Title: The Forgotten Place 
Author: Pita1013
Rating: G (for just part 1)
Classification: 
Spoilers: Up to and including Closure.
Keywords: UST, MSR, Character Death (not Mulder or Scully),
MulderAngst, ScullyAngst (the whole family), ScullyTorture.
Summary: Krycek kidnaps Scully on orders from Cancerman,
but priorities become confused as weeks go by.

Archive anywhere

Disclaimer: Not mine <sob>. They belong to DD and GA and
CC and all the folks at 1013 and Fox.

Author's Notes/Intro: I haven't had the best of luck with
longer stories (like I never finish them) but I think this one
is OK. Please forgive any geographical discrepancies
since I've never been to some of these locations. This one 
comes from my belief that, deep down, Krycek isn't so bad
AND my belief that CSM is a demon straight from hell.
The parts in this story will range from G to R, for nasty
language and violence. No sex, sorry my smutloving friends.

Note about Point of View in this story: I rotate between
Mulder, Scully, and Krycek's point of view throughout the
story, but it should be pretty obvious who is talking. The
beginning and end scenes are "third-person". There should
not be a whole lot of confusion, but if it's a problem, let
me know so I don't do it again in the future.

Feedback to PitaM13@cs.com is always responded to, whether
it's good or bad. Flames, however, will be studiously
ignored or cried over, depending on my mood.

This piece is dedicated to Bill, who helped me learn more
about Chibougmau than I could ever place in one book. Even
though you may never read it, this is for you.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (1/11)


March 1
3:00 p.m.
Undisclosed location

The dark man didn't bother to knock. He was expected.

A gray-white swirl of smoke escaped to the hallway as the
man pushed the door open, only to be swept away by the
ventilation systems. The dark man wondered for an instant
if it wouldn't be better if he too were sucked away, never 
to be seen again. He crushed the thought as he had killed
countless others.

The dark man had more than a passing acquaintance with 
murder, of thoughts and humans alike. 

The room was fog-filled with the smoke that to the dark
man seemed almost alive.  Almost, but not quite.

Just like the eyes of the room's other occupant.

The man of one-hundred names, at least half of them laced
with expletives that were less than savory. He didn't care
about that. His eyes were not quite alive.

His voice, coarsened by years and cigarettes: "I have a job
for you, Alex."

The dark man, Alex Krycek, suppressed a wholly unwise groan
and an equally unwise shudder. It was too late for that; 
soon his eyes would be as dead as the smoking man's.

"What now, Spender?" He tried to keep the insolence from 
his voice and only half succeeded.

C.G.B. Spender was more amused than annoyed at Krycek's 
tone of voice. He knew that since losing his arm, the young
assassin blustered more in compensation.

"You are aware of the Oubliette Project?"

Krycek frowned. "Must have missed that meeting."

"Perhaps sojourning in Russia that week?" Spender snorted
not-quite-human laughter at his own joke, ignoring the 
involuntary wince it produced in the other man. "Oubliette
was our method of keeping troublesome people out of the way
without danger of discovery or escape. You'll be briefed
more fully on that aspect of your assignment later."

"What do you want from me?" Krycek asked, not wanting to 
know but not having a choice in the matter.

Spender scowled like a thwarted child. "I'm sick of Mulder."
His voice was also childish, petulant. "I want him to stop
poking his big nose into things. I don't need him anymore."

Krycek frowned. "You want Mulder killed?" The younger man
was starting to think his superior had flown right off the
deep end after his surgery.

Spender didn't seem to hear. "He's just useless now. He
knows what happened to his sister, but he won't stop the
Quest. He must stop the Quest."

Krycek forced his hands to stop shaking at the murderous 
tone of Spender's voice. Even the hardened killer inside
him was shrinking back at Spender's newly manifested lack
of sanity. 

"Do you want Mulder dead?" he repeated.

Spender grinned skeletally. "No, no... Don't do that."

Alex Krycek looked into the old man's eyes then, and 
suddenly wanted to be across the country. Even the total
madness of Tunguska was preferable to the look in C.G.B.
Spender's eyes at that moment.

"I've got something much better planned."

He continued to grin as Alex inched backwards without even
realizing it.

"Much better. And you're going to pull it off for me."



END PART ONE OF ELEVEN
X~~X~~X~~X~~X

The Forgotten Place (2/11)

March 3
2:00 p.m.
X-Files Office


I wasn't prepared for it when Mulder started yelling. He
wasn't yelling at me, but rather at his computer. But I
still wasn't prepared for it, and I just about jumped out
of my three-inch heels.

"Jesus, Mulder, don't do that!" I said, even though I knew
he wasn't listening to me. He had that *look* on his face.

"Scully, look at this!" He waved me over.

I sighed softly and went to see what new toys my partner 
was going to play with. I wasn't prepared for the pictures,
either.

"Oh my God," I gasped out. Someone had emailed Mulder some
pictures of bodies. Dead ones. Very, very dead ones. "What
happened to them?"

"It says they look that bad because they were floating in
Lake Pontchartrain for about a week. Do you see the bite 
marks?" Mulder was absolutely bubbling, and I was starting
to get nervous.

"Bite marks?" I repeated. "I can't tell much of anything 
from these!" I looked at him again. "But I can tell your
imagination is running wild again."

Mulder tried to look wounded. "I have reason to believe 
these were the victims of another lake monster."

Oh, no, not that... *Anything* but that.

"Seriously, Scully, what if we have another Nessie or Big
Blue on our hands down there?"

"No, Mulder," I shook my head. "Not our hands. Their hands.
I want nothing to do with this."

He looked confused. "But, Scully, you need to autopsy these
bodies so we can find the monster!"

I leashed my temper with effort. "NO, Mulder. I'm not going
to do it this time! Last time we went after a Lake Monster
it ended up eating my dog!" How could he have forgotten my
poor Queequeg?

"Scully, we have to put aside our personal biases--"

That was it. The final straw of the day. If I didn't get
out of there I was going to shoot him again. Probably in
a more life-threatening place, too.

"Listen, Mulder, you are NO ONE to talk about personal bias
so don't even start with me.  How many times have you let 
yourself get involved in something because of your PERSONAL
beliefs?"  I grabbed my coat and headed for the door.

"Wait a minute, where are you--"

"Out, Mulder. I'm going home, where the temptation to kill
hypocrites isn't as hard to suppress." I headed out, not 
wanting to hear any excuses.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe my "personal bias" was a
little silly. Maybe I was just cranky that day. But I was
*not* going to listen to Mulder. He *was* being a little
too hypocritical for me. Time to go home, enjoy the weekend
and wait for Mulder to call and apologize like he always 
does, even when it wasn't his fault.

X~~X~~X~~X~~

March 3
2:45 p.m.
Dana Scully's Apartment

I wasn't even hiding when I heard the key rattle in the
lock.

*shit!* I thought as I headed for the bedroom. I was in 
the closet in a matter of seconds, trying to keep from 
panting. What was she doing home this early? 

It was soon apparent that she had left the Bureau angry. 
She was slamming things and muttering to herself, but I
couldn't make out words from my vantage point. Then she 
wandered closer and I made out "dammit Mulder." 

I shook my head, trying to suppress a laugh. They were going
to make it even easier on me. If they were fighting, then
I'd have more time to get Scully to the Oubliette Project
without Mulder noticing she was gone.

I readied the hypodermic that had been riding in my pocket
since my meeting with Spender. He had assured me that the
solution in the vial would make my job simple. Stick Scully
in the hip or shoulder with the needle, inject the nasty-
looking red liquid, and she would be putty in my hands.

Spender warned me, though, that the suggestibility caused 
by the solution only lasted for thirty minutes. After that
she'd pass out. So I'd have half an hour to talk her into 
the car and get her secured for the trip before she keeled
over on me. 

Piece of cake, I grinned to myself.

I cracked the closet door slightly to see better. Scully
came into the bedroom and stopped in the middle of the 
room, taking off a necklace or something. She was facing 
away. There was no better time.

Silent as a wraith I crept up behind her. I noticed then
that she was crying a little. I felt a pang and ignored it
as I stabbed the needle in her hip and depressed the plunger
to administer the liquid. 

She gasped loudly and dropped the necklace. She spun 
around to face me, but even as she did I saw her eyes 
clouding over and her expression slackening.

"It's time to go, Agent Scully," I told her. She nodded
without a word.

X~~X~~X~~X~~X~~
March 3
3:45 p.m.
Dana Scully's Apartment


"Scully?" I knocked for the third time on her door. I had
to patch things up. I had been a huge jerk at the office.
So what if I didn't like her dog? She did. I *was* being
a hypocrite.

But now she wasn't answering her door.

"Scully?" I repeated, jiggling the knob. It opened easily.

*Why isn't her door locked?* I wondered with a bad feeling
in the pit of my stomach. With premonition of worse things
to come, I wandered into my partner's apartment.

The place was immaculate. Especially compared to my pig-
pen apartment. The first thing I looked for was Scully.
She was nowhere to be found, but there were no signs of a 
struggle. Her car was out front, so she had to be around
somewhere.

Doing laundry? With a twinge of guilt I peeked into her 
closet and noted the laundry baskets were there. So she
wasn't down at the building's laundry room. 

Turning away from the closet, I saw a glint on the floor.
Curious, and still feeling *really* worried, I went to 
examine it.

Scully's cross necklace stared up at me from the floor.

You might say a necklace cannot stare. But you'd be wrong.
That piece of gold was looking at me, and the expression
was pure accusation. *Where were you an hour ago?*

I was jumping to conclusions, and I knew it. We had a fight
and she was ticked off. She went for a jog or a walk or 
something and forgot to lock her door.

Her cellphone, discarded on the bed, rang shrilly.

Without thinking, I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Fox?"

"Oh, hi Mrs. Scully," I choked down a snicker at what she
might infer from me answering her daughter's cellphone.

"Is Dana around?" Maggie asked, her voice not betraying
any suspicions.

"Actually, I was just looking for her. She left work early
but she's not at her apartment."

"Why do you have her phone?" 

"I don't really, she left it on the bed here," I said,
realizing as I spoke that Dana Scully didn't go anywhere
without the phone I now held.  Maggie realized it in the
same moment.

"Do you think someone... took her?" Maggie asked softly.

"I don't know, Mrs. Scully," I answered truthfully. "She
was pretty mad at me when she left the office, so she may
have just forgotten it..." It sounded stupid to my own
ears, and to Maggie's as well.

"Stay there, Fox, I'm coming over." A click, and she was
gone, probably running full-tilt towards her car as I 
stood staring at my best friend's phone. 

Her cross was still in my other hand. 

*Every time they take her, they leave her cross... First
Duane Barry, then Antarctica, now this..."

I collapsed to the floor without realizing it, clutching 
at the golden necklace.

*I lost her again. Dear God, I lost her again.*


END PART TWO OF ELEVEN

X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (3/11)

March 3
8:00 p.m.
Dana Scully's Apartment

Skinner looked like he wanted to kill someone. Possibly
me, I wasn't sure. My mind kept wandering.

"Tell me one more time what happened," he commanded. I 
opened my mouth to repeat for the fifth time what I had
already told him about my arrival at the apartment.

Maggie Scully had other ideas, apparently.

"No disrespect intended, Mr. Skinner, but this isn't going
to help. Would you like *me* to repeat it this time?" She
sounded pissed. I would've been if I had been thinking on
a less battered brain.

To his credit, Skinner looked slightly ashamed of himself.

"Mrs. Scully, I understand that you must be worried--"

She cut him off. "I don't think you understand what *we* 
are going through right now. You seem to have trouble with
losing the agents under your command."

Skinner visibly winced. Maggie certainly knew how to cut 
straight to the bone when she was angry. I was too busy 
noticing the stress she put on *we* to take any pleasure
at Maggie's feistiness.

"Sir, how are we going to find her?" I asked softly.

Maggie and Skinner, who looked like they were about to come
to verbal blows, both looked over at me. Skinner softened
a little.

"All right, Mulder, here's the problem," Skinner started to
explain. "I'm sure you realized it, in a way, since you 
called me and not the police."

I nodded slightly. I knew where he was going with this.

"For one thing, we have no signs of struggle. No evidence
of anything off-kilter except for the unlocked door and
the cell phone, but those can both be attributed to her
being angry."

I nodded. So did Maggie. We both knew the excuses were 
absolute shit, but they were excuses nonetheless.

"That brings me to the other problem, that you two had a 
nasty fight. The police will say she was angry, and went
out to calm down."

Maggie threw her hands in the air. "She's been gone for 
over four hours!" 

"And a person can't be declared missing until more time has
gone by, if there's no signs of foul play," Skinner added.

Maggie sighed and threw herself into a chair.

Skinner focused on me. "Listen, Mulder, I know what you're
thinking."

I had to smile slightly at that. "Do you, sir?"

He snorted. "Here's what I can offer you. As soon as is 
legally possible, I'll start a Bureau investigation. In
the meantime, you have to promise you won't do anything
colossally stupid."

"Define 'colossally stupid,' sir." 

Skinner lowered his voice. "I know you have your own ways
of getting information. Do what you need to do. But if you
get into trouble I'll kick your ass, because then *we* may
never get her back."

I noticed the stress on *we* once again. Both Maggie and
Skinner were stressing to each other, and to me, that we
all had lost someone. It was strangely comforting.

Skinner left then. Maggie and I sat in silence for just a
moment before I decided to act on my *unofficial* sources.

"Mrs. Scully, I have some people to talk to that can start
the search for Dana. Are you going to stay here, or should
I call at your house with any news?" I asked as I started 
for the door.

Maggie was out of the chair in a flash. "I want to go with
you!" she said as she grabbed her coat.

"But..." I couldn't think of a thing to say.

"No buts, Fox, she's my daughter."

*******
Home/Office of the Lone Gunmen
9:15 p.m.

"Mulder?" Byers looked absolutely astonished to see me.

"Can we come in?" I asked, gesturing Maggie forward. Byers
looked at her, then at me. "This is Margaret Scully," I 
added quickly.

Byers was the smart one. He knew that this substitution of
one Scully for the other was a bad sign, to say the least.

