Hello creative group!!!  I'm having the *best* time -- you are all so
terrific with your feedback... *please please please* keep sending mail! 
It makes writing even more fun...  Here's my latest offering -- hope you
enjoy it!  :-)  In case I don't post again until the New Year, HAPPY HAPPY
HOLIDAYS TO YOU ALL!

Author's note:  This is a dark story that I love.  It was wild -- the idea
literally leaped into my mind this morning and plagued me all day.  It was
all I could do to get home and write it down.  Thanks and some
acknowledgement go to Amy Schatz, whose great story "Run Away" put the
scenario into my mind, and to the woman who served me breakfast this
morning and served as the inspiration for Raeanne.  I'm not sure if this
is just a short story or the beginnings of a longer one... let me know if
you like it and maybe we'll keep going.   I would love to hear what you
think of this crazy scenario... comments, criticism and compliments can be
addressed to nvrgrim@aol.com.  


Disclaimer:  As usual, I owe the deepest gratitude to the incredible Chris
Carter and the generous Fox network for allowing me to go wild with the
wonderful characters they have created and own -- I'm only borrowing here,
same as everyone else.  And special thanks go to Chris Isaak for the title
and to Pete Droge for the music that helped me write this...



GOIN' NOWHERE
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com


Raeanne sighed and twisted her long blonde hair back up into a bun atop
her head.  She gazed at the cracked formica of the countertop and gave it
a casual swipe with the rag that she held in one hand, then moved over to
the coffee machine to start up a fresh pot.  As she poured the remainder
of the previous brew down the sink, she casually eyed the few patrons who
occupied tables in the small diner.  Jim McAllister sat alone in a booth
near the back, as was his usual;  reading the paper and eating a danish
before heading out to another day keeping the peace in this small town. 
Other than McAllister, most of the customers were strangers to Raeanne --
nothing unusual about that.  Jake's Diner was the only real restaurant in
this remote part of Nebraska, and most people who stopped were only
passing through.

 Not for the first time, Raeanne wished she was one of those people.

 It wasn't as though her life was bad, exactly;  just routine, boring,
ordinary.  Her boyfriend, Luke, was in the army, finishing off the last
year of his four-year stint.  On the days when the tedium seemed too much,
Raeanne clung to the promise he had made her, of moving on and settling
somewhere else, somewhere new and different, somewhere where she hadn't
spent the whole of her nineteen years.  

 A rattle came from the back area of the kitchen and Raeanne smiled to
herself, knowing that Lizzie was at it again.  "Pans mixed up again?" she
called, the barest chuckle escaping before she could stop herself.

 "Dammit, Rae," Lizzie answered, frustration evident in her voice.  "He
can't put a dish back properly to save his life."

 The he in question came in through the back door of the diner, the he who
was Lizzie's husband, the he who was the owner of the diner and the source
of its name.  "Lizzie, gimme a break," said Jake, moving towards the sink
to wash his hands.  "They're just dishes, is all."

 "Just dishes to *you*," Lizzie called.  "You're not the one doing the
cookin'."

 Raeanne's smile became a full-fledged grin.  Another morning, same as all
the rest.

 "Mornin', Jake," said Raeanne, swiftly dumping more coffee into the
filter and then replacing it before switching the machine back on.

 "Mornin' to you, Rae," Jake returned her smile with one of his own.  Jake
was the closest thing Raeanne had to a father, even though he was old
enough to be her granddad.  "Doin' well?"

 Always the same question, always the same answer.  "Well as can be
expected."

 Jake nodded.  "Think I'm goin' down to the grocery, get us some more
milk."

 Raeanne knew that the last thing they needed was more milk -- Jake
started every morning with a trip down to the grocery, just to see if
there was any new gossip that he'd missed the night before.  "Sounds
good," she replied.  "Think Lizzie and I can run things while you're
gone."

 Jake nodded again, drying his hands on his faded jeans and heading for
the door.  "See you in a while," he said as he left.

 A customer waved to Raeanne and she crossed to his table to refill his
coffee and hand him his check, then moved to the other tables, taking
orders, pouring coffee.  Same old thing.

 The bell above the door tinkled then, and Raeanne turned to catch sight
of the newcomers. 

 A man was holding the door open.  He was tall, and lanky, dressed in
jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.  His hair was slightly rumpled, and above
his beard she could see his tired eyes.  With his other arm, he guided a
woman up the two small steps and into the diner.  She was small, nearly a
foot shorter than he was, wearing jeans and a faded cardigan over a white
tee-shirt.  Her hair was dark, and looked almost black against her pale
skin.  Her eyes were wide and blue, but somewhat unfocused, and when she
stumbled through the doorframe Raeanne realized with a start that she was
blind.  

  The man gracefully steered the woman over to a nearby table, eyeing the
patrons of the restaurant cautiously as he did so.  Raeanne thought she
detected a certain air of nervousness about him, but when none of the
other customers paid him much attention, he seemed to relax.  Once the
woman was seated, he pulled out a chair for himself, then reached across
the table to take her hands in his.

 Raeanne approached, full of curiosity she didn't know she had.  There was
something about this couple, something different,  something strange.  It
caught her attention and held it, though she didn't know why.

 "Mornin'," she said, pulling out her order pad.  "What can I get for
you?"

 The man looked at the woman, who said nothing, her eyes fixed on some
point in the middle distance.  "Coffee -- decaf," said the man.  "Some
eggs -- scrambled... and some toast."  The woman remained silent.  "Lisa?"
 he asked her.  "What do you want to eat?"

 Raeanne was just wondering if the woman was able to speak, when she
answered in a low voice.  "Same for me," she said.  "And some orange
juice, please."

 Raeanne nodded and tucked her pen behind her ear.  "Coming right up." 
She turned towards the kitchen when she felt a gentle hand on her arm.

 "Could you --"  the woman's words were calm, measured, as though the
question was difficult for her.  "Could you show me the way to the
bathroom, please."

 "Sure."  Raeanne watched as the woman carefully stood up from the chair,
her hand still resting on Raeanne's arm.  Raeanne glanced at the man, who
nodded his assent, and then began leading the woman towards the door at
the far end of the diner.  The woman seemed tiny even next to Raeanne, who
had never before considered herself particularly tall.  Her touch was
light but steady, and Raeanne did her best to maneuver her between the
tables.  She looked down at the woman and noticed that she appeared to be
counting her steps, her forehead creased slightly in concentration.  

 They reached the bathroom door and Raeanne pushed it open, then guided
the woman towards the nearest stall.  She hesitated a moment.  "Do you --
do you need me to wait?" she asked.

 "No," answered the woman.  "I'll be fine from here."

 Raeanne went back out into the restaurant and gave the order to Lizzie. 
She then busied herself with several of the other tables, noticing as she
did so that the man's gaze never wavered from the bathroom door.  Time
passed, and Lizzie signaled to her that the order was ready, but still the
door didn't open.

 Carrying the plates like an expert, Raeanne brought the man his
breakfast.  She watched as he arranged his companion's meal, twisting the
plate in a certain direction, placing the coffee cup on one side and the
juice glass on the other.  At that moment, the door opened, and the woman
emerged.  Raeanne noticed how the man's entire body became tense, watching
as she slowly made her way across the diner, her lips moving slightly as
she counted her steps.  It was obvious that the man was coiled to spring
should she falter or lose her way, yet he didn't move, only watched.  

 "Right here, Lisa," he said in a soft voice as she approached.  She found
the chair with her hands and sank down into it, with an audible sigh of
relief.

 Raeanne stood back, trying to appear busy, but fascinated by them, unable
to look away.

 "Eggs at nine o'clock," he instructed, "and toast at three.  Coffee to
the left, and juice to the right."  The woman nodded, and reached for her
silverware.  She took a small stab at her eggs with the fork, and warily
moved the utensil towards her mouth.  Succeeding at the small attempt, she
smiled. 

 "Good," was all she said, but Raeanne could see the man relax at the
simple word.

 The diner was beginning to fill up, it now being nearly nine, and Raeanne
found herself caught up in the morning rush.  From time to time, she
glanced at their table.  The couple spoke very little, and it was obvious
that they were both very tired.  

 "Better stop that," Lizzie scolded at one point, tucking a strand of
white hair back into her thick ponytail.  

 "Stop what?" 

 "Ogling that couple like that.  It ain't polite."  Lizzie frowned, but
Raeanne ignored her. There was something about them that captivated her. 
Maybe it was the way the man watched the woman.  His expression was a
mixture of anxiety, and guilt, and frustration... but beneath those
emotions lurked a tenderness that made Raeanne's heart skip a beat.  

 They had nearly finished their breakfast when it happened.

 Raeanne was in the kitchen when she heard the crash of fallen glass and
the woman's sharp cry.  She raced back out into the dining area to see a
puddle of orange juice on the floor and the look on the woman's face.  

 It was a look filled with embarrassment, and anger, and something else
that Raeanne decided must be disgust.  The woman's eyes were wet, and for
a moment Raeanne feared that she was about to cry.   But the man's hands
closed quickly over hers and his words were strong, soothing.  

 "Don't worry, Lisa, it's okay, it's okay.   It's not a big deal, just a
little juice."

 The woman calmed a little at his touch, and after a minute, she
responded.  "I -- I know.  I'm sorry...it's just..."

 "I know," he answered, then hailed Raeanne with his eyes, never taking
his hands from the woman's.  "Can we have the check, please?"  he asked.  

 Raeanne moved quickly to their table and handed him the ticket, taking
the rag from her waist and wiping up the juice without a word.  She went
to the back to get the broom and dustpan to clean up the glass, and when
she returned, the man had his wallet out and was slowly rifling through
it.    Raeanne saw him glance at the check and then finger the few bills
inside, and she spoke without thinking.

 "Don't worry about it," she said.  "It's on the house."

 The man looked up at her, surprised and wary.  "I have the money."

 "Oh, I'm sure," Raeanne fumbled.  "But really, it's my pleasure.  You...
you seem like you've been on the road awhile.  It's the least I could do."
 

 He didn't say anything for a moment, obviously reluctant to receive her
charity.  "At least let me pay for the glass."

 "No... I insist.  Really -- I run the place."  Raeanne caught Lizzie
looking at her and felt guilty for the white lie, but Lizzie allowed it to
stand.

 "Well, thanks," said the man.  "That's very kind of you."

 The woman sat where she was, her eyes still dangerously liquid.  

 "Question for you," the man said to Raeanne.  "Anyplace we could stay
around here?  Catch a little sleep?"

 Raeanne nodded. "There's a bed and breakfast just up a ways... it's the
only real place in town, but it's clean, and nice."  She quickly wrote the
name of the boarding house on the back of a receipt and handed it to him. 
"Tell 'em Raeanne sent you -- they'll give you a good room." 

 "Thanks again, Raeanne," and she felt a little shiver at the sound of his
deep voice running over her name.

 "Anytime, " she answered, and watched as the man helped the woman up from
the table and escorted her out of the restaurant.


The boarding house was as the waitress had promised:  clean, neat, and
quiet.  Mulder signed them in, using the alias he had only recently become
accustomed to.  Rick and Lisa Wilder.  He had chosen the names, the last
name being that of one of his favorite film directors.  The first names he
had selected in an attempt to pay homage to one of his favorite movies,
but Scully had scoffed at the idea of being called "Ilsa", telling him
that was no kind of name to use as a disguise, so they had settled on Lisa
instead.  Thinking about this, Mulder's lips curved up in a brief
half-smile that felt strange on his face after so long.  

 Of course both Mulder and Scully had other identities, complete with
licenses, credit cards, and passports, kept in a safe place for
emergencies.  It was a requirement of the Federal Bureau of Investigation
that their agents keep a secondary identity ready at all times, in case a
situation should merit slipping under deep cover, or in dire need, for
them to begin a new life.  But those identities were of course logged and
monitored by the F.B.I. itself, and were no good in a crisis such as this.

 When it was the government itself from whom one was trying to hide. 

 Mulder banished this thought from his mind as he opened the door to their
room and helped Scully inside.  He felt the weight of her hand on his arm
as she followed him, listening to his description and explanation of the
layout and the arrangement of the furniture.  The room was small, and it
didn't take long.  He guided her to the bed where she sat with her back
against the headboard, staring at a point somewhere below his shoulder.

 "How much, Mulder?" she asked, using his name only in the privacy of
their room.

 "How much what?" he answered, feeling more tired than he could ever
remember being. He collapsed in a chair across from the bed and ran his
hand through his hair.  

 "Money," she said.  "How much is left?"

 He pulled the wallet from the pocket of his jeans and quickly counted the
bills and change.  "One-eleven and fifty-three cents," he responded, the
reality of their situation crashing down on him.   

 It apparently had registered with her, as well;  Mulder's heart sank as
he noticed her shoulders slump in resignation.  The dark hair that framed
her face made her appear even smaller and more vulnerable;  Mulder
desperately missed the fiery red locks he had come to associate with her
power and strength.  "This has to stop, Mulder," she told him.  "We can't
keep this up much longer."

 Not for the first time, Mulder wished he'd had the opportunity to take
advantage of the plans he had made for a situation just such as this.  He
knew that both he and Scully had put money aside, had packed suitcases, in
case something like this should occur.  What they hadn't ever planned on
was the fact that they would be so immediately trapped, denied of all
access, forced to flee without ever looking back.

 Mulder cursed the bank regulations that prohibited more than $300 from
being taken from a bank machine at one time.  They had taken $300 from his
account, and $300 from hers, and $300 from a credit card he'd had in his
pocket by chance.  Nine hundred dollars seems like a lot of money, until
it is all that you have, he mused.  

 "A few more days, Scully," he tried to infuse his voice with hope. 
"They're bound to stop the surveillance sooner or later, and then we'll be
out of here.  Out of this country, away from this life."

 "Mulder."  Her voice was cold, dark, flat.  "We are almost out of money,
and we are out of time.  You have to go on, while you still can."

 Go on?  a voice in his mind asked.  And leave you?  Never... he vowed.

 "What are you talking about?"  he asked, thankful for the relatively
normal tone of his voice.  "We're in this together."

 "Mulder..." now she sounded tired, resigned.  "You can't devote the rest
of your life to taking care of me. It only makes it easier for them to
catch both of us."

 "Scully --"  he crossed the room and sat next to her, putting an arm
around her, trying to draw her close to him.  "This is only temporary --
the explosion --"

 She pulled away from him, leaving him with a cold ache at his side and in
his soul.  "It's been three weeks," she whispered.  "This isn't...
temporary.  This is reality.  And you have to accept it.  I -- I have,"
she finished, her voice weak.

 Accept it?  Accept the fact that Dana Scully, his quick-witted,
strong-willed, independent partner was now blind as a result of something
*they* had done?  Accept the fact that she wanted him to leave her, to
face this alone?   *Never*... his mind repeated.

 "Stop it ---" he was surprised at how harsh he sounded.  "Stop talking
like that.  We're in this together."  He attempted a calmer tone as he
took her face and cradled it between his palms.  "Listen to me, Scully. 
We've made it through worse than this... and we can do it again. 
*Together*."

 He stared at her, willing her eyes to meet his.  But they remained
distant and unfocused, their usual clear blue muddied by whatever veil had
passed over them and plunged her into this darkness. 

 Mulder barely remembered what had happened after the explosion had rocked
the building.  There had been fire everywhere, and sirens, and the
crashing sound of footsteps around him.  Somehow, amidst the smoke and
panic, he had found her unconscious form and carried her out of the
building, running in a desperate attempt to elude unforseen enemies.   He
had managed to wire a car and had taken off without a second thought,
stopping only to hit a bank machine and drain it of all the cash he could,
knowing as he drove out of D.C. that he couldn't risk it again.

 Couldn't risk being tracked.

 Couldn't risk them finding her.

 "Now you listen to me," he ordered, his tone stern but loving.  "I want
you to lay down... get a little rest.  I'm going to find a phone, and then
catch some z's myself.  And then we'll figure this out.   Okay?"

 She nodded, and he was acutely aware of how frail she felt in his grasp. 
He helped her pull back the covers, then tucked her in, stroking her hair
as she settled her head into the pillow.   "Okay?" he asked.  

 "For now..." she answered, already slipping towards sleep.  "Don't be
long."

 "I won't."  He paused at the door before heading out into the morning
light in search of a pay phone, looking at her small form beneath the
bedclothes.  He felt emotions course through him -- pain, rage, anger --
how could this have happened?  he wondered with no small horror.  How
could everything they had, everything they had worked for, come down to
this?  He pushed the desire for vengeance from him, for the moment.  For
now, he had other responsibilities.  The rest could come later.  


Scully heard him leave and felt the fear welling up inside her.  She tried
to fight the panic, clutching the pillow for reassurance.  God, it was
hard... she was afraid, deeply afraid, of this new dark world in which she
now lived.  The dark was deep and cold and frightening.  She had never
imagined how it could be, unable to see what lay before her, unable to
discern direction or location.  She had never imagined the horrible
helplessness, the feelings of inadequacy, of dependence.  She had never
imagined she could ever feel such terrifying loneliness.

 She couldn't even remember what had happened.  She had been close, so
close... she had thought that she was going to finally discover the truth,
that she had finally found the men who had ordered that the computer chip
be placed in the back of her neck, the men who had orchestrated the
kidnapping that had destroyed her life as she once knew it.  And then
everything had gone wrong... but then Mulder had appeared.  And she had
thought, for one dangerous moment, that everything would be okay, that
they would finally be in possession of the one thing they sought... the
truth.  But then the explosion had ripped through the air.  She remembered
a bright, blinding flash of light, and then nothing.  Nothing since then
but the darkness that plagued her, that threatened to overwhelm her... and
Mulder.

 He had been there, when she had regained consciousness.   He had been
driving an unfamiliar car with an urgency that she immediately sensed, and
then she knew that her deepest fear had at last come true.

 They were alone, on the run. With no one to turn to.  No one who could
help them.  No one but each other.

 Scully had long expected that it would come to this, but some part of her
had always believed that it would happen because of Mulder, because of the
intensity of his search, the desperation of his quest, his ceaseless
investigation to uncover the truth.

 She had never thought that they would be forced to flee because of
something she had done. And yet, they had.

 Part of her was deeply thankful that Mulder was with her.  Without him,
she knew she would have given up, paralyzed with terror.  With him by her
side, occasionally she still thought that they might make it, might escape
the clutches of those who sought to bring them down.

 But in her darker moments she cursed the fact that she had drawn him into
her web, forced him into such a horrible predicament.   Everything would
be different for them now, perhaps forever, and it was her fault that
Mulder had been forced to give up his own life in order to protect hers.  

 She thought about that first night, when he had left her at a motel to go
in search of some clothes for them, spending too much of their precious
cash in order to provide them with the basic necessities.  He had brought
back a box of hair dye and at first she had resisted, before she realized
that he was right -- that they had to take whatever steps they could to
cover their tracks.  A brief smile crossed her face as she imagined what
they must look like now.  She couldn't even recognize Mulder anymore by
touch, his bearded face so strange beneath her fingertips.  And yet it
wasn't enough -- not enough to get them to where they needed to go.

 The influence of the Shadow People stretched farther than she could have
ever imagined, trapping them on an endless cycle of driving by night and
sleeping by day, hiding like fugitives.  

 With a deep sigh of exhaustion and resignation, Scully reached out for
the blessed balm of sleep.
 

 Mulder found a pay phone at the end of the street.  Picking up the
receiver, he quickly dialed a number.  Three rings and then the line was
answered.  He spoke quickly, knowing the ability of the government to
track the call in mere seconds.  "Three-oh-eight, five-five-five,
four-eight-three-two," he said, and then slammed the receiver back into
its cradle.  Five long minutes passed, five long minutes in which he was
acutely aware of the few people that passed by the booth in which he
stood.  Then the phone rang.

 "Yes?" he picked it up before it could ring a second time.

 "Hello."  Mulder relaxed, briefly, at the sound of Byers' voice emanating
from the line. "You okay?"

 "For now," Mulder answered.  "How much time do we have?"

 "Five minutes," answered Byers.  "For now, they're not sure if I'm on the
line to a military base in Antarctica or a bar in downtown Chile."

 Mulder allowed himself a small smile.  "What's the word?"

 He heard Langley's voice chime in.  "Not good.  The dragnet's still out. 
Your new id's are uncompromised, but we can't get you passports.  Besides,
the word is on the street.  They've compiled every possible physical
description of the two of you.  No disguise is going to get you on any
plane out of the states at this point."

 Mulder felt his heart sink at the words, but knowing the Lone Gunmen, he
was aware that their statements carried the ring of absolute truth.

 "You have to hang tough," said Byers.

 "Will do," Mulder replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

 "She okay?"  That was Frohike, worried as always, about Scully.

 "Yeah..." Mulder sighed. "She's okay."

 There was silence on the line for a moment, then Byers spoke up again. 
"We're trying to find a way to get you some cash.  Check in with us
tomorrow?"

 "You bet," Mulder answered, hanging up the phone.  He felt the anger and
frustration coursing through his veins again.  The powerlessness.    He
had always promised to protect her, and yet he had failed again.  He grit
his teeth and clenched his fists and tried to channel the vehemence he
felt into something positive, something that would allow him to continue. 
After a moment, he left the booth and headed back to the boarding house.


It was late, now.  Day had given way to night and yet Scully couldn't tell
the difference. She struggled to put her hair up in a ponytail, knowing
that it was bound to be crooked and yet not really caring.  Mulder had
gone out to the car, loading it with their few belongings before heading
to the grocery to pick up some food for their on-the-road dinner.  Scully
knew she was coming dangerously close to the breaking point, and knew that
if she was almost there Mulder had certainly crossed the line.

 The knock on the door startled her, and she grabbed absently for the gun
Mulder had left primed on the nightstand.  Deep inside, Scully knew that
her chances of hitting any target were slim to none, but holding the
weapon in her hand helped calm the pounding of her heart.

 "Hello?"  she asked, her voice a harsh whisper in the silence of the
room. "Who's there?"

 "It's Raeanne," came the answer. "The waitress?  From the diner, this
morning?"

 Scully hesitated, but her newly acute hearing told her that it was indeed
the voice of the girl who had poured her coffee.  Putting the gun to one
side, she opened the door cautiously.  


"Hello," said Raeanne, noticing how tense the woman appeared.  "I -- I
didn't mean to startle you," she said.  "I-- I just brought you...some
clothes.  I thought... maybe... you might need them."

 Raeanne held out the small bundle for the woman's examination.  She
reached out both hands and ran her fingers over the small pile of fabric. 
It wasn't much -- a couple of Raeanne's old shirts, a pair of pants, and
some items that she had culled from the back of her older brother Tommy's
closet.  For a moment, Raeanne felt incredibly awkward, as though she had
made a horrible mistake.  Then the woman's delicate face had creased in a
small smile.  

 "Thank you... " she said in a tiny voice.  "Thank you very much."

 "No problem," said Raeanne, relieved.  "If there's anything else... "

 "No," replied the woman, firmly.  "You've already done more than enough."

 "Okay..." Raeanne answered, awed by the strength she felt emanating from
this woman.  She was the kind of woman that Raeanne sometimes dreamed she
was -- self-assured, unafraid.  Part of her reached out to this woman,
ached for her, but she fought away the impulse and turned to leave.  As
she moved away, she thought of something else, and the words poured out of
her in a rush.

 "Be careful," she said.  "Stay safe."

 The woman nodded again, and began to shut the door.  "Thanks again."  The
tone in her voice was one of finality.  

 Raeanne watched as the door shut in her face, then made her way back to
her car, thinking of Luke, wondering that if circumstances such as these
crossed her life would Luke stand beside her as the man did beside this
woman?  A nagging voice inside her told her no, that there were probably
few men who would.  


Scully had packed the small pile of clothes in a paper bag she found
beneath the bed, and was sitting waiting for Mulder when he returned. 
"All set?" he asked.

 "Yes," she answered simply.  "A guardian angel -- the waitress from this
morning -- brought us a little present."

 She heard Mulder open the bag and rifle through it before offering a
small sigh of acceptance.  She suddenly felt a rush of affection for him,
knowing how it must be for him, loving him for the fact that he was by her
side.  

 "Can't argue with that," he said, taking her gently by the arm.  "Let's
hit the road."

 She heard him grab the bag with his other hand and allowed him to steer
her out of the room and towards the car.  Once inside, she reached for the
seatbelt, buckling it securely across her waist as she listened to him
start the engine.

 "Where to now?" she asked.  

 "Oh... we're goin' nowhere," he answered.  "For now."

 As the car moved off down the road, Scully leaned back in her seat,
feeling reassured by the gentle hand Mulder kept on her arm.  For now...
she thought.  At least they were okay for now.  After that, she couldn't
even venture a guess.  But for now...

 The car picked up speed as it headed towards the highway, hurtling
towards a destination unknown.  


  "...you think you've got the devil on retreat
  but he's back up on his feet
  and he's looking for you..."

   - pete droge


===========================================================================

From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW:  GOIN' NOWHERE - EPILOGUE by Nicole Perry
Date: 17 Dec 1995 16:23:25 -0500


Oh my God!  :-)  All I have to say is *thank you* to everyone who wrote
with such an enthusiastic response to my little posting!  I'm actually
glad that so many people want to see more b/c this is a really fun one for
me...  The funny thing is I just posted this on Friday and then the idea
for this little epilogue showed up in my head and I had to write it down. 
(Good thing people like Raeanne...)  Came into the office to send it off
and lo and behold, great mail was waiting in my in box!  :-) So I guess
there will be more to come....

Author's Note:  This is an epilogue to the story I posted the other day --
you probably should read that one first...let me know -- nvrgrim@aol.com
-- if for some reason you can't find it!   :-)

Disclaimer:  Same old story -- thanks to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Inc.
for creating this wonderful world and allowing me to play in it...


GOIN' NOWHERE - EPILOGUE
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com


'...it's just not the same when I can't wake up and see you there beside
me.  The whole day starts off different, and sometimes it feels like this
isn't ever going to end.  But you should know that I think about you, all
the time, and I know we'll always be together --'

 "Raeanne!"  Lizzie's sharp voice startled her out of her reverie, and she
guiltily folded the letter back into a tiny square and shoved it into her
pocket.  It wasn't as though she still needed to read the creased piece of
paper -- by this point, she could hear the words clearly in her head --
but it made her feel closer to him, somehow, to hold it in her hands. 
Luke's letters were rare enough, anyway -- she figured she probably wrote
ten for each one she received, but she knew that she had a lot more time
on her hands.  

 "I need you to get the biscuits out of the oven before they burn," Lizzie
continued, and Raeanne moved quickly to respond to the request.  

 "Sorry Lizzie," she said as she turned off the gas and donned cloth mitts
before pulling out the tray of sweet-smelling bread.

 "Letter still good?"  Lizzie smiled as she bustled around the kitchen.

 "Good as gold," Raeanne answered, feeling a warm rush of contentment as
she thought about Luke.  Only seven more months... she figured she could
hang out that long.  And besides, he'd be back just in time for her
birthday.  A great time for him to give her that ring she'd been dreaming
about.

 Raeanne moved through the diner, refilling coffee and collecting her
tips.  The bell above the door tinkled and a man entered.

 He was tall, and gaunt.  His hair was a greying-brown and his face was
creased with sharp lines.  He was dressed in an official-looking suit
beneath a light trench coat.  Not entirely unusual -- after all, business
travelers did pass through the diner from time to time -- but Raeanne
unconsciously sucked in a breath at the sight of his eyes.

 They were dark eyes, with a malevolent gleam.  They were eyes that had
seen things that Raeanne never wanted to see.  They were eyes that
contained knowledge she had no desire to know.   

 Raeanne scooted behind the counter, seeking to put a physical barrier
between herself and the stranger.  But he sought her out, moving with an
intensity of purpose.  "I'm looking for the Sheriff... Jim McAllister. 
They told me down at the station I could find him here."

 Suddenly unable to speak, Raeanne only nodded, and pointed at McAllister,
who was ensconced in his usual corner booth.  

 The man turned and walked over to the Sheriff, who put down his paper and
his coffee, offering the opposite chair to the man.  The man sat down,
pulling his i.d. from inside his coat as he did so. A short conversation
ensued, but Raeanne was too far away to hear the words.   From behind the
safety of the counter, she watched as the man took an envelope from his
coat and gave it to the Sheriff.  McAllister examined the contents of the
envelope carefully, and then shook his head.  The man stood, retrieved the
envelope, then shook the Sheriff's hand.

 The relief that shot through Raeanne as she realized the man was about to
leave vanished suddenly as McAllister motioned towards her.  

 "Hey, Raeanne -- c'mere a minute, would you?"

 Raeanne hesitated, her feet suddenly unwilling to move. 

 "Rae?"  The Sheriff was insistent and she knew she couldn't ignore his
beckoning arm.  Slowly she moved towards the table, completely aware of
the stranger's eyes upon her.  

 "You need something, Sheriff?" she asked quietly.

 "Yeah..."  McAllister's voice was relaxed, easy.  "This here fellow is
with the government.  On the lookout for two fugitives who might've passed
this way.   I don't remember seein' 'em, but I know you're in here all
day. 'Preciate it if you'd take a look at these photos."

 Raeanne nodded at McAllister as the man handed her the envelope.  A
queasy feeling came over her as she took it, something inside her willing
her not to open it.  

 "What're they wanted for?" she asked, stalling.  "What'd they do?"

 The man answered her question, his voice like steel.  "Theft of
government property," he said.  "The murder of several federal agents."

 McAllister chimed in.  "They're armed and dangerous."   He shook his
head, repeating the words the man had just told him for Raeanne's benefit.
 "Orders are, shoot to kill if they're spotted."

 "Oh," said Raeanne, "I'm sure I can't help you.  No one like that's been
in here."

 "How do you know?" asked the man.  "Take a look."

 Unable to refuse his request, Raeanne opened the envelope and pulled out
two photographs.  One was of a young man in a dark suit and a rather loud
patterned tie.  He was clean-shaven and unsmiling, but his hazel eyes
radiated an intensity and intelligence that seemed to transcend the
photograph.   The other was of a young woman with ivory skin and rich
auburn hair.  She was smiling, and the grin reached her blue eyes.  It
looked as though she had a delicious secret buried within them that she
was trying to conceal from the photographer.  

 "Hard to believe, huh?" McAllister commented.  "They don't look the type
to me."

 "Trust me," said the man.  "Things change."

 Raeanne knew that statement to be true, judging from the photos she held
in her hand.  Of course, it was nearly two weeks ago that they had been in
the diner, but she still couldn't get them out of her mind.  The way the
man had been so tender and supportive with the woman.  The way the woman
had seemed so strong and brave.  The way they had moved in unison, bound
by an unspoken, wordless connection that was deep and powerful enough for
Raeanne herself to sense.

 It was hard to reconcile the vibrant people in the photographs with the
drawn, tired couple she had waited on.  The man was right -- something had
changed for these two people, changed in a strange and awful way.  Maybe
they were armed, but Raeanne knew with a quiet certainty that they weren't
dangerous.

 Knew, instinctively, that it was they who were in danger.  

 Taking a resolute breath, Raeanne put the photos back into the envelope. 
"Haven't seen anyone like that 'round here."  She didn't look up at the
man, just handed him the envelope and kept her eyes on McAllister.

 The man didn't answer her.  He tucked the envelope back into his coat and
pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  They were a strange brand that Raeanne
didn't recognize.  The man lit a match and inhaled, igniting the
cigarette.  Then he took his other hand and put it swiftly under Raeanne's
chin, raising her eyes to his.  

 "You're sure?"  his voice was so low as to be almost a hiss.  "Absolutely
sure?"

 Raeanne looked at him, caught in his piercing gaze like a deer in the
headlights of a car.   A cloud of smoke curled past his head, and in that
moment Raeanne was deeply, truly afraid.  Not for herself, but for the
unnamed couple that for some reason she could not forget.  Ignoring the
frantic beat of her heart, she forced herself to shake her head
emphatically and pulled away from the man's grasp.

 "I'm sure."  

 The man stared at her a second longer, then took another drag from his
cigarette.  

 "Sir?"  Raeanne turned to see Lizzie leaning over the counter.  Her face
was stern but her eyes were anxious.  "This is a non-smoking
establishment."

 The man glanced at the white-haired woman, but did not answer her. 
"Thank you," he said to McAllister and Raeanne, as he turned to leave.  
As he passed through the doorway, he took another hit of the cancer stick
and then dropped it, just inside the diner.  With a strange look at
Raeanne, he extinguished the cigarette under the heel of his shoe.  Then
he stepped outside and allowed the door to slam behind him.

