay?"

Maggie continued to smile broadly, and
she took the hint. "Just be sure you do."
She checked her watch and said, "I hate
to make this so short, but we have to get
some brunch and then get Bill to his
plane." She touched Mulder's cheek. "You
come let me take care of you, Fox. I'll
see you later."

"Thanks, Mrs. Scully, but--"

She put a finger to her lips to hush him,
then started to leave.

Tara waved at Mulder, and Bill turned to
nod thanks and apology once more.

"Honey?" Maggie said to Scully as her
daughter walked her to the door. "Want to
come with us to brunch?"

Scully proudly looked at her family,
happy to be with them. She thought about
saying "yes," but when she looked back at
Mulder, she caught a faint, fleeting
glimpse of fear in his eyes. She knew the
fear of being alone after an ordeal such
as his. She'd hidden that fear from him
after she'd been abducted, and she knew
he'd never admit it to her. She also knew
she'd hated being without him in previous
days. And he looked so alone now.

Mulder smiled at her, though, remembering
their words when she'd left him to attend
her mother's celebration for Bill.
"Scully, go. Be with your family while
you can," he encouraged. Then his eyes
returned to the window now obscured by
the flowers.

Dana looked at her mother. "Mom, I'd like
to, but I'd rather stay here. Could I
have a rain check, please?"

Maggie nodded, then hugged her. "Do what
you need to do," she whispered in her
daughter's ear.

A round of hugs and good-byes followed,
and finally the door closed, leaving her
and Mulder alone. She quickly moved the
flowers to the dresser, noting he didn't
protest. Then she pulled a chair up to
his bedside.

"You should have gone, Scully."

"And leave you alone with Godzilla? Not a
chance." Reaching through the bedrail,
she took her partner's hand. His grip was
a bit stronger, and she matched it
happily. "Want me to sing?"

He chuckled, flinching when it hurt his
ribs. "I think I can live without that."

"Fine. Just don't say I never offered."
She watched him stare out the window
again, knowing he fought the hellish
memories that returned to him when it was
quiet. She wanted to tell him the trauma
would eventually fade but that he'd never
stop checking around corners or out his
window. But what good would it do? Mulder
had been checking around corners and out
his windows for over twenty years; he
knew kidnapping from both sides. She
could tell him nothing new; she could
only lend knowing support. She squeezed
his hand. "Hey, partner, you've had a
busy last few days and last few minutes.
Go to sleep and rest, would you? I could
use some time to relax, myself."

He met her gaze. Fear and sadness left
his eyes as he slowly tried to grin.
"Scully, you think the FBI gives any
'Most Times in the Hospital' awards?"

She returned the grin. "No, but it
should. You've certainly earned one. 
Now rest."

He closed his eyes, settling in for
sleep. A minute passed. Then, quietly, he
whispered, "You've earned an award from
me."

"Yeah?" she asked softly. "For what?"

"'Greatest Friend and Top Agent'."

She looked at him, at his bruises, at his
haggard face. And she continued to stare
at him as his breathing evened out and as
his hand went limp in hers. And she
didn't give missing brunch with her
family a second thought.

X         X         X

Agents Mulder and Scully stood on the
deck of a modest fishing boat that faded
farther out to the deeper waters off the
Baja Peninsula. The Pacific's waves
slapped against the rocks as seagulls
screeched overhead, their white wings
outlined against the pink and orange
skies which greeted the sunset. The
evening was warm, and the breezes tasted
of salt as they played in the air.

Suddenly a button was pushed. A loud,
yellow explosion shattered the boat, the
lives, and the peace. 

And Richard Faulkner's daydream ended. He
smiled from the bunk in his tiny, drab
jail cell. It could happen. It should
happen. Mulder and Scully should pay for
what they'd done to him. To Heidi. To
Willie. Even to Ian.

It *would* happen. Nothing was
impossible. Especially when one knew the
people he did...people who were still out
there. The DWC was neither contained nor
extinct. And the game merely lingered in
intermission.
*********************
End Redemption (Part 08 of 08)