"Frohicke, get out here!" Byers yelled as we entered what
I always thought of as the "lair" of the Gunmen.

Quickly I explained to Maggie who these men were and why I
thought they could help. She nodded, eyes widened as she
glanced around the room.

Frohicke's voice bellowed from some other room. "Where in 
the hell is Langly?" This was followed by a long string of
obscenities directed toward Langly and all his ancestors.

I winced, but Maggie seemed to think it was funny. 

After what seemed like an hour of yelling between Byers and
Frohicke, the two Gunmen appeared. 

Frohicke glowered. "Langly is missing. I think he ditched
us to follow some bimbo to Maine."

I shook my head. "You two will have to do, I guess."

Frohicke noticed Maggie then. "This is Margaret Scully."
I introduced the two men to her.

Byers cleared his throat. "No offense, Mrs. Scully, but we
are... kind of at a loss here."

Frohicke cut straight to the point. "What happened to Dana
that has her mother traversing to such places at the Lone
Gunman Offices?"

I glanced over at her. She was tearing up, but she nodded 
to me. *Do what you need to,* the look said.

"I need your help on something."

Byers looked confused again. "Of course, always."

"I need you to check every flight that left this area since
3:00 this afternoon. Check for anyone that looks suspicious
or that shouldn't be on a plane. Check for pseudonyms. 
Check for--"

"Holy shit, Mulder, what--"

"Mulder, what the--"

Both Gunmen started talking at once.

Finally Byers got it all out. "Did someone take Scully?"

I nodded. "But the FBI won't get involved for a few days 
so I need you to help me find her."

"Do you know how long it'll take--" Frohicke stopped as 
Maggie walked back toward the door. Her shoulders were
shaking visibly. "Never mind, we'll start now and we'll 
let you know when we have anything."

I thanked them profusely and headed towards Maggie. She
had control of herself as we left the Gunman Lair and 
walked toward the car.

"Do you think they'll find her?" she asked softly.

I tried to reassure her that they were the best. At the
same time I was praying to a God I no longer believed in
that they were as good as I made them out to be.

**********
March 4

For a moment I thought I had killed her. 

The drug worked exactly as I had thought it would. After
about 30 minutes, she just slumped over in the passenger
side of the car. I congratulated myself on a job well done.

That is, until we were approaching New Haven, Connecticut.

That's when the drug decided to wear off.

She was cuffed to the car door, so it's not like she was
going anywhere. That, actually, turned out to be the real
problem.

She woke up groggy, mumbling to herself. I thought I heard
a "Mulder" in there, but who knows? What I do know is that
about thirty seconds later, she was scrabbling for the car
door. Not because she wanted to escape, but because she 
was going to be extremely sick.

I was suddenly faced with an interesting decision. Do I 
uncuff her so she can be sick, or do I stick to my quite 
explicit instructions and let her be sick in the car?

It wasn't much of a choice.

I pulled over and headed to her side of the car, pulling
the door open and unlocking the cuffs as fast as I could.
It almost proved not fast enough, but I got her off the
roadside and into the ditch before her stomach completely
revolted.

She was sick for so long that I was sure I'd inadvertently
killed her. Then she stopped retching and just coughed. 
Then even that tapered off, and she was breathing normally.

With a jolt I realized I had been scared. Not that my job
would be botched and I'd be in trouble, but that Dana Scully
might not make it to the Oubliette Project alive. In fact
it had nothing to do with Oubliette at all. I just didn't 
want her to die.

*Damn, Alexei, when did you turn human again?* A little
voice in my mind snickered. *Do what you were assigned.*

I nodded in agreement. Humanity was a luxury.

That decided for the moment, I lugged Scully back to the
car and snapped the cuffs back in place.

We had places to be.

*****
March 4
2:20 a.m.
Bangor International Airport
Long-term Parking Ramp

"No, please don't use it again!" It was the closest to 
panicked I had ever seen her.

"Scully, this is non-negotiable."

She shook her head frantically. "You saw how sick it made
me! It was worse than chemo, please don't do it again."

I was standing there in a dark, deserted parking ramp with
a vial and a hypodermic, trying to convince the intended
target that I really had to use it.

But did I?

As if she saw that doubt, she seized on it. "I promise I'll
cooperate, just don't inject me with that... whatever it is.
Please?"

I wavered. 

She was sniffling. She was about to cry. I didn't think she
was capable of it until the previous day when I snuck up
behind her. Now it seemed she did a lot of it.

I was a sucker for crying women. *Spender doesn't have to
know* I thought, and nodded slowly. I uncuffed her and 
helped her out of the car. She stretched gracefully and I
noted that she was feeling a lot better than she had in 
New Haven. I started to turn toward the terminal and then
found myself sprawled on the concrete.

I had just discovered the actress in Dana Scully.

*SHIT!* I screamed to myself. I was up in a flash and 
chasing my quarry. She was easy to see, a flash of bright 
red hair in the darkness of the ramp. It almost turned out
bad for me despite that. She was runnning with the speed
of the terrified.

Then she stumbled over something, a discarded pop can, and
when she ran again it was with a pronounced limp. Now there
was no contest who would win.

With a well-placed pounce I had her down. Then I realized 
I had a serious problem. I couldn't inject her with the
drug, hold her down, and cover her mouth all at the same 
time. With two good arms it would've been difficult. With
one prosthesis and one arm it was impossible.

I was forced to drag her across the ramp, back to the car,
by trapping her with my artificial arm and covering her 
mouth with the other. It was a bad situation; what if 
someone saw? It was hard to be subtle in a kidnapping.

I was lucky: I got her cuffed to the car door without any
undue attention. The one shriek she managed to get out went
unnoticed by the inhabitants of the airport.

I injected her without trouble.

The flight was leaving in twenty minutes. We had to hurry.

Alex and Dana Kramer. Can you believe it? I could barely
keep a straight face as I collected our tickets at the
desk. I bustled her through the gates waving our tickets.

I didn't notice the shaggy blond man that was watching us
from a distance. I was too concerned with getting Scully
on the plane before she crashed.

We were barely in our seats when she passed out from the 
drug. 

********
March 4
3:15 a.m.
Flight 223

Am I dreaming?

I was on a plane... but now I'm back in my apartment. How
did that happen?

Mulder is here too. He must've found me. He always does.
My mother must've helped. She's leaving now.

But why can't I remember it?

I'm dreaming. I realize it even as I start speaking and 
no one responds.

*Mulder?* I try to get his attention. My mother is gone,
I hear the snick of the front door as it closes. As soon
as the sound reverberates through the apartment, my best
friend falls apart. 

The sounds here are funny... Sometimes I hear him and then
I don't... But I don't need to hear to know he's crying.

Oh, my poor Mulder... You hold it together when people can
see you, and then you crawl into a corner to let out the
poison. But usually I'm there to help...

*Mulder!* He can't hear me at all. Not even a quick look to
show he sensed me there.

His gun is on the kitchen table. He's looking at it in a 
way that I don't like one bit.

He wanders over to it, lifts it, still in its holster.
He caresses the leather, with that *look* on his face.

I hear the snap of the holster as loud as a shot.

My mind, such as it is, flashes back to the original Modell
case. Russian Roulette. A gun at Mulder's temple...

"NO!" I shriek, as loud as I can muster through the haze.
"Mulder, no!  Drop it!"

He practically leaps back from the table, the still-
holstered gun clattering to the floor. He's looking around
frantically, but I can't make him see me.

"Scully?" he whispers, and my heart leaps. 

"Mulder, come find me..." I whisper back.

He looks up, straight at me but not seeing.

"I'll find you, I promise."

Then the dream is gone, and I fall back to a place that is
beyond dreaming.

*****
END PART THREE OF ELEVEN

X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (4/11)

March 4

We arrived in Montreal at about 5 in the morning. 

The first thing I wanted to do was get us a car to Quebec, 
so we could continue to the Project. Scully's first priority
was different from mine.

She managed to hold the retching in until we got to the 
rental car parking lot. I realized that I had the side-
effects of the drug to thank for keeping Scully from making
another run for it. She just felt too sick.

I couldn't decide if that was a positive thing or not.

So next to our rental car, Scully succumbed to the mad
bouts of vomiting that came with flushing the drug out.
And I got the thrilling job of making sure she didn't faint
and land on the mess. 

I decided that I wouldn't use the drug again. The effects 
were getting worse and I truly didn't want her to be so
miserable.

*Then why don't you truck her back to Mulder, stupid* a 
tiny voice whispered tauntingly. *There's worse to come,
so why bother pulling punches now?*

*Shut up.* 

I got her loaded and cuffed into the car without trouble. 
Which is to say she finally collapsed and I tossed her in 
like a load of produce. 

The drive to Quebec City was a pretty one. I spent my time
driving divided between watching the scenery and watching
Scully. The latter was more diverting.

And potentially more dangerous.

The worst thing in the world is to develop feelings for a
person who is destined to come to a bad end. I made that
mistake once. I wasn't going to make it again.

But it was so good to watch her sleep, with the years erased
from her countenance. She looked so like a child when she
was sleeping. 

But she was anything but peaceful. I wondered if she was 
having nightmares in the drug-induced coma she was in. Her
face was screwed up in a silent shriek. 

I almost drove off the road when she screamed.

Not just a scream. A name. Mulder.

I pulled over to still my pounding heart. I felt like I was
going to have a stroke.  

"Jesus, Scully," I hissed, not really talking to her.

She was still again, still asleep. I wondered if I could 
expect more outbursts like that. I decided I was sticking 
to the speed limit and staying in the right lane. Better
safe than smeared all over Southern Canada.

With a shudder I pulled back onto the road. 

When we entered Quebec, I had to consult my "orders." They
weren't classified and stamped, of course. It was a single
sheet torn off a notepad, with directions and names of 
places, and so on.

The hotel was the Hilton Quebec. One room reserved to an
Alex Kramer and his wife Dana.

Wife. One room. Spender had a really sick sense of humor.

*********
March 4
6:00 p.m.
Hilton Quebec, Room 310

All I wanted to do was sleep.

And kill Krycek, but that was secondary after the last bout
of nausea that hit me.  First I wanted to sleep.

But I was really uncomfortable. 

The cuffs were looped around the nightstand, close enough
for me to lay on the bed but allowing little room for 
movement. I had one panicked thought of possible rape, but
Krycek seemed to want to stay as far from me as possible.

It wasn't the first time I've regretted letting Mulder shoot
him that night outside his apartment.

I doubted it will be the last.

*Mulder...*

My mind strayed to the one subject that held comfort to me.

I knew Mulder would be looking for me by now. Whenever we
had a spat he called or appeared at my doorstep within a
few hours. If I was lucky, he had already gotten to Bangor.

If I was lucky... Where was Henry Weems when you needed him?

Finally I gave up on sleeping. Curiosity was starting to
overcome the feelings of desolation that the whole abduction
had instilled in me.

"Hey, Krycek?"

He looked up from a sheet of notebook paper. He looked 
shocked that the lowly prisoner was addressing him.

"What is it? Are you going to be sick again?" I had been 
wrong. It wasn't shock, it was worry.

Why the hell was he worried about me? He caused me to be
sick with that horrible... stuff he drugged me with.

"No, not sick. I want to know where you're taking me," I
answered, trying to keep the fear down for a while.

The fear backed down, but assured me it would be back.

Krycek gave me a hard look. "You'll find out when you get
there, I'm sure."

Wait a minute...

"You don't know either, do you?" I gaped at him.

He looked frustrated. "I know enough to know that you are
*not* going to like it much. And I won't either." he added
under his breath.

I growled to myself. Great.

"Tell me what you do know?" I asked. He sighed and put down
the paper.

"You're being taken to the Oubliette Project. It's a method
of imprisoning people without a chance of escape or rescue."
He said in a rush.

"Charming, I'm sure, but can I pass on that?" I muttered.

He looked contrite. "I really am sorry... but I have my
orders."

I snorted. "Sorry, right. You have to be human to feel
regrets, and I don't know if you qualify anymore." Deep
down I knew that provoking him was a really bad idea. My
mouth seemed to disregard my brain. I suddenly knew how
Mulder felt when he started spouting something that he knew
would piss people off.

"Normal people don't do this kind of thing for a living."
I continued. "If you had any feelings for anything but 
yourself, if you had one ounce of balls, you'd take me
straight back to Washington, dump me in my apartment, and
head for Brazil or something."

He turned white. For a moment I thought he was heading over
to the bed to beat me senseless... or worse.

But he left the room. Just walked out.

But I could swear that I saw something in his face on the
way out. I wasn't sure; I'd never seen that particular 
combination of emotions in his face before.

I thought I saw anger, yes. That was a given.

But I also saw tears. 
*********

March 6
9:00 am
En Route to FBI Headquarters.

*In this state I shouldn't drive. I'm gonna kill myself.*

That thought brought me back to the moment, a few nights 
back, when I heard Scully screaming my name. 

I wasn't going to use the gun. It was too soon to give up
all hope. But I took a morbid kind of comfort from knowing
there was a way out for me if she never was found.

I picked up the holster, and there was her voice, shrieking
at me to drop it. And I did, more out of shock than because
she told me to.  

And I promised I'd find her.

But things were not going well. 

The FBI got involved yesterday when there was still no 
sign of Scully anywhere. By that time Maggie Scully and I
were both tearing out our hair in frustration.

The Gunmen had managed to examine every flight leaving 
DC but there was no trace of her. Of course, they were still
working without Langly, who was still in Maine with his
new cyberchick girlfriend. At least that's how Frohicke
put it. 

Poor Frohicke. He was absolutely beside himself, or so 
Byers told me later, after I got home. He called with an
update every hour, and it slipped out that the only thing
keeping *his* partner from drinking himself into an un-
feeling stupor was the knowledge that he might be able to
help find her.

Frohicke. Bless his tiny little self. If I'd thought my 
jealousy could handle it, I'd have set them up.

But I couldn't bear the thought, so I didn't. Scully
would've killed my anyway.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I nearly sideswiped 
a brand-new Mercedes. With a struggle I dragged my mind 
back to my driving. 