 It took a moment before Raeanne could move, still shaken by his presence.
 She went to the door and picked up the offending butt with a paper towel
and tossed it in the trash, a little silent prayer running through her
head.

 Please, God... keep them safe.  

 At that moment, a family of four walked through the door, and suddenly
Raeanne was a whirl of motion, handing out menus and pouring coffee.  But
it wasn't until much later that afternoon that she was able to forget that
sinister man and the malevolent look he had given her as he departed.

          '... pleased to meet you, won't you guess my name?
          What's puzzling you is the nature of my game...'

                                     - Rolling Stones


That's it -- the end -- whew!  Had to get that out of my system... as
always, thanks for reading!  :-)



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW *SEQUEL* by Nicole Perry - PASSING THROUGH 1/3
Date: 6 Jan 1996 15:30:12 -0500


HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!  :-)

Author's Note:  The following is a sequel to my story GOIN' NOWHERE and
its epilogue, both of which have been gathered into one tidy bundle on
Vincent's archive at Ohio State.  Reading this one without reading that
first is like having dessert before dinner -- still good, but somehow not
quite as satisfying.   ;-)   Heaps of thanks and appreciation should be
showered on all of you who took the time to write -- really, there's
absolutely *nothing* better than finding mail in my in-box about one of my
stories!  I'll be especially curious to know if this piece is a worthy
successor to the first...correspondence designed to placate or enrage the
anxious writer (me) can be addressed to nvrgrim@aol.com.  Stop me -- I'm
babbling...

Spoiler Warning:  This story has taken on a life of its own;  in a
roundabout way it deals with the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months. 
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy, "Anasazi", and the four related mythic episodes we've been
privileged to view so far this season.  Just a general warning to any
overseas readers... :-)

Disclaimer:  As always, my thanks and deepest appreciation to Chris
Carter, 1013 and Fox Inc. for allowing me to play in the wonderful world
they've created.  Special thanks should also go to David and Gillian
(Golden Globe nominees both, congrats!) for the depth, pathos and
emotional range they bring to Mulder and Scully week after week -- one
can't help but be creatively inspired by their performances.  Enough
said...



PASSING THROUGH (1/3)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com


The man flipped open his cellular phone and dialed a number, checking his
watch as he waited for the line to connect.  He leaned against the rental
car, listening as the call was picked up on the third ring.

 "Yes?"  The voice was clear, despite the distance.

 "Nebraska," said the man.  "Confirmed."

 A pause, then the voice responded.  "Begin appropriate measures?"

 "Immediately," the man ordered.  "And I want a constant report."  

 The man hit the "end" button on the cellular and lowered the antenna,
placing the device in an inner pocket of his trench coat.  He took a final
drag from his ever-present cigarette and tossed it aside, moving away from
the car.  He headed across the field to where the helicopter stood, its
rotors already turning.

 It had been obvious, he thought as he walked, that the waitress knew more
than she was telling.  It was the man's job to discern unspoken truths,
and when necessary, to conceal them from further discovery.  It was the
man's job to contain situations that had gone awry, regardless of the
consequences.  It was the man's job to kill, if and when it was deemed
necessary.  

 He was a man who was very good at his job.  



He's going through the door hurry hurry if you really run you'll catch him
dammit it's locked how did he do that?  Down the hall then there must be
another entrance after all this is the center there's got to be another
way in and what is that noise feet pounding behind someone shouting at me
--

 < Scullystopdon'tfollowhimit'satrap > --

 He's grabbing me pulling on my arm  -- 

 < Letgoletgoletgohe'sgettingaway >

 < LethimgoScullywehavetogetout > --

 Push him shove him get him off me -- 

 < GetoffmeMulder > --

 Push him hard and now he's tripping falling how did I do that never mind
keep running you can't let the man get away there's another door and it's
open get inside and slam it shut quick what is this place? a lab? is this
the lab where they discovered it? but where did he go where is the doctor?
pounding on the door behind me --

 < Scullyopenthisdoordammit > --

 Just ignore it -- 

 < Youcan'tstopmeMuldernotnownotnow > --

 Check the walls there must be a hidden exit somewhere I know he's here
where could he have gone what is that sound --

  < Ohmygodohmygod > -- 

 So bright so bright so bright --

 < ithurtsithurtsithurts >

 Screaming deep in her throat Scully fought her way from sleep into
wakefulness, frantically tearing at the bedclothes.  Her subconscious mind
still whirling, trying to make sense of her surroundings, seeking order in
her disorientation.  

 < WhereamIthisisn'tmybedwhyisitsodark >

 She was unaware that she had spoken aloud, her voice a low keening wail. 
She was aware only of the oppressive blackness and her rapidly rising
panic.  She was falling, falling...Then she felt arms around her, strong
and powerful.  Encircling her, pulling her close.  Pushing away the
darkness.   She felt breath, warm against her cheek.  She became conscious
of his voice, solid and soothing, ceaseless whispers in her ear.

 "Shh, Scully, it's okay... I'm here... you're okay...everything's gonna
be fine..."

 After a few long moments, she was able to catch her breath.  Slowly, she
relaxed against his chest, allowing her head to fall on his shoulder,
feeling his fingers as they stroked her hair.

 There was silence then, a deep stillness that filled the room.  

 When she felt she was able to trust her voice, Scully sat up and pulled
away from him, seeking the abandoned covers with her hands.  "Thanks," she
said quietly.  

 "No problem," he answered.  A beat, then, "Sure you're okay?"

 "Yeah."  Scully slid back down under the covers, allowing Mulder to pull
the comforter up to her shoulders.  She listened to the rustling of the
sheets as he repositioned himself on his side of the bed, one hand resting
on her arm, a gentle reminder of his presence.  

 Scully felt the wetness in her eyes and the ache in the back of her
throat.  When, she wondered, was she going to be able to sleep for more
than a couple hours at a stretch?  The nightmares hadn't stopped, as
Mulder had promised.  In fact, they almost seemed to be getting worse. 
But it wasn't the dreams themselves that really terrified her.  It was the
waking up.

 Because in her nightmares, she could still see.  



Mulder lay quietly, listening as sleep overtook her and smoothed her
ragged breaths.  Though his body began to relax, his mind remained acutely
aware, listening for any further signs of trouble.  

 This was worse than ever, he thought, the words running numbly across his
brain.  

 The nightmares had been a constant part of their journey and by now
Mulder was used to hearing her sobs jolt him into consciousness.   The
first time it had happened, he had been unable to coax her back to sleep
and instead had sat with her, holding her hand until her body overrode her
mind's command and allowed her to rest.  After that, he had taken to
sleeping beside her in each new, unfamiliar bed, taking small comfort in
the fact that his nearness seemed to calm her enough to provide a brief
respite from the terror.

 He felt a sudden rush of protectiveness towards the woman next to him,
followed by an equally intense feeling of inadequacy.  He didn't know what
else he could do for her, how he could better help her through this. 
Mulder didn't need his psychology degree to understand what was happening.
 Scully's fierce reluctance to talk about what had occurred, her
unwillingness to share her pain, her determination to keep the emotions
bottled up inside her -- he knew the formidable control she held over her
conscious mind.  And knew that it was only while sleeping that her firm
grasp weakened.

 Mulder had to admit that it was really her strength, not his, that had
gotten them at least this far.  That first, horrible night when she had
awakened in the stolen car and found herself suddenly sightless she had
emitted a terrified shriek and clutched his arm so violently that he had
nearly driven the car off the road.  They had both been frightened, then. 
It had taken all of Mulder's self-control to keep from turning around and
heading back to the city, to a hospital.  But he had known even through
his panic that this was it -- the only chance they would have to get away.
 He had told her the plan, what there was of one anyway, as he held her
and waited for her sobs to subside.  

 Then he had asked her what she wanted, in a firm, steady tone.  If she
had wanted to return, for any reason, he would have taken her back in a
heartbeat.

 But she, like him, had opted to roll the dice and take their chance,
betting that the dangers ahead could be no worse than the demons they were
leaving behind.

 And from that point onward, Scully hadn't cried, not once.  At least, not
in front of him. She had been strong, like a rock.  Solid as stone.  While
he had been fumbling and awkward, she had been precise and direct,
explaining to him just what she needed.  As though her blindness was just
another scientific problem to be solved and that by applying enough of the
laws of math and physics she could handle the equation. 

 So far, Mulder thought with a twinge of anguish, she'd done a damn good
job.



 The next time he awoke, she was no longer in the bed beside him.  His
heart began to race before he noticed the sound of running water coming
from the bathroom.   Relieved, he sank back into the pillows to wait.

 Time passed, and she emerged, dressed in the jeans and black turtleneck
he had laid out for her before they slept.  She carried a brush in one
hand and held the other before her as she made her way slowly across the
room to the lone chair by the worn table.   Mulder said nothing, just
watched her steady progress, wondering how such grace could still be
evident in her steps.  

 Scully sank into the chair and began to brush her damp hair.  The first
strokes were awkward and then she found the rhythm.  Turning her body so
she somewhat faced the bed she said, "Morning, Mulder."  

 "Evening, actually," he answered automatically, checking his watch as he
did so.  "It's almost seven-thirty." A pause, then the question, "How did
you know I was awake?"

 "You breathe differently when you're sleeping," she replied.  

 He watched her brush her hair a little more and then climbed out of the
bed.   As he passed her on his way to the bathroom he realized that it
wasn't just the light playing tricks on him;  the roots of her hair were
starting to show, shining a beautiful reddish-gold.   "Think that time's
come again -- gotta wash that red right out of your hair," he teased, but
his voice was soft.

 She frowned, putting down the brush and feeling for the part on her scalp
with both hands.  "Is it really that bad?  So soon?"  

 "It's not that soon," he replied.  "It's been five weeks."  Mulder moved
closer, smoothing down the strands where she had mussed them.  "Next time
we stop."

 She gave a reluctant nod, picking up the brush again.  "If you say so. 
But a different brand next time.  That last stuff smelled awful."  
Scully's fingers danced across the surface of the table, searching for the
barrette she used to pull her hair back.  He could see it, just to the
left, and was tempted as always to pick it up and hand it to her.  But he
waited, and she managed to find it.

 "Get in the shower, Mulder," she said.  "I'm starving."  

 Feeling guilty for watching her so closely, he ducked into the bathroom
and shut the door.



Scully held Mulder's arm tightly as they made their way down the street.  
She could hear the sounds of other passersby and figured that the streets
were fairly crowded.  The ground was uneven beneath her feet;  there were
many cracks in the weathered pavement and she was cautious with her steps.
 She tried to emulate Mulder's measured pace, listening closely to the
directions he gave her from time to time.  The night was cool, and she
felt the breeze on her skin.  She was glad she had listened to him and put
on her jacket.

 "Rick," she asked, using his alias to be safe, "where are we again?"

 "Just outside of Cordell, Oklahoma," came his answer.  

 "And?" she continued, "How is it?"

 She heard him chuckle.  "The same as all the rest."  She listened as he
described the town to her:  the ramshackle buildings with their aged
signs, mixed in with a few modern conveniences like the video store they
were passing.  "We're on one of the main streets right now," he said, "and
there's a grocery store coming up on the left, just across from a bar
called the Smokehouse."

 Scully nodded, picturing the town in her mind as his words portrayed it. 
She felt him come to a stop and then heard the sound of a door being
pushed open.  "In here," he said, and she clutched his arm and followed
him inside. 

 The grocery had the dusty smell of a corner store as opposed to the more
antiseptic smell of a  real supermarket, she thought, following Mulder
down the aisles.  He was very cautious with her, guiding her carefully
around the displays that spilled into the rows.  She still resisted the
idea of using a cane;  there was something about actually holding one in
her hand that made her condition seem all the worse.  And as she
continually reminded him, she wasn't going anywhere without him, at least
for now.  

  She followed Mulder as he filled a small basket with the few items that
they needed, offering her opinions when he asked.  She deeply appreciated
the way he tried to include her in every decision he made, from the
highways that they traveled to the food that they ate.  He tried, in every
way he knew how, to make her feel as though she was still his equal, still
his partner.  

 She silently blessed him for that.

 They rounded another corner, and she felt Mulder stop short, knowing
instinctively that he must be scanning the shelves.  A moment passed, and
then another, before she asked, "Rick?  What's wrong?"

 His voice sounded lost, confused.  "Well, I... you said different,
but..."

 "What?"

 "There are so many choices," he confessed.  "This hair dye thing -- last
time I just grabbed the first box I saw... but..."

 "What?" she repeated, curious.

 "Well..." he hesitated, then, "do you want ebony or ash brown?  Garnet or
oak?  That's not even counting the whole 'food' family -- there's cocoa,
espresso, nutmeg, rhubarb, hazelnut..." his voice trailed off and suddenly
she couldn't stand it anymore.

 She began to laugh.  It started as a deep, low chuckle that quickly
became a full-fledged giggle.  

 "Lisa?" he asked, "What is it?"

 She couldn't answer, couldn't stop laughing.

 The concern in his voice turned into something warmer.  "What... what's
so funny?"

 "It's just... the idea... that I'm trusting you --" she broke off and
fought for a bit of control before she continued.  "A man who can't even
pick out a proper *tie*, to choose the color of my *hair*..."

 She heard his answering laugh and felt his arms encircle her, drawing her
close in a hug.  She knew she was being silly, they both were, and that
was a luxury they couldn't afford.  But she didn't care.  It felt good to
laugh, if only for a moment.  

 They managed to settle on a shade and then went up to the cashier, where
Mulder counted out the money for their purchases.  Scully sent another
silent thank you to the Lone Gunmen who had managed, with much
manipulation of complicated systems she had no desire to understand, to
wire a thousand dollars via Western Union to Mr. Rick Wilder with no
strings attached.  

 Scully followed Mulder's lead out of the store, more anxious than ever to
grab some dinner.  It seemed as though delicious aromas were wafting out
of every shop they passed.  Halfway down the second block he paused and
she felt tension spring into his arm.  "Damn!" he exclaimed.  "I left the
other bag on the counter..."

 "Go get it," she said.  "I'll be fine."

 She could sense his hesitation, although he didn't voice his thoughts. 
"Okay..." he answered finally, guiding her over to the wall of the nearest
building. "Stay right here.  I'll be back in two seconds."

 "I'll be fine... Rick," she said, pressing her back against the wall,
listening to his footsteps recede. 

 The minute he was gone she felt the panic surge through her again, and
tried to calm the rising tide.  She felt as though everyone was looking at
her, watching her.  She felt naked and vulnerable, unsafe.   Are you not
capable, she asked herself, of waiting here alone for half a minute?  Not
really wanting to answer the question, she kept her unseeing eyes fixed on
the ground, unwilling to attract any undue attention.  

 It felt as though a minute passed, and then two, and still Mulder had not
returned.  Then Scully heard voices approaching.  Two young men, she
guessed from the sound.  Much to her dismay, the voices drew nearer, and
then she heard a comment directed at her.

 "Hey, little lady,"  said the voice, "you lost?"

 She forced herself to speak. "I'm fine, thanks.  Really."

 The footsteps came closer and she tried to fold herself into the wall.

 "Don't look so fine," came a second voice. "Looks like you could use a
little company."

 Scully tried to disappear inside the building, shrinking as far away from
the strangers as she was able, hating the fact that she was suddenly so
afraid.  She could smell cigarettes and the sour odor of beer, and she
felt her hands clench into fists at her side.  

 "Not tonight," she said, willing her voice to be strong.  "Just waiting
for a friend."

 "We're your friends," the first voice drawled.  

 "Yeah.... it's a very friendly town," echoed the second.

 Scully felt the two bodies closing in on her and was about to strike out
in a panic when she heard Mulder's voice, dark and quiet.

 "The lady's with me," he said, and she felt the tension in the air.  

 Then Mulder took her by the arm and walked her past the two men, past
their grumbles and lewd comments.

 "You okay?"  he asked, worry and fear now evident in his tone.  "I'm
sorry... I didn't think..."

 "Yeah..." she answered, trying to reassure him despite the fact that her
heart was still pounding. "I'm okay."

 She felt his arm close protectively across her shoulders as he guided her
down the street.



"Four-oh-five, five-five-five, eight-three-six-oh."  Mulder replaced the
receiver and turned to look at Scully.  She was leaning against the
plastic frame of the booth, one hand on the silver tray beneath the phone.
  The trembling in her fingers belied her apparent calm.  

 Stupid, stupid, stupid, Mulder berated himself silently.

 Out loud, he said, "Sure you're alright?"

 "I'm fine," she repeated, and the slight irritation in her voice made him
regret asking the question.  

 The silence between them was broken by the ringing of the phone.  Mulder
snatched it up.  "Hey."

 "We've only got three minutes this time."  Langley ignored the
pleasantries. "Is she with you?"

 "Yes."

 "Put her on."

 Mulder handed Scully the phone and she brought it to her ear.  "Hi," was
all she said.

 Mulder watched as she listened, a look of concern crossing her face. 
"Yes, I'm sure."  A pause, then, "No.  I only saw them for a moment.  But
they were all labeled the same way."  She listened again, for longer this
time, then repeated her earlier assertion.  "I'm sure of it.  You have to
check again."  

 Scully passed the receiver back to Mulder and moved away from him,
running a hand through her dark locks in a familiar gesture of
frustration.  Turning his mind back to the conversation, he asked, "What's
the status?"

 "Not good."  Byers this time.  His voice was tight, grim.  "They've
tracked you as far as Nebraska."

 "What?"  The shock in Mulder's voice caused Scully to reach out for him
and he grabbed the offered hand.  "How?"

 "Not sure," answered Frohike. "But it's definite.  They're circling the
wagons."

 Mulder sank back against the plastic frame.  He had thought they had been
so careful.... "Any ideas?"

 "Change of strategy," said Byers.  "Time to hide in plain sight."

 "Meaning...?"

 "Get out of the small towns.  Someplace crowded, lots of people," said
Langley.  "And lay low for a bit."

 Mulder nodded, agreeing with their logic.  "I'm taking any and all
suggestions."

 A moment, then Byers answered.  "I'd say, one over, one down."

 Mulder's eidetic memory easily called up a map of the states in his head
and made the appropriate calculations.  "Got it.  I'll check in again
soon."

 "Money okay?"  questioned Frohike.

 "We'll need more when we get there."

 "Count on it."

 Mulder hung up, disconnecting the line just as the minute hand on his
watch finished its third rotation.  "C'mon, Lisa," he said, taking her by
the arm.  "We're outta here."

 "Rick?" she asked, "What's happened?"

 He sighed, unwilling to burden her yet unable to lie.  "They're onto us. 
Nebraska," he said.  "We'll have to lay low for awhile."  She said
nothing, but he felt her grip tighten.  

 She walked silently beside him down the street towards the cafe at the
end of the block.  When she finally spoke, her voice was so low he had to
bend over to catch the words.  "They haven't found anything," she said. 
"It's as though it never existed."

 He spoke slowly, unsure how to answer.  "But it did -- you saw it
yourself."

 Mulder saw the doubt in her face.  "I know... but it was only for a
moment.  What if I *did* misread the labels..." the words trailed off.

 What if... he echoed silently, not liking the answer his mind provided.

 They reached the cafe, then, and Mulder focused his energies on guiding
her inside.  



Here endeth part 1... parts 2 and 3 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there's a problem -- nvrgrim@aol.com.  Thanks for reading!  


===========================================================================

From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW *SEQUEL* by Nicole Perry - PASSING THROUGH 2/3
Date: 6 Jan 1996 15:30:12 -0500


This is part two of a three-part post;  a sequel to my story GOIN'
NOWHERE.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at
the beginning of part 1.   If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



PASSING THROUGH (2/3)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Tyler fingered the little gold star absently as he finished his breakfast.
 It felt good beneath his fingertips, made him feel daring and proud. 
Even though he wouldn't actually begin working until the following week,
he already felt like he was a part of something great.  He spent all his
time lately at the station, just soaking up the atmosphere.  After all, he
didn't want to seem like a greenhorn his first day on the job.

 "Tyler?" his mother's voice called to him from the next room.  "You goin'
into town?"

 "If need be," he answered, feeling a rush of anticipation.  A trip into
town would give him another excuse to stop by.  

 "We could use a little more detergent 'round here," came the response.  

 "No problem, Ma," he said, picking up his bowl and carrying it to the
sink where he abandoned it on the sideboard.  He grabbed the keys to the
truck from the post by the door, pausing for a moment to pull a baseball
cap over his dark hair, and headed outside.  

 His sister Emily was jumping rope in the driveway, her face flushed and
sweaty with the effort.  Only nine, she was fifteen years his junior, and
he often found it hard to believe that he'd ever been that young himself. 
 "Whatcha doin', Em?" he asked as he threw open the door to the pickup. 

 "Practicin'," she replied, her ponytail swaying in counterbalance to the
twirling rope.  

 "I see," said Tyler, giving her effort the serious consideration it
deserved.  "Looks good."

 "Thanks," she wheezed as he put the truck into gear and backed down the
drive. 



Scully shifted restlessly in her seat and felt for the crank in the side
of the door that operated the window.  Finding it, she rolled it down a
few more inches, enjoying the rush of air on her face.  

 "Too windy for you?" she asked.

 "Not at all," he replied, and she could hear the fatigue in his voice.  

 They had been on the road for hours, leaving immediately after a quick
bite at the cafe.  Scully had dozed off several times over the course of
the night, but Mulder had driven straight through.  They had stopped for
coffee and donuts at dawn, then continued their relentless pace.  Straight
through Oklahoma, a bit of Arkansas, down into Louisiana.   Miles of
highway that passed for Scully as nothing more than wind and the sound of
tires on asphalt, punctuated by an occasional car horn.  She was nervous,
and tired, and bored.  And worried about Mulder.  

 "Mulder..." she paused, then, "shouldn't we stop for awhile?"

 "No," was his only answer.

 Scully said nothing further, not wanting to press the issue, but wishing
for the thousandth time that she could offer to take the wheel.

 He seemed to regret his quick response and elaborated in a reassuring
tone.  "I just want to get there before sundown.  Give us time to find a
place to stay."

 "How much further?" she wondered.  "It seems as though we should be there
by now."

 "We would be, if we could afford to take the interstate."  

 Scully nodded, hoping he was looking.  Leaning forward, she found the
radio dial and switched it on.  She twirled the knob, searching for
something more interesting than talk shows and country music, but the '74
Plymouth Valiant was only equipped with an am receiver and the choices
were limited.  "Next time we buy a car," she sighed, "let's get something
with a CD player."

 "Deal," he said softly, and she thought she could hear a faint smile in
his voice.



"Monday mornin', first thing," Tyler proudly announced.  He leaned against
the back of the pickup, displaying his gold badge.

 "Amazin'."  Louis stared at the shiny piece of metal.  "Can't b'lieve you
actually did it.  Can't  b'lieve they let you in."

 "Hey," Tyler protested, though he knew his friend was teasing.  "I
*earned* this.  Ain't no one tellin' you to spend all your damn time
workin' on ole rusty car engines."

 "My friend," said Louis, "you have no idea what you're missin'."  That
said, Louis picked up a pair of pliers and resumed his cautious inspection
of the car he was repairing.

 Tyler glanced around the service station.  It was fairly small, just two
pumps, a mini-mart, and the garage in which he now stood.  It made no
sense to Tyler why his best friend from birth would consign himself to
this kind of job, when there were so many better, more noble things he
could pursue.  

 Then again, if Louis was happy, who was he to argue.  "Hey," he said,
"how 'bout a brew?"

 "Now?" asked Louis, intent on his work.  "What time's it?"

 "Just past noon," Tyler replied.  "C'mon.  Celebrate my last days of
freedom with me."

 "Well...okay.  Just lemme finish this, here."

 Tyler grinned at the response.  It never took much with Louis.  "Back in
a flash."  He headed for the market, already anticipating the drink.

 Inside, he made his way to the cooler at the back, reviewing the
available selection.  Figuring since the beers would be on the house he
might as well splurge, he grabbed two bottles of the fancy imported stuff
and walked back towards the counter.  

 A man stood there, waiting.  He turned as Tyler approached and asked,
"You work here?"

 "Nah,"  Tyler replied.  "But whatcha need?"

 "Trying to fill up the tank," he answered.  

 "No problem," Tyler said, moving behind the counter to flip the switch
that activated the pump.  "Pay when you're done."

 The man nodded.  "Thanks," he said, and walked back out to his car.

 Tyler brought the two beers into the garage and popped the tops with his
Swiss army knife, placing one on the ground near Louis.  He took a long
drink of the other, savoring the taste.  

 "Thanks, bro," said Louis, but Tyler didn't answer.  He moved to the edge
of the garage to get a better look at the man pumping the gas.

 There was something familiar about the man, something that Tyler couldn't
quite put his finger on.  He didn't look like anyone special, just another
road-weary traveler with red-rimmed eyes.  Maybe a bit on the skinny side,
but that wasn't what bothered Tyler. 

 Then he saw her, and it all became crystal clear.  

 There was a woman in the car, a little thing with dark hair pulled back
in a ponytail.  She leaned her head out the window to say something to the
man, then disappeared back inside.  But it was enough for Tyler to put two
and two together, to remember the pictures that had been passed around at
the station and the accompanying artists' renderings of potential
disguises. 

 Tyler recovered just in time to avoid dropping his beer.  "Louis!"  he
hissed, causing his friend to jerk upwards and hit his head on the car
hood.

 "Damn, Tyler.... what?"

 "Get inside," Tyler ordered, in a newly authoritative tone.  "When that
guy comes in to pay, stall him.  *Don't* let him leave."

 "Why not?"  Louis sounded confused and Tyler realized then why his friend
would never have a career in law enforcement.

 "Because they're *fugitives*, is why."  Tyler felt a rush of smug
satisfaction.  To hell with the other deputies that thought he was too
young, too inexperienced.  He was going to bring down two federal
fugitives before he even served a day on the force.   "Now get in there,
and *do* it, you hear me?"

 Looking a bit stunned, but captivated by his friend's enthusiasm, Louis
put down his tools and headed towards the mini-mart.

 Tyler watched him go, satisfied, then sauntered casually across the
station to the pay phone at the far end, one hand wrapped tightly around
the badge in his pocket.  



Mulder ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a twinge of impatience. 
How long, he wondered, does it take to get change?  The kid in mechanics
overalls had disappeared into the back office of the mini-mart with his
$50 and still hadn't returned.

 Mulder took another glance out the window.  He could just see Scully,
sitting in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window frame. 
He frowned when he noticed that the young man on the pay phone was still
staring at her.  Mulder hated it when people stared at her, as though she
was a curiosity or a carnival oddity.  Even though he knew she couldn't
see them, it made him furious.  This guy was worse than most -- in fact,
he seemed downright fascinated...

 The mechanic's return drew his attention back to the counter.  "Sorry
about that, mister," he drawled, fingers picking at the patch on his
overalls that identified him as 'Louis'.  "So -- we got two sodas, bag of
pretzels, and a fill-up -- say, how much was the fill?  Dial back here's
broken."

 "Fourteen even," answered Mulder, eyeing him carefully.  Louis really was
just a kid -- Mulder estimated he was perhaps five years past his teens. 
His round face was slightly flushed, and as Mulder watched, a bead of
sweat escaped his hairline and made its way down his neck.  

 "Right, right," said Louis.  "Lemme just add it all up and I'll give you
change."  

 Mulder barely heard him, his mind suddenly kicking into overdrive. 
Something didn't feel right.  He took another glance outside.  The guy was
still on the phone, still staring at Scully.  He had something in his
hand, something shiny that reflected the sunlight and obscured its
outline.  Then the guy moved his hand and the object was revealed and
Mulder was seized by a rush of panic-induced adrenalin.

 "Keep the change," he shouted, ignoring the items on the counter.  He
threw open the door and was across the station and back at the car in five
quick steps.

 "Rick??"  Mulder heard the fear in Scully's voice as he turned on the
ignition and slammed the car into gear.  "What's happening?"

 "Local law," he answered, peeling away from the pumps and out of the
station.  He noted with a grim satisfaction that the guy on the phone, the
kid with the deputy's star, was incensed by their sudden departure,
screaming into the receiver and gesticulating wildly.  

 His satisfaction was short-lived, however.  As he swung the car back out
onto the highway, Mulder could just make out two police vehicles on fast
approach.  He took a quick look at Scully, checking to make sure her seat
belt was fastened.  She was breathing rapidly, and her hand was clenching
the armrest.  "Hang on," he said, and pressed the accelerator all the way
to the floor.



The temporary operations room was a bustling center of activity, yet the
man heard the ring of the phone and knew instantly that the call was for
him.  He stood where he was, surveying the map over the shoulders of the
investigative team.  They were good agents, staunch supporters of the
government they had pledged their lives to serve.  A case like this, he
knew, was hard for them -- they hated to think that there were those who
would break rank and succumb to the forces of evil they had sworn to
fight.  They hated to be asked to bring fellow agents down.

 It was good, the man thought as he lit another cigarette, that these
agents, smart as they were, didn't look beyond the simple explanation but
instead merely accepted what they were told at face value.  Foot soldiers
in a war that they weren't even aware was being fought.  Their allegiance
manipulated not by the government they recognized, but by a larger, global
force, ruled by its own interests...

 As he had expected, the man was approached by one of the younger field
agents.  "Sir," the young man said, "we have a confirmed sighting."

 "How far?"  The man exhaled, a cloud of smoke rising around him.

 "Twenty minutes by air," the agent reported.  "The chopper is being
prepped as we speak."

 "Good," the man replied, savoring the simple word.  Perhaps now it would
finally be finished, this ridiculous chase.  He had never expected it to
go on this long.  

 He stubbed the butt of his smoke in a nearby ashtray and exited the
building, squinting his eyes at the bright midday sun. 



Tyler sat in the backseat of the patrol car, his face pressed against the
metal grating that separated the front of the car from the back.  Ellis
was driving and he was glad about that;  Ellis had enough respect for him
to pick him up and bring him along, which was only fair.  After all, he
was the one that made the i.d.  He was the one who had spotted the
fugitives who had eluded capture for nearly six weeks.  

 Tyler felt another flush of pride cross his cheeks and tried to get
Ellis' attention over the bark of the police radio.  "Where you think
they're headed?"

 It was Ellis' partner Deverell who answered, his voice heavy with
sarcasm.  "Well, Tyler, seein' as how they're tryin' to outrun the law,
figure they probably don't care just where they're headed."  Deverell was
nearly twice Tyler's age, with a gut that spoke of more than twenty years
of donut patrol.  

 Tyler didn't dignify the comment with a response, focusing instead on the
car in the distance.  For an old Plymouth, it was doing pretty well. 
Tyler figured the man must be pushing the car to the limit; after all, the
needle on their own speedometer was well over eighty and the patrol
vehicle was in fairly good shape.

 Never taking his dark eyes from the road ahead, Ellis offered his theory.
 "Iffen I was him, I'd get off the main drag quick as I could.  Best shot
he's got is to head into the Kisatchie."

 Tyler nodded, a silent acknowledgement of Ellis' wisdom.  The Kisatchie
National Forest stretched from as far north as Saline and as far south as
Glenmora, a considerable distance full of many unmarked roads.  It was an
easy spin from where they were now, just outside of Cloutierville, into
the heart of the forest itself.  "Well then," Tyler replied, "guess we'd
better head 'em off before they get there."

 Ellis said nothing, but he gave Tyler a smile in the rearview mirror. 
There was something glistening in his eyes that Tyler couldn't quite
place, something that made him feel vaguely uneasy.  He'd known Ellis for
years -- even played football with him now and then -- but he'd never seen
this kind of intensity in him before.  As though it was the hunt that
inspired him, the thrill of the chase.  

 Fighting a sudden queasiness, Tyler locked eyes with Ellis in the mirror
and smiled back.



Mulder struggled to keep the car on the road as it shot around another
curve.  The road was becoming increasingly steep and he knew he was
pushing the traction of the tires to the limit.   The patrol cars behind
him were slowly gaining, the noise of their sirens louder in his ears with
each passing second.  

 He chanced another look at Scully. She was scrunched down in the seat,
her teeth clenched around her bottom lip.  "You okay?" he asked, turning
his eyes back to the road.

 "Yes."  The word came out as a short gasp.  "They're gaining on us,
aren't they?"

 He nodded before he realized what he was doing, then searched for some
words. "Yes... but it's not over yet."

 Just then, a third car joined the race, and the sight of this car struck
fear into Mulder's heart.  Unlike the patrol cars, this one was completely
nondescript.  Black, with slightly tinted windows.  As he watched, one of
the windows came down and he shouted at Scully.

 "Get down!" he yelled just as a spray of bullets hit the car, shattering
the back windshield in a shower of glass.  She screamed, and scooted down
even further in the seat, her head now level with the dashboard.  

 A quick glance to make sure she wasn't hurt, and then Mulder twisted the
wheel, taking the car off the asphalt and onto an older side road.  It
wasn't wide enough for heavy traffic, some kind of tourist trail, he
supposed, but it would have to do.  

 Without looking back, he knew the three cars had followed his dangerous
maneuver.  He could hear the screech of their wheels as they made the
tight turn, and he said a silent prayer as he sped up the steep incline
ahead.



"Where the hell's he goin'?"  Deverell's voice was equal parts anger and
confusion.

 "Like I said," Ellis drawled, "he's hopin' to use the forest."

 Tyler felt his heart pound faster as the patrol car followed the Valiant
up the incline.  He knew where they were, knew these roads.  Every local
kid did -- there were some great moonlight makeout spots around here.  But
he had never on his wildest, most drunken nights taken these roads at
these speeds.  No one in his right mind would try.

 Their car was the lead car of the three pursuit vehicles;  even the black
sedan trailed them now, which was a relief to Tyler.  When the sedan's
passenger had opened fire on the Plymouth, blood had rushed to his face. 
For some reason Tyler hadn't expected that there would be shooting, at
least not like this.  

 The Valiant reached the top of the incline and began its descent down the
other side of the hill, where gravity began working in favor of the
pursuing vehicles.  They were gaining on the old car thanks to better
engines and power steering;  they were so close now that Tyler could
actually see the two people inside.  The man was crouched over the
steering wheel, as though by sheer force of will he could make the car go
faster.  The woman was low in her seat, so that all Tyler was able to see
was the top of her head.  

 They flew around another curve, Ellis twisting the wheel violently to
keep the car on the road.  And then it happened.

 Tyler watched, his eyes growing wide with horror, as the old Plymouth
went into a skid, a sharp one, tires squealing against the surface of the
road.  Around in a jagged whip-smart semicircle to crash through the
rusted metal barrier beyond.  

 Some distant part of Tyler's brain heard the screech of their own tires
as Ellis brought the car to a sudden stop. The rest of him was entirely
focused on watching the lead car with its two passengers as it shot off
the road and over the cliff into the forest below.  Seconds later, the
crushing sound of rock against metal vibrated through his ears and he felt
the bile rush to his throat.

 Suddenly, Tyler wasn't so certain he wanted to be a deputy anymore.



Here endeth part 2... Don't worry, I'm not *that* mean -- part 3 posted
simultaneously.   Let me know if there's a problem -- nvrgrim@aol.com. 
Thanks for reading!


===========================================================================

From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW * SEQUEL* by Nicole Perry - PASSING THROUGH  3/3
Date: 6 Jan 1996 15:30:12 -0500


This is part three of a three-part post;  a sequel to my story GOIN'
NOWHERE.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at
the beginning of part 1.   If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



PASSING THROUGH (3/3)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



The stillness was deafening.  

 Scully ran her tongue over her dry lips and tried to sit up.  Everything
hurt; she felt as though she'd been pummeled by a starting linebacker, but
at least all the parts seemed to work.  She fought for clarity against the
pounding in her head, and after a moment, it all came back to her.  

 The chase.

 The crash.

 Mulder...

 A sudden rush of awareness shot through her and she struggled to form
words.  "Rick?" Her voice sounded small, weak.  "Rick?... Mulder?"

 The lack of response frightened her and she fumbled for her seatbelt. 
Releasing the clasp, she scooted across the seat of the car, the slight
motion causing the vehicle to rock alarmingly.  Stretching out her hands,
she reached out until she found him, feeling his flannel shirt beneath her
fingers.  She shook him gently, calling his name.  "Mulder... Mulder..."

 Her fingers traced their way up his body to his face.  His mouth was
slightly open, and she was briefly reassured by the feel of his breath on
her palms.  His eyes were closed, his lashes feathery wisps beneath her
fingers.  She tensed when she felt the warm wetness across his forehead. 
Bringing her hand to her mouth, she tasted the bitter tang of his blood.

 "Oh no....no no no no..." Her words trailed off into a panicked chant. 
"Mulder... please... wake up...wake up..."

 There was no response, and she felt the fear sweeping over her,
threatening to consume her.  It was the smell that arrested the panic --
the smell of gasoline, and the sound of it, loud drips falling somewhere
beneath the car.  

 Scully didn't know a tremendous amount about cars, but she knew a great
deal about spontaneous combustion and the conditions under which that kind
of explosion could occur.  Judging by the smell of the gas and the sound
that it was making, they had anywhere from minutes to seconds until the
car went up in flames.  She had to get Mulder out.  Now.

 The thought galvanized her into action and she scrambled back to her side
of the car.  The car tilted again at her motion, and she tried to gauge
the situation.  They were definitely tilted at an angle, with Mulder's
side near the bottom.  But were they on solid ground?  Scully had no way
of knowing.

 She found the door latch with her fingers and pushed it open, throwing
her weight against the metal to fight gravity and keep it open.  She
turned herself on her stomach and edged her way towards the doorframe feet
first.  Holding onto the seat with both hands, she sought ground beneath
her, but found nothing.  What, she thought for one frightened second, do I
do if there *isn't* anything beneath me but air?  Unwilling to answer the
question, she screwed up her courage and let herself fall.

 Scully hit the ground relieved to find it there, careful not to roll too
far away from the car.  She stood up awkwardly, her muscles unbelievably
stiff.  Placing both hands on the cool metal frame, she slowly edged her
way around the car, feeling her way past the taillights and the trunk to
the doors on the other side.

 Reaching the driver's door at last, she tried to pull it open, but it
wouldn't budge. *Locked*, she thought, exasperated.  For a brief moment
she thought about going back around to her side to unlock it but the smell
of gasoline was growing stronger and she knew there was little time.

 Pulling the sleeve of her turtleneck down around her fist she punched
through the window, hoping as she did so that Mulder would not be cut by
any stray pieces of glass.  Reaching in, she fumbled to unlock the door,
then found the handle again and threw it open.

 Without the door to support him, Mulder's body lolled halfway through the
frame, held in only by his seatbelt.  She found the catch and released it,
and he tumbled to the ground, landing near her feet.  Hoping that the fall
might have revived him, she crouched down over him, finding his face with
her hands.  She listened, but his breathing remained steady, the same
measured unconscious rate she associated with his sleeping.  She placed
two fingers on his neck, feeling for his pulse.  It was rapid but
constant, and she thanked God for that. 

 Unbidden tears began to roll down her cheeks and Scully swiped them away
with the back of her hand, struggling to formulate some kind of plan.  Get
away from the car, get away, get away, her mind screamed.  Stepping around
Mulder, she positioned herself so that she could grab him, threading her
arms under his shoulders.  She struggled to a standing position, his body
trailing behind her, the weight heavy though she had yet to take a single
step.

 She was about to start when a thought struck her.  Without any way to
tell where she was going, she ran the horrible risk of making a circle,
bringing them right back to where they had begun.  Scully searched her
brain through the fear for an answer.  It was the sunshine itself that
gave her the idea.  She could feel the sun on her face, most intensely
warm on her right cheek.  Given that it was midafternoon, that meant she
was facing vaguely south.  As long as she could feel the sun in the same
place on her face, she would be headed in somewhat of a straight line.

 Imbued by the confidence of this discovery, Scully started out, pulling
Mulder behind her.  Her progress was agonizingly slow.  She felt the
ground before her with a cautious foot each time before actually taking a
step, always conscious of the position of the sun on her skin.  She had
barely gone ten steps before Mulder's weight threatened to bring her down,
but she clenched her jaw and continued forward.

 She had no idea how far she had come when the explosion tore through the
air, a riot of heat and sound.  

 Scully fell to the ground, unable to hear herself scream, waiting for it
to end.  

 After a few long moments, relative silence returned, but she could still
hear the crackling flames and smell the acrid smoke.  She stood up,
adjusted her hold on Mulder, and continued.  More often than not, she
stumbled, but found her footing somehow and kept moving.

 Just when she felt she could go no further, the sun went out.

 That was her initial reaction, but as she felt around her with tentative
hands outstretched, she realized it was just that the trees were thicker
here, blocking out the sun.  Exhausted, her only source of direction
extinguished, Scully decided to stop.  

 She collapsed in a heap, finding the nearest tree and resting her back
against it.  She found Mulder with her hands and pulled his head into her
lap, running her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid the area of
his scalp that was damp with his blood.  Saying a silent prayer to anyone
who would listen, she began to croon his name, hoping he would wake up,
afraid of what would happen if he did not.  



Tyler stood with the other deputies at the edge of the cliff, along with
the two men from the unmarked vehicle.  No one said much of anything, just
watched the smoke and fire rising from the valley below.  Nearby trees had
already begun to burn, threatening to develop into a full-scale blaze. 
The car itself was barely visible, having crashed beyond a group of rocks
that obscured it from this angle.  

 In all his years, Tyler had never seen anything quite so horrifying.  His
voice sounded strange to his own ears as he asked, "Think there's any way
they survived?"

 Ellis, his hero and mentor, turned to him, his expression grave. "Ain't
no way," was all he said. "Ain't no way."

 At that moment, another car came screeching up and Tyler turned his head
to look.  Four men emerged from the vehicle, but there was only one who
caught Tyler's attention.  He was tall, imposing in a dark and frightening
way.  Apparently unconcerned about the spreading fire, the man carried a
cigarette between his fingers, puffing deliberately as he approached.  

 The man marched straight up to Ellis, intensity in his step.  "What
happened?" was all that he said.

 Ellis paused a moment before answering and Tyler could see his upper lip
trembling beneath his moustache. "Chased 'em up here and the car went off
the road.  Guy musta been crazy, thinkin' he could negotiate these curves
in an old car like that.  No way they could've survived that fall."

 Perhaps because Tyler himself was so sure that Ellis spoke the truth, the
strange man's words came as a complete surprise.  "I want a full search
team down there immediately.  Your orders are to shoot to kill if they are
spotted."

 "But sir..." Ellis' words mirrored Tyler's own confusion.  "Ain't no way
there's anyone down there alive."

 "Full search." The man's words were as cold as ice.  "Now."

 Ellis nodded and motioned to his men to begin executing the request.



Mulder shifted restlessly.  His whole body ached and his head was a
throbbing, painful mass.  He longed for the comfort of sleep, but there
was something nagging him, something insistent --

 <MulderMulderMulderplease>

 -- something that he knew he should be doing.  He shifted again, trying
to bring consciousness more quickly to his tired mind and body, trying to
focus on that urgent cry --

 <pleasepleasewakeupIneedyou>

 -- one more shift and a shake of his head and his eyes opened.  Above him
he saw nothing but green trees.  Below him, he felt the painful solidity
of dirt, with a few pebbles and twigs mixed in for good measure.  Then he
heard the words, really heard them this time.

 "Mulder... Mulder... please wake up...."

 "Scully?"  His voice sounded rusty to his ears.

 "Mulder -- Mulder??"  Her words were quick, panicked, matching the
flutter of her hands across his face, his chest.  

 He struggled to sit up, grabbing at her hands to avoid being hit in the
face.  "Shhh.. Scully... I'm here," he said.

 "Oh -- Mulder!" was all she said, but the fierce grip of her arms around
his neck spoke volumes.

 He allowed the embrace to continue, feeling the warm flush of her face
against his, though his head was pounding and his mind was whirling with a
thousand questions.  When he felt the tremors in her body begin to
subside, he pulled away and tilted her chin with one hand so that she
faced him.

 "Scully?" He voiced a soft question.  "What happened?"

 He could feel the shudder pass through her and waited as she regained
some of her composure, her breath coming in short, labored gasps.  Slowly
she began to tell him what had happened, what she remembered, what she had
done.

 As she spoke, he watched her.  Her vacant eyes were reddened and watery. 
Her face was dirty, streaked with sweat and tears, and a nasty gash ran
down one cheek from her ear nearly to her chin.  Her hair was a tangled
mess, the barrette she had worn having come loose from its moorings and
hanging by a few remaining strands.  He plucked the offending piece of
tortoiseshell plastic from her hair with his fingers and clenched it in
his palm as he listened.  

 When she had finished, he looked around him, overwhelmed.  He could smell
the acrid smoke from the explosion, yet it was far enough away that he
didn't feel immediate danger from the fire.  

 He gazed back at her, unable to form words to express the emotions he
felt coursing through him at that moment. "Scully, you --" he began,
trying to find a way to say what he meant.

 "Mulder --" she cut him off, her tone serious and intense. "Don't even
say it. I could *never* have left you."

 A strange uncomfortable lump was collecting at the back of his throat as
he gathered her into his arms again, feeling her body sag against his,
seeking reassurance from his presence.  They sat that way for a long
moment and he offered silent thanks to whatever good fortune had kept them
safe.  

 Then, in the far distance, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. 
She heard them too -- he could tell by the look that crossed her face.  

 Taking her hand, he rose to a standing position on unsteady legs.  His
head sang with pain and a wave of dizziness almost knocked him down but he
grimly fought it off.  "C'mon Scully," he said, pulling her up to join
him.  "Let's go."

 She nodded, and the determination in her face warmed him, made him feel
stronger somehow. 

 With her hand in his, he began leading the way through the trees.



The man stood, and smoked, watching as the search team tore through the
woods below.  Thus far they had come up empty handed, and a small part of
the man wanted to believe that the couple he sought had indeed died in the
fiery crash. 

 But he knew these two people, knew them better in some ways than he knew
himself.  He had studied them, knew at least a little about what drove
them.  He had to admit that he admired them for their perseverance, if
nothing more.  It was his awareness of that perseverance that caused him
to continue the search.

 The man noticed the kid standing by the edge of the cliff, his eyes also
locked on the drama below.  He knew this was the boy who had summoned the
authorities to begin with, and he was curious at this juncture to see if
there was anything else to be gleaned.

 He waved to the young man, idly noticing the look of anxiety that passed
across his face at the summons.  The kid walked over to him, his hands
clenching a small gold star. "Sir?  Can I help you?"

 "I need to know," the man whispered, "if there's anything else you can
tell me.  Anything else you might have seen."

 "Well..." the young man's voice was hesitant; his eyes, shadowed.  "I'm
not positive, but..."

 "What?"  A command, not a request.

 "The woman, sir.  I was watching her, at the gas station."  The young man
shifted nervously before continuing. "I think -- I think she might be
blind."

 "Thank you."  The man dismissed the boy without a further glance.  This
was very interesting information.... and tied in nicely with some of the
other reports he had been able to piece together.

 Dana Scully... blind.  The man smiled inwardly, his outer facade giving
no indication of the pleasure he felt at the news.  He could not have
asked for more favorable cards to have been placed in his deck.

 Lighting another cigarette, he moved away from the cliff, allowing the
search to continue in his absence.



And that's all she wrote...   ;-)   Thanks a lot for sticking with me -- I
would love to know what you thought -- comments, criticism and compliments
are all happily accepted at nvrgrim@aol.com.  Thanks for reading!



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (1/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:14:25 -0500


Author's Note:  Gather round the campfire, another chapter in the
on-the-road saga is about to begin!   This installment follows GOIN'
NOWHERE and PASSING THROUGH, both of which can be found on Vincent's
archive at Ohio State -- you might want to read those first.  Bear with me
a moment before we start...heaps of love to the amazing Kat for her
tireless, beyond-the-call-of-duty editing services and her endless
patience with my constant questions "What if..." and "Do you think..."   A
debt of gratitude also goes to my fellow Sensei Survivor (what did you say
I could earn, 475 against 1.2?) for her encouragement and advice, and to
my midwest pen pal who planted the seed that took root and finally
flowered in this installment.  I honored both of you this time around in a
special way -- the only way I know how.... ;-)  And, as always, *many
many* thanks to all of you who took the time to write -- it's absolutely
=incredible= to get feedback!   Correspondence designed to placate or
enrage the anxious writer (me) can be addressed to nvrgrim@aol.com.  
Enough already...

Spoiler Warning:  This story has taken on a life of its own;  in a
roundabout way it deals with the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months. 
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy, "Anasazi", and the six related mythic episodes we've been
privileged to view so far this season.  Just a general warning to any
overseas readers. <g>

Additional Note:  While I don't actually think that this story needs a
rating, I feel that I should say that it is dark in tone and that it
includes some violent scenes.  But really nothing more than you find at
your local cineplex... put it this way -- if this were a movie, and you
were born after Jimmy Carter left office, they wouldn't let you in without
a parent or guardian!  ;-)  So bear that in mind...

Disclaimer:  Thanks as always to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox for providing
me with a launching pad and allowing my creativity to take flight.  I
think everybody knows the folks from Mr. Carter's Neighborhood by now --
all the other characters are mine.  Special thanks to David and Gillian
for their continually inspired performances.  And, once again kudos to
Chris Isaak (amongst others) for the writing mood-music and especially for
the help with the title...



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (1/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Scully sat on the couch, fingering the worn fabric and trying to remember
what color it was.  She could hear Mulder, banging around in the kitchen. 
The spicy aroma coming from the stove was full of garlic and she guessed
he was making some kind of pasta dish.  Mulder had put the television on
to keep her company while he cooked, but she had turned the volume down
low, preferring to listen to the noises he made instead of inane sitcom
babble.  

 "Is it time yet, Mulder?" she called to him.  Her scalp was starting to
itch and she couldn't shake the irrational fear that the dye was seeping
into her brain.

 "Another couple minutes," he answered. "Just be patient."

 "Easy for you to say," she muttered, but she actually didn't mind.  The
couch, while old, was comfortable, and this room with its small fireplace
was a lot warmer than the kitchen.

 This was their third night in the tiny furnished apartment in the French
Quarter of New Orleans.  Scully knew Mulder was nervous about the fact
that they had been in one place for so long, but she herself was actually
a little relieved.  Though she would never admit it to him, the constant
traveling was tremendously exhausting for her.  It was so difficult to get
acclimated to each new location -- just figuring out how to get from the
bed to the bathroom each day was a major challenge.

 At least this place, small as it was, had begun to feel familiar to her. 
There were only four rooms:  bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and the main room
where she now sat.  The apartment was sparsely furnished, and smelled a
bit musty, but thanks to Mulder's efforts was now quite clean.

 "Time's up." Mulder's voice interrupted her reverie and she stood up from
the couch, pausing for a moment to orient herself before moving slowly in
the direction of the kitchen.

 He met her halfway and she allowed him to guide her towards the sink. 
"Smells good, Mulder," she said. "I didn't realize you were such the
chef."

 "That's me," he chuckled. "Always something new up my sleeve."

 Scully leaned over the sink, pressing her hands against the tile counter
for balance, Mulder coming to stand directly behind her.  She heard him
turn on the water, and a few drops hit her face as he stuck his hand under
the spray to test it.  Seemingly satisfied, he gently moved her head
underneath the faucet.

 "Ow!" Scully cried out as wet heat hit her scalp.  She felt his hands
quickly pulling her back.

 "Too hot?" She heard concern in his voice.

 "A little," she admitted, and heard the squeak of the lever as he
adjusted the temperature.  

 They tried again, and this time Scully was relieved to find the rush of
water over her head was pleasantly warm. "Better?" he asked, and she
nodded slightly in response.

 "Mmmm... much better."  His hands moved through her hair, lifting and
separating the strands to allow the water to wash away all of the dye. 
His motions were smooth and efficient, firm and yet surprisingly tender. 
Rivulets of water ran down her cheeks and she shut her eyes to keep the
dye from irritating them any further.  

 Scully heard Mulder pick something up from the counter.  He squeezed it
and she caught a rush of air just before something cold fell on her head. 
"Conditioner," he said, in response to her involuntary shiver.  He leaned
in closer, his fingers working the liquid into a bubbly lather.  The
circular strokes were incredibly soothing and Scully felt herself relaxing
under his touch.  

 Before, Scully had never considered herself a particularly physical
person;  unlike her sister Melissa, she had always been very protective of
her personal space, never one for casual hugs or embraces, even with
members of her own family.  Now, like so much else, this had changed.  The
darkness was so overwhelming, so isolating that physical contact had
become a need for her, an imperative.  She realized how much she had come
to value Mulder's touch, the clasp of his hands on hers the anchor that
kept her moored to the fragile edge of sanity.  

 She heard him humming softly as he worked and smiled. "I think you're
enjoying this too much," she chided him.  "Explain to me again why *I'm*
the one who has to go through this and not you?"

 "Because *I* was born with nondescript brown hair and not fiery red,"
came the response.

 "Clown hair." The phrase sprang to her lips, unbidden, a hurtful reminder
of playground teasing. 

 "*Beautiful* hair," Mulder contradicted in a voice so like her father's
that the shock almost cost her his next soft words.  "I miss it."

 "You do?" she twisted in his grasp as though if she were quick enough she
would be able to see his face. 

 "Yes," he admitted, "I do.  Now -- hold still," he ordered, and she felt
the water again as he angled her head back under the faucet and began to
rinse the conditioner from her hair. "We're almost through."

 They were both quiet as Mulder finished, wringing the last of the water
from her hair before handing her a towel.  Scully rubbed it over her head
awkwardly as he shut off the water.  He moved to help her but she waved
him away. "Got it," she said.  "But will you bring me my brush?  And maybe
a sweater?"

 "Sure," he answered, and she heard his steps head towards the bedroom. 
Although she knew he was coming right back, she felt a sudden, surprising
ache at his absence.  Silly girl, she thought, shaking off the anxiety. 
Carrying the towel, she began the cautious trek out of the kitchen and
back into the main room.



Mulder found the brush on the nightstand by the bed.  He crossed over to
the dresser and opened the middle drawer where he had dumped the few
things she could now call hers.  He'd made a quick trip to a thrift store
after they found this place, and had tried to replace what had been lost
in the crash.  Finding the two sweaters in the pile, he called out, "Do
you want the gray or the green?"

 The second the words were out of his mouth he winced, cursing himself for
his callous mistake.  Before he could rectify his error, she answered him.
"The pullover," she called, without a trace of rancor in her voice.  "Not
the one with the buttons."

 Blessing her again for her tireless patience, Mulder tossed the gray
cardigan back in the drawer and slammed it shut, carrying the green V-neck
and the brush in one clenched fist.  He made a quick stop in the kitchen
before returning to her, checking the activity on the stove.  The sauce
was almost done so he turned the heat down to low, stirring it once or
twice before putting the spoon aside.  In the other pot the water had
finally come to a boil, so he threw in three-quarters of the box of pasta
and left it to cook.

 Scully was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, too close for his
liking.  The towel lay abandoned in her lap and her hair was a dark
tangled mess on her head.  It was a bit longer than he was used to seeing
it, falling easily to her shoulders.     

 "Here," he said, handing her the sweater.  

 "Thanks," she replied, favoring the empty air above his left shoulder
with a warm smile.  Mulder watched as she pulled the sweater over her tee
shirt.  It was too big for her, but it was well-worn and comfortable and
he could understand why she liked it.

 "Well, don't keep me in suspense."  Her smile was more on target this
time and he noticed the gash across her cheek was finally beginning to
heal.  "How does it look?"

 He reached out and grabbed her hand gently, glad for the excuse to move
her away from the fireplace.  "Good, I think -- let me see."   He took a
seat on the couch and she scooted over to sit near him, her back resting
against the couch, his long legs on either side of her body.  Mulder took
the brush and began to pull it through her hair, careful to ease it past
the tangles without tearing the delicate strands.  She sat up straighter
at his touch, resting an elbow on each of his knees, her head swaying
slightly at each stroke.

 "Yeah -- I think we got it all," he said.  "No more red."  Having made
that discovery, Mulder knew he could stop what he was doing, but something
kept his hand moving the brush through her hair.  
 
 She gave a little sigh that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "I don't
know, Mulder -- I think we may have found a new career for you as a
hairdresser, if all else fails."

 He laughed a little in response and kept brushing, grateful for her mood.
 She seemed more relaxed than he could remember seeing her since they had
left D.C., and he made a silent vow to do whatever he could to keep her
this calm, make her feel this safe. 

 Mulder himself was very uneasy about the fact that they were stuck in
Louisiana, even for a little while.  While New Orleans had seemed like the
perfect place to hide when the Lone Gunmen had suggested it, their
near-fatal crash the other day had convinced him otherwise.  But it was
precisely that crash that now made it all the more essential to lay low --
to see if by some slim chance the Shadow People might believe they died in
that car.

 Emerging from the forest near a curve in the road, they had been lucky
enough to find a family of tourists returning from a sightseeing jaunt
willing to stop and pick them up.  Mulder had helped Scully into the back
of the Jeep Cherokee and fabricated a story reasonable enough to explain
their disheveled presence.  A brief smile crossed his face at the memory
of the wife fussing over them with her first aid kit.  It had been a risk
that had paid off, bringing them safely into the nearest town, where he
bought two bus tickets to New Orleans, fairly satisfied that they hadn't
been followed. 

  Darkness had fallen by the time they arrived, and they had both been
exhausted.  They had taken a cab into the French Quarter and, without the
time or energy to launch a thorough search, Mulder had selected one of the
first places he saw.  The faded script on the sign out front read "L'Hotel
Azur, Pensionne de Famille", and he had been pleased to note that the card
beneath announced there was a room available.  It was a small, rundown
guest house, consisting of four apartments, two above and two beneath. 
The landlord had given Mulder the key to the vacant unit in exchange for a
week's rent paid in cash, no questions asked.  It was the upper apartment
in the back, and although it was rather dingy, it was secluded and
relatively private, for which Mulder was thankful.  

 "Mulder..." Scully's voice interrupted his thoughts.  She sounded serious
now, and he stopped brushing to listen.

 "Yes?"

 "I was just thinking... about my mom."  She paused a moment, and shifted
her arms so that her palms were now flat on his denim-clad knees.  "Do you
think -- do you think she's okay?"

 "Of course," he quickly responded.  "I mean, I'm sure she's worried about
you, but..."

 "No, that's not what I mean."  Her words came out in a rush.  "Do you
think they're bothering her?  Harassing her, trying to use her to track us
down?"

 Mulder hesitated, not sure what to say.  He slid down off the couch to
sit directly behind her, enveloping her in the cocoon of his arms and
legs. "Scully," he answered slowly, "I don't know for sure.  But your mom
-- she's a very strong woman.  She can handle herself -- you know that.
And we're helping her do that... if only by staying away from her, not
giving her anything that they could use against her."  

 She nodded, and he felt her relax even further into his embrace. "I
know..." She sounded sad now, and he realized that somehow he'd already
broken his recent vow. "I know you're right.  It's hard though... isn't
it."

 Her statement didn't seem to require confirmation so he said nothing,
just continued to hold her, until he heard the sound of the pasta boiling
over and he had to get up and fix their dinner.   



Walter Skinner closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the bridge of his
nose, massaging the perch owned by his wire frame glasses.  He was an
Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation not by choice so
much as consequence.  He had risen through the ranks at the Bureau thanks
to his keen intellect and mastery of internal politics, and had been
rewarded for his years of tireless service with this often thankless
position.  There were times that he knew he was doing the work he had been
born to do;  there were others when he cursed his fate and wished that he
had chosen another path.  

 He opened his eyes and fixed them again on the page in front of him.  The
meticulously typed report informed him that there was a thirty percent
chance that Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had perished in the
Louisiana automobile crash.  Of course, Skinner realized that particular
statistic could change at any moment;  investigative work was still being
done.  However, the explosion and resulting fire had done a substantial
job of obliterating the evidence, greatly hampering further analysis.    

 Thirty percent.  Skinner tried to keep his mind focused on the other
seventy.

 The whistling sound of a match being struck drew Skinner's attention back
to the man standing before him.  Skinner glanced pointedly at the "No
Smoking" sign on his desk, but the man ignored the silent request.  With a
barely audible sigh, Skinner carefully phrased his next words.  "It seems
premature to scale back on the search based on this report."

 The man inhaled before giving his reply.  "I should think, " he said,
"that you would be relieved to have some of your manpower returned to
their normal investigative duties."

 Skinner met the man's eyes, but said nothing.

 "The search for Mulder and Scully will continue," the man finished,
"under different auspices."

 "On whose authority?"

 It was the man's turn to be silent, and Skinner felt his jaw tighten with
frustration.  He was tired of the games, of the half-truths.  Tired of
being a paper tiger with a title and an office.   And, he admitted to
himself, tired of the guilt.

 On some level Skinner blamed himself for Mulder and Scully's predicament.
 He had long been aware of their unauthorized investigations and had
allowed them to continue despite his own better judgement.  When
circumstances had dictated that he do so, he had called them on the carpet
for policy violations, berating them for their failure to adhere to Bureau
protocol.  He had, on numerous occasions, warned them against prying
further into areas that were none of their concern.  He had advised them
to call off their search, to stop looking for the truths they sought. 
Skinner had built a career on knowing when to turn a blind eye, well aware
that there were some answers he was better off not having.  

 But Skinner had never had a sister vanish before his eyes, never to
return.  He had never had three months of his life stolen from him,
without explanation.  For these reasons, he gave them as much support as
he was able, protecting them as best he could.  

 This time, however, he had failed.  Failed to give credence to the
evidence they had brought him, to the accusations that they made.   A
pained expression crossed his face as he remembered the last time that
Scully was in his office, asking for his assistance with an urgency that
made her request almost a plea.  A plea that he had denied.  

 Realizing that his question was not going to be answered, Skinner tried
another approach.  "I still expect to be kept informed as to the status of
the search."

 "But of course," the man replied, ashing the cigarette on the carpet
below.  "I wouldn't have it any other way."

 With that, the man turned and left, and Skinner couldn't help but feel a
twinge of relief at his exit.  The man made him uneasy, and it was caused
by more than the mere fact that Skinner had no real idea whose interests
the man represented.  There was something about him that laced his every
word, his every action, with evil intent.  

 Skinner closed the report, wondering as he did so what would happen if
Mulder and Scully were still alive, what would happen to them if they were
found.  The thought crossed his mind that with such damning evidence
against them, perhaps it might be easier for them to have died in that
crash.  With a shake of his head, he banished the thought and returned to
his work.  



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (2/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:14:35 -0500


This is part two of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (2/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Charlie looked at his watch as he pulled his bike from the rack.  It
always took him an extra minute or two to decipher the position of the
hands on the face;  for some reason, the numbers, large as they were,
confused him.  After a moment of contemplation, he figured out that he had
at least an hour, maybe more, before his father came home.  That would be
plenty of time to see if the angel was there.

 Charlie checked his backpack once again, just to be sure that his
notebook was tucked safely away amongst his schoolbooks.  It was there,
tattered and worn, containing all of his notes and lists.  Relieved, he
began to pedal his way through the crowded streets towards home.

 He had always had the habit of writing things down, things that he knew
he needed to remember.  His grandmother had taught him when he was little
the importance of keeping a record, and that lesson had been one he had
learned well.  Lists of his favorite streets in New Orleans.  Notes about
the times the stores he liked opened and closed.  Recollections of events
he considered significant, like the first time he had caught a fish all by
himself.  Sightings of angels.  That, he reflected as he rode, was a very
short list.  His grandmother used to tell him bedtime stories about angels
who walked the earth, disguised in human form, watching over people and
doing good works that were rarely observed.  God's little miracles, she
had called them, and in her memory Charlie had dedicated his life to
finding them and recording their presence.

 He rounded the corner, careful as always to check for oncoming traffic
before he did so.  He pedaled faster, anxious to get home, thinking about
the fact that he had at last succeeded in his goal.

 Charlie had known that she was an angel the first time that he saw her.  
He kept a close eye on all the things that happened on his block, and had
known before anyone else that the vacant apartment in the guest house next
door had finally been rented.  It had been available for almost a month,
and that fact alone had indicated to Charlie that something important was
happening when tenants had finally arrived.  It was apartment number 3,
which made it special.  Three was Charlie's lucky number -- he did
everything in series of threes.  Brushed his teeth three times a day. 
Drank his milk at dinner in three big gulps.  Turned down the covers on
his bed three times, folding the sheets back with a silent prayer to keep
monsters from coming out of the closet when the lights went out.  

 He should have realized that something big was about to occur.  After
all, it was almost three years to the day that his grandmother had died. 
And this was a magic year for Charlie anyway.  He was nine, and he knew
that nine was really just three threes added together.  He wasn't at all
excited about the fact that his tenth birthday was around the corner. 
Ten, after all, couldn't be divided equally by three.

 Arriving home, Charlie stashed his bike in the shed out back and made his
way into the house, careful to wipe his shoes on the mat before entering
the kitchen.  There was a note from his mother on the counter, reminding
him to take out the trash and rake the leaves before dinner.  Charlie
ignored the note, knowing that he could get the chores done before she got
back if he rushed.