When the phone rang I just about had a heart attack. I had
no way of knowing that my partner's abductor had almost 
done the same thing two days before and a few hundred miles
to the north.

It was Byers.

"Mulder, you want to get over here as soon as you can. As 
in, get over here NOW!"

I pulled a U-turn and flew towards the Gunmen's Lair.

Fuck the FBI, I had a friend to find.

******
Offices of the Lone Gunmen
10:00 am

I busted in there without bothering to knock. It shouldn't
have been possible with the locks they had, but they had
left the door unlocked. Very suspicious behavior, indeed.

The tableau I walked in on could've been hilarious if the
situation hadn't been so dire.

Langly was pressed in a corner, actually cowering. 

Byers had Frohicke by both arms, and the tall man was 
actually straining to hold on to him. Not that Byers is
an athletic guy, but he should've had no trouble hanging
on to his small friend.

But Frohicke was livid. I'd never seen him that pissed off
in the ten years I'd known him.

"Langly, you're back!" I mentioned for lack of anything 
better to say.

Frohicke growled. "Tell him, Langly."

Langly, if possible, looked even more frightened.

"I'd like to be in a shark feeding cage first, for my own
protection," the blonde man joked, not looking like he
was kidding at all.

I was starting to panic. "What in hell is going on?"

"Langly saw Scully in Maine," Frohicke snarled.

Langly shook his head wildly. "It couldn't have been, she
was with Krycek! And she was walking with him like there
was nothing wrong. She wasn't cuffed or anything! How was
I supposed to know?" He kept on babbling.

Frohicke just kept trying to lunge for his throat.

I was torn between hugging Langly and breaking his head.
I voted for neither. Byers was starting to lose his grip.

"Hey Frohicke, I need you to run this through the computer."
I said smoothly. "Byers, let him go do his job."

Byers let go, and it looked like I might have to tackle
Frohicke myself to keep him from killing Langly. For his 
part, Langly just about climbed up the back wall.

But Frohicke saw the opportunity to retrieve Scully, and 
went for the computer instead. "Since Langly provided us
with an airline and a departure time, this shouldn't take
long."

It was actually about two hours before there was a hit.

"Oh, my god," Byers unconsciously mimicked Scully.

Alex and Dana Kramer. Flight to Montreal. Bingo.

I didn't call Skinner to let him know until I was on the
plane en route to Canada. He wouldn't be able to stop me.

*Hang on, partner, I'm coming for you.*


END PART FOUR OF ELEVEN


X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (5/11)

March 6
12:26 p.m.
Montreal Airport

Skinner wasn't thrilled that I ran off to Montreal without
alerting him first, but he also knew that he couldn't have
stopped me with an Uzi in my current state of mind.

I disembarked and headed straight for the rental agencies.
There had been little caution thus far about leaving a 
paper trail behind them, and I prayed that my luck was still
holding out.

It was.

"Alex Kramer" rented a car to take from Montreal and drop
off at an agency in Quebec City to the northeast. I was on
the phone in moments. First Skinner, then Maggie Scully.

Mere seconds later I was heading for Quebec City.

At 3:00 Maggie called me using Dana's cellphone. 

"Fox, is there somewhere I can meet you?"

I frowned. "Where are you?"

"I took a flight straight to Quebec, but I don't know where
to go from here," she answered swiftly.

I gaped at the phone. "You're in Quebec City?" How did 
*that* happen?

"Listen, Fox, I know I won't get in the way, and I might be
able to help," she reasoned. "And right now I'm driving my
rental in circles around downtown wondering where I can 
meet you."

"Mrs. Scully, I have no idea!" I shook my head. "I don't 
know this area at all."

"All right, I'll make the decisions in this relationship," 
she laughed a little. "I feel like your mother-in-law."

I could help but smile. *I only wish* I thought wistfully.

"Do you see a really big brown tower with a green roof?"

I looked around. "The one that looks like a palace?"

"Yeah... I think that's *Le Chateau Frontenac*. Meet me
there, you can see it all over the city, I think."

I agreed and headed for the Chateau.

Half an hour later Maggie ran up and hugged me as I gazed 
up at the giant hotel. 

I jumped about ten feet. "Jesus, Mrs. Scully!" 

"Maggie," she corrected sternly. "Now, what were you doing
before I dragged you into the old city?"

"I was about to start hitting hotels to find our 'Alex
Kramer' assuming he's still using that name," I responded
as I kept staring at the Chateau Frontenac.

Maggie smiled brightly. "Well, let's start here." Her hope
was almost painful to behold. I wished I had as much faith
as she did in our ability to track Scully down.

They weren't at the Chateau. They also weren't at a dozen 
other hotels and motels in Quebec City. That didn't matter
in the least, though, because they *were* registered at
the Hilton Quebec. At least they had been until the night
before.

"Kramer" had returned the car as promised, paid for the
room as promised, and everything seemed fine. 

But that's where the trail ended. 

No car rental agency in the entire city had Alex Kramer
as a client. Not a single one.

I called Skinner immediately.

"Sir?"

"Did you find her?" The eagerness seemed out of character
for the stern Assistant Director.

"No sir," I almost felt his face fall over the phone. "But
we traced them as far as the Hilton Quebec before we lost
them." I tried to feel optimistic. That we had gotten this
far was nothing short of a miracle.

"Book yourself a room there. Mrs. Scully too," he commanded.

"Sir?" The cost of a Hilton was... well, costly.

"The Hilton Quebec is connected to the government buildings
by tunnel," Skinner explained. "You'll have easy access if
you need to call in some favors."

*Favors with the Canadian government?* I thought in total
disbelief. Then I realized he was providing me with a 
feasible excuse for writing it off as a necessary expense.

"Thanks, sir. You knew Maggie was here?" I suddenly asked.

Skinner snorted. "She called me and told me she was going
to meet you. And that she'd shoot me if I had a problem."

I glanced over at Maggie, who was innocently pacing around
the lobby of the Hilton. I shook my head.

"I think shooting friends must be genetic," Skinner added
with a small chuckle. I agreed and we hung up.

I asked that one of the rooms be the one "Kramer" had 
stayed in. The other had an adjoining door, and Maggie
left it open. The gesture reminded me of Scully so much it
ached deep down where no painkiller could ever reach.

I placed the emotion in the back of my mind, where it would
stay without killing me. I had to search the room.

Nothing was useful. There wasn't anything that could place
my best friend in that room, except for one small thing,
and it was very small indeed.

The size, in fact, of a strand of hair.

I was examining the bedside table when I saw it. There
were angry looking scratches on the polished wood, and on 
one of those scratches was suspended a hair.

Red hair. A shade of red that I couldn't fully appreciate
because of my colorblindness, but that I still could
recognize without doubt. Scully's hair.

I placed it in a small evidence bag. 

With a shaking finger I traced the scratches.

Handcuffs? Was she cuffed to the table?

I laid on the bed after checking it for trace evidence. 
With a roll and a shimmy I had my hands placed near the
table as if they were cuffed there. It was possible, but
highly uncomfortable.

But comfort was probably a low priority if the kidnapper
was indeed Alex Krycek.

I had a brief waking nightmare where all kinds of horrors
went crawling through my mind. I ground them into a mental
powder. We'd burn that bridge when we came to it.

Maggie wandered in as I went on examining the cuff-marks.
It was clear that that's what they were. I was hoping 
Maggie wouldn't figure it out, that she didn't know enough
about handcuffs to make the connection.

I am, of course, a horse's ass. I already knew that.

Maggie took one look at the angry gouges and turned white.

I still don't know which of us was more surprised when she 
fainted dead away.

*****
March 6
5:00 p.m.

Chibougmau was a small town, no more than 10,000 people
in a densely forested area a little over 300 miles away from
Quebec City.

No one gave the pickup truck a second glance as we bounced
through the center of town and on to the lakeshore. 

Lake Chibougmau was a large lake, not like the Great Salt
Lake in the US but still large enough for a lot of the
islands to be uninhabited.

I pulled up to a rickety dock with a small powerboat 
tethered to it.

A man was sitting serenely on the dock, smoking what was
definitely *not* a cigarette. Without a word, as I unloaded
Scully from the truck, he got in the driver's seat. When
we were packed securely in the boat, he took the truck
away. Where, I haven't a clue.

What I did know was that there were no more ways out.

Up until the moment the truck pulled away, there was still
time for me to look death in the face, spit once, and run
like hell with Scully under one arm. There would be time to
get her back to Washington before the Reaper swept in and
took me to hell.

But now, there was simply nowhere to go but out on the
water, to the Oubliette Project and Scully's eventual
death.

And, oh God, I didn't want her to die.

I felt it happening, tried to kill it, and it wouldn't die.

The same thing had happened with Marita. Granted, we were
not the ideal little couple. But then, I betrayed her. I
had the chance to bail her out of the prison of the labs
and get her battered and abused body out of danger.

And I betrayed her. Even as her eyes pleaded, as Jeffrey
Spender pleaded, I turned my back on a woman I had loved.

I betrayed her.

And I was about to do it again. 

*But this is different, there is no love here!* the voice
of my duty told me.

Conscience added *But it doesn't matter, it's still wrong!*

And for good measure, a heart that was still half-poisoned
threw in its two cents: *She'll never love you, but you 
can let her live to love someone else, and that is a true
gift.*

Duty told Heart that it sounded like a Hallmark card.

I sighed. I could have an auditorium full of voices telling
me what I should do, but the fact was there was no other 
way but forward. 

I started the boat and guided it out into the lake.

The island looked deceptively small, but I knew from my
short briefing that there was a lot more to it than was
visible above the waterline.

We parked at another nondescript dock and headed for a tiny
corrugated tin shack. It couldn't have been more than
eight feet square.

Scully looked at me directly for the first time since she
had screamed at me in the hotel.

"Is this where you kill me?" she asked in a dull voice.
She sounded like she couldn't care less, and it killed
a small part of me that still knew how to love.

"You don't die now," I answered, "not for a long time."

She gave me a speculative look but chose not to answer.

The inside of the shack was featureless. The floor, like the
walls, was made of panels of tin. I knew the secret, though,
that an innocent bystander wouldn't guess.

I pulled up a panel to reveal a lift.

Without any fuss, we got on and started down. I pulled the
panel down as we descended, and the light from my flashlight
was the only illumination. The lift was small and airtight.

I realized morbidly that if Spender wanted to off both of
us, this would be a great time. They'd find us someday
half-eaten like the Donner party.

My macabre fantasy was interrupted as the lift opened into
a large chamber.

"Welcome to the Oubliette Project, my darling," a voice
echoed out of the shadows. An ember glowed rhythmically.

It was a voice I'd know anywhere.

From the tensing of her shoulders, she knew it too.

C.G.B. Spender grinned like a jack o'lantern as he came 
forward into the light of my flashlight.

Without another word he grasped Scully by the chain of her
handcuffs and yanked her out of the "lobby," into the next
room.

I took time to glance around. I'd never been here before.
This room was about ten feet square, with two doors. Other
than the one we had entered, another led deeper into the
complex.

Spender was content to stay here for the moment.

"Alex, string her cuffs over that hook and pull them up a
bit," he commanded, puffing away on the ever-present
Morley.

With a sigh I looped the chain over a hook that hung from
the ceiling. With a few turns of a crank on the wall the 
hook elevated Scully just a few inches off the ground.

I cringed as I saw the cuffs cut into her wrists. To her
credit, she just stared at Spender with unfettered hate.

That's when he explained the Project to her. And it was the
first time I heard the whole story. My knowledge had been
minimal at best.

"This is the Oubliette Project. You're familiar with the
word *Oubliette* I'm sure?" he asked. 

She shook her head. She was too busy chewing on her lip to
answer. I knew she was battling the pain with all her too-
depleted strength.

"Ahh... Oubliette is a French word. It means 'a forgotten
place,' or 'a place to be forgotten,'" he explained. "And 
that is precisely what happens here. Things are forgotten."
He grinned again. I was learning to loathe his smiles more
than anything else. "You will be forgotten."

Scully grimaced. Then I saw what she was thinking as clearly
as if she had said it out loud.

*Mulder will save me, you son of a bitch.*

He caught the unspoken sentiment as well. He answered her
challenge with more unsettling information.

"There is no way to escape here. You'll see why when you 
get a look at your holding place. No one knows how to get
here. There is no way off the island even if you did escape
Mr. Krycek here. I'm taking the boat when I leave," he
told her, enjoying her slight squirm.

This was the first time I learned that I would be stranded
here too. I gritted my teeth. *It's your duty, Alexei.*

"Do you have any questions before I ready you for your 
interment," he asked with glee evident in his voice.

"Kiss my ass," she choked out. I almost applauded.

His expression darkened, and the term "thunderclouds" did
not do it any justice. With one long stride he opened a 
cabinet that neither Scully nor I had noticed before. 

Out came a whip.

Not the run of the mill kind either, but the type that was
known as a cat-o'nine-tails to some. It was medieval and
it exuded an air of evil. So did the man wielding it.

Nine strips of leather at the end of the whip. I saw a 
glint of metal and realized that at least one of the "tails"
had a sharp edge on it. 

I suddenly had the urge to vomit. 

Scully's eyes locked with mine for a split-second. They
pleaded with mine, blue on green, until I looked away.

When I glanced back up, all I saw in her eyes was one 
word, shouted to the depths of my tarnished soul.

*Coward!* She cried with her eyes.

And she was right.

I left the room before the first blow came down.

*****
March 6
7:00 p.m.

Flashes of red and yellow and orange.

A siren in the distance.

Was that the police? Was I saved?

A moment's concentration told me the siren was in my head.
Then all thought raced away again, to play hide-and-seek
for a while longer.

But, oh the pain was still there. In flashes of red and
orange and yellow, pulsing with each prick and stab.

I felt myself lowering. My feet hit the ground followed by
the rest of me as I felt a cuff detach from my wrist. With
nothing holding me up, I collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The other cuff was gone too. When had that happened?

*Why can't I think!?*

Someone lifted me up. At the movement I could open my eyes
again. Krycek had me, because Spender was still standing 
across the room with the whip in his hand. 