 Taking his notebook out of his backpack, he climbed the stairs to his
grandmother's old room and pushed open the door.  Charlie knew that this
room was off-limits to him, but with no one around he felt fairly safe. 
The room still smelled like the lilac perfume she had worn;  little had
been touched since her death.  His mother even came in to dust from time
to time, keeping the room extremely clean, even by his own standards.  

 Charlie opened the window and climbed out onto the balcony, grabbing the
branch of the tree that brushed the side of the house.   Carefully, he
shimmied out to the trunk then made his way to a higher branch that
extended nearly to the faded paint of the old guest house.  He crouched
near its end, his breath coming in short gasps as he realized that she was
there.  

 Silently, he pulled the notebook from where he had tucked it inside his
shirt and grabbed the pencil from his pocket.  Balancing himself with one
elbow, his legs straddling the branch, he opened to the appropriate page
and began reviewing his notes.

 He knew she was an angel because she was so quiet, like she was hearing
the voice of God himself.  This was the second day he had seen her out on
the roof, sitting on the tar-papered surface with a serene expression on
her face.  She had arrived late in the evening four days ago, with the
tall, bearded man, but when she came out here she was alone.  She looked
just like the picture on the stained glass window in the right corner of
the church Charlie attended faithfully every Sunday.  Dark hair, and fair
skin, and blue eyes that Charlie could see clearly from his perch.  

 He sat and watched her, amazed by the calmness of her beauty.  

 Time passed, and Charlie knew he needed to get to his chores, but he
didn't want to leave.  Then she stood up and began making her way back
towards the door that led to the interior stairs.  Her movements were
tentative, and she kept her hands extended before her as she walked. 
Charlie knew, had known from the first time that he'd seen her, that she
was blind, just like old Mr. Coleman who so often sat on the stoop outside
of his school.   He wasn't sure why God would send a blind angel down to
earth, but he had made notes and had decided that maybe it was because she
was such a good listener.

 Suddenly, she stumbled and fell to the ground, and Charlie heard a loud
clink.  He tensed, afraid that she was hurt, and was relieved to see her
rise to her knees.  A stricken expression had come over her face, and she
felt around her with frantic hands, searching for something.  A minute
passed, and then two, and her movements became more panicked.  Charlie
glanced at his watch.   It was late, and he knew he should be getting to
his chores.  But he was unable to ignore her growing anxiety.  He backed
down the branch as quickly as he could, slipping into his grandmother's
old room.  Shutting the door carefully behind him, he raced back down the
stairs and out the side door. 



Scully ran her hands across the rough surface again, drawing a deep breath
and trying to stave off the tears she felt gathering in her eyes.  It has
to be here, she thought determinedly, searching for the smooth metal of
the key.  

 This was the second time that she had ventured out to the roof of the old
guest house.  Their first full day there they had spent together, sleeping
in late, recovering from the crash and planning their next move.  The
second, Mulder had gone out to do research, trying to piece together the
puzzle they so desperately needed to solve.  She had quickly become bored
of exploring the small apartment, and, unwilling to succumb to the
boundaries of her blindness, had taken the key he'd left for her on the
table and had gone out to investigate the building.  She told herself that
it was important to know her way around, to find the landlord's unit and
the exit to the street.  With careful measured steps she had wandered
every inch, finally finding the small door that led to a hidden set of
stairs and the rooftop beyond.

 To Scully, the rooftop was beautiful.  The air was filled with a
multitude of wonderful smells, fragrant aromas wafting upward from the
restaurants below, the scent of rich coffee beans mixing with freshly
baked bread and spicy gumbo in a heady combination.  She could hear the
sounds of passing traffic, and conversations from pedestrians as they
crossed the streets, and the distant horns of the riverboats as they
traveled along the water.  From time to time, she heard the bells of St.
Louis Cathedral, chiming in fifteen minute intervals that helped her keep
track of the hour.  The wind blew fresh and cool across her face, and she
was content just to sit and imagine the flurry of activity that  comprised
the city of New Orleans.  She had never really visited the city beyond a
quick pass in the course of a routine case, and at that time had been
unable to take in any of the tourist attractions that drew hundreds of
travelers each year.  But now she could almost envision what it was like,
piecing together a picture based on the various sensations that assaulted
her.  It was a way to pass the time until Mulder returned.

 She had come back again today and been equally pleased with the result of
her trek, until now.  She had lost her balance and fallen, dropping the
key to their apartment in the process.  Without it, her secret would be
out, and she knew that Mulder would be angry that she had left the
apartment, fearing for her safety.  

 Scully redoubled her efforts, sure that he would be returning soon.  A
loud crashing sound stopped her in her tracks and she froze, paralyzed by
the sound of metal against metal.  A series of clanging noises ensued, and
then she heard soft footsteps on the roof.

 "Lady?" The voice was quiet, almost a whisper.  "You okay?"

 Scully hesitated, unsure, before deciding she wasn't in any immediate
danger.  "Yes," she answered slowly, "I just can't seem to find my key."

 The footsteps approached and she tensed, then heard a light scraping
against the tar of the roof.  "Here it is," said the voice, and she felt
the key being pressed into her hand.  

 "Thank you," she said, curious as to the identity of her rescuer.  "Do
you live here?"

 "Nah," came the answer. "I live next door to y'all.  In a regular house."

 It was a child's voice, she realized as the fear finally left her, rich
with a smooth and distinctive southern cadence.  Scully gave a little
smile and asked, "What's your name?"

 "Charles," said the boy, "but most folks call me Charlie."

 "Ah," she replied, rising slowly to her feet.  "Well, Charlie, I'm glad
you were around today."   A question hit her, and she asked, "How did you
get up here, anyway?"

 "Fire escape, ma'am, " was his response.  "It's easy enough.  I've been
up here lots."

 Scully reached out with one hand, and after a moment the boy grasped it,
and she gave the small hand a firm shake.  "Thanks again, Charlie," she
said.  "I'm going in now."

 "You okay by yourself?"  She nodded in answer to his diffident question,
but before she could say anything, she heard a shout from the street
below.

 "Charles!"  The voice was angry, demanding.  It was a man's voice, and
there was something in the sound that chilled her.  "Where are you, boy?"

 "Okay, then, ma'am.  I'd best be going."  Scully heard a tremor in the
boy's voice, a stutter that hadn't been there a moment ago.  The boy said
nothing more, but she heard the scrambling of his feet across the rooftop
followed by the clanging metallic sound she now knew to be the result of
his descent down the fire escape.  

 Scully listened a little more, and after a moment, heard the boy's voice,
now dimmed by distance.

 "Sorry, Pa.  Didn't realize the time."

 The stinging sound of the slap was loud enough to reach her up on the
roof.  "Dumb fool," she heard the man's voice drawl.  "What'd I give you a
watch for, then?"

 "Dunno, Pa.  I'm sorry."  Those were the last words Scully could hear,
though she waited a beat or so, feeling a shudder pass through her as she
did.   Then she found her footing and headed slowly back to the door that
led downstairs to their apartment.  



Mulder turned the key in the lock and stepped into the apartment.  It was
late, and it was completely dark inside except for the small bit of
moonlight coming in through the window.  He found the switch with his hand
and turned on the lights in the main room.  It was empty, and totally
quiet.

 He shut the door behind him and then called for her softly.  "Scully?" 
There was no response and his heart began to race.  He flipped on the
kitchen light as well, checking for her, before heading for the bedroom.

 It took a minute before Mulder found the switch and then the ceiling bulb
illuminated the room, revealing her lying on the bed, curled on her side,
her arms wrapped tightly around the pillow she had pressed to her cheek. 
She was fully dressed, in her jeans and tennis shoes and that baggy green
sweater, as though she hadn't intended to doze off.  Her eyes were closed
and her chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths.  He crossed to her
side, hesitant to wake her, knowing how much she needed the rest.  After a
moment, he sat down beside her, and the weight of his body on the mattress
was enough to rouse her.  

 Scully shifted restlessly and then her eyes fluttered open.  For just an
instant, her expression was anxious, then she took a deep breath and gave
a little smile.  "Mulder," she said in a voice heavy with sleep, "you're
late."

 "I know," he admitted, running a gentle hand over her hair.  "I lost
track of time."  He moved closer to her and she reached out and rested her
hand on his leg.  "You hungry?"

 "A little," she answered, the words nearly swallowed by a yawn.  "Any
luck?"

 Mulder sighed.  "Not much.  There's a lot of information to go through."

 He had again spent most of the day at the Tulane University library,
poring over medical texts and journals in the hope of coming across
mention of a drug that in some way might be a part of the compound that
Scully had seen in the lab.  They had given the name of the compound
itself to the Lone Gunmen, who had run the information through every
computer search directory at their disposal, only to come up empty.  
Undeterred, Scully had broken down the name that she had glimpsed on the
row of bottles into as many possible combinations as she could, calling
upon long-remembered information from medical school.  Armed with the list
she had dictated, he had gone to the library to conduct the tedious
search.

 His words pulled Scully the final distance towards wakefulness and she
sat up, punctuating her movements with another big yawn.  "Did you bring
back any possibles?" she asked.

 "A few.  We can talk about them over dinner."  



Scully heard Mulder get up from the bed and after a moment she followed
him, finding the floor with her feet before she stood.   She used the
sound of his steps for guidance and stopped when he did, reaching out to
feel the frame of the bathroom door beneath her hand.   

 She heard the door to the medicine cabinet swinging open followed by a
low scraping sound.  "Mulder..."  her voice trailed off, knowing the
answer to her question before it was asked.  "It's still there."

 "I know," came the reply.  "I'm just making sure."

 Scully listened to the sound of metal against glass and knew he was again
prying the back of the mirrored cabinet away from the frame.   "Well?" she
asked.   He didn't reply, and she moved further into the bathroom until
her back rested against the edge of the sink.  Closer to him now, she
repeated, "Well?"

 "It's still here."

 "Give it to me a minute."  Scully put both hands out, palms up, and a
moment later felt the cool, pebbled metal against her skin.  She traced a
fingertip across the circumference of the object, careful not to damage
any of the delicate grooves.

 Although she could no longer see it with her eyes, she remembered it
clearly in her mind.  It was some type of circuit board, a flat circle
half the size of a compact disc.  She knew the multiple grooves on its
surface were color coded, though she could no longer picture the specific
design.  The raised ridges left by the grooves were also marked to
indicate a particular significance, but it was the grooves themselves that
were more important to Scully.  They were small and deliberately spaced
across the disk, and each was notched on one end as though to hold a tiny
object in place.

 An object precisely the size of the chip that had been implanted in her
neck.

 Vague, half-remembered words flitted through her head.  A
microprocessor... with extremely complex and extensive microlithography. 
Capable of operating computers using brainwaves through direct electro
chemical interface with the cerebral cortex...

 Somehow, she knew that this object was the key.  The key.... to the kind
of neural network capable of not only collecting information but of
artificially replicating a person's mental processes...

 It seemed so long ago that she had been in the FBI lab, dissecting the
small chip that  had been removed from her body.  A chip that was so
fragile that the technician's investigation had effectively destroyed it. 
 But perhaps that loss had been worthwhile -- after all, she reflected, it
had brought her this far.  

 Scully held onto it a moment longer before wordlessly passing it back to
Mulder.  It didn't feel like much, she thought, certainly not the
lifeline, the talisman it had become.  She listened to the noises he made
as he placed it back into its temporary hiding place.  Mulder usually
carried it in his pocket at all times, and it was this safeguard that had
allowed the precious disk to survive the car crash.  However, the metal
detectors at the library prevented him from bringing either the disk or
his gun inside, forcing him to leave it in the apartment.  She took a step
back and her arm brushed against the edge of the sink, knocking something
to the floor and causing a variety of items to scatter across the tile.

 "Oh!"   She cursed silently under her breath, despising her clumsiness.

 "Scully?"  His voice held momentary concern and then relaxed.  "No big
deal," he said.  "Just my shaving stuff."

 She heard him pick the objects off the floor one by one and place them
back on the counter. "Shaving stuff?  Not as though you've been using that
lately."

 There was a smile in his voice as he answered.  "Now, now... have to keep
this beard in fighting form, don't I?"

 "Whatever..." she grinned in response.  "Mulder, let's eat."



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (3/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:02 -0500


This is part three of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (3/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com


The noise of the restaurant was dim from this distance, the heavy door to
the room providing relative silence.  The man pulled his pack of Morleys
from the inner pocket of his coat, shaking one out as he reached for the
matchbox.  He was about to strike the match when the cool voice
interrupted him.

 "Please."

 That one word was enough to make him put the cigarette away with the
rest.   He nodded in acquiescence and took the offered chair, studying the
man who sat in the leather armchair across from him.

 He was fairly tall, and well-built, with a strong, well-defined jaw.  His
hair was dark, framing olive skin with a vaguely Mediterranean cast.  His
eyes were black and almond shaped, almost Asian in their appearance.  He
was dressed in a black suit with a black shirt beneath, and his hands,
surprisingly slender, extended from the sleeves of the jacket.   There was
a stillness to him that was frightening in its intensity, a calmness in
his motions that was both severe and deliberate. 

 He was known by only one name, Christophe, and subjected to his gaze, the
man suddenly wished that he had lit the cigarette.

 "Everything is in order," said Christophe in that same cool tone.  "I
should have an answer for you soon."

 The man nodded again, pleased at the news if not the circumstance.  It
had not been his choice to approach Christophe, but he respected his
orders and knew, if nothing else, that Christophe was the best at what he
did.  And, more importantly, Christophe and his men could be controlled,
unlike the FBI.  Even if it was not the man's privilege to pull
Christophe's strings himself.

 "Good," he said.  "They will be pleased.  Time is growing short, and we
can no longer afford to play this game."

 "I understand," answered Christophe, his eyes still fixed on the man
across from him.  "Assure them that they will have what they need in due
course."

 The man rose to leave, but was stopped by a final question from
Christophe.  "Once the item has been retrieved, what then?"

 "Terminate them."  The man paused, his hand on the door of the small dark
room. "Find out if the information has been relayed to anyone else, and
then finish it.  Communion or confirmation, we don't care which.  Just
make it happen."

 "Consider it done."

 With Christophe's assurance ringing in his ears, the man left, reaching
for the pack of smokes as the door swung shut behind him.



Mulder sighed, massaging his temples with tired fingers.  The words were
beginning to spin before his eyes, an endless series of terms he had no
desire to learn nor understand.  Not for the first time he wished Scully
was with him.  This was the third day he had spent at the research
library, flipping pages and making lists.  The process was achingly time
consuming, but they had both deemed it too dangerous for her to accompany
him.  Alone, he stood a chance of not being spotted. Together, it was an
inevitable reality.

 He forced himself to focus on the page, picking up the pen again to make
a notation from time to time.  Dilocaine, dilomine, dilosyn, he read,
muttering the words under his breath.  Dobutamine, dolocene, dolophine... 
The words ran together in a muddled clump.  He knew he was quickly losing
the perspective he so desperately needed to maintain.  Scully was positive
that the name on the carefully labeled bottles began with "d", but at this
point Mulder himself was not so sure.  His earlier searches had yielded
nothing relevant, but then he hadn't been looking with such wide criteria
at that point.  This time, Scully had insisted he begin with the basics
and merely make a list of all the appropriate "d" drugs that he could
find, hoping that a wider net might catch their fish.  Grimly, he gritted
his teeth and tried to concentrate, to no avail.

 Pushing the text aside, he reached for another, smaller volume, glancing
about him as he did so.  He flipped open the page that he had marked and
began reading where he had stopped.

 "Corneal opacity refers to the condition in which the clear tissue of the
eye has become scarred.  There are a number of factors that can contribute
to this condition, most notably when the tissue has been burned or damaged
due to exposure to intense light or heat.  In some rare cases, if the
damage is not too extensive, the tissue has exhibited the ability to
regenerate itself.   Generally, however, the tissue remains permanently
opaque.  Without the appropriate stimulation provided by the cornea, the
eye muscles themselves quickly begin to deteriorate."

 Mulder traced his finger across the paragraphs, skimming the words and
committing them instantly to memory.  Near the bottom of the column,
something caught his attention and he paused to make a note.

 "Some success has been achieved in situations where the muscles to the
eye have not been allowed to completely degenerate.  Corneal
transplantation is an operation in which the cornea is actually replaced
by donor tissue.   While this process is relatively new, it has been
accomplished many times to good result, most notably by Dr. Robert Bard, a
pioneer in this type of laser surgery."

 Mulder stopped reading and glanced at his watch.  It was almost time to
leave, and he knew he should put the last available minutes to good use
and finish reviewing the list of drugs in the reference text.   He
hesitated for a moment, then stood up from the table, clutching the scrap
of notepaper in his hand.



Suddenly, work study was starting to seem interesting.   Karen shoved the
pink highlighter into the crease in the center of her psychology text,
watching as he approached.  She took off her wire-rimmed glasses, placing
them on the counter beside her, and ran an absent hand through her auburn
hair, hoping her actions didn't seem as obvious as they felt.

 He was the most interesting man Karen had seen in the seven months she'd
had this job.  When she accepted the position, she had been excited by the
possibilities, figuring that a high-paying stint at the math-sciences
library would not only give her time to study but also the opportunity to
meet eligible men of the graduate persuasion.

 Met them she had, by the dozen.  Pencil-necked geeks, most of them,
wearing their pocket protectors like a badge of pride.  It was enough to
make her wish that she was studying English, or Law, or one of the more
romantic pursuits like Philosophy or Humanities.   Not that she hadn't
accepted her share of late-night coffee invitations;  a girl had to live,
after all.  But none of them had come close to catching her eye, until
now.

 There was something about him, Karen thought, that transcended his grad
school uniform of Oxford shirt and jeans.  His beard was a shade darker
than his brown hair, and she had noticed that he squinted from time to
time as he read.  It amused her that he was too vain to put on the glasses
he so obviously needed.  Although, she reflected, on a grad student's
salary perhaps he just couldn't afford them.  

 He walked directly up to her with a sense of purpose in his stride. 
"Hello," he said with a polite smile.  "I was wondering if you could pull
an article for me."

 "Sure," she answered, tucking a wayward strand of copper hair behind her
ear.  She noticed him staring as she did so and felt a warm flush rising
to her cheeks.  "You have the reference number?"

 He didn't answer at first, just kept staring, then caught himself
abruptly.  "Right here," he said, handing her the slip of paper.

 Karen was never so happy to disappear into the back room as she was at
that moment, acutely aware of how attracted she was to him.  This was
ridiculous -- she had developed a huge crush on a man she had seen in the
library only three times.  She didn't even know his name.  She shook her
head ruefully and called up the article he wanted on the microfilm
machine.

 A few short minutes later she returned, clutching the printed sheets in
her hand.  He was standing by the counter, waiting for her, leaning on his
elbows to glance at her open textbook.

 "Psych major?" he asked as she approached.

 "Yeah," she answered, surprised by the diffidence in her voice.  "Third
year."

 "Looks like a good course," he replied, and she nodded.

  For some reason, Karen was reluctant to end their short conversation and
she took a closer look at the papers she held in her hand.   "
'Innovations in Corneal Transplantation' ," she read. "Based on research
conducted by Dr. Robert Bard, Jules Stein Eye Institute, UCLA."  

 He shifted uncomfortably and reached out for the papers, but said
nothing.

 "I don't get it," she said, trying for a playful tone. "What's your
thesis, anyway?"

 "Excuse me?"  There was confusion in his hazel eyes.

 "Your thesis," she explained, suddenly wishing she had never asked the
question, knowing it revealed how closely she'd been eyeing him.  "I
mean... you've spent all your time studying these drug reference texts...
and now this.   I don't get the connection."

 He stared at her again, and there was something dark and sad in that
stare that Karen couldn't quite identify.  He blinked, and the darkness
vanished, replaced by something that seemed more like calm acceptance. 

 "Just two different projects," he said, pulling the sheets from her
grasp.  "Thanks for the help."

 "No problem," she responded, watching as he returned to the table he had
so recently abandoned.  

 Karen picked up her psych book again, pretending that she was actually
reviewing the terms for the following morning's test instead of observing
him, immersed in the article he had requested.  

 He left shortly thereafter, a full three hours before the end of her
shift.  She sighed as his lean form exited the building, wishing she could
follow him and hoping that he would return.  



The old couple in the unit across the hall were just leaving as Mulder
returned, and he gave them a brief nod as he passed, careful to avoid eye
contact.  He put the key in the lock and as the door swung open he was
surprised to smell a rich, fragrant aroma emanating from within.  

 Closing the door behind him, he flipped on the lights and called to her. 
"Scully?"

 "In here," came the response, and he headed for the kitchen.  Although
the lights were off, the setting sun through the window cast a rosy glow
that lit the room fairly well, and what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

 Scully was standing near the small table, a glass in either hand
obviously intended to join the plates she had placed on its surface.   She
was smiling in his direction, but he barely noticed, his eyes locked on
the stove behind her.   There was a pot on the burner, and the gas flames
beneath it were dangerously high, flickering alarmingly close to a
dishtowel lying nearby.   

 Mulder was across the room in an instant, pushing the towel aside and
turning down the burner in one quick move.   "Scully --"  The tone in his
voice was deliberately sharp as he spun back around to face her.  "What
are you doing?"

 "Making dinner," she answered, carefully setting the glasses down.
"What's wrong?"

 "You almost started a *fire*, Scully."  He took a deep breath, trying to
regain his composure.  "What in the hell were you thinking?"

 She didn't answer at first, and when she did her words were tight.  "I
was thinking that I was capable of heating some soup and making some
sandwiches."

 Mulder paused a moment and glanced around the kitchen.  There were an
assortment of cans and jars strewn across the counter, and he saw the
sandwiches, balanced in a slightly lopsided pile on a tray by the sink. 
But his attention was focused on other things.

 The can opener she had used for the soup.

 The knife she had used to cut the bread.

 The flames still burning low on the stove.

 His mind was filled with a thousand near calamities, but he forced his
voice to be calm.  "Of course you are, Scully, but --"

 She cut him off abruptly.  "Don't patronize me, Mulder.  I'm not a
child."

 He stopped and really looked at her then.  She was wearing a long
flowered skirt and one of his shirts, white broadcloth sleeves rolled up
to her elbows, with a spattering of what looked like mustard down one
side.  Her hands were clenched, and he could measure the intensity of her
anger in the set of her jaw.

 He began again, more cautiously this time.  "I know --"

 "No, you don't."  Her words were cold, dripping like ice into the sudden
stillness of the room.  "You *don't* know."

 "Scully, please."  He took a step towards her, hoping to soothe her. 
"Listen to me, please, I --"

 "Stop it -- stop it -- shut up!"  Scully waved her arms at him as though
to ward him away.  "I don't want to hear it anymore from you, Mulder!  You
have *no* idea what this is like.  You have *no* idea what I'm going
through."

 He stood, frozen in place by her words.  

 "Do you *know*, Mulder, what it's like not to be able to see where you
are going when you walk down the street?  Do you *know* what it is like to
be helpless, to have to depend on someone else for all the things you used
to do yourself?"  She backed away from him and in doing so bumped into the
table, causing one of the glasses to fall and shatter on the ground.

 The sound startled her and he saw the question in her face as she sought
to identify the source of the noise.  She uttered a low cry of anguish and
Mulder could see that she was close to the edge of hysteria.  "I hate it,
Mulder.  Do you hear me?  I hate it!"

 He moved towards her, trying to catch her by the arm, but Scully pulled
away, her voice rising to a scream.  "I hate the darkness, I hate it!"  
She reached the counter and wildly ran her hands across it.   Finding the
tray of sandwiches, she grabbed it and threw it to the floor.  "I *hate*
feeling weak!"  She continued her frenzied sweep of the counter, knocking
every object her hands encountered to the ground.  "I *hate* feeling
vulnerable!  I *hate* being afraid all the time!"

 Scully reached the end of the counter and before Mulder could stop her
she knocked the pot of soup off of the stove with one savage swing of her
arm.  Her palm smacked against the hot metal surface and she screamed as
the scalding liquid cascaded to the floor around her.

 "Scully!"  He shouted at her, trying to break through her panic.  He
grabbed her but held her for only a moment before she wrenched away from
him, stumbling towards the main room.



Somehow she made it out of the kitchen before the tears overcame her
completely.  Scully sank to the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and
wrapping her arms around them.   Her sobs sounded loud to her ears and she
buried her face against her knees, trying to muffle the noise.  Her right
hand was throbbing but she welcomed the focus that the pain brought her as
she fought to regain her composure.

 She heard him enter the room but she didn't move.  His steps moved closer
until she knew he was beside her, and then she felt his hand on her
shoulder.  

 "Scully, please," he began, but the concern in his voice roused her anger
again and she shrugged him off.  

 "Get the hell away from me!"  

 He said nothing, and she half-hoped that her shrill tone had worked.  She
sensed him sit down next to her on the carpet, but he didn't try to touch
her again.

 "Scully... I think you may have burned your hand," he said softly. 
"Please... let me take a look at it."  

 His words were gentle and there was something reassuring about his
presence that made her want to respond to his request, but her rage had
not yet subsided.  "I don't want you to," she answered, choking the words
out between her sobs.  "I don't want you to do anything anymore."

 "Scully...."

 "I mean it, Mulder."  She sat up straighter, pulling the sleeve of her
shirt across her face in a vain attempt to dry her tears.  "I don't want
you to cook my food... or pick out my clothes... or do any of it.  I
don't.... I don't..."

 Despite her best efforts, Scully couldn't seem to stop crying, and her
fury was quickly giving way to embarrassment.  She felt his hand on her
wrist and this time she allowed the touch.  His fingers grazed her palm
and she winced.   Then she felt something cold and wet against her hand,
and realized from the texture of the cloth that it was the dishtowel from
the kitchen.

 "I think it's okay," she heard him say as he fashioned the makeshift
bandage, "but this should make it feel better."

 She nodded and pulled her hand back into her lap.  "Thanks."  After a
moment, she added softly, "I'm sorry."

 She heard him sigh, and he was so close to her that she could almost feel
the whistling rush of air.  "No, Scully," he said.  "I'm the one who
should be sorry."

 "For what?"

 "For everything," he answered, and she was struck by the depth of sorrow
in his voice.  "I failed you, Scully, and I've been trying to make up for
that.  I -- I guess it's my fear of failing you again that makes me so --
so controlling.  I just don't want anything else to happen."

 She only heard part of what he said, one particular phrase echoing in her
mind, a phrase that finally dried her tears.  She turned a little to face
him and asked, "What do you mean -- you failed me?"

 He said nothing, so she found his hand with her uninjured one and
squeezed it.  "Mulder?  Talk to me."

 "The lab," he said quietly.   "I knew it was a trap -- you never should
have been there.  I promised to protect you, and I -- I failed."

 "Oh, Mulder."  She hesitated, looking for the words she needed to make
herself clear.  "It's never been your responsibility to protect me. 
Besides, you tried -- you warned me, you even followed me there.  I
just...." her voice trailed off and she gave a rueful shrug.  "I was
possessed, Mulder, so positive that I was right.  I wasn't in the state of
mind to listen to you or anyone else.  There wasn't anything you could
have done."

 "But if I had only been with you, I could --"

 "You could have *what*?"  She listened, but he gave no response, so she
continued.  "There is nothing that you could have done.  I brought this on
myself."  Scully stopped again, afraid to voice the thought that she had
kept inside for so long, but it was as though a wall had broken down
between them and she wanted him to know everything.

 "Mulder," she confessed, "people died in that explosion.  Innocent people
-- and I -- I was responsible for it.  Maybe this...maybe this is what I
deserve."

 "No!"  The sound was explosive against her ear.  "You didn't do anything
to *deserve* this, Scully!  Don't even *think* that."  His words were
strong but she could hear the trembling beneath.  "No one deserves this,
Scully.... least of all you."

 "Oh, Mulder."  She brought her hand to his face and the dampness on his
cheek shocked her with the realization that he was crying.  

 "Don't you know..."  His voice was a hoarse, broken whisper. "If I
could... I would *do* anything... I would *give* anything...if it would
bring your sight back...if it would make you whole again."

 The grief and pain behind his muted words overwhelmed her and she leaned
into him, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him close.  His
arms encircled her, and she felt his body shake with the force of the
tears that he shed.  She was crying again herself as she pressed her
forehead to his, the skin warm and soft against her own.  Suddenly the
urge to be near him, to comfort him, consumed her and she brushed her lips
against his.     



Stop the bus!!!  There are a bunch of angry anti-relationshippers at the
back who want to get off...  
Sorry guys -- I know I should have put a warning at the beginning of this
installment, but I was reluctant to tip my dramatic hand.  ;-)   Besides,
I think I cut the scene early enough for even the most die-hard
Carterites, don't you?  At any rate, please accept my apologies if I've
let you down -- the story has a life of its own!  If you're still
interested in continuing, parts 4-12 have been posted simultaneously. 

I also need to take a moment to say a special thank you here to Brian, for
loaning me his medical textbooks and taking the time out of his busy
residency schedule to answer my questions.  You're the best!  :-)    And
now, on with the show....



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (4/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:14 -0500


This is part four of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Starting here, a
Relationship Warning is being added...   ;-)  If there are problems with
the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (4/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Scully pulled away from him abruptly, frozen as he was by the reality of
what had just happened.  Mulder looked at her, through eyes blurred with
tears, and was suddenly reminded of the china doll that had been a gift to
Samantha on her seventh birthday.  The dark, silken hair.  The smooth,
porcelain skin.  The eyes, clear blue glass that only reflected one's own
image, without a glimmer of what lay beneath.

 Then Scully moved in his arms, a crimson stain flushing her cheeks, and
he was acutely aware that what drew him to her had less to do with her
pristine beauty and more to do with what was inside.  Her vibrancy, her
courage, her strength.  The things that made her human, and real, and
alive. 

 She pressed her hands against his chest, shaking her head in disbelief. 
"Mulder, I -- I..."

 Unable and unwilling to allow her to deny what she had done, Mulder
leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, savoring their warm and
pliable softness.  Without giving thought to his actions, he pulled her
closer to him, wrapping his arms around her with all his strength.



Scully felt his lips on hers and shuddered at the sensation that passed
through her body.  Her first instinct was to pull away from him, her mind
shouting to her that this was wrong, that this was against every code that
was so clearly detailed in the Bureau's book of ethics.  But she was no
longer the same woman who had memorized that code.  That woman, Agent Dana
Scully, had in large measure been left behind in D.C. six weeks ago.  Now,
she wasn't sure who she was, but the part of her that had become Lisa
Wilder suddenly felt as though she had found shelter from the terror that
had marked each of the last forty-two days.  It was that part of her that
returned his kiss, twining her fingers into the short hairs at the back of
his neck, giving herself over to his gentle touch.

 Mulder's kisses were deep and long and tender, and matched the soothing
stroke of his hands across her neck, her shoulders, her back.  His beard
tickled her skin as his mouth moved gently over hers.  All of her
insecurities, all of her fears, were momentarily suspended by the reality
of his nearness and she completely succumbed to his caresses, moaning
softly as he pressed his body closer to hers.

 She felt his fingers dance across her collarbone and shifted in his
grasp, the electric sensation his hands engendered lighting a fire deep
inside her.  The soft strokes moved lower, tracing the deep vee of her
shirt, toying with the buttons that clasped the cotton across her chest.  
 She felt as though she was supported only by his strength, by the arms
that held her upright and trapped her against him.  

 He began to unfasten the uppermost button and she suddenly tensed, afraid
to allow him to proceed further, afraid of what might happen if he did. 
She removed her hands from his neck and placed them atop his, hoping that
the silent signal would be enough to arrest his progress.

 He seemed to understand, pulling back from her slightly, allowing her
head to rest on his shoulder.  She could feel his breath against her ear,
shallow rapid gasps that warmed her from head to toe.  She snuggled closer
to him, acutely aware of the flush in her cheeks, thankful for the moment
that she was unable to see his eyes, unable to know his thoughts.



Mulder held her until she fell asleep, still cradled in his arms.  He ran
his fingers through her hair and laid a tender kiss on her cheek, but she
did not stir.  When he felt his own eyes beginning to close he struggled
to his feet, unwilling to release her even for a moment.  He carried her
into the bedroom, the fabric of her skirt trailing across his arms.  He
laid her gently down on the bed and removed her shoes before pulling the
covers up over her.  

 He hesitated for a moment, looking down at her face, peaceful in slumber.
 He considered the mess in the kitchen and then shrugged, realizing that
some things were better left for morning.  He removed his own shoes and
then climbed in beside her, reaching out to her with tentative hands.  
Even in sleep, something drew her to him and she rolled into his embrace,
her head nestled against his shoulder, her breathing deep and even.  It
was that lullaby that finally soothed him to a dreamless sleep.



Scully awoke and her first conscious thought was that she was alone in the
bed.  She ran her hands across the covers, checking for him, feeling a
quick rush of panic at his absence.  Then she heard noises from the front
of the apartment and relaxed at the sound.  She listened for a long moment
before calling to him.

 "Mulder?"

 She heard the approach of his footsteps and then the squeak of the door
hinges as he pushed it fully open.  "Scully?  You okay?"

 "Yes," she answered, relieved to hear his voice.  "What are you doing?"

 "Cleaning up the kitchen," came the response, and she flushed at the
memory of the previous night.  

 "Oh," was all she said.  Then the question, "What time is it?"

 "Just after eight."

 "In the morning?" she asked, surprised.  

 "Yes," he replied.  "You slept straight through, this time."

 She said nothing, merely nodded, knowing he was looking.

 "Want some coffee?"  She nodded again, and heard his footsteps retreat. 
She lay there, her mind filled with confused thoughts.  She felt
refreshed, truly rested for the first time in weeks, but that pleasant
sensation was tempered with a strange awkwardness that she was hard
pressed to name.  



 When he returned, she was sitting up, her back resting against the
headboard of the bed.  Her hair was tousled from sleep and fell in messy
waves across her shoulders.  He approached, carrying the cup of coffee in
one hand, and sat down next to her.  He carefully placed the cup into her
outstretched hands and watched silently as she took a sip.

 "Okay?" he asked, and was pleased to see her smile.

 "Perfect," she answered.  "Just what I needed."

 "Good."  Further words failed him and he just sat where he was.

 They were both quiet as she took a few more cautious sips before reaching
out to place the cup on the nightstand beside her.   It was very near the
edge, and he moved it further towards the center, acutely aware of the
frown that crossed her face as he did.   "Mulder," she began, and then
hesitated before continuing.  "About last night..."

 "You don't have to say anything," he interrupted, but she shook her head
and he fell silent.

 "I want to."  She began picking at the comforter, running her fingers
along its worn edge.  "I'm sorry... about what happened.   About the
mess... and..."

 "I'm not."  Mulder was surprised at the assertiveness in his own voice.

 "Well, *I* am."  A blush stole across her cheeks, and she turned her head
away from him.  "That... that never should have happened.   And... I
apologize."

 "Scully..." He placed his hands lightly atop hers, anxious to stop their
nervous motion.  "I wanted to... I wanted to kiss you."

 She sighed, and her face was filled with a strange melancholy that he had
never seen before.  "Mulder... I don't -- I don't want you to feel sorry
for me.  To have you... to have you pity me... I could never bear that."

 "Oh, Scully....no."  The pain in her words tore at him and he reached out
with one hand to caress her cheek.  She flinched at his touch but he
managed to turn her face towards him.  "Don't you know... this has nothing
to do with that."  She said nothing, and he took her silence as an
indication to continue.  "I was committed to you long before this, long
before we ever left D.C.   In so many ways... more than I ever realized. 
Until -- until now."



Scully remained absolutely still, acutely aware of the warmth of his hand
against her skin.  She listened to his words, but their soothing tone did
nothing to assuage the hollow emptiness inside her.  

 He paused, as though he was waiting for a response, but still she said
nothing.  After a moment, she heard him draw a deep breath as he moved his
hand away from her face to clasp both of her hands in his.  "Scully... you
have to believe me.  I can't imagine my life without you in it.  I had to,
once.  And I could never -- I could never survive that again."

 Suddenly an image arose in her memory, a picture of him the way that he
used to be.  The way that he had looked, standing beside her bed in the
hospital, awkward in his blue windbreaker.  His hands, nervously clutching
the gold chain of the necklace that bore her cross.  His eyes, an
anguished hazel mixture of pain and relief.   

 "Scully," he said in a voice that was no more than a whisper, "I'm here
with you because I choose to be."

 A sudden tightness seized her throat and she felt her eyes begin to
water.  "Mulder..."

 "Please, Dana," he pleaded, and the sound of her name was sweet to her
ears.  "Let me.  Be with you."

 He reached out to her then and she welcomed his touch, the feel of his
arms around her familiar and yet different, somehow new.  He buried his
face against her shoulder and she felt a soft kiss on her neck that sent a
warm rush through her entire body.



She said nothing, but he reveled in the clasp of her arms across his back.
 He turned his head slightly, savoring the softness of her hair as it
fluttered against his cheek.  Then he pulled back from her, to place his
lips against hers, to trace their delicate shape with his tongue.  She
responded to his gentle caress and the tender kiss quickly deepened into a
more ardent exploration.

 A few long moments passed before he released her.  His hands were still
twined in her hair and her face, flushed from the intense contact, was
mere inches from his.  He gazed at her longingly but her eyes remained
clouded, unable to meet his.   He brushed a gentle kiss across her
forehead, relieved at the faint smile it engendered.  

 She shifted slightly, and patted the space next to her on the bed.  He
scooted up to sit beside her, draping his arm across her shoulders.  She
tucked her head into the space between his shoulder and his chin as though
it had been specifically designed for that purpose, and for a time they
sat quietly, enjoying the new closeness that had sprung up between them.

 It was the small growl from her stomach that finally interrupted the
peaceful silence.  The sound caused her to pull away from him with an
embarrassed giggle.

 "Mulder," she said, "I think maybe it's time for breakfast."

 "Sounds good to me," he answered.  He stood up and took her hand in his,
guiding her out of the bed and towards the kitchen.



The man sat in the darkened room, his eyes focused on the flickering
televised image before him, though little of the information reached his
brain.  He was consumed by other thoughts, all too aware of the rapid
passage of time.

 He took another glance at the clock as he fired up a cigarette, enjoying
the sensation of the nicotine as it filled his lungs.   He was beginning
to doubt the course of action that had been chosen, but he knew he was
unable to alter the sequence of events.  As much as he hated to admit it,
he was not in control of the situation, which irritated him immensely.  He
was a man who deeply despised feeling as though things were beyond his
grasp.

 It was at that moment that the phone rang, the loud jangle a welcome
distraction from his dark musings.  "Yes?"  His voice was sharp, brusque.

 The voice on the other end was unmistakable.  Christophe's smooth tone
filled his ears.  "We are very close to our goal.  I thought you should
know."

 "How close?" asked the man, taking another long drag.

 "I believe that the targets have been sighted.  It should not be long
now."

 "Good."  The man nodded in silent appreciation of the work that had been
accomplished.  "Let me know when it is done."

 "Of course."  The phone went dead immediately following Christophe's last
words.

 The man leaned back in the chair, blowing a small series of circles with
the smoke he'd inhaled.  He was relieved that progress had at last been
made, though a small part of him cursed the fact that it now seemed he
would be denied the privilege of being present for the finale of the drama
that had occupied him these last weeks.  But he knew better than to
interfere at this point.

 Stubbing the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray beside him, the man
switched the channel on the television and returned to his silent
thoughts.



Scully listened to the crashing footsteps ascending the metal fire escape
and smiled, recognizing the sounds and the person who made them.  She
could hear the boy approach despite the loud noises from the city streets
below.

 "Hello," she said, offering a smile in his general direction.

 "Hello, ma'am," came the polite response.  "Remember me?"

 She nodded.  "Charlie," she said.  "From next door."

 "Right," he answered, and she could hear the pleasure in his voice. 
"Mind if I sit a spell?"

 She shook her head.  "Not at all."

 He sat down beside her and she heard him shifting on the tar-papered
surface as he sought a comfortable position.  He said nothing for a time,
and she was aware only of the sound of his breathing, the gasps slightly
labored.  

 After a time, his voice took on a conversational tone.  "You know much
about fractions?"

 "A little," she admitted, trying to conceal her grin.

 "I hate them," said the boy.  "I like things to come out even."

 "Me too," she replied, and then all was quiet again.



Charlie looked at her closely.  There was something different about her
today, he thought, something that made her look more radiant than he
remembered.   He cursed the fact that he had missed a day in his
observations.  His mother had dragged him to the dentist despite his
protests, his insistence that he had more important things to do.  And now
he felt as though he had missed something significant, something that he
should have written down.  

 He had spent the morning working up the courage to ask her the question,
but now that the time had come, he didn't know if he could.  He decided to
try something else first, something easier.  "What's your name?"

 She hesitated a moment before she answered. "Lisa," she said.

 "Lisa," he repeated, testing the word out on his tongue.  It seemed like
the right kind of name for an angel, although he didn't remember ever
hearing it in the Bible.   There was a girl named Lisa in his class at
school, but Charlie knew that she wasn't an angel, wasn't even close.  
This Lisa was special.  "I like that name."

 "Thank you," she smiled, and Charlie was suddenly imbued with the
confidence he needed.

 "Lisa," he asked, "you're not from 'round here, are you?"

 She drew in her breath sharply, and he saw a flicker of concern cross her
face.  "No," she replied.  "I'm not.  Just.... passing through."

 Charlie sighed a deep sigh of relief.  He had been right, after all. 
"That's good."  He checked his watch and then scrambled to his feet,
knowing that his father was due home any minute.  "Gotta go," he said,
then added, "I'm glad... I'm glad you passed through here."

 He reached out and grabbed her hand and she gave it an answering squeeze.
 "Bye, Charlie," she said.

 "Bye," he echoed, and ran back across the roof to the fire escape.  As he
descended the ladder he kept his eyes on her, wishing he could stay but
unable to take the risk.



Scully was sitting on the couch listening to the news on television when
she heard the key turn in the lock.  She listened as the door swung open,
recognizing his footsteps as he entered the room.  It felt as though she
had been waiting for him to return from the library for days, although she
knew that in reality he had only been gone a few short hours.  "Hey," she
called, anxious to hear his voice.

 "Hey yourself," he answered.  She heard the door shut behind him and was
suddenly aware of a strong, sweet fragrance that drowned out the musky
scent she associated with him.  She listened as his footsteps approached
and heard an unfamiliar crinkling sound that clashed with his movements.  

 "Mulder?"  Her voice rose with curiosity.  "What's that smell?"

 She felt him sit down beside her, and the smell was closer now, wafting
over her in a powerful wave.  He reached out for her hands and she heard
the crinkling sound again as he pressed something into her grasp.  Paper,
smooth and cool to the touch, wrapped around long thin rods.  Another
breath and she realized that what was in her hands was a bouquet of the
most beautifully scented flowers she had ever held.

 "Mulder!" She repeated his name, this time with a smile, though the
question remained beneath.

 "They're gardenias," he answered, his voice soft as he continued.  "I
went to buy you roses... but these -- these smelled so much nicer."

 Her heart filled with a painful ache that stemmed not from the gesture
but from his diffident words, words that demonstrated his thoughtfulness
and consideration better than the flowers themselves ever could.  



Mulder sat next to her, drinking in the beautiful sight of her face buried
in the copious blossoms, her hair draped like a dark curtain over the
white petals.   Her happiness warmed him and eased the uncertainty that he
had felt from the moment he had entered the flower shop, assuring him that
the silly impulse that had seized him had brought her pleasure.

 After a moment, she raised her head, and in a teasing tone, she asked,
"Does Rick always bring Lisa flowers when he comes home?"

 He followed her lead with his response.  "He does, if that's what Lisa
likes."

 She favored him with a small smile that was seductive in its shyness. 
"Lisa," she answered, "likes Rick.  Very much."

 Her words sang inside him and he leaned over to capture her lips in a
kiss, heedless of the flowers that he crushed as he drew her into his
embrace.  She kissed him back, filling him with a warm quiet contentment
that erased all of the long boring hours he had spent in the library. 
Hours that he had spent without her.

 "Let's go get some dinner," he said, when he finally stopped to catch his
breath.

 "Should we?" she questioned.  

 He ran his hand down her face, over her shoulder and down her arm before
taking her hand.  "It's late, and the streets are crowded.  I think we can
take the risk."

 "Okay," she answered with another smile that he just had to kiss.

________________________________



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (5/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:27 -0500


This is part five of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (5/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Lucy made her way carefully through the crowd to the bar and cursed the
second drink she had pounded at Napoleon House during what was commonly
thought of as happy hour.  For Lucy, it was just beginning of another long
night, the same as too many others in recent memory.

 "Hey there," she said by way of greeting to Tommy, who was tending bar as
usual behind the counter.

 "Hello, darlin'," he drawled, flashing her his trademark smile, his teeth
white against his brown skin.  "The usual?"

 "Nothing less," she answered, and pulled herself up onto the stool to
await the expected margarita.  A moment later it appeared, crafted swiftly
under Tommy's magic touch.  She took a long sip and sighed with pleasure. 
She knew she was drinking too much, too often, but it was a way to pass
the time, a way to assuage the guilt she felt about the days that were
slipping by so quickly.  Lucy had been drowning in her addictions in the
months that had passed since her return from Los Angeles, powerless
against the rising tide of her own despair.  She was a writer by trade,
had published two novels and a book of short stories.  But lately the
ideas had been few and far between, and a writer without a story was a
worthless commodity.  Or so her agent had told her, when he terminated
their contract.  

 Lucy took another sip and glanced around the restaurant.  It was getting
late, and Mr. B's was crowded.   Full of tourists and locals anxious to
sample the best nouveau cuisine New Orleans had to offer.  A wide variety
of people surrounded her, and she took in each of them with a long stare,
sizing them up, putting them to the test of her intense scrutiny.

 She noticed the couple in the corner because there was something
different about them, something she hadn't seen in her recent weeks of
socializing.  It was as though they were alone, though the room was full
of bodies pressed together in a teeming swarm of humanity.  The man's arm
was around the woman's shoulders and he held her close to him, and there
was something about his grasp that made Lucy remember feelings she had
assumed were long since buried.  The man said something to the woman that
made her laugh, and she moved nearer to him in a way that  carried the
hint of a deep intimacy, a bond that aroused Lucy's curiosity.  

 Surprised to find her glass was empty, Lucy ordered another, ignoring
Tommy's warning glance.  She had eyes only for the couple at their small
table near the back, captivated by their complete absorption in one
another.

 "Ain't like you've never seen honeymooners 'round here before," said
Tommy as he handed her the glass.  "What's so fascinatin' 'bout them?"

 "Nothin'," Lucy smiled back.  "Just keepin' an eye out.  You know how it
is."

 "Indeed I do."  Tommy grinned at her.  "You can take that to the bank."

 Lucy didn't bother with a response, observing as the man rose from the
table, giving the woman's hands a squeeze as he did so.  She watched as he
made his way towards the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.  He
disappeared from her view and she turned her gaze back to the woman who
remained at the table.  It was only now that Lucy saw what the couple's
closeness had concealed:  the woman was blind, her eyes blank and vacant. 
  She sat quietly, patiently awaiting her companion's return.  Not your
normal honeymooners, thought Lucy, and suddenly she felt the old familiar
exhilaration, the rush that came over her when she was hot on the trail of
a new idea.  

 "Hey, Tommo," she called, "gimme another couple of these, will you?"

 "Doll," came the answer, "don't you think you should slow up?"

 "Gimme a break," she replied.  "I'm putting together a little gift,
here."

 Tommy said nothing else, and after a moment, two frosted glasses appeared
before her.  Abandoning her own half-finished drink she grabbed the two
new glasses and walked over to the table where the woman sat, winding her
way through the crush of the crowd.



Scully waited for Mulder, trying to make sense of the noise and confusion
that surrounded her. The restaurant was as Mulder had promised, crowded
with people intent on enjoying their evening.  The music was loud, a sort
of bluesy jazz that she could tell was being played live by a band not so
far from where she sat.  Delicious aromas permeated the air, the smell of
fried fish and beignets and rich, aromatic coffee.  The room was almost
stifling in its intensity, but Scully couldn't remember when she had last
been so happy.  It was better than she had expected, being out of the
apartment, being in the midst of the action instead of absorbing it from
her rooftop perch.

 She heard the approach of unfamiliar footsteps over the din and tensed,
unsure.  A moment later a voice announced the presence of the visitor.   

 "Margaritas," said the voice, in a sweet and feminine Southern drawl. 
"Specialty of the house."

 Scully paused a moment before replying.  "We didn't order any drinks,"
she said, keeping her head down, unwilling to draw attention to her
blindness.

 "Consider it a gift," came the answer, and Scully heard the clink of
glasses being placed on the tabletop before her.  She smelled the potent
tang of tequila dimmed by salt and suddenly felt tempted by the offer.  "A
little Southern hospitality."

 "Thank you," she said, reaching tentatively for a glass.  She found one
with her hands and grasped it tightly, bringing it to her mouth and hoping
that she wouldn't spill.  She took a small sip, conscious of the fact that
the bearer of the drinks had sat down across from her.  The margarita
tasted strong and cool and good as it hit her throat and she took another
quick sip before putting the glass down.

 "Good, huh?"  Scully thought she detected the hint of a grin in the words
and smiled back at her unknown companion.

 "Yes, very good," she replied.  "Do you work here?"

 "Nah," was the response, "although Tommy wishes I did."

 "Tommy?" Scully asked, confused.

 "The bartender."  A pause, and then, "Just a good old boy.  He humors me,
from time to time."

 Scully nodded, some dim part of her aware that a conversation with a
stranger couldn't be a wise move.  Yet there was something about the
woman's rich, earthy voice that made her seem safe, non-threatening.

 "If you don't work here," she questioned, "what are you doing bringing me
drinks?"

 "To be frank," came the answer, "curiosity.  Couldn't help myself. 
Always love meetin' new people -- some may call me nosy.  I prefer to
think of myself as naturally inquisitive.  Much better phrase, don't you
think?" 

 Despite herself, Scully started to laugh.  The woman seemed a little odd,
but her charm was hard to resist.  "Much better," she agreed.  

 At that moment a voice from across the room stopped their conversation. 
"Lucy?  You botherin' my customers again?"

 Scully didn't have a moment to answer before the woman, Lucy, did so
herself.  "Keep your shirt on, Tommy Boy.  The lady here's doin' just
fine.   Aren't you, sweetheart?"

 Scully felt a peculiar rush of relief, as though the woman's presence was
legitimized by the bartender's recognition.  "I'm fine," she answered for
Tommy's benefit.  "And thanks for the drinks."

 "Sure thing," came Tommy's reply.  "Just let me know if y'all need
another round." 

 Feeling more relaxed now, Scully took another sip of her drink, listening
as the woman across from her chuckled.  "That Tommy, bless his heart.  
Mixes a fine drink, if I do say so myself."  A pause, then the question,
"You're not from 'round here, are you?"

 "No," Scully answered, "just visiting."

 "Hmmm.... " said the woman.  "Pretty good place to visit.  Honeymoon?"

 Scully felt a blush wash across her cheeks and bent her head forward to
hide the sudden rush of embarrassment.  "In a way," she answered. 



Mulder approached the table, his apprehension growing as he noticed that
Scully wasn't sitting alone as he had left her.  There was a woman across
from her, dressed in a maroon sweater and a long black skirt, complimented
by a long silver chain around her neck bearing a funky collection of
charms and talismans.  The woman was watching Scully with an intensity
that filled Mulder with unease and he crossed the distance in a few quick
steps until he was back by her side.  

 "Lisa?" his voice raised in a question as he sank down beside her.  "You
okay?"

 She nodded, and took another sip from the drink in front of her.  "Yes,"
she answered, putting a hand on his leg to reassure him.  "Complimentary
margarita," she smiled, awkwardly handing him the glass.  "It's good.  Try
some."

 The woman across from them watched as he put the glass back on the table.
 "None for me," he said.  

 "None for you?"  The woman looked pleased.  "Guess that means more for
me."  She grabbed the other glass and took a long, satisfied sip.

 "And you are?"  Mulder tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

 "Lucy Anne," the woman replied, tossing her long dark hair over her
shoulder and extending a delicate hand towards him.  "Lucy to both close
friends and new acquaintances."

 Mulder took the offered hand and shook it, eyeing Scully as he did so. 
She seemed calm, even happy, which relieved him.  "Rick," he said by way
of greeting.  

 "Pleased to meet you, Rick."  The woman smiled at him and despite himself
Mulder was drawn to her grin.  There was something about her, something
warm and friendly and honest that threatened to break through his reserve.
 "I was just getting acquainted with your wife, here."

 Mulder took another glance at Scully, noticing how her cheeks had
reddened.  He took her hand under the table and squeezed it, but said
nothing.

 "Been married long?"

 "No," Mulder replied, knowing an answer was expected.  "It's a pretty
recent thing."

 "Seems so," answered the woman, sizing him up with a wise look that made
him feel as though she knew he was lying.  

 It was Scully that broke the awkward silence that followed.  "Lucy?  Do
you eat here often?"

 "Too often for my liking," Lucy drawled.  "But a person gets awful tired
of cooking after awhile.  I'd recommend the fish -- they do a good job
with it."

 Scully gave a little smile and nodded in Lucy's general direction, and
Mulder realized that she was enjoying the company.  He took a deep breath
and tried to relax, for her sake.  

 As Lucy ran down the items on the menu for Scully's benefit, Mulder took
the opportunity to study her.  She was a fairly petite woman, not much
taller than Scully as best as he could tell.  She had dark hair that swung
past her shoulders and pale blue eyes that fairly sparkled with energy and
intelligence.  There were faint lines in her face that placed her age near
forty, but her demeanor was that of someone nearly twenty years younger. 
There was a certain sensitivity about the woman, a gentleness in the way
she spoke to Scully, that endeared her to Mulder despite the awkwardness
of their meeting.  

 "Pardon my interest," said Lucy, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm a
writer, and as I said to Lisa before, I'm curious by nature.  I just was
wondering about y'all -- don't see many like you in here."

 "Many like us?"  Scully put words to the question in his head.

 "Yeah," Lucy's tone was probing, inquisitive.  "Something different about
you two."  Mulder shifted uncomfortably and she rushed to continue.  "But
don't get me wrong -- I like different."

 Scully laughed again and Mulder was again struck by how happy she seemed.
 "Good," she said.  "Have you had dinner yet, Lucy?"

 "Come to think of it, I haven't," Lucy answered, "unless you count
margaritas as regular food."

 Mulder picked up Scully's cue, although he wasn't sure why.  "Would you
like to join us?" he asked, half-hoping the woman would decline.

 "I'd be delighted," came the response, and he resigned himself to her
company.



The food was delicious, but then again it always was.  That was why Lucy
frequented Mr. B's as much as she did;  the place always provided her with
a firm foundation for the long night of drinking that inevitably followed.
 The couple across from her had consumed their food with a ravenous
intensity that reminded her of a time when her life had been ruled by
sensations and cravings and desires, instead of needs and responsibilities
and debts.  

 There was something about this couple that awakened passions in her that
she thought had vanished long ago.  The man was so tender with the woman,
so soliticious with her blindness.   Lucy had been careful not to say
anything about the woman's condition, sensing instantly that it was a
topic best avoided, although it was hard to ignore.  The woman's eyes were
a startling shade of blue, and it was jarring to see nothing emerge from
beneath that brilliant wash of color.

 The waiter brought their coffee and Lucy took a long sip, knowing that
despite the intake of caffeine she had more drinking left to do before she
called it a night.  But for the moment she enjoyed the rush the dark
liquid provided, savoring the rich flavor.  She pulled the pack of
cigarettes from the pocket of her skirt and fumbled for the matches on the
tabletop.  

 "Mind if I smoke?"  she asked as she struck the match.  They shook their
heads in tandem which made her smile;  their synchronicity was so perfect
as to be almost comedic at times.  Despite her best efforts, she hadn't
been able to get much out of them during the course of the meal.  In fact,
she herself had done most of the talking, fueled by the alcohol and her
own storytelling nature.  They had both been evasive, deliberately
answering questions with questions.  It was time, she thought as she took
a long drag, to focus and get some work done.

 "Looks like you're in the midst of quite a journey," she offered by way
of conversation.

 "What makes you say that?"  asked the woman, curiosity in her voice.

 "Oh, I can tell these things,"  Lucy answered.   "It's in your energy --
it's just a question of being able to sense it.  I'm actually quite
practiced at the art of divination."

 "Divination?" the man questioned, a skeptical expression on his face. 
Sensing a challenge, Lucy reached into the big leather bag that she kept
at her side.
 
 "Tarot," she answered, pulling out the worn deck of cards.  "Interested
in a reading?"

 "No, I don't think so," the man replied, just as the woman chuckled.

 "Why not.... Rick?"  she asked, a smile on her face.  "Did our experience
with Mr. Bruckman scare you off?"

 The man didn't answer, just took another sip of his coffee.  Not hearing
a response, the woman continued.

 "Lucy," she said, "I'd like a reading.  I think -- I think it might be
fun."

 Lucy smiled at the woman, although she knew the effort would go
unnoticed.  "You got it darlin'," she answered, beginning to shuffle the
cards.  After a moment, she took the woman's hands and placed the cards in
them.  "You play with these a minute -- get your essence inside them." 
The woman nodded and began to shuffle, returning the few cards that
escaped her grasp into the main section of the pile. 



Mulder drank his coffee and watched Scully, surprised at how nimbly she
managed to shuffle the deck without being able to see the cards
themselves.  Practice, he mused, thinking of the long plane trips and
stakeouts that had obviously honed her skill.  

 After a minute or so, Lucy stopped Scully's motions with a gentle touch
on the wrist.  "That'll do," she said, taking the cards away.  She put out
her cigarette and then shuffled the cards again herself, then cut the deck
twice before putting the cards back within Scully's reach.

 "Now," instructed Lucy as she fanned the cards out face-down in a row on
the table, "you pick out ten of these cards for me.  Just give the ones
you like a little tap."

 Scully nodded and moved her hands lightly across the cards, touching one
from time to time with the tip of her index finger.  She bit her lower lip
in concentration and Mulder gave a little half-smile, amused to see her
taking this so seriously.   Lucy's expression was equally intense and
there was something about it that suddenly reminded Mulder of Scully's
sister Melissa.  She had been a believer in tarot, and astrology, and all
of the other harmonic convergence stuff that Mulder himself classified as
New Age mumbo-jumbo.  Remembering that, it was suddenly clear to him why
Scully wanted to have this reading.

 When Scully finished, Lucy gathered the cards she had chosen and put them
aside before collecting the rest of the deck.  "Alright then," she said,
"let's get started."  She began to arrange the cards in a pattern on the
table.  "Since you didn't ask me a specific question, I'm doing a Celtic
cross spread.  Give you a general read on what's happening."

 Once the cards were arranged to her satisfaction, Lucy began to study
them, lighting up another cigarette to help her think.  

 "What's happening?"  Scully whispered impatiently near his ear.

 "She's reading," Mulder answered, admiring the hand-drawn artistry of the
cards.  

 "Shhh..." admonished Lucy, giving Mulder a stern look before turning back
to the cards.  "I need a minute."  

 The minute passed, as did several others, before Lucy was ready to speak.
 "Some interesting stuff, here."

 "Interesting good or interesting bad?" Scully questioned, leaning forward
to better hear the answer.  

 "You tell me.  When's your birthday?" asked Lucy.

 Scully hesitated for a moment before she replied.  "February.  The 23rd."

 "Well that makes sense."  Lucy tapped one of the cards.  "This is you --
the Queen of Cups.  A woman with an air of mystery about her, who is apt
to conceal many of her thoughts and feelings."  She cocked an eyebrow at
Mulder and asked, "That true?"

 "Definitely," he responded, and felt Scully punch him in the arm.  

 "Is not," she denied with a smile.  "Keep reading, Lucy."  

 "Well, that's not all we know about you.  This card here, the Chariot? 
It's in the personality position.   It tells me you have a strong sense of
direction -- you know what you want and how to get it.  You have the
skill, courage, determination and will to surmount the obstacles in your
path."

 Truer words were never spoken, thought Mulder, and he put his arm around
Scully,   placing a kiss on the top of her head as she leaned against him.

 Lucy touched the next two cards.  "King of Cups reversed represents your
obstacles, and the next card, the Hierophant reversed, represents past
influences.  The two together -- well, the King represents a man, perhaps
a business associate, who cannot be trusted.  Someone who uses his
intelligence and privilege to his own unscrupulous advantage."  She shook
her head.  "You need to beware of this one -- conventional means of
dealing with the situation aren't going to help you, either."

 Mulder glanced at Scully.  She was nodding, her brow furrowed as she
listened closely to the words. 

 "Now this...the Nine of Wands..."  Lucy looked at Scully and Mulder
caught a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.  "Past events.  You've
suffered much to get to this point;  many problems, many obstacles, much
danger.   And you are going to need all of your courage to move forward
from here.  You're in a strong position at the moment, but you should
anticipate further jeopardy.  Be on the defensive, and use what you have
learned from your previous mistakes."



Suddenly Scully wasn't sure she wanted to continue the reading.  Although
she didn't really place much credence in the tarot, Lucy's observations
were almost eerie in their accuracy.  Especially considering how little
she and Mulder had revealed to her over dinner about what had brought them
to New Orleans.  Feeling anxious to finish, she asked, "How many cards are
left?"

 "Five," Lucy replied, her tone lighter now.  "Now these two -- these are
good."

 It was Mulder who spoke next.  "Knight of Swords, Two of Cups," he read. 
"What do they mean?"

 Scully heard Lucy chuckle.  "Funny you should ask," she drawled. "The
Knight is a man in Lisa's life -- might be you, but the placement
signifies a future influence, so maybe not.  Someone intelligent,
courageous and capable, who deals with problems swiftly and effectively. 
Someone who will be a strong ally for her down the road a ways."

 "I don't think it's you, Rick," Scully teased, glad that the mood had
lightened. "Doesn't sound like you at all."  

 She heard him laugh in protest as Lucy continued.  "Doesn't matter," she
said.  "This one is the both of you, without a doubt.  Two of Cups
signifies a close and supportive partnership, a relationship of equals,
built on trust and mutual reliance."

 Scully smiled and found Mulder's hand under the table.  She took it in
hers, savoring the warmth of his touch.

 "Last three," Lucy announced, her voice darkening a bit.  "Ten of Swords
reversed, in the future position.  Means that a bad situation is likely to
grow worse;  the crisis point has not yet been reached, so you need to be
prepared for further trouble."

 "What kind of trouble?"  Scully questioned, feeling a queasy rush of
anxiety.

 "Can't tell from this.  It's only a general read."  Scully heard Lucy
slide a card across the surface of the table towards her.  "But this card
-- Justice.  In the space identifying your hopes and fears.  That's what
you're after, isn't it?"  

 After a moment, Scully nodded, but said nothing.

 "Trying to right a wrong.  Never an easy task."  Scully thought she
detected a bit of admiration in Lucy's voice as she continued.  "Well, it
seems as though you may succeed in your goal.  The last card -- outcome --
the Six of Swords.  Means you're moving away from danger.  It's going to
take a while, and not all your problems will be resolved at once, but the
potential exists for improved circumstances and eventual success."   

 There was a long silence then, which Lucy finally broke.  "You have any
questions?"  

 "No," Scully answered slowly.  "I don't think so."

 She heard Lucy begin gathering the cards back up into a pile.  "Just
remember," she advised, "the spread only gives you general information. 
You have to interpret the rest for yourself."

 A moment or two later, Scully heard the scrape of the chair against the
floor as Lucy stood up from the table.  "Now you two get on home -- it's
late, and I've kept you out far too long."

 "We still need the check," said Mulder, with an audible yawn.

 "Forget about that," Lucy ordered.  "Southern hospitality, remember?" 
She laughed.  "Besides, I'm a regular here, with a very healthy tab."

 "Lucy --"  Scully started to protest but was stopped by the firm clasp of
Lucy's hand on hers.

 "I insist," she said in a firm tone that brooked no argument.  "Now you
go on, and take good care."  Scully felt a quick warm kiss on her cheek,
and then Lucy was gone.



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (6/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:40 -0500


This is part six of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (6/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Scully had been unusually quiet from the time that they left the
restaurant, answering his questions with nods and monosyllabic responses. 
Mulder respected her silence, knowing without her telling him that she was
reflecting on the tarot reading, thinking about where they had been and
where they might be headed.  He sat quietly next to her in the taxi, her
hand in his, watching as the streets rolled by in a blur of traffic.

 They were halfway home when she finally spoke.  "Rick... we never really
talked about what you found out today, at the library."

 "Nothing really," he replied.  "Just a lot of the same old stuff.  We can
talk about it in the morning."

 She shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder as she did so. 
"Anything worth bringing up now?"