My mind snapped into pained focus as I saw that weapon.

I could see a piece of my skin snagged on one of the metal
pieces on the end of the whip.

I felt myself leaning into Krycek simply because he wasn't
Spender. 

The demon spoke. "Take her down the Oubliette."

I felt him nod and we crossed into the next room. This was
a bedroom, but obviously not for me. We continued onward,
through one more door.

The first thought that I remember was about a story I had
read called "The Pit and the Pendulum" by Poe.

I thought that the pit in the story probably looked like 
this one. Except the story didn't have a lift suspended 
over it.

There was a wooden catwalk to the center of the pit, where
the lift was. With more gentleness than I had thought was
possible from him, he set me down and activated the lift.

The next thought I had was also from a book. 

"Morlock holes," I said aloud. I had read "The Time Machine"
too, and the descent into darkness fit nicely.

Krycek looked at me with a sigh. We kept descending, and a
gas lantern on the lift was the only light to see our
surroundings.

I didn't like what I saw.

There were ledges set into the walls of the pit, which had
to be twenty feet in diameter at least. I could see that
there were skeletons left on some of the ledges.

I shivered and then regretted it. Every movement was pure
pain. I felt myself start drifting again and tried to pull
myself together.

Then the lift stopped.

I had reached the final destination.

My ledge looked like the others in every way. It extended
only about three feet into the pit, but there was a cave
carved into the wall of the pit for more space. The cave
added another five square feet of space. 

It was still a damned small area over a damned large drop.

Suddenly, through my pain-addled brain, a memory dawned.

"Hey, this is like that scene from that one movie," I 
muttered as Krycek deposited me in the cave.

To my surprise, Krycek snorted out a laugh. "Yeah, Spender
told me the big shots nearly had kittens when it came out.
This project has been here a lot longer than the movie, I
think."

"What was the name of it..." I slurred to myself.

"First Knight," he answered softly.

"Oh yeah, knights in shining armor," I grinned nastily as
the pain finally pulled me under. The last thing I saw was
Krycek's expression of shame and self-hatred. Interesting.

I awoke once when I heard angry voices from above. I pulled
myself to the edge to hear. *The acoustics are great here*
I thought as I eavesdropped.

My stomach turned as I realized they were discussing me.

Spender: "Do I need to lecture you on proper prisoner
management?"

Krycek: "If she dies she is useless! You said the point of
this project was to keep her alive!"

"All right, do what you feel is necessary, but only that
much. Remember that minimal is the key, Alexei."

"Don't call me that."

"Just follow your orders, Krycek."

"Seig Heil, mein Fuhrer."

There was a smacking sound that could only be Spender 
slapping the shit out of Krycek.

I had a chance to feel pity as I slipped under again.

Then there was a feeling of peace as someone bandaged my
wounds. I was fairly ripped to pieces, but there was a
person fixing me. 

"Mulder," I whispered blissfully. Who else could it be?

The fingers wrapping my wrist in gauze froze. 

It all flooded back as I realized it was certainly Krycek
who was nursing the scrapes and cuts all over my body.
That in itself sent me back over the edge of the abyss.

The last awakening was the worst. I felt like every muscle
and inch of skin on my body was shrieking at me. There
were tiny pitchforks digging into me. There was a crazed
man with a giant whip tearing me apart. There was...

There was a way to end the pain.

I pulled myself over to the edge, eyes closed. I kept them
closed as I thought of how easy it would be to roll off
the edge. Just one tiny movement to the side...

*I'm sorry, Mulder, my love, it hurts too much.* 

I inched closer to the edge.

"Hey, you want to get back on that ledge right this minute,
you hear me? Listen to me, you want to roll the other way
before you fall off and land on me."

In complete wonder I opened my eyes. My eyes peeked over
the side, straight into the wide brown eyes of an old woman,
perched on a ledge ten feet below and slightly offset from
mine.

"Who the hell are you?"

END PART FIVE OF ELEVEN

X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (6/11)

In the Oubliette
Unknown Time


"Who the hell are you?"

The woman blinked, unperturbed by my shrill tone of voice.
"My name is You Shen. You can call me Shen," she said in
a pleasant voice. "Now, who the hell are you?" she added,
not unkindly.

It actually took me a moment to remember. The pain was still
flaring evilly over every millimeter of my body.

"Dana Scully," I managed to spit out past the agony. "Just
Dana, if you want."

She regarded me with almond-shaped eyes. "I'd rather you
didn't roll of that ledge, Dana."

"Hurts," I gasped. "Hurts too much."

She smiled at me. "I know, but think how much it'll hurt 
when you hit the bottom. In fact," she said thoughtfully,
gazing over the edge of her own platform, "I'm not sure if
there *is* a bottom."

My scientific mind told me there had to be a bottom, but
it was overpowered by very human fear of heights. I could
barely handle a plane ride, let alone falling forever with
no end in sight.

With a grunt of effort I rolled back toward the cave, trying
to keep my head out enough to see Shen below.

She graced me with a truly beatific smile. "Good form, my
dear child. I feel so much better."

"I don't," I muttered. The mere act of breathing was taking
the strength of Atlas. 

Shen chuckled. "You will thank me when you're thinking 
straight," she said with a nod to herself. 

Curiosity overcame the pain. "How long have you been here?"
I asked, noting that her hair was white and her face was a
mass of wrinkles. "And why are you here?"

The old woman shook her head. "I don't keep track of the
days. It hasn't been too long, I don't think," she said
quietly. "I'm here because I'm dangerous to that man with
the smoking problem."

I nodded assent. I could relate to that.

*****
From the journal of Alex Krycek:
March 10

It's been a few days, but I feel no better about what is
happening here.

I have been disregarding Spender's final orders before he
left the island. He had instructed me to keep food and 
comfort down to a minimum. Scully was supposed to be kept
alive, but barely.

He left just enough food to ensure that I'd have to give 
her tiny rations in order to keep myself fed.

Of course, I've been hungry before. Being trapped in a
missile silo comes to mind.

So the food is being split evenly. We're both losing
weight anyway, even after only these few days. By the
time it's all over, we're going to look like the prisoners
at Tunguska.

But it's all right, I suppose. I can't shake the image of
Marita from my mind. It's like my conscience will be 
appeased if I can help someone where I didn't help her.

I can't shake her face, her haunted, injured eyes. I 
wonder if these unwanted feelings for Scully are just
another manifestation of my grief for Marita. It's possible,
I guess. I wonder if a psychologist would agree with my
assessment of my mind.

That makes me think of Mulder. He's probably busting his
ass right now trying to find Scully. For all I know she
could be projecting the directions to Chibougmau with a
burst of telepathy. Their connection seems to be that 
strong sometimes.

She loves him, obviously. She murmurs his name in her sleep
without knowing that I'm watching. I tell myself that I'm
making sure her wounds are healing. I'm lying.

I just like watching her sleep.

But I have a project now, with a lower-case "p" this time.

I want to explore deeper into the Oubliette. I want to see
what's down at the bottom. I want to know if there *is* a
bottom to speak of.

So, time to start the adventure!

*****
I tossed the journal back on the bed. With flashlight
in hand I headed for the Oubliette.

I had grown adept at one-handed working of the lift, after
a day of overshooting Scully's ledge nine times out of ten.
I stopped briefly to check on her before continuing down.
I could see her face looking down at me in the darkness
with barely contained curiosity. She had never seen me go
any farther down than her own prison.

The air farther down was dank and stale. It smelled funny.

I descended forever. I had visions of horrible creatures
living in these abandoned ledges far below.

Then, with a start, I realized I wasn't descending anymore.

*End of the road* I thought to myself. 

The bottom was about fifteen feet below me. I looked down,
pointing the beam of the flashlight to see better.

That was the first mistake.

"Oh, god!" I stumbled backward, teetering on the edge of the
lift. For a moment I thought it was all going to end here,
with me tumbling down into the pit.

Then I landed on my ass on the boards of the lift. With a
*whoosh* I let out my breath and took another one in.

That was the second mistake.

The dank air rushed into my lungs, bringing with it an odor
I hadn't noticed until then. The scent of death and decay.

My meager attempt at lunch removed itself from my system in
a most violent manner. With a shaking hand I wiped sweat 
off of my forehead and tried to calm myself.

There were bodies in the bottom of that horrible pit.

Stacked like cordwood, in various stages of decay. From 
my one glance down I saw one that had obviously fallen 
from above and more than one that had been shot. There
were men and women, and even a child. 

This was a garbage dump for the vanished. The ones that
didn't survive for some reason or were killed.

With a shudder I looked down again, bracing myself for the
sight this time. 

But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

*****

Nothing prepared me for his shriek.

I had stared down for a second, wondering if he was going
to Shen's ledge this time, but he kept right on going.

*He's bored* I mused. *He's exploring.*

Then, there was the scream. I almost somersaulted right off
the edge when it came echoing up from the depths.

The ropes of the lift jerked and I heard the hum of a motor.
So he wasn't dead or anything. I breathed a sigh of relief,
knowing that if he died for some reason, so would I. I'd be
reduced to cannibalism. I'd have to eat Shen when she died.

For the first time I wondered why I'd never seen Krycek 
feed the older woman.

The thought fled as I got a good look at my captor as he 
passed on the lift.

"Jesus, Krycek, what happened down there?" I blurted out,
not expecting an answer.

I got one just the same.

"There are dead people at the bottom," he replied tonelessly
as the lift stopped just above my perch. "I found where
they dumped the people they didn't need anymore."

I shuddered as I realized I could've landed in that heap
of death had I attempted suicide.

"Why do you cry for them, Alex?" I asked, truly surprised
at his reaction. 

I had learned not to hate him anymore. He was a prisoner 
here as much as I was. I knew he was giving me more food 
than Spender had ordered. I knew that the blankets he had
brought down were far too good-quality to be intended for
me. 

Alex Krycek was human after all.

But he had seen his share of the dead. I could see them 
reflected in the green of his eyes every time I looked at
him. He was like my Mulder in that way: his eyes told me
everything I'd ever want to know.

So what about this death caused the tears?

He sniffled once, then controlled it. "It's nothing," he
said briskly, and reached to start the lift again.

"Tell me, Alex!" I insisted.

And then, for the first time in my life, I saw the hardened
man before me lose control like a small child.

"She was down there, I left her behind and now she's dead,"
he sobbed. "I betrayed her and she died for it." He repeated
it over and over, "I betrayed her."

"Someone you loved?" I asked quietly. This was unbearable.
I was tearing up right with him.

"You knew her, I think, she was Mulder's informant for a 
while..." he whispered.

"Marita Covarrubias?" I gasped. 

At the mention of her name, Alex doubled over again, crying
about his betrayal. I coaxed the story out of him slowly.

At the end, as his tears ran out, I vocalized the thought
that had taken form earlier.

"You know, we are all prisoners in some way, Alexei."

His head snapped up at the sound of his full name. Without
another word he pulled himself together and the lift went
back to the top.

With a sigh of frustration I wondered if using that name
was a mistake. He'd reacted badly when Spender used it.

Then I remembered Shen.

I crawled over to the edge and peered down at her platform.
"Shen!" I called softly.

"Dana, how are you feeling?" her voice emerged from her
cave.

"I think I need to thank you for not letting me jump," I
told her.

A peal of laughter erupted as she stuck her head out.
"I told you so!"

I smiled ruefully at that. "Did you hear any of that?" I 
asked.

She nodded gravely. "His trouble now is *kuei*."

I shook my head, not understanding. 

"*Kuei* is honor, Dana. He feels like a traitor and his
sense of honor is compromised," Shen clarified. "He's 
moving to a new stage in his life. *Kuei* is no longer
a satisfactory way of living, so he moves on to a better
stage."

"Is everyone in a 'stage' as you call it?" I asked. Shen
was so full of interesting beliefs, I couldn't get enough
of her words.

"Of course! You too are in set in a lifestyle that is no
longer working for you. This is true of your partner too, 
if what you've told me is true."

I nodded. "Where are we now?" I asked.

"He is caught by *fu* which is truth," Shen told me.
"You are caught by *ying* which is courage."

"Why are these bad things?" I queried, perplexed.

"They aren't *bad* in the traditional sense, Dana," Shen
scolded. "They are focuses which keep you from achieving
what you need to survive."

"But--" 

Shen yawned. "I'm sleepy. Time for bed."

Without another peep, she vanished into her cavern.

All I could do was ponder her words, which I still didn't
understand.

That, and wonder where Mulder was.

*****
March 15
3:00 p.m.

Mulder disappeared after lunch.

It was Bill's fault. I thought I raised him better.

How he found us was a mystery to me, but he banged on my
door early that morning. I was shocked to see him. Did he
call A.D. Skinner? Would Skinner send him up here?

It didn't matter, I was glad to see my son. I ushered him
in and gave him all the information I could about what had
happened and why Mulder and I were in Quebec.

I also had to tell him that we hadn't had a single lead 
since checking into the hotel over a week ago. Bill was
already working himself into a huff when Mulder knocked on
the connecting door.

His jaw dropped when he saw Bill. To his credit, he greeted
my son with more courtesy than he needed to.

Bill just gritted his teeth and nodded, acknowledging his
presence and nothing more.

I wondered if they'd kill each other if I left for the
bathroom.

By lunchtime they seemed to be all right, meaning they 
were speaking in complete sentences and not grunting out
monosyllables.

Then at lunch my darling child dropped the A-bomb on the
already ravaged psyche of Fox Mulder.

"So, how many aliens took her this time, Fox?"

He went as white as the linen tablecloth. He pushed back 
his chair and I prepared to referee the battle. But he
simply dropped the napkin on his plate, which was still 
mostly full, and excused himself.

Bill and I both heard his voice crack. I wondered with a 
pang of sorrow how fast he would break down, and how long
it would take for me to pull him back together.

When he was out of earshot I turned to my wayward son.

"William Scully, you are way out of line!" I growled. 

"We all know he's responsible--"

I threw my hands in the air. "You're like the broken record
from hell, William! I'm tired of hearing this kind of 
bullshit from you," I cried, "especially when it's the
farthest thing in the world from the truth." He knew I was
extremely angry. I never cursed otherwise. 