 Her words were typically calm and composed, but he sensed an urgency
beneath, an attempt on her part to put her mind on other things.  Acceding
to her silent request, he pulled the small notebook from the pocket of his
jacket and began to flip the pages.  In a whisper designed to conceal
their conversation from the driver, he began to read her the list he had
composed based on his search.

 Scully listened as he read, one name after the other. "Doraphen, doxidan,
doxycycline, doxylin."  She shook her head after each, indicating that
neither the name nor the appropriate abbreviation struck a chord in her
memory.

 "Are you sure you want to go over this now?" he questioned, his tone one
of concern.  He could tell from her expression how tired she was.

 "No time like the present," was her answer, so he continued.  

 "D-penamine, dramocan, dronabinol, droperidol, droxomin, d-thyroxamine
--"

 "Wait a minute," she interrupted quietly.  "Go back.  What were the last
few?"

 He repeated the words, more slowly this time.  "Dronabinol, droperidol
--"

 "Droperidol," she echoed.  "Droperidol.... what was the abbreviation?"

 Mulder frowned as he checked his notes.  "Nothing listed," he replied. 
"All I wrote down was that it was a type of opiate."

 Scully nodded, lost in thought.  After a minute, she spoke, her words
cautious and measured.  "It *could* be abbreviated as DPD, don't you
think?"

 "Is that what you remember?" He couldn't keep the excitement from his
voice.

 "I'm not sure...." her words trailed off.  "But tomorrow.... you should
check that one out further."

 He nodded, then gave her a reply.  "Definitely."

 They were silent for the next few blocks as the cab negotiated its way
through the crowded streets.  Soon enough they arrived in front of the
guest house, and Mulder busied himself with helping Scully from the taxi
and paying the fare.  He guided her through the door and up the stairs
that led to their apartment.  She clutched his arm as they made their way
down the corridor, only releasing her grasp to allow him to put the key
into the lock.

 Once the door swung open Scully moved ahead of him, more confident now
that they were back inside the apartment.  She paused just inside the
threshold, her nose crinkled as she took a deep breath.

 "Mulder," she asked, "what's that smell?"

 He pulled the door shut behind them and took a deep breath of his own. 
All that he could smell was the overpowering sweetness of the gardenias
that he had placed in a jar on the counter.  "The flowers," he answered. 
"Remember?"

 Scully shook her head as she stepped further into the room.  "No... not
that.  It's a.... spicy smell.  Like.... like cheap aftershave."

 Her expression was so set, so positive, that he took another deep breath
in response.  Still the only scent that filled his nostrils was that of
the copious white blossoms.  "I don't smell it, Scully," he told her.

 He was thirsty and headed for the kitchen as she walked into the main
room, but abruptly reversed his steps as he heard a crashing sound and her
muffled curse.  Glancing into the main room he saw her on her knees next
to the coffee table near the couch.  He ran to her side and crouched down
beside her.  "Scully!  You okay?" The words tumbled from him in a rush.

 "I'm fine," she answered, grabbing his offered arm for support.  Her
voice dropped to a low murmur.  "Mulder.... this table wasn't here when we
left.  Someone's been in the apartment."
 
 There was something about the intensity of her voice that made him
believe her, although to his eyes the room appeared just as they had left
it.  "Stay here," Mulder whispered, pulling his gun from its holster at
his waist.   She nodded and he stood up, moving carefully through the
apartment.  He checked each room, inside every closet, behind every door. 
He didn't see anything that was in any way out of place -- nothing that
would indicate the presence of an intruder.  

 He returned to where she was seated on the floor near the couch, and put
his arm around her shoulders.  "There's no one here," he said, his voice
strong and steady.  "I've checked everywhere."

 Scully's expression was hesitant.  "Do you have it?"  she asked.

 Mulder's hand automatically went to the pocket of his shirt, though he
could already feel the weight of the small disk against his chest.  "Yes,"
he replied.  "I've had it with me all evening."

 "Good," she answered.  She relaxed a bit, emitting a long sigh.  "There
*was* someone in here," she insisted.  "I know it.  I can tell."

 A wave of anxiety passed over him as he regarded her.  He had spent the
last three years trusting no one but her.  If she said that someone had
been in the apartment, he was inclined to believe her.  
 
 "We're leaving in the morning," he announced, saying nothing more.



Scully lay in the bed, listening as Mulder finished up in the bathroom. 
The sound of running water finally ceased and she heard his steps exiting,
followed by the slam of the door behind him.  He moved into the bedroom
and she heard him pull open the bureau drawer in search of some clothes to
sleep in.   Her heart was still beating rapidly -- the idea that someone
had been inside the apartment had left her more anxious than she wanted to
admit.  Yet there was a part of her that was reluctant to give into the
fear, reluctant to leave when she felt that they were so close to
obtaining at least a partial answer to the question that plagued her.

 "Mulder," she began, "maybe we shouldn't leave in the morning."

 He waited a beat before giving his reply.  "Scully.... if someone's been
in here, as you say, we shouldn't wait any longer than we have to."

 "But you didn't see anything," she replied.  "And haven't you always said
it's better for us to travel by night?"

 She heard him shut the drawer with a loud bang.  "Yes.  There are fewer
people around. Less chance of being spotted." 

 "So maybe we should wait."  Scully chose her next words carefully.  "You
can go back to the library tomorrow -- look up droperidol.  And maybe some
of the others.  And then we'll leave, tomorrow night."

 The room was so quiet she could hear his breathing as he considered what
she had said.  "I don't know if waiting is worth the risk."

 "Look, Mulder," she reasoned.  "If someone *was* here, they've already
searched the place, and come up empty.   It isn't likely that they'll
return."

 She heard his steps coming towards the bed, and suddenly she was filled
with an anxiety that had nothing to do with the possibility of an
intruder.  There was something about his approach, a fear of his
proximity, that started her heart pounding again.  She barely heard him as
he answered.  "Let's sleep on it," he said.  "We'll decide in the
morning."

 Scully nodded, but said nothing, chiding herself inwardly for her
nervousness.  It wasn't as though he hadn't spent every night these last
weeks beside her, she rationalized.   But there was something different
about tonight, something that put her nerves on edge.  

 She heard the click of the switch as he shut off the light, then felt the
covers shift atop her body as he pulled them back to climb in beside her. 
He slid underneath, keeping his body close to the farthest edge of the
mattress.  She lay quietly, suddenly short of breath, wishing fervently
that she could relax yet unable to do so.

 A long moment passed, then she felt him moving closer to her.  His arm
made a soft rustling sound against the sheets as it slid beneath the
pillow on which her head rested.  She felt a rush of panic combined with a
twinge of excitement at his nearness.

 "Is this... okay?" he asked, and the tremor in his voice revealed to her
that he was as nervous as she.

 "It's fine," she answered, a slight laugh escaping her lips.

 "What's so funny?" he questioned, sliding imperceptibly closer.

 "Nothing," she countered, acutely aware of the warmth emanating from his
body.  "It's just.... different, that's all."

 He sighed, and curled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him so
that her cheek brushed against the cotton of his tee shirt.  "It does take
a bit of getting used to... doesn't it."

 She didn't reply, drawing in a deep breath and savoring the scent of him.
 His voice softened, as he continued.  "That's okay.... we have plenty of
time."

 The catch in his voice signaled his intentions before she felt his
fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up towards him.  She felt his
lips close upon hers and shivered, realizing that some part of her had
spent all evening waiting for this touch.  She responded eagerly,
relishing the taste of him, the feel of his tongue against hers.  His kiss
held a wordless promise that she devoured --

 < everything'sgonnabeokayi'mherewithyoubyyoursidenomatterwhat >

-- a promise that she answered with a silent moan, pressing her body
closer to his.

 Too soon, he pulled away, grazing her forehead with a simple caress as he
folded her tightly into his arms.  "Goodnight, Dana," he murmured, his
words a breathy tickle by her ear.

 "Goodnight," she echoed.  Her cheek was pressed against the firmness of
his chest, and it was the solid, rhythmic beating of his heart that
finally lulled her to sleep.



Mulder entered the library, climbing the steps that led from the small
foyer into the main lobby of the building.  Passing through the metal
detector, he made his way through the people queued up at the checkout
counter towards the connecting series of rooms that comprised the research
center, wondering with every step whether they had made the right
decision.

 They had discussed their options at length over breakfast that morning. 
He had managed to scramble some eggs and make a decent pot of coffee,
which they had shared as they talked.  The night had passed uneventfully,
giving fuel to Scully's argument that everything was fine, that she had
made a mistake in her assumption of the previous evening.  He had been
less positive, remembering the look on her face when she insisted that
someone had been in the apartment.  Yet there had been no evidence of an
intruder, nothing out of place as best as he could tell.  The locks on the
door and the windows were in perfect condition, bearing no sign of forced
entry.

 And so, somewhere between his second cup of coffee and his third, he had
allowed himself to be swayed by her remarks and had agreed to postpone
their departure until that evening.  They had spent the first part of the
day packing up their few belongings and studying the road atlas that he
had purchased, choosing their next destination and method of travel.  

 "Are we going to buy another car?" she had asked, sitting on the edge of
the bed as he folded a shirt.

 "No," he had answered, "there's no time.  We don't have the money at the
moment -- and it would take too long for the Gunmen use their tricks to
wire it to us at this point."

 She had nodded and then fallen silent, lost in her own thoughts.  After a
little while, she had formed a question as though she was hard pressed for
words.  "Mulder... where are they getting the money?  Our accounts are
frozen."  A pause, and then, "Is it -- is it stolen?"

 He hadn't wanted to answer, hoping to dodge the question as he had for so
long, but she had been persistent, and he had capitulated to her demand
with a long sigh.

 "My father...when he died, he left me a rather large sum of money.  I
took the bulk of it, and put it into a numbered account, under another
name."  He had hesitated, weighing his words before continuing.  "I was
saving it.... for Samantha.  Byers... he knows how to access it."

 In those few sentences, his secret had been revealed.  For some
unfathomable reason, he hadn't wanted her to know.  But now, she did.

 She had made no reply, merely running a hand through her hair with a
resigned sigh.  Then she had risen from the bed and gone out into the main
room.  For a moment, he had been tempted to follow her, but some instinct
had held him back and he had instead finished the task at hand.

 Once everything in the bedroom had been put away, he had moved towards
the bathroom, intending to gather the few items inside, but a glance at
his watch had stopped him.  Instead, he had gone out to find her sitting
on the couch, her legs propped up before her on the coffee table.

 "I should get going," he had said, and she had nodded.  "I figure it'll
take two hours, tops.  Then I'll come back, get the rest of the stuff
together, and we'll hit the road."

 "Okay," she had answered, "I'll be waiting."

 He had taken her in his arms briefly, trying to erase the despondent
expression on her face, to no avail.  "Be careful," she had said, and he
had run a hand gently through her hair.

 "Will do," he had replied, as he headed for the door.  He had been about
to pull it shut behind him when he heard her voice, quiet even in the
stillness of the room.

 "Thanks, Mulder."

 He hadn't known what to say then, all the words that ran through his head
seeming wrong, somehow.  He had finally settled for something simple, if
inadequate.

 "No problem."

 Lost in these thoughts, Mulder walked past the section of reference books
he needed and had to retrace his steps.  Winding his way through the
stacks, he finally found the volume that he was seeking.  He pulled it off
the shelf, wincing slightly at its weight, then crossed the room to the
group of tables on the far side.  He found one that was otherwise
unoccupied and placed the book on its surface.  As he pulled back the
chair to sit, he noticed that the auburn-haired librarian was again at the
counter at the front of the room.  She was looking in his direction, and
he acknowledged her slight smile with a nod of his head, before settling
down to work.



Scully sat with her legs curled beneath her on the roof, enjoying the wind
as it ruffled her hair.  She felt tired -- not physically weak, but
emotionally exhausted.  Stretched like a piece of elastic pulled beyond
its capacity to near the breaking point.  She took a deep, long breath,
trying to clear her head, and shifted to a more comfortable position.

 Part of her couldn't help but wish that there was a way to end this
madness.  To turn herself in and hope to concoct a story that would
explain away the acts that she had been accused of committing.  To release
Mulder from what she feared was becoming an eternal obligation.  But the
rational part of her mind knew better, knew that without obtaining the
evidence she needed to clear her name, there would be no justice.   There
would be no way of escaping the web crafted by people that she could not
even name.  And, in her deepest heart she understood that even if she
found the truths she sought, it might not be enough.  After all, she had
been close before, but not close enough to make anyone believe her.  

 Scully's thoughts wandered back towards Mulder.  He was her friend, her
partner, her staunchest ally.  And now, perhaps, something more.  She had
long been aware that they shared a strong and powerful bond, unlike any
she had ever imagined to exist.  She had spent the better part of three
years relying on his wisdom and his courage, his guidance and his counsel,
as they sought to accomplish the impossible, navigating a course towards
an unknown destination.   She trusted him implicitly, on a level that
transcended words.  

 But now everything was different -- their lives had changed, perhaps to
never again be the same.  A change brought about by her actions, her
words, her deeds.  There was no way of taking that back.  And no way of
repaying what she now felt she owed him.

 A short burst of music blared as a car passed by on the street below,
giving her pause in her reverie.  The song was familiar, and she smiled
briefly at the memory of the last time she had heard the lyrics.  It made
her think of home, and she was hit with a sudden, dull ache, flashing back
on the life she had left behind.

 There was nothing of that life here with her now, except Mulder.  The
only person who could understand her alienation, because he shared her
loneliness.  The ache slowly faded as she thought of him, thought of the
strength that he passed to her each time he took her hand.  She envied him
his stamina, his ability to endure, and cursed her weaknesses, the new
frailties she had come to despise.  As much as she needed him, as much as
she wanted to be with him, she was afraid.  Afraid that her being with him
would slowly drain him of his essence, afraid that she had nothing to
offer to him in return.

 Scully was startled by the boy's voice, calling from below.  "Lisa?  Are
you up there?"

 "Yes," she called back, not unhappy about the interruption.  She heard
the crashing sound of his footsteps on the fire escape, and then the
softer sound of his approach.

 "Hello," he said by way of greeting.  "I got a new basket for my bike
today."

 "Really?"  Scully smiled in the direction of his voice.  "How big is it?"

 The boy sank down beside her and sighed.  "Big enough to hold some
things.  There was a bigger one, but it was twenty dollars, and I only had
fourteen."

 "Well," Scully answered slowly, "I don't always think bigger is better."

 She heard the boy's grin in his reply.  "Me neither."

 They spoke for awhile, about childhood things, then sat for a time in a
companionable silence that she finally broke with a question.   "Charlie,
do you know what time it is?"

 "Sure," he said, and she heard a rustling of cloth as he pulled up his
sleeve.  "Ummm.... it's nearly four."  He sighed again, this time with
regret.  "Guess I should go.  Still gotta do my chores."

 "Okay," she answered, and listened as he got to his feet.

 "See you tomorrow," he said, and Scully shook her head to contradict him.

 "No," she replied.  "I won't be here, tomorrow."

 The boy said nothing for a moment, and his disappointment was almost
palpable.  "Well," he finally remarked, "guess I knew you had to go,
sometime."

 "Bye, Charlie," Scully said, reaching out for his hand.  He grabbed it
and shook it once, gently.  Then he leaned down and surprised her by
throwing his arms around her neck with the fierce grip of a child.  She
smelled the faint scent of peanut butter and smiled.  There was something
tender about his sudden embrace and she hugged him back.

 He pulled away after a moment, and his voice was quiet. "I'm glad I met
you, Lisa."

 "I'm glad I met you too," she answered, listening as his footsteps moved
away.



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (7/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:51 -0500


We're moving into the second half!  Thanks to you all for hanging in there
with me...  :-)   Anybody who knows me knows I'm a major movie buff, and
two of my favorite actresses are Les Dames Hepburn -- Kate and Audrey.  
Haven't yet found a fanfic way to pay homage to Kate, but this is my
second go-round for Audrey. <g>   Though the words of this story and the
situations that follow are =entirely= my own creation, I feel I must thank
Frederick Knott for writing and Terence Young for directing the movie that
inspired me in this direction.   And the biggest thanks of all goAnd of
course to Audrey herself, the original "world champion blind lady"...  :-)


This is part seven of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (7/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Mulder flipped the page of the journal, rapidly scanning the words before
his eyes.  He had begun his search by looking up droperidol, the drug that
had piqued Scully's interest the previous evening, but had found nothing
out of the ordinary beyond what he remembered.  It was an opiate, and not
a particularly rare one for that matter.  He had moved on to delve further
into the other names on the relatively short list, again discovering
nothing that seemed relevant.

 He had gone back to the shelves, pulling down another volume that was
thicker and better detailed, and had begun again.  It was in that volume
that he found the clue that led him to this journal, to the article that
he now devoured voraciously.

 "An opiate, droperidol is similar to morphine, but is even more powerful
in its effects.  It was used during Vietnam as a method of maintaining
control over prisoners of war, and might also have been used during the
Nazi experiments of World War Two."   Mulder skipped several paragraphs
before he stopped to make another note.

 "If a significant quantity of the drug is ingested, the body slips into a
comatose state that can be easily maintained by subsequent injections. 
Unlike many opiates, when administered in small doses, this drug is nearly
undetectable in the bloodstream unless specific tests are conducted.  The
body can be sustained indefinitely in this condition, assuming that it is
connected to some type of life support system.  The danger lies in
maintaining the correct dosage, one which is just strong enough to keep
the body in a comatose state and yet not strong enough to kill."

 Mulder dropped the pen on the table, unaware as it rolled off the edge
and clattered to the floor.  A wave of nausea passed through him, and he
clenched his arms across his stomach in an effort to stave off the
feeling.  He suddenly knew, with a certainty that horrified him, that this
was the drug that had formed part of the compound that Scully had seen in
the lab.

 Part of the compound that they had given to her, when she had been taken
away.

 Part of the compound that had left her perilously close to the edge of
death.

 The compound that they had stopped administering when they abandoned her
in the intensive care unit of George Washington hospital, their tests,
whatever they had been, at last complete.

 A powerful rage seized him then, and he renewed his vow to discover the
truth, to find out who was responsible for what had happened, and to make
them pay. 

 Mulder ran his finger down the length of the column, finding the list of
references at its end.  Retrieving the pen, he jotted down the
information, then rose from the table and made his way over to the
librarian at the counter.

 "I need copies of all of these articles now," he demanded, not wasting
time on pleasantries.  The red-haired woman appeared startled, and he
quickly regretted his tone.  "It's important... please."

 "No problem," she answered, taking the sheet of notepaper from his hand. 
"I'll be right back."

 Mulder nodded as she disappeared into the back room.  He leaned his
elbows on the counter, burying his face against his palms, as he sought to
channel his fury into something productive, refusing to allow the anger to
shatter his self-control.  By the time the woman had returned, a stack of
paper in her arms, he had regained his composure enough to thank her with
a small smile.



Scully pulled the door to the stairway shut behind her, listening for the
click before cautiously making her way down the hall.  Her hand trailed
along the plaster of the wall, skimming across the surface past the first
door until she reached the second.  She dug her other hand into the pocket
of her jeans, feeling for the key.  She closed her fingers around it and
pulled it out, then fumbled with the deadbolt on the door a moment until
she found the keyhole.  She carefully inserted the key and twisted it,
listening as the bolt pulled back.  She turned the doorknob and pushed the
door open with a breath of relief. Back again, in one piece.

 As she stepped into the apartment Scully felt for the door, pushing it
shut as she entered.  She had only taken two steps when she smelled it.  

 The spicy scent, from the previous night.

 A smell that reminded her of cheap cologne.  

 Scully gasped, a sharp intake of breath that left her feeling dizzy.  
She could feel her heart suddenly pounding in her chest with an intensity
that chilled her.

 Someone had been in the apartment, again.  

 Someone who might be there still.

 As quietly as possible, Scully backed up to the door, feeling for the
knob behind her.  Finding it with her hands, she twisted it silently and
pulled it open, stepping back out into the hallway.  She closed the door
and stood beyond it, trying to calm her nerves enough to think.  

 Four o'clock.  Charlie had told her it was nearly four o'clock.  Mulder
had left just after three;  that meant at least an hour before he would
return.  She was afraid to re-enter the apartment, afraid that whoever had
left the trace of cologne in the air was lying in wait inside.  

 Fighting a growing sense of panic, Scully made her way to the other
apartment on this level.   Finding the door beneath her hands she knocked
several times, loud insistent raps that demanded an answer, but there was
no reply.   She then moved slowly back down the hall to the main
staircase, descending to the lower level.  She tried both apartments on
this floor as well, but to no avail.  No one responded to her urgent
pounding, and as best as she could tell, there was only silence beyond the
walls.

 Find a phone, her mind screamed.  Find a phone and call him, call for
help. She cursed the fact that there wasn't a phone in their apartment; 
they hadn't wanted to risk the paperwork required to install the service. 
Scully made her way towards the front door that led to the street,
stopping only when she felt the glass, smooth and cool beneath her hands. 
She pushed the door open and hesitated in the entryway, overwhelmed by the
noise outside.  It seemed as though the street was teeming with people
involved in animated conversation, and she could hear traffic passing by
mere yards away.  

 Scully debated a long, painful moment about entering the melee,
negotiating the crowd and trying to find a phone or some help.  But the
sounds were deafening and, without Mulder by her side, incredibly
frightening.  What if the man with the cologne was waiting, just outside,
for her to exit?  What if he wasn't alone, if there were others mingling
with the ordinary pedestrian traffic?

 A sudden rush of fear overwhelmed her and she slammed the glass door
shut, leaning against the wall to try and catch her breath.  Think,
dammit, think, her mind raged.  After a moment, the idea came to her with
a sudden rush of clarity, and she started back upstairs, careful with
every step not to lose her balance.



Charlie pulled the rake through the leaves, amusing himself with the
pattern he created as he moved.  He knew he was dawdling, but there was
something calming about the strokes that he enjoyed, despite the fact that
it made the task longer.  The leaves scattered under the pressure with a
tantalizing crackle and he made a mental note to write down the fact that
fall was definitely his favorite season.

 Having created a satisfying pile at one end, Charlie moved to the
opposite corner, working his way slowly across the yard.  He was halfway
finished with the second side when he heard her voice, calling to him from
the roof next door.

 "Charlie?  Charlie?  Are you down there?"

 "I'm here," he yelled back, a little surprised.  She had never called to
him before.   The thought raced through him that perhaps she wasn't
leaving, after all, and it brought a smile to his face.

 "Can you come back up?"  There was something anxious in her voice that
demanded an immediate answer.

 "Sure," Charlie called back, tossing the rake aside and racing over to
the fence.  He hoisted himself up using the knots in the wood and dropped
down on the other side, bending his knees to ease the impact.   He pulled
the fire escape ladder down using the lever on the side of the building
and then swung himself up onto the bottom rung, climbing quickly to the
top.

 She was waiting for him, and the calm expression he normally associated
with her had vanished.   "Charlie... I need your help, okay?"

 "Sure," he repeated, flattered that she had asked.  "Did you lose your
key again?"

 "No," she shook her head vigorously.  "Do you know the man, the one I
came here with?"

 He nodded, then realized she had no way to know he had answered.  "Yes --
the man with the beard."

 "Good," she answered.  "I need you to find him -- I need you to bring him
back here."

 Charlie paused a moment before replying.  "Well, okay.  Where is he?"

 She took a deep breath and her next words were slower.  "At the
library... the science library at Tulane University."   She frowned and
her face took on a look of concern.  "Do you know where that is?"

 "Of course," Charlie answered proudly.  "I've been to campus lots of
times."

 "Okay."  She nodded and he was happy to see relief replace her look of
concern.  "How far away is it?"

 Charlie pondered the question. "Umm... if you take the trolley, a half
hour, maybe.  But I can make in on my bike in about fifteen minutes, if I
go the short way."

 The woman nodded again and then knelt down beside him, finding his
shoulders with her hands and gripping them tightly.  "This is *very*
important, do you understand?"  

 It was unnerving, the way that her eyes stared just past him, but Charlie
forced himself to concentrate.  "Yes," was all he said.

 "His name is Rick -- Rick Wilder.  You have to find him, and you have to
get him to come back.  Right away."

 Charlie hesitated, thinking.  He wanted nothing more than to help her,
but he couldn't avoid thinking of his father.  There wasn't anybody who
could get his father to do something he didn't want to do.  "What if he
doesn't want to come?"  A pause, then, "I mean, he doesn't even know me. 
What if he doesn't believe it's important?"

 "He will...." her voice trailed off and he could tell that she was
thinking as well.  After a moment, she reached beneath her tee shirt and
pulled out a small gold cross on a chain.  She fumbled for the clasp at
her neck and then managed to release it, allowing the tiny charm to fall
into her hand.  She found Charlie's hand with hers and pressed the
necklace into it.  "Give him this, and then he'll know you're telling the
truth."

 "Okay."  All at once, Charlie felt important, in a way he never had
before.  He took the cross and carefully tucked it into the front pocket
of his jeans.  "I can do it, I promise."

 "Good," she answered.  "I'm counting on you."  She pulled him into
another quick hug that caused him to flush with happiness.  She needed
him, had chosen him, and he wasn't going to let her down.

 "I'll be right back," he said, and turning away from her, he raced over
to the fire escape.  He took the steps two at a time and when he reached
the bottom he didn't even stop to put the ladder away.   Instead, he ran
over to the shed and pulled out his bike, admiring the new basket as he
leapt onto the seat and began pedaling towards the university.



Karen flipped the page of her textbook and emitted a long sigh.  The
chapter on cognitive dissonance that had seemed so interesting when she
had begun reading an hour before was now boring her to tears.  She glanced
at her watch again, noting that it wasn't even a quarter past four.  Still
almost three hours until the end of her shift, until she could get out of
there and get the beer that she'd been craving since noon.

 She sighed again and forced her eyes back to the text, but a moment later
they wandered over to the man seated at the table in the far corner.  She
had been pleased to see him come in again today, had harbored brief hopes
that maybe she would be able to convince him to join her in that beer. 
But he had been so terse with her when he had come up to the counter that
she had been too intimidated to flirt with him.  Whatever he was reading
had him completely engrossed, to the point where she was able to stare at
him freely without fearing that he would look up and spot her.

 The ringing of the phone on the desk startled her, and it rang twice
before she recovered enough to pick it up.  "Library,"  Karen answered,
listening to the voice on the other end of the line.   The call was brief,
requiring nothing but short affirmative responses on her end, but it left
her extremely irritated.  She took down the message as instructed, and
then put down the receiver, feeling a sudden irrational anger.  

 I should have known, Karen thought as she walked around from behind the
counter and approached the man where he sat poring over the articles
spread before him on the table.  Just another example of the maxim she had
come to believe as gospel:  all the interesting ones were either married
or gay.  

 "Excuse me."   In deference to library rules and the intensity of his
concentration, she kept her voice just above a whisper.  "Are you Rick
Wilder?"

 The man looked straight up at her and his eyes filled with a sudden panic
that made her regret the peculiar jealousy that had seized her a moment
before.  He hesitated a moment before he answered. "Yes.... why?"

 "I have a message for you," she responded, checking the sheet of paper in
her hand.  "The landlord of your building -- a Mr. Fontaine? -- just
called.  He said that there's been an accident.  Your wife has been taken
to the hospital."

 The man jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair as he did so,
heedless of the paperwork that fell to the floor.  "What hospital? 
Where?"  His voice was loud and caused several of the other students to
look up with annoyance, but it was his eyes that stopped her cold.  They
were dark and fierce, sharp with fear, but beneath that Karen detected a
frightening amount of guilt.  

 "Baptist Hospital," Karen answered quickly, reacting to his urgency.  He
gripped her arm with one strong hand and she gasped.  "St. John's."

 "Where is it?  How far away?"

 Karen struggled to think, calling up a map of the city in her head. 
"Near the river," she replied.  "Maybe ten minutes, by taxi."

 The man nodded and grabbed his notebook, stuffing it into the pocket of
his jacket, oblivious to the mess of papers beneath his feet.  "What
happened?  Did he say?"

 "No," she answered, suddenly wishing she knew more.  "All he said was
that she had been taken to the emergency room."

 "Thanks," he said, the word nothing more than a rush of air as he darted
past her and ran out of the room, crashing into an incoming student as he
did so.  The student's books tumbled to the floor but the man didn't stop,
and a moment later he was gone.  



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (8/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:25:01 -0500


This is part eight of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (8/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com


Scully slowly descended the stairs from the roof, both hands braced
against the wall to her right side as she felt for each successive step. 
Part of her felt extremely foolish, placing so much faith in a small boy,
but he seemed like a smart kid and somehow she instinctively trusted him. 
And, she realized, there wasn't anyone else around at the moment that she
*could* trust.  She wondered for a moment whether she should have asked
him to simply call the police, but she was too afraid of the law, afraid
of being recognized and of the potentially dire consequences that could
bring.

 She reached the hallway once again and hesitated, unsure what to do next.
 If the boy was right, it would be at the very least another half hour
before Mulder's return.  Scully felt extremely vulnerable, standing in the
corridor, but she wasn't sure if she could risk going back inside the
apartment.   A sitting duck, she thought, and a current of fear ran
through her.  

 Go back into the apartment, Scully told herself, go back and get the gun.
  Finally, she straightened up with a sense of resolve, the decision made.
 She knew where Mulder had left it, on the counter in the kitchen, and
although she knew she probably wouldn't have the courage to fire it, at
least she could wield it as a threat, some small measure of protection. 
Drawing a deep breath, she moved carefully down the hallway until she
found herself back in front of their door.  

 Scully repeated the tedious procedure of inserting the key into the lock,
and entered the apartment as quietly as she was able.  The scent was still
there, beneath the sweet odor of the flowers, and despite herself she
trembled.  She stood where she was and listened, listened for any sounds
that were out of place, the sound of someone else's breathing.  A long
moment passed, and then another, and still she heard nothing.  

 The apartment was completely silent.

 She made her way cautiously through the main room and into the kitchen,
finding the counter with her hands and trailing her fingers across it. 
She reached the place where Mulder habitually left the pistol, but the
counter was blank beneath her hands.  Scully widened her search, passing
her hands across every object that came into her grasp, to no avail.  A
thought struck her, and she went cold with fear.

 Someone *had* been here, and had taken the gun.

 Someone who might still be inside the apartment.

 Scully tried to banish the thought from her mind, listening intently for
any unfamiliar sounds.

 The apartment was still completely silent. 

 Had Mulder packed the gun already, or taken it with him?  Questions raced
through her mind as she struggled to remember their last conversation. 
Perhaps Mulder *had* taken it, given the circumstances.  She had told him
to be careful;  maybe he had listened, for once, and taken the gun with
him, stashing it somewhere before entering the library to avoid triggering
the metal detector.  

 Scully decided to leave, to go back downstairs and wait just inside the
glass door of the building.  Sitting in public view might provide her with
a little security -- it was less likely that anyone would attack with
witnesses nearby.  Then she stopped, remembering her own gun, the gun she
no longer carried but that Mulder had retained as a backup.   She knew,
was in fact certain, that he had packed it that morning amongst their few
belongings.  It was in the bedroom, still loaded, and she could easily
find it.  

 With a renewed sense of purpose, she walked as fast as she dared into the
bedroom, finding the duffel bag where he had left it atop the bed.  Scully
pulled back the zipper, wincing at the surprisingly loud sound it made,
then began to rifle through the clothes Mulder had so carefully folded. 
It was there, as she had expected, fairly near the top.  She pulled it
out, feeling reassured by the familiarity of its weight in her hand.  
Carrying the gun, she carefully moved out of the bedroom and back into the
main room.  

 She was halfway to the door when another thought gave her pause. She
lifted the gun and passed her other hand along the pistol grip, finding
the release lever that ejected the ammunition cartridge.  It slid into her
palm and she ran her fingers across it once, and then again, a tremor
coursing through her as she realized that it was empty.

 "Looking for these?"

 The voice barrelled through the darkness to slam her squarely in the
chest, causing her to gasp for breath.  It was immediately followed by
what sounded like an echo of childhood, like a pile of marbles dropping to
the floor with a series of loud plinks.

 "Silvertip hollow point ten millimeter rounds.  Accurate, reliable, and
controllable, with better penetration and stopping power than the standard
nine millimeter load.  Good choice."

 Scully stood where she was, paralyzed by a sudden, intense terror.  The
voice was low and menacing, the voice of a man, and the matter-of-fact
tone of his words only made them more frightening.

 "I'm assuming your partner's gun is similarly loaded," the voice
continued.  "Of course, there may not be as many rounds inside."   Beneath
his words, Scully could hear one of the bullets rolling on the floor where
it had fallen.  Suddenly the noise was halted by a loud bang that made her
jump back with a low cry before she realized it was just the slam of the
intruder's foot on the floor.

 "But even one round is more than you have in your gun.  So why don't you
just put it down, and come over here. We have a lot to talk about, you and
I."

 Scully remained perfectly still, the man's voice almost drowned out by
the rush of blood in her ears.  Her mind was racing, gauging the distance
to the door and her chances of making it back out into the hall.

 Then all thoughts vanished as she heard an ominous click and realized he
had cocked the pistol.  "Don't even think about it.  With a Smith &
Wesson, there's no difference in trigger pull between the first round and
the next.  That means I'll get off three shots before you even find the
door."  The man paused, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its
conversational tone and was harsh with anger.  "I'm not going to ask you
twice.  Put the gun down, and get over here."

 Forcing herself to maintain her composure, Scully bent her trembling
knees and slowly placed the gun on the floor by her side.  She stood back
up, but moved no further, until the voice rang out again.

 "Get *in* here," the man hissed. "Don't make me come and get you."

 With a silent prayer running through her head, Scully took a cautious
step forward.



Mulder sat on the edge of the seat, one hand nervously clenching the door
handle of the taxi.  It seemed to him as though the vehicle was moving
forward through a sea of molasses, mired in the glut of surrounding
traffic.  "How much further?"  He spoke loudly in order for his voice to
carry through the plexiglass before him.

 "We'd be there already, if it wasn't rush hour," was the cabbie's reply. 

 Mulder took a deep breath, trying to fake a calmness that he didn't feel.
 His heart was pounding and his stomach was nauseous, his entire body
tensed with a sickening dread.  He cursed himself for his stupidity, for
the fact that he hadn't followed his instincts and taken Scully out of the
city this morning.  It had been a foolish choice, one not worth the
information that he had gained, valuable though it might be.  If anything
happened to her...

 He tried to banish the horrible thoughts coursing through his brain by
focusing on the cars that passed them at a speed that could rightly be
called slow-motion.  Scully... try as he might, she was all he could think
about.  His mind was attuned to her very being, each breath she took
seeming more than ever like an extension of his.  And he knew, could feel
deep within him, that she was in trouble.  That she needed him.  And once
again, he was a step behind.

 Mulder sighed, a deep breath of anxiety and regret.  Despite her words,
he couldn't help but blame himself for their predicament, thinking that if
he had only been faster, smarter, more capable they would never have been
put into this situation.  And now.... though he wouldn't have believed it
possible, his heart rate accelerated even further, a rapid series of beats
that echoed in his mind.  
 <DanaDanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

 Although he was not the kind of man to make friends easily or often,
there was something about Dana Scully that had caused him to open up to
her, to trust her as he had never trusted anyone in his life except
Samantha.  He had confided things to her during their first case together
that he had never spoken of to anyone, and she had never betrayed him. 
Instead, she had pledged her support to his quest, willingly putting
herself in jeopardy to find the answers that he sought.  

 And had nearly lost her own life in the process. 

 The thought made him wince and he closed his eyes, succumbing to a brief
moment of anguish.  She was a part of him now, a part that he could not
lose.  A part that he could never again be without.

 Mulder opened his eyes and banged on the partition that separated him
from the driver.  "How much further?" he repeated, his voice betraying his
panic.

 "Half a mile, maybe.  Straight down to the end of this road."  The driver
glanced into the rearview mirror and Mulder caught his perplexed look. 
"Not to worry, I'll get you there."

 The cab pulled up behind a sedan at a red light and Mulder suddenly
grabbed for his wallet.  He pulled a twenty out of the billfold and shoved
it into the silver tray in the partition.  "Thanks," he called as he
pushed open the door.  "I'm fine from here."

 Mulder jumped out into the traffic and darted across the street as the
light turned green.  A car honked as it swerved to avoid him but Mulder
didn't look back, his gait quickening to a run.  He barreled his way
through the crowd of pedestrians, ignoring their agitated comments,
focused only on his goal.



"No," Karen laughed into the receiver, trying to keep her voice down. 
"That is *not* what I said.  Don't worry -- I'll be there.  Just save me a
seat."  She put the phone back into its cradle, feeling slightly guilty
about making personal calls on the work line.  Call me a sinner, she
thought, as she picked up the highlighter and resumed her perusal of her
textbook.  

 She looked up a few minutes later to see a small boy wandering amongst
the tables, glancing at the students seated there.  He was carrying a
notebook in one hand and seemed a bit lost, gazing at each of the tables
with a vaguely confused expression.

 "Can I help you?"  Karen asked in her best librarian voice.  The little
boy turned at the sound, and crossed the room towards her.  He was wearing
jeans with a hole in one knee and a windbreaker over a tee shirt that
Karen recognized, advertising the Power Rangers that her young cousins
were so fond of.  His blond hair was tousled and he was more than a little
out of breath.

 "Maybe," the boy answered as he approached the counter.  He was barely
tall enough to see over the top, and he stood on tiptoe, placing both
hands on the surface for balance.  "I'm here to find somebody."

 The boy was so earnest that Karen couldn't help but smile.  "Well, why
don't you tell me who you're looking for and I'll see what I can do."

 "I'm looking for a man named --" the boy broke off, opening the notebook
and checking a crumpled page before continuing.  "A man named Rick Wilder.
 Is he here?"

 Karen cocked her head in surprise at hearing the name again.  "He was,"
she answered.  "But he's gone.  Is he your dad?"

 "No," the boy replied, his eyes wide and serious.  "But I need to find
him.  I have to.  Do you know where he went?"

 Karen hesitated a moment, not certain if she should tell the kid the
truth, but there was something about his expression that demanded an
answer.  "He went to the hospital.  St. John the Baptist.  His wife had an
accident."

 The boy frowned. "Who told you that?"

 "Why?"  Karen's curiosity was really aroused now.  

 "It's a lie, that's why," the boy answered in a proper voice that
revealed his disapproval.  He turned away as though to leave, before his
manners caught up to him.  "Thank you," he said, and then took off at a
speed that astonished her.

 Stranger and stranger, Karen mused, thinking that it was long past time
that she get a new job.  Picking up the highlighter again, she plunged
back into the abyss of cognitive dissonance, yet found herself unable to
forget either the little boy or the man he sought.



Scully had only taken a few steps into the room when she felt a hand grab
her upper arm and she winced at the pressure.  She heard a scraping across
the floor and then the hand pushed her back and she lost her balance,
falling awkwardly into a chair that had suddenly appeared beneath her.

 "Have a seat, Agent Scully, so we can get better acquainted."  The man
chuckled, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of her neck. 
"Perhaps I should be calling you Dana.  After all, you're not an agent
anymore, are you?"

 Scully remained silent, resistant to his taunts, unwilling to become a
player in his game.  She heard the man's footsteps, loud in the stillness,
as he paced around her chair.  He said nothing more, and for a time, all
was quiet.

 "Cat got your tongue?  You're blind, not mute.  And I know you can hear
me perfectly well."  

 Still she said nothing, concentrating on taking deep, even breaths.  She
focused on his presence, trying to build an image of him in her mind.  He
was tall, perhaps even taller than Mulder -- she could tell by the
distance of his voice.  He had a slight accent, but it wasn't southern; it
sounded more as though he was from the east coast.  New York perhaps, or
New Jersey.

 Scully broke the silence only when it threatened to become too
oppressive.  "Who are you?"  She was relieved that she managed to speak
the three words in a tone that sounded reasonably normal.

 "Well," the man said, "that's not really important.  Let's just say that
you and I have mutual acquaintances in common."

  "You're not a cop."  Although Scully knew the answer to the question,
she asked it anyway, hoping that the man would reveal more, give her
something that she could use against him.

 "No," the man chuckled again, the sound grating in the stillness of the
room.  "Definitely not.  You can think of me as a retriever, if you'd
like.  It's my job to retrieve things that others have lost.  That's what
I need you to help me with.  Are you going to help me, Dana?"

 Scully didn't respond, her mind whirling, calculating time.  At least
fifteen minutes had passed since she sent Charlie away, fifteen minutes
closer to Mulder's return.

 It was almost as though the man could read her thoughts.  "If the reason
you're keeping so quiet is that you're waiting for your partner, you may
be in for a long wait."

 Scully's breath caught at the sound of the veiled threat, but she stilled
the impulse inside her and remained silent.  

 "I wanted to give us more time together, so I've sent Mr. Mulder on a
little errand."

 Another current of fear shot through her and this time she couldn't
contain herself.  "What are you talking about?  What have you done to
him?"  Scully's voice betrayed her anxiety and she silently berated
herself.  

 "I haven't *done* anything to him.... yet."  The man laughed again and
Scully was suddenly flushed with anger.  The anger felt good as it washed
away some of the terror and she fought to hold onto it.  "Just sent him on
a little detour.  To the hospital, if you must know.  He's under the
impression that you've been in a serious accident."

 For a moment, her thoughts went to Mulder, thinking of the worry and the
panic that he must be feeling, and she longed to comfort him, to reassure
him that she was okay.  Another wave of fury towards the unknown intruder
pushed those thoughts out of her mind and she forced herself to focus on
the matter at hand.  

 "What do you want?"

 "Oh, Dana, I think you know what I want."  Scully sensed the man crouch
down beside her, and a moment later felt his fingers trail down along her
cheek.  She turned her face away, only to hear him laugh in response. 
"The disk, Dana.  That's what I'm here for."

 Again she prayed for her voice to be strong.  "I don't know what you're
talking about."

 Scully heard the slap before she felt it, a whistling rush of air
followed by the impact of his palm against her face.  It stung more than
she would have imagined and she couldn't suppress a small moan of pain as
she tasted blood in her mouth.

 "Wrong answer," said the man, his tone as conversational as before. 
"Let's try that again.  I'm looking for the disk, the disk that you stole
from the lab.  I know that you have it, and I want it."

 She remained absolutely still, her hands clutching the edges of the chair
on which she sat.  Her silence earned her another slap, on the opposite
side this time.

 "It's not difficult, Dana," said the man.  "You give me what I want, and
I'll be out of your way."

 A professional, she thought, trying to ignore the aching sting of the
slap.  The man was a professional, not one of the government suits that
she and Mulder were so used to encountering.  There was too much pleasure
in his tone;  he derived too much joy from his work.  The knowledge made
her cold, made her realize that perhaps this was an adversary that she
would not be able to outwit.  

 Knowing that he expected a response, Scully finally offered the best one
she could.  "It's not here."

 "No?"  The man's voice sounded amused, and he again drew his hand along
her cheek, his fingers stopping beneath her chin and tilting her head up
to face him.  Left hand, left hand, her mind screamed.  It led her to
assume that the gun must still be clutched in his right, and she stored
the information for future use.   "Then where is it?"

 "Mulder has it," she answered, her voice no more than a whisper.  "He
took it with him."

 "Really?"  The man paused, as though contemplating her statement, and she
nodded, slowly.  He moved his hand away from her chin and she relaxed
slightly.

 Without warning, she felt another rush of air followed by a cold, sharp
blow to the side of her head that shot a wave of pain through her and
caused her to lose her balance.  She felt herself falling as a surge of
dizziness overtook her and for a time she knew nothing.




From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (9/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:25:13 -0500


This is part nine of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (9/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Mulder ran into the emergency wing of the hospital, his breath coming in
short catches as he slowed his pace to something resembling a walk.  He
crossed quickly to the admissions desk and approached the gray-haired
nurse behind the counter, who was just finishing a phone conversation.

 "I'm here to see a patient," he said as she hung up, the words tumbling
from his mouth in a manic rush.  

 "Name?" she questioned, unruffled by his panicked demeanor.  From the
looks of her, she had been asking the same question for going on thirty
years, and wasn't about to be troubled by his anxiety.

 "Wilder," he responded.  "Lisa Wilder."

 The nurse checked her admissions charts, flipping the pages back with an
agonizing slowness that cut at his soul.  Finally, her search concluded,
she looked up at him with a blank expression.

 "I show no one admitted this afternoon under that name, sir."

 Mulder paused, wondering for a brief moment if perhaps Scully had been
admitted under her own name, but dismissed the thought as soon as it
entered his head.  If she were lucid enough to have the landlord phone for
him at the library, she would never have taken such a risk.  "Are you
sure?" he questioned, certain that she had made a mistake.  "I received a
phone message."

 "From the hospital?" the nurse asked, seeming almost bored with the
routine.

 "No," he replied.  "From... oh, nevermind.  Could you check again,
please?"

 Again, she flipped the pages, with a tedious lack of urgency.  "No, I
don't show anyone admitted under that name."

 He exhaled a furious rush of breath.  "Okay... anyone admitted without
identification?  Any Jane Does on that list?"

 Hoping against hope that the answer would be no, that Scully had not been
admitted in a condition that prohibited her from identifying herself,
Mulder waited as the woman checked again.  

 "No, sir, I'm sorry.  Are you sure she was admitted this afternoon?"

 "Yes!"  Mulder realized that his voice had risen almost to a shout and he
forced himself to calm down.  "Yes, I just now received the message."

 The nurse gave him a look of concern that was almost patronizing.  "Are
you sure you have the right hospital?"

 "Yes, I'm sure!"  Mulder lost the fight for control and gave into his own
panic.  "I need to speak to your supervisor.  Now!"

 The nurse glared at him, then turned to her younger compatriot who was
seated at a desk behind the counter.  "Get Nurse Bishop please, right
away."

 The young nurse leapt up from her seat at her superior's stern tone and
disappeared into the back.  "Just a moment, sir," said the older nurse,
and Mulder nodded.

 "Thanks," he said, as he backed away from the counter, his thoughts
whirling as he paced in a nervous circle on the floor.



Vincent stared at the woman lying crumpled in a heap by the side of the
chair.  She was a tiny woman, much smaller than he had imagined, and an
idle part of his mind wondered whether the Bureau had a height requirement
for its agents.  Even with her sight intact, he had a hard time believing
that she had at one time been a licensed employee of the federal
government.  But then Vincent had a hard time believing that any woman was
capable of that kind of work -- he had a dim view of any organization that
would give a woman that kind of power.

 He watched her unconscious form with a smile of satisfaction.  It had
given him pleasure to pistol whip her, the kind of pleasure that aroused
him and made his job infinitely satisfying.  He remembered Christophe's
words:  communion or confirmation, it made no difference.  Those were
magic words to Vincent.  Confirmation meant that a body needed to be
found, to be identified, and therefore needed to be left in a certain
condition upon death.  Communion was a whole different matter -- no body
need ever be recovered, and therefore it was his to be disposed of as he
chose.  

 Vincent knelt down beside her, waiting for her to regain consciousness,
studying her small figure.  She was wearing a gray cardigan sweater over a
white tee shirt and jeans;  the clothing, combined with the tennis shoes
on her feet, made her appear more like a college student than a federal
agent.  And she was attractive, much prettier than he would have expected.
 He usually found women who worked on the side of the law to be staid and
dry, almost masculine in their appearance.  But there was a fragile beauty
about this woman that brought a rush of blood to his groin and he was
again pleased to have drawn this assignment.

 Then again, Vincent was usually pleased with his work.  It was an honor
to be chosen by Christophe, to be counted amongst his ranks.  Christophe
selected only the best -- men who considered their chosen pursuit an art,
more than a profession.  Vincent had often been reprimanded for taking
things too far, for pushing a situation to a level that satiated his own
personal needs.  But he had never gone so far as to earn Christophe's
wrath;  on the contrary, Vincent was one of Christophe's most valued
employees.  He never came back empty-handed, and he never left a job
incomplete.  And this time would be no exception.

 After what seemed to Vincent an exceedingly long time, the woman began to
stir, her hands moving along the ground beside her in an attempt to gain
her bearings.  She struggled to a sitting position, her palms still flat
on the floor for balance, and Vincent waited for the appropriate moment
before launching his next attack.

 He reached out and grabbed her hair as it fell across her shoulders,
reveling in the gasp of breath she drew in as he did so.  He noticed that
the blow from the gun had left a large bruise along her cheekbone that was
already starting to swell and darken, and there was something about the
mark on her fair skin that caused his heart to beat a little faster.

 "Welcome back," said Vincent, his fingers twisted in her dark locks.  She
was silent, only her rapid breaths giving away her internal anxiety, and
he was fascinated by her self-control.  He still held the gun in his right
hand and he toyed with the safety, clicking it on and off again, relishing
the noise it made in the stillness.  "Now, you want to start over, and
make some sense this time?  Maybe then we can have a civilized
conversation.  You and I both know Mulder doesn't have the disk -- like
the gun, he can't get it past the metal detector at the library."

 The woman remained absolutely still, and there was something frustrating
about her silence that Vincent found oddly erotic.  Her eyes were fixed at
a point just beyond him, and their expression was totally blank;  he could
see none of the fear that normally entertained him, and this made him
angry.  

 "Dana?  Let me tell you something.  I'm not going to play this waiting
game with you."  He gave the fine strands of hair in his hand a sharp
yank, jerking her head to the side.  A soft, helpless cry emerged from her
lips and he felt the familiar surge of power rush through him.  One of her
hands flew up in an attempt to free herself from his grasp, and he brushed
it aside easily with his gun arm.  "We'll have none of that," he chided. 
"I'm talking now, and it's your job to listen."

 Vincent could not remember when he had last been so engaged by an
assignment.  He rarely came into contact with women in his line of work; 
most of the people whose names appeared on Christophe's list were men, who
posed another sort of challenge.  The few women he had dealt with had been
of a much different variety, women who had dissolved into tears at the
first harsh word or hint of violence.  But this woman... her brave
stubbornness amused him, and he relished the moment when he would finally
be able to break her spirit.

 "You and I, we don't have much more time alone together, so we have to
make this count."  The woman's cardigan sweater was unbuttoned, and
beneath the white tee shirt she wore Vincent could see the faint outline
of her brassiere.  A smile turned up the corners of his lips as he took
the barrel of the gun and rested it against her collarbone.  "It's up to
you -- you can make this easy, or you can make it difficult.  It's your
choice."  As he spoke, Vincent slowly moved the gun down along her body,
tracing the lines of her brassiere with its edge.   Still she made no
sound, and he would have sworn she had stopped breathing entirely were it
not for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.  His pulse became more
rapid and he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

 Lowering his voice to its most compelling whisper, Vincent continued his
speech.  "You're a doctor, so you must know that the most painful of all
gunshot wounds is a shot to the stomach."  He used the pistol to
illustrate his words, moving it down her body to press it into the
softness of her belly.  "On average, it takes forty-five minutes to an
hour for someone to bleed to death from that kind of wound.  In some
cases, people have survived as long as three hours, but that's rare.  Am I
right, Dana?  Am I right?"  He yanked on her hair again, and was at last
granted a small murmur.

 "Yes...."

 "Now, I *could* just shoot you now, in the stomach, and we could sit here
together and wait for Mr. Mulder to return.  I'm certain that if he found
you in that condition, he would be more than anxious to give me anything I
asked, in order to get you to a hospital."

 Vincent shifted position, pulling the gun back but retaining his grasp on
her hair.  "But that wouldn't be much fun for you, nor for me.  Contrary
to what you may think, I don't like that kind of mess."

 The woman shut her eyes for a long moment, and Vincent could tell that
she was thinking.  He remained quiet, watching her with rapt attention,
waiting to see what she would do next.  She finally opened her eyes but
made no sound, and Vincent felt his patience beginning to wane.

 "Game time is over, Dana.  I'm tired of fooling around, and I'm not going
to ask again.  So if you want to give me the disk, you'll have to tell me.
 Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to shoot."

 Another long pause and Vincent savored the intensity of the moment, eager
for the outcome of their silent duel, whatever it might be.  

 "Alright," the woman finally answered, the word the barest whisper of
acquiescence.  

 "What did you say?" Vincent brought his lips close to her ear.  "I
couldn't quite hear you."

 She twisted slightly in an effort to move away from him, with no success.
 "I'll give you the disk."

 "Ah," Vincent replied, treasuring the moment of victory.  "Good.  But
you'll have to say please."  He placed the gun against her stomach once
more to heighten her torment, and awaited her response.  His actions were
at last rewarded by a faint plea.

 "... please..."

 Vincent knew that he had reached the end of the round, but he was a
hunter who never tired of hounding his prey.  "No," he taunted her,
"that's not quite it.  It's 'please, let me give you the disk'."  He could
see the emotions written on the woman's face, despite her best attempts to
conceal them -- hatred, mixed with terror and something he surmised was
self-loathing, and his smile grew wide with a wicked satisfaction.   

 Unwilling to wait any longer, Vincent twisted the woman's hair again with
a vicious jerk, pulling her head back to expose her neck.  He trailed the
barrel of the pistol along her skin and heard her breath catch, in a way
that made him leap with excitement at the thought that she might cry.

 No tears fell, but he could hear their thickness in the woman's throat as
she forced the words out between clenched teeth.  "Please... let me...
give you... the disk."

 "Well, Dana," Vincent laughed, "that's an offer I won't refuse."  He
finally released her hair only to grab her by the arm, pulling her up
beside him as he stood.  "Let's go."  



Charlie pushed open the door and entered cautiously, overwhelmed by the
bustle of activity around him.  The last time he had been to the hospital
had been to see his grandmother, and an image of her shot through his
mind, the way that she had looked, small and frail beneath the sheets.  
The memory frightened him and he forced himself to remember her the way
she was when he was little, the way that she had held him and loved him
and encouraged him like no one had since she died.  The thought gave him
courage, and he moved through the corridor, searching for the man he had
come to find.

 Charlie heard the man before he saw him, his voice loud with anger, and
he followed the sound.  The man was standing near the admissions desk,
engaged in an argument with a brown-haired nurse that reminded Charlie a
bit of his mother in the way she stood her ground.  The man was waving his
arms at her in agitation, but the nurse remained calm, replying to him in
low tones that seemed to have no effect.  Charlie stood a short distance
away and merely watched, afraid to interrupt their discussion.  

 Finally, the nurse motioned to another, older nurse who stood behind the
counter, telling her something that Charlie couldn't quite hear.  The two
women spoke for a moment, and then they both turned and moved down the
hall, leaving a girl at the desk who merely stared at the man with a
helpless expression.  The man watched them leave, checked the watch on his
wrist, and then pounded his fist on the counter.   He stepped away from
the desk to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and exhaling a deep,
long breath.

 Charlie took a deep breath of his own and then crossed the distance
towards the man.  He was nearly there when the man's eyes flew open to
glare directly down at him.

 The man said nothing, merely fixed him with his furious gaze, and for a
moment Charlie was at a loss for words.   He opened his mouth several
times, and on the third try he found his voice.  "Excuse me, sir?"

 "What?"  There was something about the man's behavior that was
frighteningly similar to his father, when his father was in one of his
moods, but Charlie thought about his promise to the woman on the roof and
forced himself to continue.

 "I -- I came here, looking for you."  Charlie kept his eyes on the man,
afraid of his rage, but the man didn't move a muscle, so he plunged ahead.
 "I have a message for you."

 "What kind of message?  From who?"  Now the man's expression contained a
measure of what Charlie would have called skepticism, had he known the
word.

 "From Lisa," he answered.  "The lady... on the roof."

 The man moved towards him and Charlie took an uncertain step back, but
the man merely knelt down to face him.  "The roof..." he murmured in a
quiet voice, as though he were confused.  "Who are you?   How do you know
Lisa?"

 "I'm Charlie," he replied, relieved that the man seemed to be listening. 
"I live next door.  And Lisa -- she sent me to find you.  She told me that
you have to come home, right away."

 The man was silent, looking at Charlie as though he were judging him
somehow, as though he was searching for proof.  Realizing that he could
provide it, Charlie reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out
the necklace Lisa had given him.  "I'm not lying to you," he said.  "She
gave me this, and told me that I had to get you to come home."

 Charlie held out the chain and the man took it from him, the gold cross
tiny in his palm.  He stared at it for a long moment and then closed his
hand around it, and when he looked back up at Charlie his eyes were wet. 
"Thank you," he whispered.   Charlie barely had time to nod before the man
was on his feet, running down the corridor and slamming through the door
that led back to the street.  



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (10/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:25:35 -0500


This is part ten of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (10/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



"Where is it?"

 "In the bathroom," Scully answered, choking the words past her fear and
anger.  The man's hand felt like an iron band around her arm, and she
winced at the pain of his grasp as he pulled her along beside him.

 Her mind was whirling, an incoherent rush of panic, and she fought to
think, to formulate some kind of plan.  Scully knew without question that
the man intended to kill her, and to kill Mulder as well, once he gained
possession of the disk that he was seeking.  And she knew with a dark
certainty that there was little she could do to prevent him from
accomplishing his goal.   Not Mulder, not Mulder, cried a voice inside her
head.   *She* had done this -- she had created the situation, not Mulder,
and Scully made a silent vow that she was not going to allow him to suffer
for her transgressions.  If she had to sacrifice herself in order to save
him, so be it, but she would not have him pay for her choice with his
life.  

 Somehow strengthened by these thoughts, Scully allowed herself to be
dragged into the bathroom.  He released her and she stumbled, grabbing at
the edge of the sink for balance. "Okay, Dana, we're here now.  Where is
it?"

 She could hear the fury beneath his controlled words and answered as
quickly as she was able.  "The medicine cabinet," she replied.  "Between
the mirror and the frame."

 Scully leaned against the sink, listening to the familiar sound of the
cabinet door swinging open.  The man's body brushed against hers as he
sought to pry the glass from the frame, and she shifted position in an
attempt to move away from him.  Her right hand encountered something cool
and smooth, and her fingers trailed across it twice before she identified
it as Mulder's razor.  Razor... the word echoed in her mind as she
realized the implication behind the simple object.  Perhaps there was a
way...

 Unable to know if she was being observed, Scully focused her attentions
on the sounds the man was making as he fiddled with the cabinet door.  She
kept her body completely still as she allowed her hand to move lightly
across the edge of the sink, locating and rejecting item after item. 
Toothbrush, toothpaste, comb... finally, she found what she was seeking. 
Her fingers touched a hard cardboard surface, and she gingerly felt for
the lid, hoping against hope that the man would not witness her subtle
motions.   She found the lid and flipped it open, and pushed her fingers
inside where they met cool, sharp metal.  Razor blades, at least three or
four.  

 Scully held her breath and gently lifted one of the blades out of the
box, praying that she would not drop it or knock the box off the edge of
the counter or otherwise alert the man to her actions.  From the sounds
that she heard, it appeared as though he was concentrating on the task at
hand, but she could not be certain, and she continued the silent prayer
that her motions would not be spotted.  At last, she held one of the
blades firmly between two fingers, and shifted her grasp upon the steel
until it was flat in her palm.  She curled her fingers around it, then
used her other hand to pull the sleeve of her sweater down as though she
was merely clutching the fabric and not the blade beneath. 

 A moment later, she heard the snap of the glass pulling back from the
cabinet frame, and the man's satisfied sigh.  "So this is what all the
fuss is about," he said, and her heart sank at the words though she had
never doubted that he would find the disk.  "Seems like a whole lot of
nothing to me."

 There were a series of rustling sounds that Scully assumed were made by
the man as he tucked the disk into his clothing.  Then there was only
silence, and Scully shuddered, suddenly knowing that the man's eyes were
upon her.  She clenched her fist more tightly around the razor blade and
sought to put defiance into her words.  "You have the disk.  Now get out."

 The man laughed then, and the sound was chilling.  "Oh, I think not.  We
really should wait for Mr. Mulder to return."

 Before she could say anything, Scully felt the man's hand on her arm
again, pushing her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.  Her heart
was beating faster now, but she had no choice but to accompany him.   The
man dragged her to the middle of the bedroom and then shoved her so
violently that she fell, her thigh colliding with something firm yet
yielding and she realized that she had crashed into the mattress of the
bed.

 "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice hatefully high with terror.

 "We have a little time to kill," came the answer.  Scully heard a loud
clatter from the bedside table as the man placed something atop it,
something solid that sounded as though it might be the pistol.  The noise
was followed by more rustling sounds and she realized that the man was
taking off his jacket.  "And I have a very good idea about how we should
spend it."

 A spasm of horror shot through her and Scully pulled herself to her feet,
brushing past the man in an irrational attempt to reach the door.   Her
feeble and faltering escape was quickly halted as she was seized from
behind by his strong arms, and although she knew her efforts were in vain,
she struggled in his grasp.  

 "Let me go!"  she cried out, only to hear the laughter in his reply.  The
man picked her up in a fluid, effortless motion, and Scully felt her feet
leave the ground, pinwheeling uselessly through the air as he threw her
down onto the bed.  

 Scully had been in many dangerous situations over the course of her
career, and had managed to withstand each new peril with a strength that
sometimes surprised her.  But she had never before been as scared as she
was now.   Suddenly she felt frighteningly vulnerable, helpless and alone.
 She screamed as she fought him, kicking and scratching, desperate to push
him away even as she tried to keep her hold on the tiny piece of steel she
had taken from the bathroom counter.  

 "Nooooooo!"   Her screams were harsh and incoherent and shrill to her own
ears.  She yelled as loudly as she could, desperate for someone, anyone,
to hear her.  Scully felt the man's hands close on her upper arms, just
below her shoulders, as she was lifted off the bed.   Before she could
register what was happening, her head and back were slammed against the
wall, a wicked blow that knocked the wind out of her and left her gasping
for breath.

 Scully fell back down to the bed in a daze, barely aware of the softness
of the comforter beneath her.  Suddenly she felt weak, and faint, and knew
that she was dangerously close to losing consciousness.   A heavy weight
pressed her body into the mattress, and some dim part of her mind realized
that the man was now laying atop her.   His hand closed across her nose
and mouth, forcing her to gasp for air.  His voice was a harsh whisper in
her ear that sounded as though it was coming from a far distance, though
she could feel the sticky warmth of his breath on her neck.

 "Understand something," he hissed.  "Talking ruins it for me."

 The words wafted across her brain and Scully fought to make sense of
them, but it seemed unusually difficult to figure out what they meant. 
After a moment, the man moved his hand away from her face, and she
thankfully sucked in deep gulps of air, her limbs feeling curiously weak. 
He shifted positions atop her, sitting so that the weight of his body
rested on her thighs, his knees digging into her waist.  Scully twisted
beneath him to no effect, the pressure of his body numbing the lower part
of her own.  She could feel the man's hands as they pulled on the lapels
of her sweater, tugging the fabric midway down her arms, before returning
to the collar of her tee shirt.   He yanked at the thin material and it
gave way with a tearing sound that Scully barely registered until the cool
air of the room hit her bare skin.

 The man exhaled, a low whistling sound, and Scully felt his hands on her,
his fingers clammy and cold as they toyed with the straps to her
brassiere.  She tried to raise her arms, to push him away, but their weak
motion was quickly stopped.  The man grasped both of her wrists in one of
his hands, pinning her arms to the pillow above her head, while his other
hand continued its groping of her chest.   She still held the blade in one
hand, fingers balled into a tight fist that pressed against its sharp
edge, but it was useless to her now.

 Scully could feel the tears in her eyes and vowed that she would not
allow herself to cry.  Her throat burned with the ache of the screams she
was holding back, her fear of the man forcing her to choke back the words
that echoed in her mind --

 <nononopleasenotthisnotthisneverthispleasepleaseno>

 To Scully, it seemed as though she was trapped in a nightmare from which
there was no escape.  Her world had narrowed to the point where there was
nothing else but the man:  his iron grip on her wrists, his touch like ice
against her skin, his body a smothering pressure on hers, his raspy
breathing loud in the stillness of the room.   It seemed as though forever
had come and gone as she lay beneath him, until finally he released his
hold on her wrists.  Both of his hands then moved down her body and she
felt them grasp the waistband of her jeans, to begin fumbling with the
metal rivets that held them closed.

 <nononostopstopneverthisneverthisnostop>

 An unexpected rush of panic-induced adrenalin shot through her and Scully
acted without thinking, fueled by terror and an almost primal instinct for
survival.   With both of his hands busy at her waist, she reached up with
her left hand and found his face with her palm.   She heard his grunt of
surprise as she swept her right hand up in an arc, holding the blade flat
between her thumb and fingers, aiming her swing based on the proximity of
his head.  She felt resistance as the blade found the skin of his neck and
gritting her teeth she pulled it through, a warm sticky wetness gushing
over her fingers as she lost her grip on the blade and it fell from her
hand.