I threw down some money and stormed back to the rooms. I 
had to talk to Mulder, make sure Bill hadn't damaged him
too much. 

Only Mulder wasn't in either of our rooms. There was a note
balanced on my television.

*Took a cab to that waterfall to clear my head. -Mulder*

I sighed. 

Bill crept into my room looking contrite. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Why are you apologizing to me?" I asked, sounding bitter.

Bill sat gingerly on the bed next to me. "It's just that
I'm tired of all this alien crap he's always spewing."

I turned to him with a frown. "All three of us know this
wasn't alien abduction, and Fox never once said anything
differently! *You* are the one who's leaping to conclusions
here, not Fox."

With a sigh he lowered his head into his hands. "I don't 
understand why our family has gone through so much. He can't
know how this is hurting us."

I made a last ditch effort to drill the idea home. "What
would you do if Tara were kidnapped? How would you feel?"

"It's not the same--"

I couldn't stay seated. "It *is* the same! Exactly the
same! Why won't you realize what's hanging in front of 
you?" I paced in front of him.

He glared at me obstinately. "What won't I realize?"

I shook my head. "If you haven't figured it out yet, you
probably won't ever understand. But please, if nothing 
else keeps you civil, remember that I think of Fox as a 
son too. He's part of my family just like you."

With a long-suffering sigh, he nodded. "All right, I'll be
good. But it's for you, not him."

Looking back at that exchange, I wanted to kill my oldest
son. It was mid-afternoon and Mulder still hadn't reappeared
from his waterfall-watching trip.

*Time to go rescue him,* I said to myself. 

After talking to the front desk at the hotel, I established
where Fox was and how to get there. I was on my way before
Bill even knew that I had gone.

The *Parc de la Chute-Montmorency* wasn't far from the
hotel. I pulled in and gazed in awe at the churning falls.

*Montmorency Falls, higher than Niagara and immensely
powerful*, my mind supplied. I hoped my young friend wasn't
feeling too rash.

There weren't many people there. It was still chilly, and
the spray from the falls was cold. It would be lunacy to
go too close and risk getting soaked by the water.

There was one lunatic that was as close as he could get to
the stinging water. No question who it was, either.

Clinching my light jacket tighter, I hurried out to where
he stood shivering.

He didn't look at me as I approached. I touched his shoulder
and he jumped violently. When he finally turned his eyes
were filled with self-loathing.

"I'm sorry I lost her again," he whispered. With all the
water whipping around us his tears were camouflaged, but I
wasn't fooled.

"You didn't lose anyone," I assured him. "But you're going
to get sick if you stay out here, you're soaked."

He shook his head. He wasn't really hearing me.

I switched to a different tack. "Fox, I'm getting cold and
I'm going to get pneumonia if you don't get me out of here."

That did the trick. He couldn't care less about himself, but
the well-being of others was important to him. He allowed
me to lead him back to the car.

Back in the hotel I stripped him out of the wet clothes and
tucked him into bed.

Bill seemed appalled until I explained that he wouldn't do
it himself at this point. I also managed to point out that
Bill's big mouth had caused this bout of self-hatred.

I was pleased to see him look remorseful.

The fever hit Fox hours later. He thrashed on the bed and
mumbled as he burned up. I bought a thermometer and started
to monitor him.

The first reading was 101.7 degrees.

The second climbed to 103 degrees.

The higher the fever spiked, the clearer his delirious
speech became. It was ironic. It was also eerie.

He muttered about tattoos. Then it was baseball. Then there
was something about New Year's Eve. He switched from topic
to topic like a radio set to scan.

It was somehow appropriate that Fox put Bill firmly in his
place without even knowing he did it.

We were both sitting on the second bed in his room, watching
as he tossed and writhed with the fever. So we both heard
it when the truth came out.

"...sorry Bill hates me..."

Bill looked miserable, if not exactly surprised.

"...he doesn't understand..."

With a tiny smile I crossed over to the unconscious agent.
I sat at the side of his bed and took his hand. He calmed
a little at the touch.

"What doesn't Bill understand?" I whispered gently. Bill's
head swiveled around to look at me. *Don't do this to me*
he pleaded silently.

"He doesn't understand" Fox murmured, "that I'd die in her
place if I could."

My Navyman son looked like he wanted to burst into tears.

I was choking up myself, even though I'd known that before.
But I wasn't quite done with him. I thought for a moment
that this was cruel to do to him while he was vulnerable.
But some truths had to be known.

"Why would you die for her?" I prodded. 

In the depths of his illness Fox smiled. "Because..."
He stopped, unsure.

"You can tell me, sweetheart," I encouraged.

"Because I love her more than life," he hissed out as he
fell deeper into the fever. He was beyond us for a while,
he spoke no more that night.

But he'd said what he needed to.

I gazed on Bill. *Do you understand now?* I willed him to 
know what I was thinking.

He stared back. *I am such a bastard.* I could read his eyes
clearly. 

We stood vigil and waited for the fever to break.

I sent a silent vow to my daughter. 

*He'll get through this and find you, I promise you that.*


END PART SIX OF ELEVEN


X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (7/11)

March 18   11:00 a.m.
Lake Chibougmau, Quebec

I stood out on the broken-down dock, staring at the water
and praying for the first time in my entire life.

There was a kind of peace on the dock, away from the shack
that held the damnation of my soul. The water was calm and
I could hear the call of birds, even though it was still
cold enough to be uncomfortable. 

The decision was made, and I was prepared to see it through
with all the steadfastness of a soldier marching to his
death.

But, if all went well, the soldier didn't have to make that
final sacrifice.

After it was over, what could I do? Fall down at the feet of
Walter Skinner and kiss his boots? Take Scully's angry but
not inconceivable advice and head for Brazil?

Go back to Russia? At the thought, my wrist started to itch.
The left one. The one that was probably still lying in a 
forest in Tunguska.

Maddening to have itches and pains in a limb that no longer
existed. 

I took Scully her breakfast at the usual time, and I'm sure
she noticed that she'd gotten a whole lot more than she
was used to. I'd given her my share too--after making my
decision there was simply no appetite left in me.

*I can't do this!* I thought as I stood out on that dock,
watching the waves lapping serenely on the pilings.

But I could. There was no way out for me anymore. 

The decision was made.

Then the boat started past, and I had my chance.

"Hello, out there?" My voice betrayed nothing.

The powerboat puttered closer. "What is it?" the man inside
yelled from a distance.

"I wonder if you could mail something for me, if you're 
going back to the mainland," I answered. 

The man shrugged and pulled closer so I could hand him the
envelope that I had been clutching for the past two hours
as I waited for someone to pass by.

"It has to go to the Hilton Quebec, in Quebec City," I told
him. "I wrote as much of the address as I could remember,
but I'd be grateful if you'd double-check it for before you
mailed it." I pressed a twenty into his hand with the
envelope.

The man shrugged again. "It's not a problem, I live in 
Quebec City myself. I can drop it off at the front desk if
you want?" 

I nodded vigorously, and thanked him about twelve times
before he was out of earshot.

Then I turned and headed back to my tomb.

Now, there was nothing left but to tell Scully. I hesitated
to let her in on my deed, just in case something went wrong.
And there were a lot of things that could happen, not least
of which was that Mulder could be staying someplace other
than the Hilton where Scully and I had been.

I thought he'd be there, though. The paper trail we left 
behind was blatant, to say the least. He was probably 
staying in the same room that I had trapped Scully in.

So I had to tell Scully. And she'd have to be getting more
of the rations if she was going to get out of the Oubliette
in one piece. It had been two weeks since I took her from
her apartment, and she was now a mere pile of bones on a
stone shelf. 

*****
March 18  11:00 a.m.
In The Oubliette

"Hey, Shen?"

The old woman gazed up at me and grinned. "How do you feel,
Dana?"

I groaned. "I'm so tired now..."

Shen shook her head. "Be strong, my dear. It won't be much
longer, I'm sure."

"Tell me why courage is a bad thing," I asked for the first
time since she brought it up days before.

"Not now, Dana," Shen sighed like I was a persistent child.

I insisted. "Please, Shen!"

With a long-suffering roll of her eyes, she said, "I told
you it wasn't a *bad* thing. Just an obstacle."

"I still don't understand, though," I prodded.

"*Ying* is your obstacle," Shen repeated. "You have the 
courage to go through life in a haze of self-denial. You
think it is courageous to squelch  your feelings to spare
others. And most of all, you think it is courageous to feel
pain because of doing so."

I gawked at her. "I don't squelch my feelings!"

She just looked at me.

"Not usually," I amended.

"My opinion is this," Shen added. "True courage is when you
express your feelings to someone even if you don't know how
they are going to react. That is your obstacle to overcome."

"But--"

"No more, Dana," she cut me off sternly and went back into
her cave.

With a groan I did the same.

Did I really beat down my feelings? I realized that I could
count on one hand the times I lost control of myself. 

There was the Pfaster case. Crying in Mulder's arms after
the first time he took me. 

There was the Boggs case. Screaming at the half-crazy man
that I thought had delivered my partner to his death.

The Padgett case. Clinging to Mulder like a life preserver
after a phantom tried ripping out my heart.

Waves upon waves of jealousy flaring out in Comity.

There were so few times that I really let it out. Shen was
right, I *was* squelching my feelings.

But it was deeper than that, wasn't it? I went back over
my mental list, and it was obvious.

I only broke down if Mulder was involved. 

I thought of my final thought weeks ago when I was ready
to plunge into the abyss.

*Mulder, my love* I had thought.

Not a moment of agonized delirium after all, but a single
ray of clarity in a sea of hurt that wouldn't stop.

*Oh, my God*.

Then, amazingly, Shen's voice came wafting up from below.

"It's about time you figured it out, Dana, my child."

*****
March 19, 11:38 a.m.
Hilton Quebec

Maggie told me that the fever broke on the night of March
16. I couldn't remember anything but a haze of images that
had drifted through my addled brain.

I had thought of the time Scully ran off--kind of--with
that guy in Philadelphia and got the snake tattooed on her
back. I felt so betrayed then. But we'd survived it.

I thought of the impromptu baseball game I'd sprung on
Scully, how wonderful it was to have my arms around her
when there wasn't a crisis that demanded it.

I thought of New Year's Eve, when I finally had the guts
to swoop in and plant my lips on hers for the first time.
That was a moment of heaven. Unfortunately, it was also a
little too awkward to break down the walls.

How many times did I hint that I cared for her, that I even
loved her more than I could ever love a friend? And she
never reciprocated.

Of course, she never thought I was serious. I was either
joking or not entirely lucid. The Queen Anne incident was
a big one there. The one solitary time that I had the
courage to say the "big three" was when I was doped up on
a painkiller cocktail.

No wonder she reacted the way she did.

So the new plan was: find her and tell her immediately,
without benefit of drugs or joking, how I felt.

The fever was gone, I felt fine, but even at the peak of
health there was nothing else I could do here.

I sighed and headed down to the restaurant to meet the 
Scullys for an early lunch.

There was something else that confused me. Since I woke up
from the fever, Bill Scully had been almost... friendly.

I remember when I first regained consciousness. He was the
only one with me, and the first thing out of his mouth was
an apology. A long one. He even called himself a lot of 
nasty names.

At first I thought I had died and he was paying his last
respects. Then I realized I was breathing, albeit painfully,
and I knew he was serious.

He was acting like my long-lost brother ever since. By the
second day of that I was sure I had either lost my mind or
said something while I was unconscious.

So I headed down to lunch intending to confront them about
what I may have said while in the grips of madness.

They were waiting in the lobby for me. Bill smiled, which
threw me for a loop even though he'd been doing it for days.
We turned, headed for the restaurant.

We never made it to the door.

"Mr Mulder?" the receptionist called out. He knew all three
of us by name now after seeing us for weeks on end.

I turned to see him waving a letter. "Mail for you, sir."

I frowned. Who would be mailing me a letter in Quebec?

"It's marked urgent, sir, so I'm glad I caught you," the
man prattled on as he handed over the envelope.

I nodded my thanks and headed back toward the Scullys,
ripping into the envelope as I went.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the opening line.

"To my former partner," I whispered out loud. My eyes flew
up to meet Maggie's. 

Without a word, I headed back to the rooms, Maggie and Bill
close on my heels.

When we all were inside, I started reading aloud.

"To my former partner:

"I sacrificed someone I cared for because it was for the
greater good. She died because of me. I realize now, much
too late, that there is no greater good. Only a greater
evil that must be stopped.

"I won't let another good person die without making an 
attempt to right the wrong that has been done here.

"She will be strong and ready to go when you get here. She
will not be harmed any further.

"Yours, Alexei Krycek."

Below his signature was a list of road directions.

*****
March 19
In the Oubliette

He came down with a monstrous plate of food at lunchtime.

I stared at it. I hadn't seen that much food since last
Thanksgiving.

"Alex?" I asked, mystified.

He looked around tentatively, as if there were bugs set 
into the damp stone walls of the pit.

"I want you to listen very carefully. If I did everything 
right, then Mulder knows where we are and how to get here.
It takes a few hours to get here from Quebec City, so in
the meantime, I need you to eat and conserve strength."

I gawked at him.

"Why do this for me?" I finally asked.

"It's not just for you," he said with a wistful smile. 
"It's partly for me, and partly for Mulder, and mostly for
Marita." He could say her name now, that was a good sign
that he was recovering.

"They'll kill you," I told him. 

He shook his head. " 'Take into account that great love and
great achievements involve great risk,' " he quoted gravely.

In silence, I watched him ascend into the brightness of 
the outside world.

I had barely forced down the last of my lunch when I heard
the one thing that could make my blood run cold.

"Good afternoon, Alex. I thought I'd stay here with you
for the day, make sure everything is going nominally."

I could hear his sickly smile, and smell his cigarette.

END PART SEVEN OF ELEVEN


X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (8/11)

March 19  12:16 p.m.
Chibougmau


"Good afternoon, Alex. I thought I'd stay here with you
for the day, make sure everything is going nominally."

*Oh my God, I'm going to die* I thought in a panic.

But he gave no indication that he knew what I had done the
previous day.

"Why?" I asked, rather proud that I kept my voice even.

He shrugged. "I just have a strange feeling that something
is... not right here."

I cringed inwardly and counted to ten in Russian. 

"Nothing seems wrong to me," I countered, summoning the
attitude that he would've expected from me under normal
circumstances.

In my mind's eye I could see Fox Mulder hurtling toward
Chibougmau, thinking only of his Scully. I had to get my
psychotic superior off the island before he arrived.

"Actually," I said suddenly, "we've had some trouble with
the food supply. There doesn't seem to be enough for both
of us to be comfortable." My theory was to get Spender to
go to the mainland for supplies. Or, have him send me so I
could intercept Mulder before he walked into the trap I had
set without even realizing it.

Instead, he pistol-whipped me with a gun I didn't see until
it hit me. It vanished back into his coat before I knew 
what had happened.

"There was enough for *you* to be comfortable," Spender
snarled. "She was to be given minimal comforts!" 

"She was starving," I croaked, still trying to reconcile
the three spinning Spenders I saw into one man. I had a 
concussion, no doubt about it.

Spender moved to hit me again and I scuttled away. "Her
condition is not your concern! You must follow orders."

I nodded, and regretted it instantly.

He laughed at my pain like the sadist he was. "I'm going
down into the pit. Please compose yourself by the time I
get back."

As if it was my fault that the room was spinning like a 
carousel.

Spender vanished into the Oubliette Room. Moments later I
heard the lift murmur.

I was out the door like a shot, heading for the surface.
There was only one way I could warn Mulder now. 

I was back in the compound by the time Spender came back up.

*****

I heard the lift descending and my heart sank. I knew it 
wasn't Mulder. It was too soon for that.

It could only be the Cancerman.

With a soft cry I pulled myself into the far corner of my
cave. I couldn't face him without feeling the torture he
subjected me to.

Shen's voice trailed up to me. "Dana, you have to listen to
me. It'll save you in the end, okay?"

I nodded. Though she couldn't see me, she continued to
speak.

"You need to use these words, Dana. Just chant them if you
need to. Then, tell him You Shen says hello. You'll know
when the right time is."

"All right, what are the words?" I asked her.

"*Ching*, *ying*, *ming*, *en*, *ho*, *ping*, *chih*."

"Why must I do this?" I asked softly as the lift came closer
and closer.

"These words are clarity, courage, destiny, grace, harmony,
peace, and wisdom. They have meaning for him. We knew each
other long ago, in my home country, and they were words
that my village held holy. They are power. And he will 
understand exactly what they mean."

The lift stopped and the wrinkled old man peered out at me.

"You are comfortable here, I assume?" he said snidely.

Somehow, I knew exactly what to say.  I glared at him. "I
live by *ying*."  *I have courage*.

He stared at me. "Who told you that?"

I shrugged. "I live by *ching*."  *I see clearly*.

He visibly shrank back from me.

"I live in *en*."  *I have grace*.

He was paling as I recited each word as Shen had instructed.
By the end he was groping for the lift controls as if he
had seen a ghost.

It was time. "You Shen sends her highest regards."

All motion stopped. He stared at me, mouth opening and 
shutting like fish on the beach. Then in a flurry he got
the lift moving and was gone.

I breathed deeply. "Shen? What just happened?"

Her voice sounded far away. "He wronged me, and he knows it
deep down, where there is still heart. He has been given
something to think about."

She answered me no more.

*****

Spender was whiter than the pages of my journal when he
came up out of the pit. I hoped he'd have a stroke or a 
heart attack or something to get me out of the mess I was
in, but I had no such luck.

He lectured me for an hour on proper prisoner treatment.
But the whole time, he was distracted. He kept losing his
train of thought. Finally he told me to start carrying my
gun with me. 

I shrugged and dragged out the holster. I hadn't even looked
at it since we'd arrived.

After ten minutes of uneasy silence, he asked me if I knew
anyone named "You Shen" and I shook my head. He grimaced
and went back to the book he was reading.

*Rise and Fall of the Third Reich*. Interesting choice.

I was scribbling away in the journal, knowing that this
would be the last entry from Chibougmau. For better or for
worse, it was ending.

If only my head would stop spinning, I could maybe enjoy 
the idea. Damn fool *had* given me a concussion. As if that
would make me a more effective guard.

It was even later when Spender looked up again. "You'd never
betray the Greater Purpose, would you Alex?"

I almost choked. "I don't know how I even could," I said
with a casual shrug. I thought I fooled him, though his
eyes studied me for just a moment too long for comfort.

Then we went back to what we were doing, the master and
his rebellious slave at an uneasy truce.

*****

Shen wouldn't talk to me, so I contented myself thinking 
about Mulder coming to get me.

It grated a little, knowing that once again he had to pull
me from the fire. It seemed like he was saving my ass more
than he should've needed to. 

He saved me from cannibals and bad lobotomies. From a sex-
starved walking aphrodisiac. From a cancer that would've
killed me. It was like I could never save myself.

But, I reflected, that wasn't true. It was my own shooting
that knocked out the fan at Eurisko. I survived when the
mutilated alien-things started torching everyone around me.
I understood Boggs' warning and stopped at the right moment.
I was in control too.

And what about the times I saved Mulder's sorry ass?

There were too many of those to even count, villains from
the melanin-sucking albino to his own traitorous mind. 

And so, knowing that he'd save me somehow, I sat back to
wait and think about the man I loved more than life.

*****
March 19
5:52 p.m.
Entering Chibougmau

"Mulder, you're gonna kill us!" Bill shrieked like a little
girl as I took a curve at just shy of 100 miles per hour.

"I told you to wear your seatbelt," I answered slyly, not
for the first time.

The roadsign flashed up and passed before I could read the
whole thing. I saw what I needed to know.

"Chibougmau, this exit," I repeated to myself.

With a shriek of tires, the rental car spun off the highway.
On the side streets, I was forced to slow down to seventy.

Bill had been clutching the door since we peeled out of
Quebec City almost six hours ago. I was pleased with our
time: Krycek's directions had said to allow for seven and
a half hours minimum. 

But that was at the speed limit, of course.

"You're sure this is a real tip?" Bill asked for the fifth
time.

"No," I answered, also for the fifth time. "He could be
drawing us away. But it's the only thing we've gotten for
a long time, and I want to make sure."

Bill nodded. He was very pale, and I forced myself to slow
the car for his sake.

Maggie was probably pacing a bald spot on the carpet back
at the Hilton. I had wanted to leave Bill, too, but he would
have none of it. And besides, he was a big guy. He could
be useful.

My cellphone chirped merrily from my coat pocket.

"Bill, can you grab that? I can't drive and talk at this
speed."

"Not a problem," he said and rummaged for the phone.
"Mulder's phone," he greeted. I smiled at that.

There was a series of yeses and grunts. Then Bill made his
report. "Some Frohippie or something said that they arranged
for a boat, and it'll be at the pier that guy mentioned in
the letter."

"Frohippie?" I repeated with a chortle. "Wait'll *Frohike*
hears that one!"

Bill shook his head. "I said, 'or something.'"

It took no time at all to get to the boat and shove off.
I deferred to the Navy man for the directions and we were
off to the island.

*****

When I heard the powerboat I sighed deep inside. Now was 
the moment of truth.

I unsnapped my holster silently and watched Spender, who
was still so distracted that he didn't even notice the
noise.

Then it stopped, and I excused myself to use the bathroom.
I stepped through the door opposite the entry door and
pulled the gun. 

I was ready.

*****

We cut the motor as soon as we got close enough to use the
oars that were in the bottom of the boat. With a nudge we
were docked and standing on the island.

That's when we saw the sheet of paper tucked between the 
slats of the dock.

It read "3-19-00" over a crude drawing of a cigarette.

"What's the date today?" I asked out loud.

Bill checked his watch. "The nineteenth, why?" I showed him
the note and explained.

"I think this is a warning that the Smoking Man is on the
island today," I guessed. Bill nodded shakily. He had heard
all sorts of horror stories from me about C.G.B. Spender.

"We have to be careful," I muttered, and motioned him to
follow me.

*****

I heard the lift from the surface. Spender never even made
a twitch, he was so deep in his own twisted world.

Hefting the gun, I watched the outer door.

*****

The ride down in the lift was excruciatingly long.

Then we were down, and there was a door before us. With
my gun out and ready, I crept toward it.

With a battle cry I threw it open and tracked my gun around
the room. It settled on Spender.

I needn't have bothered. Alex Krycek, with a one-armed grip
on his gun, flew out of the back at the same time I came
in the front. 

"Nice and easy, you sadistic fuck, put the gun on the table.
Good job," Krycek growled as Spender removed his gun.

I stared at both of them. Krycek had seen better days, no
question. He was scrawny, and despite his steady gun hand
I could see in his eyes the tell-tale signs of concussion.

Spender looked worse. It looked like the impromptu brain
surgery we underwent left me a whole hell of a lot stronger
both in mind and body. There was no question that Spender,
one-time master of conspiracies, was now completely out of
his mind. 

Krycek motioned with his prosthesis toward the door he had
burst from.

"She knows you're coming, now get her the hell out of here!"

Spender started swearing as I flew through the door. 

"Krycek, you son of a bitch..." 

It took only seconds to figure out the way into the pit.
Leaving Bill at the top, I worked the controls. I could 
still hear Spender ranting at the top.

"...fucking Russian traitor..."

"Scully! Scully!" I shouted down into the darkness.

"Mulder!"

The sweetest sound in the world. One I never thought I'd 
hear again.

The sound of my name, in Scully's voice.


END PART EIGHT OF ELEVEN

X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (9/11)


"Mulder!" I yelled as loudly as I could. 

"Scully! Scully!" He hadn't heard me.

With all the strength I had left, I shrieked it out.

"MULDER!!" 

There was a moment of silence broken only by the sound of 
the lift. Then his voice trickled down again.

"Where are you?" he shouted.

I couldn't answer. My legs were wobbling and I thought I 
was going to fall off the ledge. With a muffled thud I 
landed squarely on my ass.

"Shen, we're getting out of here!" I called down to my
friend. Without waiting for an answer I tried standing 
again.

This time I came dangerously close to the edge. Even the
extra food earlier that day wasn't enough to keep my waning
strength from seeping away.

*Damn it, not now!* I commanded my mutinous legs. Then I 
gave up and sat, waiting for my Mulder to reach me.

**********

The first thing I saw was her hair, reflecting the light
from my flashlight and the lantern mounted on the lift.

Then the rest of my partner and her prison came into view.

My eyes swept over the insubstantial perch she was sitting
on, taking in the pile of dingy blankets and some dirty
plates. But after ten seconds of examining the area, my
eyes flew to Scully.

She was like a scarecrow that had been beaten by time and
the elements until the original was unrecognizable to most
of the world.

Skinner may not have even recognized her gaunt and grimy
body. But I was a different matter entirely; I would know
her from a half-mile away on a foggy night.

She kept trying to stand up as the lift settled just below 
the edge of her shelf. I almost died as she came within a
hair's-breadth of tumbling head over heels into the dark
nothingness of the trap.

I caught her in time.

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her onto the lift
with one quick motion. 

With a sob she started patting my face, my arms, my chest;
she was making sure I was really there. Which was just fine
with me, since I was doing the same thing at the same time.

"Dana..." I breathed. She gazed at me with cloudy eyes, not
seeing completely but still feeling my tears with the tiny
fingers she had placed on my face. We cried together in that
dark, cold place, knowing that there was light waiting.

"Mulder, I--" she started, then bit her lip. "I--" she 
stopped again. I started to open my mouth to say the words
I had been waiting to tell her since she vanished two weeks
ago. I was ready, I was about to tell her...

"Shen!" she cried, interrupting me. The look of surprise on
my face must have been pretty obvious, as she tried to 
explain immediately.

Voice rusty and cracking from lack of use, she told me to
take the lift down another few feet. "There's another 
prisoner here, You Shen," she explained. "We have to get
her out too!"

I sighed. The revelation would have to wait. With hands that
only shook a little bit, we went down. "Shen!" Scully called
as we descended.

The next ledge down was empty.

There was a thick layer of dust on the platform. An old 
blanket was tossed unconcernedly in a corner of the cave.
I felt Scully tense next to me, and then suddenly my arm
was the only thing holding her up.

I wondered for less than a second if the confinement had
broken Scully more than I had realized.

You Shen, if that's who the resident of the lower shelf was,
was in much worse condition than my partner. You could say
she was skin and bones. *Or just bones* my mind giggled
hysterically. This couldn't be happening.

The skeleton on the lower shelf had died badly. Half of the
bones were broken, and the remains were clenched up in a 
fetal position that spelled out "great pain" with no great
difficulty.

No matter how objective you tried to be, there was no doubt
about it. The prisoner on the lower shelf had been dead for
a very long time. Years, judging by the lack of gore.

Scully was clinging to my shirt like a lamprey. "She was 
here, I talked to her!" Her tone wasn't defensive or angry,
which would've been suspicious, but rather astonished.

"Scully..." I started.

"I know she was here!" Scully insisted, her thready voice
still managing to gain volume and hysteria.

"Scully, she's not here now," I whispered right into her
ear. "We have to get out of here."

With a shudder she turned into my body, wrapping her arms
around my waist as I worked the levers that would take us
back up to the living world. I could feel her tears soaking
my shirt all the way up.

**********

Spender gazed at me hatefully. His seemingly-endless rant
against myself and most of my ancestors had run out of 
steam, and now he was simply an old lunatic trying to find
a way out of the situation.

"Alexei," he wheedled, not noticing or not caring how I 
hated him using my full name. "We can both win here. All
you have to do is put down the gun and let me put all three
of them in the oubliette."

I shook my head ever so slightly, knowing that if I lost 
control for a second it was all over for me. Spender's
gun was still a quick lunge away if I let my guard down.

From the Oubliette Room I could hear clearly when Mulder
and Scully reached the top. The second man, whom I didn't 
know, shouted "DANA!" so loud I almost dropped the gun to
clap my hands over my ears. Of course, I could only clap 
one hand over one ear. Prosthetics had a whole lot of 
disadvantages that didn't appear in the advertisements.

I wondered how long it would take them to get the hell off
the island. I wondered how I'd get out of this situation 
myself. I wanted to just shoot Spender and leave. But the
newly grown conscience that had plagued me for weeks was
telling me not to, that it was a regression to my past.

I wondered if my conscience had a death wish.

Spender started babbling on about making deals, and that's
when the band of rescuers flew through toward the outside
lift doors. 

They halted, rather stupidly in my opinion, when Spender
laid out the "deal" one last time. I think they wanted to
see if I'd break down and turn on them. 

The unknown man, who I decided must be a brother, got the
outer lift doors open and stood ready at the controls. They
could be out in a second if things got ugly. And yet, Mulder
stood supporting Scully, watching me carefully.

"What are you waiting for?" I growled at them, keeping my
eyes locked on Spender.

"Come with us," Mulder offered. It floored me, figuratively.
My once-sworn enemy, now a tentative friend, was going to
absolve me of all wrongdoing because I helped him. Out of
the corner of my eye I observed his arm tight and protective
around Scully, keeping her upright. I smiled slightly. I
gave him back the one thing that he needed to live. Of 
course he would offer me life in return.

I was sorry to turn him down. 

I shook my head very slowly, battling the concussion. "No
deal, Mulder. No deal for you, either, Spender," I added,
answering both questions at once.

"Alex, please!" Scully took a step away from Mulder, moving
on her own power. He looked like he wanted to grab her and
drag her into the lift, but it was suddenly her game. He
kept his hand poised right behind her, though, ready in case
she lost her strength again.

"Scully, do me a favor," I said calmly, as if I wasn't about
to deliver myself into the hands of death.

"Anything," she said fervently.

"Take the journal that's on the table, and read it once 
you get out of here," I gestured with my false arm toward
the bound book laying near me.

With trembling steps she went to the table and took two
weeks worth of soul-searching and unrequited love. Then
she offered her hand to me.

"Alexei, don't cheat yourself of life," she said as her
voice broke. My vision blurred but my hand stayed steady.

"I have my life back, Dana," I told her peacefully.

With a whimper she threw herself back at Mulder. "Please,
make him come with," she pleaded.

I kept my voice even. "Mulder, get her the hell out of here.
Right now."

I think he sensed that there was something wrong. No matter
what went through his mind, his response was the right one.
He scooped Scully up and bolted toward the lift.

And my aching body defected to the enemy.

**********

Something in the tone of Krycek's voice told me that heeding
his advice might be a very good thing. I picked Scully up 
and headed for the waiting lift, disregarding her indignant
squeak at being manhandled that way.

As I turned in the lift to face the doors, I saw Krycek's
gun-hand waver and drop for just a second. 

It was only a second, but it was long enough for Spender.
The next few moments seemed to stretch into infinity even
though it happened in less than a minute.

The old man went for the gun on the table faster than I had
ever seen anyone move in my life. I thought briefly of a 
sealed and cemented cave far away, but only until Scully
wriggled out of my arms like an eel. I grabbed her as she
made a break for the outer room.

"Scully!" I hissed, trying to keep a grip on her. She was
fighting me with more strength than she should've had. I
marveled at this woman who was granted freedom and now 
wanted nothing more than to run headlong into the lion's
den. Then I stopped marveling and just held on to the
crying banshee in my arms with all my strength.

The shot rang out and echoed in my ears. That, combined with
Scully's agonized shriek, would be engraved in my mind for
the rest of my life.

"Alexei!" She screamed as the dark man crumpled to the dirty
floor.

"Go, damn you!" I heard his answering cry, and I was truly
damned if I was going to ignore it.

Especially with an armed man storming toward us.

"Bill, GO!" I yelled. With one lever he slammed the doors.
With another he sent us climbing upwards, towards freedom.

As I held on to my hysterical friend, I cursed the speed
of the lift. If the walls had been transparent we could've
watched the earthworms passing us on the left.

**********

The doors slammed shut with a clang and I sighed my relief.
The gesture caused a shooting pain to glare through my body,
radiating outward from the gaping hole in my shoulder.

I thought of how Mulder was shot all those years ago, right
in the same place. Of course, the bullets Scully used were
probably not designed to cause this much damage.

With a shudder of agony, I turned so my eyes could follow
Spender. He was heading for a panel next to the lift door.

With a start I realized he was trying to throw the emergency
recall. The override that would bring the lift flying back
to hell.

With a sneer he threw the switch.

**********

The lift clanged to a halt. We all exchanged glances and
I'm positive we all started to pray silently.

Silence reigned as the lift started to descend again.

**********

*Oh, the hell you say* I thought grimly.

My gun was still in my hand. But I couldn't move my hand
at all. It was like a sandbag tethered to my arm.

Then, incredibly, a soft, musical voice sounded in my head.
*Alexei, you have the strength. You just have to know that
it's there for you to use.* 

"Who..." I croaked.

*You Shen, a friend,* it tinkled in my ear, *but you have
a job to do.*

"You Shen?" I repeated out loud. 

Without any warning, Spender was there, shaking me and
screaming in my face. "Where did you hear that name?"

Suddenly, my arm didn't need to raise as far to get a good
shot. With a true grin, I shoved the barrel into his neck.

"You Shen sends her regards," I whispered, not knowing where
the strength or the words came from.

He didn't have time to turn pale before I blew his head off.

Then, with reserves of energy that shouldn't have been in 
me at all, I stumbled to the panel and reversed the lift.

**********

Bill whispered, "We're going up again."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. With fond eyes, I gazed at
my Scully, finally unconscious in my arms. 

Time to get the hell out of Dodge.


END PART NINE OF ELEVEN


X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (10/11)

I had never been so glad to see the sky.

By the time we emerged from the tiny shack it was starting 
to get dark. I could see one single star glimmering far
above. I gazed at it, mesmerized by the simple fact of its
existence.

I couldn't walk. Any reserves of power that I had were used
up. Mulder cradled me in his arms like he thought I'd fall
away to dust. I wasn't sure if he was wrong.

So I stared at the star. 

There were two boats at that dilapidated little dock now.
Mulder placed me carefully in one of them, climbing in
himself and letting Bill get the motor running.

Then I couldn't stop staring at that second boat. The one
that Spender had driven out to the island to make sure I
was still as miserable as possible. The one that would stay
docked there until someone noticed it was abandoned.

We pulled away as my eyes were pulled back to the sky. There
were more stars now. They kept me spellbound. When the wind
blew I felt like I had been reborn.

But what a bloody way to regain my life.

With silent fingers I tugged on my brother's arm. He looked
down at me and I waved my weak hand at the book he still 
carried. Without a word he handed it over.

It was much to dark to read now. But I felt better having
it in my hands, close to me.

Mulder's hand was resting lightly on the top of my head. He
didn't seem to care that my hair hadn't been washed since I
was out in the pit, or that I probably was pretty aromatic.
He just sat above me as I curled up in the bottom of the
boat and tried to sort out the sensory overload that I was
experiencing.

I was carried to the car when we reached the mainland. As
Mulder was about to shut the backseat door, I grabbed at his
hand. 

"Stay with me," I croaked out tiredly.

Bill got a funny look on his face as he took the keys from
Mulder and got in the driver's seat. Mulder climbed into the
back next to me.

I nestled myself as close to him as I could manage without
actually climbing onto his lap. 

"Do you have a flashlight?" I asked weakly. He nodded.

"Bill, could you get the penlight out from the glove
compartment?" Bill passed the tiny light back to us.

I placed the book so it rested on both our legs. "I think 
we should read this now."

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" he asked, surprised
that I was ready to pour salt into a fresh wound.

I squeezed his hand. "I have to do it while you're here,"
I told him honestly.

"I'll always be here," he whispered in my ear. "But if you
want to, I'll hold the flashlight for you."

That was my Mulder, always holding the light aloft so I 
could find the truth with it. A simple act that he had 
repeated so many times in the last few years.

I opened the journal and read by the Mulder's light. I kept
plowing through even as I cried. 

It was the most tragic story I had ever heard in my life.
I read the change in his feelings toward the Project, toward
Spender, and then toward me.  

I ached to know he had felt that strongly toward me, even
knowing that I was Mulder's for the asking. I knew, though,
that Alex had been right, he had been associating me with
the doomed Marita Covarrubias. It didn't make me feel that
much better about leaving him in the end.

Wasn't I the betrayer now? 

I knew that my heart was screaming that at me. But my mind
knew that I did what I had to do. Someday I might be able 
to reconcile the two. Today was not the day, though.

Then I hit an entry that proved I was still sane.

**********

From the journal of Alex Krycek:

This day is going straight to hell. How did Spender know to
show up the same day I expected Mulder to come storming in
like the Cavalry? It's creepy how he knows these things. 

But something really bizarre happened while he was down in
the pit with Scully. I honestly expected something horrible
to happen, like another round of torture. But he came back
up within minutes looking like he'd seen a ghost. In fact,
he looked a lot like I felt after I found Marita's body.

He asked me if I knew someone named You Shen. I don't 
remember anyone by that name, but it was obviously important
to him for some reason. 

Whatever Scully said down there about that person, it has
shaken this stone man more than anything else has in all the
time I've worked for him. Entire conspiracies can be on the
verge of toppling and he doesn't break a sweat, but the mere
mention of a name sends him into a daze.

It's bizarre, but it'll work to my advantage. The fact that
I'm even writing this, five feet away from him, without
being noticed, is a testament to that. He's distracted now,
and I have a feeling that his lack of attention will end
up saving all our lives at the end.

One other note about You Shen. It's obvious that this is a
person from his past, probably someone he killed or betrayed
in some way. What's interesting is the meaning of the name.
I'm not a scholar in Chinese by any stretch of the mind, but
from my time in Hong Kong I do remember a lot of the words.
You Shen, translated literally, means "Friend Spirit."

So, maybe Spender did see a ghost after all.

I can hear a powerboat now. I'll bet a lot of money that
it's Mulder coming to the rescue. Spender hasn't even batted
an eyelash at the sound. I was right. Whoever this mystery
Friend Spirit is, he or she is going to save our asses.

**********

Scully grinned madly at me. "I'm not crazy," she declared.

I frowned, not even pretending to understand. Bill looked
in his rearview mirror, as if making sure we were still
behaving ourselves. He paused for a moment at the manic
look on Scully's face, then decided to let me handle it.

"No one said you were crazy, Scully," I mentioned helpfully.

She shook me roughly. "Don't give me that, I saw the look
on your face when we saw her body. I *recognized* the look,
Mulder. You learned it from me."

I fended her off. "I think it's probable that you had a very
real hallucination due to starvation and stress..." I knew
I had made a mistake almost as soon as the words left my
mouth.

With sudden energy, she grabbed me by the lapels of my coat
and started shaking me again. "No way, Mulder, Cancerman
knew who I was talking about, and Alex made the connection.
She was a ghost, a spirit."

Gently I removed her hands from my coat. "I just want to 
make sure you understand what you're saying." That brought
back fond memories of our first case. I could tell she 
remembered it too.

"At least I don't need to write it up," she chuckled, her
sudden burst of stamina gone again. "I just have no other
explanation. So I'm taking some advice and looking to the
extraordinary as a possibility."

I smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Who told you to do 
that, Scully? Must've been an extremely intelligent person.
Practically a genius, even."

She punched me in the leg. Then she frowned again. "I
wonder what happened down there after the doors closed on
the lift."

I smoothed my thumb over her cheeks, feeling the tears 
start anew. She cried herself to sleep as she leant on me,
taking what strength she needed from my body as she slept.

**********

The scene in the Hilton Quebec was scandalous. 

I'm only the receptionist, I realize, but I know what the
meaning of decorum is. That wasn't it.

The dark-haired woman had been pacing for six hours. She
was either oblivious to her own body, or she was in almost
perfect shape and wasn't feeling the burn.

The carpet couldn't say the same, I'm afraid. There was a
worn circular track on which the woman had been marching
without a pause.

Then, there was a ruckus. That's all I can think of to 
describe it.

I recognized the woman's son as he entered. He had been here
as long as the woman. She stopped dead when she saw him.
He didn't say a word, just nodded at her wearily.

She almost collapsed in the center of her self-made track.
She took two steps toward her son, and then all hell broke
loose in our posh lobby.

Another man, who I assumed was her other son, staggered in
supporting a tiny woman that I had never seen.

She was filthy. And she looked like a Dachau survivor.

The dark-haired woman set a speed record when she dashed 
over to them, hugging them both, crying. The other woman
cried too, but she was obviously in no shape for a lot of
jumping around and screaming, like the other was doing.

Then I noticed the resemblance between the two woman. And
then I remembered what the manager had told me about our
long-term residents. I remembered the kidnapping story.

Obviously, the victim had been found, and quite alive.

The group moved *en masse* to the elevators.

Without a second thought I called the kitchen. "Send up a
bottle of champagne, a large bowl of fruit, some cheese and
crackers, and anything else you have laying around."

I made sure the head chef understood that this was on the
house. I added a card to the order.

*Congratulations, and welcome home.*

**********

Dying didn't hurt so much.

Thinking back, I realized that having my arm severed was a
much worse pain. 

My last reserves of power were spent kicking what was left
of Spender. It was childish. I didn't care. 

Then I tottered into the Oubliette Room and sat down at the
edge. Marita was still down there. If I'd had enough life 
left I would've ridden to lift down to be with her. 

But I couldn't. I couldn't move at all anymore.

Then I heard her voice.

"Alexei, you're asleep at the switch again."

She walked into my field of vision, a diaphanous mirage of
white gown and wind-whipped hair. Mulder had never seen her
like this, free and fearless.

She reached a hand down to me. "Come on, Alexei, we have 
places to be."

I reached up and took the offered hand. It took me a minute
to realize I had done this with my left hand. With a gasp
I dropped her hand and flexed the fingers of my left hand.

She shook her head playfully. "Silly, Alexei. You've always
had that silly streak."

I leapt to my feet, staring at the body I had left behind.
I nudged it slightly with my foot and was disconcerted to
feel my toe pass through it.

Marita grabbed for my hand again. "Alexei, it's time to let
go of all that," she said as she pulled my arm. My complete
and unharmed arm, attached to my unwounded shoulder. 

I gazed at her. "Why do you come for me after I left you
behind?" 

She smiled wistfully. "I was dying, Alexei. I don't blame
you for that. I wouldn't have lived past the front door.
I scared poor Jeffery to death when I lost consciousness.
But it wasn't more that a minute after you left."

"You don't blame me?" I whispered plaintively.

She shook her head, blonde tendrils whirling around her 
face as she did. "How could I blame you when I love you?"

I started to sniffle and she placed a finger over my mouth.
"No more tears, Alexei. There's no place for them where we
go now."

Then a voice called out that I had only heard in my mind
before.

"Just grab him by the hair and drag him in. He'll thank you
later," the old woman grinned as she appeared by Marita.
Her voice gained power. "It's time for the next stage."
Her tone suffered no argument.

You Shen took my other hand, and we went forward to destiny.


END PART TEN OF ELEVEN

X~X~X~X~X~X~X
The Forgotten Place (11/11)

Scully could barely stay awake to nibble on the food that
the front desk had so graciously sent up to their rooms.
She did eat enough to regain more of her old vitality, and
by the time she was ready to call it a night she could walk
on her own without a noticeable tottering.

They were all in what had been Maggie and Bill's room. When
Scully started yawning more than moving, Bill slapped Mulder
on the shoulder and suggested they move into the other room.

"C'mon, Mulder, lets give the girls some time to themselves
and we can go to sleep," he said enthusiastically. 

Mulder found himself searching for signs that the "old" Bill
was back and trying to separate him from Scully's side. But
all he saw in the other man's eyes was pure exhaustion. 

*Be fair,* Mulder smiled to himself. *Bill's not used to 
this kind of excitement.* 

Halfheartedly, Mulder let himself be pushed out the door.

"Mulder?" Scully called after him.

He turned around. "Sleep well," she commanded. She could 
tell he hadn't slept enough lately. He smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, Scully, it'd take a banshee to wake me up."

**********
Later that night:

*The ledge was gone and oh God she was falling...*

With a cry Scully sat bolt upright in bed. Frantically she
searched the darkened room. "Mulder?" getting no response
she called louder, "Mulder?!"

Maggie woke with a start. "Dana? What's wrong?"

"Mulder!" she yelled, and headed for the connecting door.
It was locked. Mulder never locked the door.

Maggie gawked as her daughter went ballistic. "MULDER!"
she shrieked at the top of her lungs. The door flew open,
revealing not her partner, but rather her brother.

Scully unceremoniously shoved him aside and burst into the
room. "Mulder?" she queried, softer now.

The man himself was sitting up in bed, looking dazed.
"Oh, man, did I say banshee?" he groaned. Then he was alert.
"Scully, what's wrong?"

She staggered over to him and leapt on the bed. Then, all
reserves once again gone, she contented herself with taking
his astonished face into her hands. Bill surreptitiously 
wandered into the other room and shut the door.

"You're really here, aren't you?" 

"Of course I'm here," he assured her. She was silent for a
moment.

"I thought I'd die down there," she confided tremulously,
letting go of his face and dropping her own head into her
hands.

"Scully, I'd never let you die," he said vehemently.

Scully took a deep breath. "I had a dream the when Alex 
first took me. You were in my apartment. And you had your 
gun and I screamed at you." She looked up to see how he was
taking the revelation.

Instead of shock, there was recognition. 

"Oh my God, it wasn't a dream," she stated, not asking.

His expression turned to a clever mix of embarrassment and
guilt. "I wouldn't have done it."

*Oh, I can't believe this* Scully thought. "Because I was
yelling at you?  You *heard* me?"

"I wouldn't have done it anyway, Scully," he whispered. 
"Not that soon. Given a few months, then maybe..." He knew
a moment too late that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Mulder, don't ever do that! Don't ever," her voice cracked,
"kill yourself because of me!" 

"If you're gone I have nothing left," he murmured, almost 
too softly to hear. "My parents are dead, my sister is dead,
I have no other family but you."

Scully was undaunted. "Promise me you won't try it again,
if anything happens to me."

"Scully..." his voice was anguished.

"Promise me!" she demanded. 

He sighed. "I promise," he mumbled. "I can never deny you
anything."

She smiled blissfully. "I'm counting on it." With a sigh
she rearranged herself so she was curled up next to him.

When she spoke again her voice was heavy. "Shen tried to 
teach me something in the Oubliette."

Mulder was too tired to argue about Shen's possible presence
on the lower ledge. "What did she teach you?"

"That we're all caught in certain stages of life, and if
we can overcome them we move on to better stages."

"That's kind of neat," Mulder yawned. "Did she tell you what
stage you were in?"

"Yup, both of us. You're too obsessed with truth and I'm 
too wrapped up in self-denial. That was the gist of it."

"Self-denial? You?" Mulder was amused. "I didn't think you
denied yourself, just everything around you that you 
couldn't explain with science."

She hit him softly. "I'm being serious. I *have* denied my
own feelings, for the sake of others."

"And what feelings have you denied?" Mulder asked, his 
breath suddenly ragged. 

With a flop Scully laid back on the bed. "Go to sleep,
Mulder, I'll tell you in the morning."

"Hey!" He laid back next to her. "Don't leave me hanging 
like that!" 

She gave him a look that made him blush at his own, totally
unintentional, double-entendre.

"Give me a little more time to work up to it, and you'll
know what I'm thinking, OK?" 

Mulder regarded her for a moment. "All right, you take all
the time you need."

"Thanks, Mulder."

A few minutes later, as they remained curled together in
Mulder's bed, Scully spoke again.

"Mulder, you awake?"

"Nope, leave a message. *Beep*" he muttered.

"Hey, Mulder, this is Scully calling. We have to head back
up to Lake Chibougmau tomorrow bright and early. You may
want to bring a shovel. Bye."

He was fully awake by the end of her "message."

"You want to bury him," Mulder stated.

Her voice quivered a little. "I can't do it by myself."

"You don't have to do anything by yourself," he answered as
he drifted back to sleep. "Not while I'm here with you."

She smiled then as she fell asleep again.

**********

The next morning was too beautiful for a funeral, even an
unofficial one. As Scully busted about with newfound verve,
Mulder made a phone call. She could hear bits and pieces
of it but no more.

"Yeah, I need you to check something out...Yeah, she's
going to be all right...Yeah....All right, I'll tell her.
Yes, I'll tell her!" 

Scully wandered back in as he hung up his phone. "Who was
that?"

"Frohike. He's checking something out for me," Mulder said.
"Oh, they all say welcome back, and Langly wants to take you
out to dinner when you're free."

"*Langly?*"

"Yeah, he feels guilty for the airport thing."

"What airport thing?"

Mulder gave her a brief overview of how they tracked her
to Quebec City. She shook her head at his description of
Frohike's outburst after Langly dropped his little bomb.

Scully shrugged. "Why not? I'll go out with him once."

"Just once?" Mulder tried to look nonchalant and failed.

She looked at him fondly. "Just once."

Mulder cleared his throat. "There's something I've been 
meaning to tell you--"

The phone trilled. With a frustrated grunt he picked up. 
"What?" he snapped, a trifle too nastily. "Oh, sorry. Yeah.
That was quick, wasn't it? Oh, right. Okay."

He hung up and grabbed her hand. "C'mon, Scully, we have a
fax coming in from the Gunmen."

They stormed the office of the Hotel, grabbed their fax, and
relinquished control back to the management. They were only
as far as the lobby when Mulder started combing through the
stack of papers.

Without a word, Mulder held up a photograph. Scully stared
at it uncomprehendingly. 

He repeated the motion with a second photo. Again she just
stared at him in puzzlement.

The third picture provoked the reaction he was waiting for.

"Oh, God, it's Shen!" she gasped. "Where did you get that?"

"The Gunmen did a search of government positions and cross-
referenced it with missing persons reports. Then they tried
to whittle the results down using approximate age, gender,
and race. They faxed me what they had left."

Her hands trembled as she took the picture from Mulder.
This Shen was a little younger, but still recognizable.

"Her name wasn't You Shen, though," Mulder went on. "It was
Xing Mei. She worked for the United Nations. She was 
divorced, and her husband was listed as G.C.B. Pendres.
Which we both recognize, I'm sure, as a really bad anagram
for C.G.B. Spender."

"She divorced him, and he put her in the pit," Scully
breathed. "and she died down there. She came back to help
me get back to-- to help me get away," she amended quickly.

Mulder let the slip go. She'd tell him what was on her mind
when it was the right time. He was sure of that.

"If we're going back to Chibougmau, we'd better get going."

She nodded. "We'll need a tarp, too. Or a blanket. And--"

Mulder shushed her. "I'll take care of it."

**********

It was getting dark again by the time they were finished.

Alex was in the Oubliette Room, looking more peaceful in 
death than he ever had living. It was fairly easy to place
him in the upper lift. 

You Shen, or Xing Mei, was more difficult to move, but with
the help of the tarp she too was secured in the lift.

Then came the hard part.

"Mulder, Marita Covarrubias is down at the bottom. We need
to bring her up."

Mulder's eyes widened. "Stay up here, I'll get her myself."

"Can you do it yourself?" Scully asked, secretly glad he
was letting her off the hook. Going down as far as Shen's
prison was bad enough, but the bottom would be agony.

"I can do it."

And do it he did. He came back up with a second neatly 
wrapped tarp-covered bundle. Scully looked at it pointedly.

"She wasn't in good condition," Mulder explained, still 
looking a shade green around the edges. "I thought I'd
save you some undue illness."

Scully nodded her thanks and they took her to the lift.

So by the time the three were buried, it was dark. Scully
looked up at the star she had gazed at the night before.

"Krycek thought he loved me," Scully whimpered suddenly.

"What's not to love?" her partner smiled against the top
of her head.

Scully pulled back to look at him. "Do you love me?" She
was astounded at her own words. *No, I didn't say that!*
Then she heard Shen's voice. *Sure you did, and about time!*

Mulder's smile grew. "Of course I do. I have for a long time
now." He frowned slightly. "Is this about the whole self-
denial thing?"

Scully nodded. "Shen thought I was denying myself love 
because--"

"Because?" Mulder prodded.

"Because I loved you and wouldn't admit it to myself or 
anyone else!" She broke away.

Calmly, Mulder pulled her back. "I think you just admitted
it. And I'm pretty glad you did."

She looked torn. "I just couldn't believe that we could be
anything but friends. I mean, you're my best friend! I don't
want to ruin that."

"It's not ruination if you benefit from it," Mulder told
her. "I see it as gaining more than we had before."

Scully smiled then. "I love you, Mulder."

"I love you more," Mulder answered, and kissed her.

When it ended, Scully dropped back into her sadness. "I
wish Shen could know that we found our path."

Mulder really grinned then. "Scully, she spent two weeks
keeping you company in that hole, you find out she was a 
spirit, and you think she doesn't know?"

Scully smiled sadly. "Silly, I know. But I still miss her."

Then she left his arms and stood beside the new graves.
Without warning, she started to sing. A trifle off key to
begin with, it was still beautiful. 

*Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost, but now am found,
was blind, but now I see...*

Mulder fought back tears as he joined her, two less than
lovely voices managing to sound like a trained choir.

*'twas Grace that taught my heart to fear,
and Grace, my fear relieved...
How precious did that Grace appear,
the hour I first believed.*

Scully was crying now, but she kept right on singing. 
Mulder wrapped his arms around her as they kept their vigil.

*Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come
'twas Grace that brought me safe thus far
And Grace will lead me home.*

She couldn't go on. Sobbing, she buried her face in Mulder's
chest. Finally, she regained her voice. 

"Mulder, you're like my Grace," she murmured against him.
"You're always the one to lead me through danger and make
sure I get home safely."

"Only because I love you," he whispered. 

Scully pulled away suddenly. "Do you hear that?"

Mulder shook his head, then stopped. He *did* hear it.

*When we've been there ten thousand years,
bright shining as the sun...
We've no less days to sing His praise
then when we first begun...*

Voices, traveling as if on the wind. It could've been a
campsite nearby. It could've been their imagination.

But it sounded like two women and a man, finishing the
song and letting their friends know that they'd be fine.

Mulder smiled and kissed Scully again. "Let's go home."

**********

THE VERY END!!!!!!

Author's End Notes:

1. First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who has stuck
with me all the way through over 100k of story. This is the
first long piece I've finished. If you did make it to the
end and still like me, please send feedback. PitaM13@cs.com

2. The Chinese words were given to me by a friend who knows
the language. The mantra Scully speaks to Spender to freak
him out also came from that friend, who says that it was
common in her home village in China to chant "I live in 
______" to keep away evil and bad luck. So here's a post-
script dedication to Xing Mei, my muse for You Shen. This
also means you can blame her for any mis-translations. <g>

3. Quebec City is a beautiful place, as is Montmorency Falls
and the surrounding park. If you haven't been there, I'd
suggest you take a trip whenever you can. If you have enough
money, stay at the Chateau de Frontenac. Otherwise, a Days
Inn will do the trick too. 

4. Chibougmau is a real place in Quebec. Though I haven't
been there I'm told that the lake and islands are absolutely
gorgeous.

5. This story was based on a different, non-X-Files story
that has been in development for years. The other story is
actually shaping into a full-length novel called
"Oubliette." That story takes place in 1929 in New Orleans. 
It was much easier to shape a shorter (relatively) story 
based in the X-Files than it has been to create such a huge 
enterprise. Wish me luck on ever finishing the original 
"Oubliette."

6. I'm currently compiling all eleven parts into one mass
file, which will be posted on my website as "The Collector's
Edition." That edition will have mistakes corrected, such
as the unfortunate misspelling of Frohike in one of the
parts (How embarrassing! I can spell Krycek and Covarrubias
but not Frohike).

THANKS FOR READING!!