 The man yelled, a vicious cry of pain and anger, and Scully felt him
shift atop her, releasing some of the pressure on her lower body.  Without
hesitation she pushed at him with her arms and simultaneously brought her
knees up beneath him, kicking out with her legs and punctuating her
actions with a scream of her own.   Suddenly the pressure of his weight
completely vanished and she heard a loud crashing sound followed by what
sounded like the breaking of glass.

 Then, nothing but silence.

 Scully lay where she was, stunned by the sudden turn of events,
struggling to catch her breath.  It was the man's breathing that finally
stirred her to action -- the breaths were irregular but fairly loud, and
they jarred her to the realization that the man was unconscious, but was
definitely still alive.   She pulled herself to a sitting position, and
fumbled for her clothing, her first instinct an irrational need to cover
herself.  Her tee shirt was useless but she merely pulled the sweater
closed over it rather than taking the time to remove it.   She managed to
rebutton her jeans and then stood up from the bed, taking a cautious step
forward.

 She quickly found the man's body, laying where he had fallen near the
side of the bed.  Moving her hands carefully around him, Scully found
several splintered pieces of wood which she assumed to be the remains of
the nighttable.  She surmised that the man must have crashed into the
nighttable as he fell, perhaps hitting his head.   Briefly, Scully felt
the ground around the table, searching for the pistol, but she found
nothing.  She could feel her own body shaking, and forced herself to
focus, knowing that her time was limited.  Steeling her nerves, she placed
her hands upon him, patting gently down his body searching for the round
metal circle of the disk.  She found nothing, and began to panic, until
she remembered the jacket that he had removed.  

 Scully stepped over the man and stumbled her way over to the bureau,
where she found the rough fabric of his coat.   She ran her fingers over
it until she found the disk, tucked into a pocket. She pulled the disk out
and stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans, exhaling a deep sigh of
relief.  Get out, get out, get out, her mind screamed, and she compelled
her legs to follow the command.  For a moment, she hesitated, debating
about searching for the gun, but she was too afraid of what would happen
if the man regained consciousness with her still in the room. 

 Moving as quickly as she dared, Scully made her way out of the bedroom
and across the main room to the front door of the apartment.  She pulled
it shut behind her quietly and then edged her way down the hallway to the
stairs, her whole being focused on escape.  The building seemed eerily
quiet, and although she pounded on each of the doors she passed, she
expected no answer and received none.  

 After what seemed an eternity, Scully reached the glass door at the front
of the building. She fumbled for the handle, determined to swing it open
and risk the melee outside in search of help, but the door refused to open
despite her fierce tugs.   After a moment, she felt cautiously along the
edge of the door itself, only to come across a strange and unfamiliar
piece of metal.  A lock, she thought, her throat going dry with the
realization that the stranger had somehow trapped her inside the building.
 It was only a matter of time, now, before he awoke....

 Scully was at the point of completely succumbing to her fear when she
remembered Charlie, remembered the roof, remembered the fire escape.   Her
breath coming in fast, furious gasps, she climbed back up the stairs,
running her hands along the walls for balance, until she came to the door
that led to the roof.  She threw it open and mounted the steps as quickly
as she was able, until she finally reached her destination and was greeted
by the fresh scent of open air.  

 She slammed the door shut behind her, heedless of the noise, thinking
only of her desire to put as many barriers between herself and the man as
possible.   Scully edged her way along the roof, searching for the
unfamiliar section at the far end where the sounds of the fire escape had
come from.  After a few frantic moments, she found metal with her hand
that she could only assume to be the stairs.  Terrified but determined to
continue, she grabbed the metal with her hands and swung her leg over the
side of the roof, incredibly relieved to find a flat step beneath her foot
instead of mere air.  

 Scully descended the fire stairs with astonishing speed, despite her
inability to see the steps beneath her.  She was moving on automatic pilot
now, more afraid of the man than of falling off of the ladder.   She had
only come a few steps when she heard the door to the roof swing open with
a loud clang that chilled her, and she attempted to quicken her pace.

 <nononopleaseGodnomorenomorenomorepleaseplease>

 The man's footsteps were loud on the roof and then Scully felt the fire
escape shake as he shifted his weight onto it.   She kept moving, hoping
against hope that if she reached the ground before he caught her she could
somehow get away.    When it seemed as though she would never reach the
end, her left foot hit the last step, her right finding nothing beneath.  
Jump, jump, jump, her mind screamed, and she did just that, allowing her
body to fall.  

 Scully hit the ground in a crouch and cried out as a sharp pain raced
through her ankle.  Though the fall had been short she had landed badly,
but she ignored the pain and forced her legs to run.  She had no sense of
direction, yet all she could think about was putting distance between
herself and the loud sounds coming from the metal stairs behind her.  

 She had only accomplished a dozen awkward strides when she heard the
man's approach and she screamed, a loud scream of terror and rage and
helplessness, before he tackled her body with his, forcing her to the
ground.  Her scream was cut off as the air rushed out of her lungs, and
she again lay trapped beneath him, feeling his hand as it pulled the disk
from her jeans.

 "Dumb bitch," the man cursed, his words slicing through her ear into her
brain.  "You need to learn not to start something you can't finish." 




From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (11/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:25:41 -0500


This is part eleven of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1. 
Relationship Warning has been added... If there are problems with the
posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (11/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com



Mulder was in the midst of his third assault on the shatterproof glass of
the front door to the building when he heard the scream.

 Heard her scream. 

 Heard the fear, the pain, the agony.

 Heard the way that it cut off, abruptly.

 His heart suddenly stuck in his throat, Mulder swept past the old
neighbor couple standing next to him, barely catching the woman's words as
his feet churned around the corner of the building.  "Stanley -- call the
police!  Stanley..."

 Mulder was around the side of the building in an instant, throwing his
shoulder against the wooden fence that blocked access from the street,
shattering the makeshift lock with one solid blow.  The side yard was
empty, and he careened around the building towards the back at a reckless
pace.

 "Stop -- right where you are."

 Mulder skidded to a stop, halted not by the words but by the tableau that
lay before him.  The first thing he noticed was the blood, and it took a
few precious seconds before he was able to look beyond it.

 There was a man, a man whom Mulder had never before seen and did not
recognize, and at that moment the man's identity was of little concern to
him.  His whole being was focused on the fact that the man was holding
Scully with one arm clenched across her shoulders and chest, pinning her
to him at a level that forced her to stand nearly on tiptoe.  The man's
other hand was holding a gun that Mulder quickly recognized to be his own.
 The barrel of the pistol was tucked under Scully's chin, forcing her head
upwards in an awkward position.  

 And the blood... it was everywhere.  On her face, down her cheek, on her
hands that gripped the arm that trapped her as though for balance.   A
long moment passed before Mulder realized that the source of the blood was
an ugly wound in the man's neck, a jagged cut that was bleeding profusely.
 

 The man's eyes were a dark, cold steel, nearly the same shade as his
hair.  He was a tall man, and well-built;  he clutched Scully to him as
though she weighed next to nothing.  His demeanor was alarmingly calm, as
though despite the circumstances he had matters well under control.  The
hand that held the pistol was frighteningly steady, and keeping his eyes
fixed on Mulder, the man dug the gun further deeper into Scully's neck in
an ominous warning gesture.

 Mulder's eidetic mind registered all of this in mere seconds, the
majority of his attention directed solely at Scully.  Her sweater was
misbuttoned, and there was something about the way her tee shirt was
bunched up beneath it that Mulder found terribly frightening.  There was a
large welt along her cheekbone, a livid blotch of color, and her face was
unusually pale.  The expression she wore was a blank mask of terror.  In
all their time together, he had never before seen her this scared, and
hoped to God that he would never see her look this way again.  

 Anxious to find some way to reassure her, Mulder raised both hands, palms
up, to the level of his shoulders, and spoke in the calmest voice he could
muster.  "Take it easy," he said quietly, noting with a tiny measure of
relief the way that Scully's head tilted at his words.  "I'm unarmed. 
Let's not do anything we'll regret."

 The man merely continued to fix him with his gaze, and it was Scully who
spoke first.   Her voice was tight and dry and low as she whispered his
name.  "Mulder... he has it.  He has the disk."

 Her words aroused the man's ire and he constricted her chest with a
fierce squeeze of his arm, forcing her to gasp for breath.  "You're not a
part of this conversation," the man hissed, his voice heavy with malicious
intent.

 Helpless, Mulder could only wait until the man relaxed his grasp on
Scully, afraid to do anything that might endanger her further.  Forcing
himself to keep his words steady and even, he asked, "You have the disk. 
What more do you want?"

 The man's lips curved up in a dark smile.  "Answers, Mr. Mulder.   What I
need are some answers."

 "Okay," Mulder responded, trying to gauge the situation, desperately
looking for a way out.  "We can talk about anything you want, as long as
you let her go."   He took a small step forward, his approach guarded by
caution, but the motion did not go undetected.  The man matched his
movements, stepping back and dragging Scully with him, the toes of her
sneakers trailing in the gravel. 

 The man laughed then and the sound sent chills down Mulder's spine. 
"It's not that easy, G-Man.   I'm well aware of the importance of leverage
in any discussion."

 Mulder nodded, his hands now clenched in fists at his side, knowing that
he would be a fool to follow his instincts and try to choke the life out
of the man.  "Then talk."

 "I need to know who else you and Dana have made aware of this disk.  Who
else knows of its existence."

 "No one."  Mulder's voice was firm.  "We haven't told anyone about the
disk."  He felt fairly safe in the lie;  there could be no way that the
man knew about the Lone Gunmen, let alone trace his connection to them.  

 "Why should I believe you?" the man questioned, prodding Scully with the
gun barrel again.  

 "Because you're holding all the cards, and you know it."  Mulder
answered, staring intently at the man.  "I have nothing to gain by lying."

 Seconds passed that felt like hours as Mulder waited for his response. 
Finally, the man nodded slowly, his smile widening.  "Funnily enough, I
believe you, G-Man."

 "Then let her go."

 "No," said the man, shaking his head with something akin to regret.
"Can't do that, I'm afraid.  Dana and I have some unfinished business,
don't we, Dana?"

 Mulder's eyes went to Scully, who stood where she was, pinned against his
bulk, motionless except for her trembling lower lip.  Now, more than ever,
he wished that she could see him, wished that he could use his eyes to
communicate with her as he had so many times before.

 "But first things first," the man continued.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder, but
your services are no longer required."

 "What are you going to do?  Shoot me here in the alley?"  Mulder forced
his voice to convey a confidence he didn't feel.   "The neighbors have
already called the police.   You don't want to have to deal with that."

 The man laughed again.  "By the time the police arrive, Dana and I will
be long gone."  He shifted the position of the gun, tracing its edge along
the curve of Scully's ear.  "Besides, I could shoot you and stand here and
wait for the police with the gun in my hand.  I'd still be a free man
again within the hour."

 Something in the man's dark words rang true, and Mulder shuddered.  He
didn't know who the man was or whose interests he represented, but somehow
he knew that the man wasn't bluffing, that he had the ability to do
exactly what he claimed.  Plan after plan flashed through Mulder's head
and he rejected each of them instantly, calculating the risk and the
danger to Scully.  But he would be damned if he would submit so easily and
simply allow Scully to remain in the man's clutches.

 "Look," he reasoned, "I'm sure there's a way we can work this out..."

 "Mr. Mulder," the man cut him off abruptly, "this has already been worked
out."

 At that moment Scully slumped in the man's arms with a low moan, her body
going limp in his grasp.  Her head lolled to one side as her knees buckled
beneath her.   His heart thumping in his chest, Mulder took a quick step
forward as the man looked down at Scully, the gun sliding from her head as
he sought to adjust his grasp.   

 Then, it was though everything happened in slow motion --

 Scully bit down on the arm that pinned her to the man's chest --

 The man howled as he released his hold on her --

 The gun went off, a loud explosion echoing from its muzzle --

 Scully fell to the ground, her body tucking into a ball as she rolled
away from him --

 Without stopping to think of the consequences, Mulder took the chance he
instinctively knew Scully had given him, rushing forward to charge the
man.  Heedless of the gun, he crashed into him, throwing as much force as
he could muster into the blow.   

 Mulder and the man hit the ground and Mulder winced as the air rushed
from his lungs.  He heard a loud clatter and realized that the man had
dropped the gun, and Mulder wasted no motion, pummeling the man with all
his strength.  The man fought back with the intensity of a tiger, blocking
Mulder's blows and serving up his own with nary a grunt of effort.  Out of
the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Scully, on her hands and knees, backing
away from them towards the wall of the building.

 "Run!" he shouted, relieved that she had not been hit and desperate for
her to get away.  "Get out of here!"  He lost sight of her as the man's
fist connected with his jaw and blood filled his mouth.  The next time he
was able to glance her way, she had vanished, and Mulder felt a small
measure of relief.

 The man sank his knee into Mulder's groin and he groaned, trying to stave
off the attack.  The man's punches sailed through the air with a
professional fighter's grace, and Mulder soon found himself in a position
of mere defense.  The vicious blows rained down upon him with unstoppable
speed, and the world before his eyes began to spin and cloud over.  
Mulder managed to land a direct hit, and heard the distinct crack of bone
beneath his fist, but it had no perceptible effect on the man.  

 Mulder felt his resistance weakening, shattered by the force of the
attack.  He could see the gun, but it was just out of reach and useless to
him.  Another punch found his skull and he gasped as a sudden sharp pain
shot through his brain.   The man was relentless, and Mulder's best
attempts now failed to come anywhere near their marks.  Mulder knew he was
quickly losing his ability to focus, the loss of clarity now intense, his
strength slipping from him like sand through an hourglass.  A single
thought gripped him, pulsing over and over in his mind --

 <DanaDanaDanaDanaDanaDanaDanaDana> 

-- and he gritted his teeth, fearing for her and praying for the strength
he needed to subdue his adversary.



Scully crouched against the side wall of the building, her heart like a
triphammer pounding in her chest.  Her throat was tight and constricted
with the tears she could not allow herself to shed, with the cries she
could not allow herself to scream.  She knew she was shaking, her body
racked with the physical manifestation of the indecision she felt.  She
didn't know what to do, or how she could help Mulder, but she knew that
she couldn't leave him.  Wouldn't leave him, no matter what.

 She listened to the sounds of the fight coming from around the corner,
acutely conscious of Mulder's ragged breathing and the soft groans that
intermittently reached her ears.   Scully had no way of knowing who had
the upper hand in their battle, but as she continued her silent vigil, she
felt despair begin to well up inside her.  Mulder was in pain, she could
hear it, and fury possessed her at her own inability to do more than
listen and wait.

 The scuffling continued, and then the sound of a gunshot cut through the
air, snatching the breath out of her body as her mind screamed -- 

 <nonononononononononononononono>

Another shot followed almost immediately, and then the alley fell back
into relative silence.  Scully froze, paralyzed by the intensity of her
terror, desperately listening for something... for anything.  

 <OhMuldernononoI'msorryI'msosorry>

 A long moment passed and then she heard the approach of footsteps, the
sound slightly muffled by the gravel in the alley.  With one trembling
hand, Scully found something large and heavy beside her, a solid mass of
rock.  She clenched her fingers around it and raised it to the level of
her chest, though the rational part of her mind was aware that it was no
match for a gun.  But her anger towards the man had reached a new
intensity and she was now running solely on emotion, consumed only by the
need for revenge.  Knowing she would only have one chance, Scully took a
deep breath in preparation, and waited for the inevitable. 



Mulder rounded the corner of the building to see Scully, her breathing as
rapid as his own, her eyes wide in a vain attempt to identify her pursuer.
 He rushed to her, consumed with relief as he called her name, the word
low but intense.  "Dana!" 

 She was holding a loose piece of brick in one hand, raised in an attack
gesture, and though her arm lowered slightly at the sound of his voice,
she said nothing.  He knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms. 
Scully was trembling uncontrollably with a force that rocked him as he
held her, and he tightened his grasp on her body, trying to comfort her. 
He looked for words, but all he found was her name.  "Dana... Dana...
Dana..."

 She did not respond to his embrace, her body stiff against his.  After a
moment, Mulder realized she was still clutching the brick in her hand, and
he used his own fingers to pry it from her grasp.  Taking her hand, he
placed it flat against his face, guiding her fingers over the lines of his
features.  "Dana.... it's me.  It's Mulder.  It's okay... you're okay..."

 Scully's body relaxed slightly, though the tremors continued.  Her palm
still against his cheek, she murmured, "Mulder...I thought -- I thought
--"

 "I know," he answered, seeking to pull her even closer to him.   In the
distance, he could hear the approach of sirens, and the sound filled him
with a new sense of dread.

 "The man -- where --"

 "He's dead."  Mulder spoke the words with quiet finality, and she nodded,
tucking her head against his neck.  He held her for a moment longer, then
pulled back with reluctance.  "We have to get out of here, Scully," he
said.  "The police are on their way."

 Scully nodded again and slid her hand down his arm to find his, grasping
it tightly as he pulled her to her feet.   He adjusted the position of the
gun in his jacket to allow him to slip his arm around her, and began to
guide her down the alleyway, towards the opening at the far end.

 "Mulder?"  Her voice sounded faint and weak.  "The disk... do you have
the disk?"

 Mulder looked down at her, feeling a peculiar urge to laugh at her
singleminded intensity given the ordeal they had just escaped, but he knew
the value of the small piece of metal, the piece of metal he had forgotten
in his desire to return to her.  

 "No," Mulder answered, and led her back around the corner of the building
where the body lay.  Scully stood beside him as he crouched down and
searched the man's pockets.  Finding the disk, he tucked it into his own
pocket before taking her arm again.  "All set, " he told her, taking her
arm yet again as they began to walk.



Charlie turned the corner, his legs beginning to ache as they pushed the
pedals of the bicycle up and down.   He was tired and out of breath and
suddenly wished that he had the money to buy a soda.  He slowed his pace
as he approached his street, surprised at the activity on the usually
empty block.  There were three police cars parked at odd angles as though
they didn't have to follow the same rules as everyone else, and a large
group of uniformed officers were walking around the guest house.   As he
pulled to the curb, Charlie's eyes widened as he noticed that several of
the officers had their guns drawn.  

 Charlie put down the kickstand of his bike, abandoning it in front of his
own house, and moved as close to the activity as he dared.  There was an
ambulance parked amongst the police cars, but its lights were off and the
siren was silent.   He watched as two men carried a stretcher around from
the back of the guest house.  There was something on the stretcher, but
the white sheet atop it covered it completely.  Charlie knew enough from
watching television that a sheet like that could only mean a dead body lay
beneath, and he shivered with revulsion, but did not look away.   Part of
him wished that the sheet would fall aside, so that he could see who it
was that lay there covered and still, but another part did not want to
know, afraid of who it might be.

 "Charles!"  It was his father's voice that finally made him turn away
from the scene, startling him with its fury.  "What are you doin' out
there, boy?"  His father was standing on the stoop of their house, his
eyes glaring with anger from beneath his bushy brows.  

 "Nothing, Pa, just lookin'."

 "Well, get in here, now.  Ain't gonna tell you twice."   His father waved
his arm, beckoning him inside, and Charlie knew better than to ignore the
command.  As he walked back towards his own house, he glanced back at the
guest house several times over his shoulder, but no other stretchers were
brought out, and the ambulance doors finally closed as the vehicle pulled
away from the curb.  

 Moving quickly now, Charlie grabbed his bike and wheeled it around the
back to the shed.  He put the bike inside, closing the door carefully and
latching the lock.   Though he knew his father was waiting,  he took a
moment to look up at the roof across the way, the roof where he had first
seen her just a few days before.  The sky beyond it was just beginning to
darken, and he could just see the first star of the evening, faint against
the waning blue.  There was something about the star that calmed him, and
brought a small smile to his face.  "Goodbye, Lisa," Charlie whispered,
before turning to mount the steps to the kitchen door.



The phone rang, loud in the stillness of the office, and the man nearly
dropped his cigarette though he had been waiting for the call.  "Yes?" he
said, his anticipation growing as he waited for a response.

 Christophe's voice was cool and even.  "I have bad news to report."

 "Bad news?"  The man's anticipation dissipated as he crushed the
cigarette and lit another.  "What kind of bad news?  I was under the
impression that the situation was handled."

 There was silence for a moment before Christophe replied.  "As was I. 
The details are not clear at present, but we have not yet retrieved the
merchandise you seek."

 The man took a long drag, trying to stave off his mounting anger.  "And
the other part of the assignment?  Have the loose ends been taken care
of?"

 "No."  The single word echoed through the phone wire.   The man said
nothing, weighing his options, knowing that inevitably the failure of this
mission posed potentially dire consequences.  

 Christophe spoke again, quickly, in a way that indicated he too realized
the severity of the situation.  "I can assure you that this will not
happen again.  I am going to handle the project directly."

 "Oh, you are?"  The man's lips curled slightly as he inhaled again.  "And
why should I believe that you can accomplish the goal this time?"

 "It has become personal for me now."  Christophe paused, then continued. 
"One of my most valued men is dead.  And his death will be avenged."

 "I see," said the man, not entirely displeased by the idea.  "Then you
have my permission to try again."

 "Thank you," came Christophe's response, and suddenly the man knew he had
the upper hand, if only for a moment.

 "However," the man declared, "if you fail this time, I will not be
responsible for how the situation proceeds from that point onward."

 "Understood," Christophe answered, and then the line went dead.  

 The man held the receiver in his hand for a long moment, contemplating
this new twist in what was becoming an increasingly complicated game.  
Then he put the receiver back into its cradle, grabbed the crumpled
cigarette pack on the desk before him, and exited the office.



Scully sat next to Mulder on the smooth vinyl seat, feeling cold despite
the warmth of his body beside her and his arm around her shoulders.  She
knew she was still shaking, and clenched her jaw tightly as though to will
her body to stop its motion, but it seemed to have no effect.  She tried
to concentrate on Mulder, on his nearness and the even rise and fall of
his chest against her side, but she couldn't stop thinking about the man. 
 She could smell his blood on her face and hands, and could feel the
horrifying pressure of his body atop hers, the memory so intense as to
still seem real.  She shivered again, and felt Mulder's lips place a soft
kiss on the top of her head in response.  "We're almost there," he said
quietly, and she nodded, attempting a calm that she did not feel.

 He was correct in his assessment of the distance, for seemingly moments
later the taxi pulled to a stop.  Scully felt Mulder slide away from her,
and heard the sound of the door latch as he pushed it open.  She sat where
she was until she felt his hand on hers, pulling her gently across the
seat.  She found the curb with her feet and as she rose from the seat she
felt Mulder's hand against her hair, guiding her head under the frame of
the door.  She stood beside him on the curb, listening to the bustling
sound of the crowds around her.

 "How much?"  She heard Mulder's voice rise with the question, followed by
the cabbie's response.  

 "Eleven-seventy-five."

 Scully could hear Mulder fumbling with his wallet, and silently waited as
he completed the transaction.  "Okay," he replied. "Here's thirty.  You
can keep the change, as long as you never made this stop.  Understand?"

 "Loud and clear," the cabbie responded, and Scully attributed the smug
tone in his voice to the fact that they were not the first to have bribed
him in this way. 

 The sound of the taxi's retreat was loud in her ears as Mulder took her
arm.  She followed him as they climbed up a short flight of stairs and
then he guided her through a doorway.  "You okay?" he asked, concern in
his voice.

 "I'm fine," she answered, hoping her tone did not belie her words.  "Are
we here?  Is this the train station?"

 "Yes," Mulder replied.  "We're getting out of here -- but we should clean
up a bit, first."

 Scully nodded, knowing that she needed no words.  She walked beside him,
her steps unusually cautious because of the trembling in her legs.  After
a few moments, they stopped, and she heard him say, "This is the bathroom.
 Hang on a minute."  He released her hand and she stood where she was,
hearing the sound of a door being pushed open.  Mulder returned seconds
later, saying, "Okay, it's empty.  The sink is against the far wall, and
the toilet is in the corner to the right.  There's a lock on the door --
lock it behind you, and don't open it for anyone but me."

 "Got it," Scully said, and stepped past him into the bathroom.  She
pushed the door shut behind her and found the lock with her fingers,
twisting it once to the left and then pulling on the door to be certain
the lock would hold.  She heard Mulder's footsteps recede and felt another
wave of apprehension sweep over her.  Shrugging away the panic, she made
her way towards the sink, her tennis shoes squeaking against the smooth
surface of the floor.  

 Finding the sink, Scully rested her palms against it and sighed.  She was
tired, so tired, in a fretful exhausted way she had not been since
childhood.   When she had been the youngest, before Charles was born, and
she had worn herself out trying to keep up with her older brother and
sister, to play games that had rules she could not understand and required
skills she did not possess.  She felt the same frustration now, the same
inability to compete, and the same incomprehensible weariness.  Vaguely
remembered words danced across her mind --

 <Momthebabyneedsanapmakehergoaway>

 -- Melissa's words, full of childish disdain.  The thought of her sister
seized Scully with a sharp almost physical pain, and she felt the burning
sting of tears forming beneath her eyes.  Not now, not now, she prayed,
gripping the edge of the sink and struggling to regain control.  

 When she felt she could move again without breaking down completely,
Scully found the handle of the faucet with her fingers and turned it
clockwise, listening to the rush of water as it spilled into the sink.



From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (12/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:25:55 -0500


This is part twelve of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1. 
Relationship Warning has been added... If there are problems with the
posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



AT THE BLUE HOTEL (12/12)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com 



Mulder splashed his face with water for the sixth and what he hoped would
be the final time.  Glancing at his reflection in the mirror above the
sink, he judged it reasonably acceptable and turned the faucet off.   He
patted his face gently dry with a handful of paper towels that felt like
sandpaper against his bruised skin, and the pain made him wince.

 Finished, Mulder took a longer look in the mirror.   He had a nasty cut
above one eye that had not quite stopped bleeding, so he dabbed a damp
paper towel on it in an effort to stem the flow.  His lower lip was also
split in two places, but the cuts were not as noticeable as they would
have been were he clean-shaven.  The rest of his face, while sore, did not
have many other visible marks, and for that he was thankful.

 His chest, however, was quite another story.  Lifting up his torn and
dirty shirt, Mulder could already see the black-and-blue marks on his
ribcage.  He had feared for a moment that some of his ribs had been
broken, but fortunately that now did not seem to be the case.  However, to
call them severely bruised would be an understatement, and he sighed, even
that small breath causing him pain.

 Mulder tucked the shirt back into his jeans and zipped the windbreaker
closed over it.  The jacket was not as disheveled as he had expected it to
be, and he managed to clean off most of the dirt with more paper towels
and some soap from the dispenser.  His jeans were another question
entirely, so he merely dusted them off as best he could.

 Staring at himself in the mirror, Mulder was surprised at how much he had
changed in seven weeks.  The man looking back at him from within the glass
was gaunt and pale and there were lines around his eyes that Mulder did
not ever remember seeing.   He suddenly realized that he had become a
stranger to himself.

  Shaking off the thought, Mulder exited the bathroom, walking across the
corridor to the door on the opposite side.  He knocked once, then called
for her.  "Lisa?  It's me."

 The door opened, and Scully emerged, reaching out with her hand to find
his.   She tilted her head up towards him and asked, "Better?"

 Mulder looked at her, noticing that the dark locks of hair that framed
her face were damp from where they had been caught by splashes of water.  
Scully had managed to wash away the dirt and her skin was clean and smooth
except for the ugly dark welt along her cheekbone.   She had discarded the
white tee shirt entirely and instead wore only the gray cardigan, each
button now neatly aligned in its hole.   Her jeans looked the same as his,
scuffed and dirty, but Mulder did not think anyone would really notice. 

 "Much better," he answered, and she offered a small, quavering smile in
return.  Mulder reached out and delicately ran his finger along the bruise
on her face.  "We need to get you some ice for that," he said, but she
shook her head and pulled away.

 "I'm fine, Rick," she repeated.  "Let's just get out of here."

 "We're on our way," he replied, and escorted her down the corridor.



Carl smiled as he waited for the old lady on the other side of the glass
to count out her money.   She placed each bill on the counter carefully,
smoothing it down and noting the denomination before reaching into her
large purse for more.  At one point she looked up at him, and smiled
apologetically.   "I'm sorry, sonny, it'll just be a minute."

 "Take your time," Carl answered, his grin widening at the fact that she'd
called him 'sonny'.   Though she was probably twenty years his senior, at
age sixty-two it had been a long time since he'd been referred to in that
way.   Though his chocolate brown skin was still relatively unlined, his
hair had been graying since Kennedy had been in office, and by Carl's way
of thinking, that was an awfully long time ago.

 As he waited, Carl watched the old lady, and allowed his thoughts to run
as they usually did while he worked, wondering why she had chosen the
train that she had, and where it might be taking her.  Somebody's
grandmother, he decided, noticing the thick plastic accordion photo file
she had placed on the countertop.  Perhaps even a great-grandmother by
now, on her way to visit a bunch of screaming children for a week or two. 
The thought made Carl shake his head, glad that his own grandchildren were
grown but had not yet decided to have babies of their own.

 "Alright then," the lady finally announced.  "I've got it all right here.
 Exact change, and my senior discount card."  She slid the money into the
silver tray of the partition and Carl pulled it through on the other side,
counting the bills to verify her accuracy.

 "Well," Carl replied, "I've got your ticket right here, then."  He slid
the envelope across to the lady who smiled as she took it and stuffed it
into the giant vacuum of her purse, putting the stack of photos inside
beside it.  "You have a good trip now, you hear?"

 "Will do," the lady answered with at graceful nod of her head.  "Thank
you for the help, sonny."

 Carl grinned and gave her a little wave as she exited the line.  He
watched her as she made her way towards the stairs that led to the
platforms at the far end, and then turned his attention back to the next
customers in his line.  The grin died on his lips as he looked at the
couple standing before him, something about them immediately demanding his
full attention.   

 They were a young couple, older than his grandchildren, but not by so
much -- not enough to justify how worn down they looked.   The man was
tall and his expression was serious and intense.  The woman stood very
close to him and Carl noted with a pang of sadness that her blue eyes were
sightless.  Carl spent all of his time studying the people that passed by
his counter, and little escaped his gaze.   He noticed the couple's cuts
and bruises, noticed the way the woman's hand was shaking as she gripped
the man's arm, but he said nothing beyond his normal words of greeting. 
"Welcome to Amtrak.  What can I do you for, today?" 

 "I need to get a couple tickets," the man declared, and Carl nodded.  

 "Where to?" he asked, and noticed how the woman's head tilted up at the
question.

 The man hesitated a moment before answering.  "Los Angeles," he replied. 


 "Okay then," Carl responded, checking the route map in front of him. 
"That'll be a transcontinental ticket.  You'll be wanting the Sunset
Limited."

 "That goes to Los Angeles?"

 "Sure does, by way of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona."  Carl turned to
look at the schedule posted on the side wall.  "We have a train that left
Florida last evening, be coming through here tonight.  Scheduled for a
7:10pm departure."

 The man nodded, placing his hand atop the woman's as he answered. 
"Sounds good."

 "What kind of tickets would you like, sir?"  Carl asked, and the man
paused once again.  

 "We'll be needing a sleeper car.  Something with a little privacy."

 Carl frowned, checking the list.  "Reservations are generally required in
advance for that, sir, and I think the cars on that particular train may
be booked."

 "Could you check, please?" 

 Carl nodded and put his fingers on the keyboard.   A twinge of arthritic
pain shot through his right arm but he ignored it, as he usually did, and
checked the passenger manifest.   He could hear the woman whispering to
the man, though he tried not to eavesdrop.

 "Rick, we don't need that.  We can't afford it."

 "Don't worry about it," the man responded, just as the information Carl
was seeking popped up on the screen.

 "You're in luck, sir.  We do happen to have one available.  It's a
Deluxe, on the upper level, should be just fine for you.  Two beds --
lower one's a double -- with a private sink and vanity, and a fully
enclosed private shower and toilet."

 The man nodded appreciatively.  "Sounds perfect.  We'll take it."  

 "All right, then," Carl drawled, "be just a moment."  As he booked the
reservation into the computer, Carl took a few more discreet glances at
the couple, wondering who they were and what they were running from.  He
had spent nearly half his life working for the railroad in one capacity or
another, but he had not yet run across a pair like these, at least not
that he could remember.  

 "Name?" he asked, noticing the man's startled reaction as he did so.  The
man said nothing, so he repeated the question.  "I need your name, sir --
to book the tickets."

 "Stewart," the man finally answered.  "Mr. and Mrs."  He did not offer
first names, though Carl waited a beat to see if he would do so, before
continuing.  

  "Checking any luggage today, Mr. Stewart?"  he queried, but the man only
shook his head.

 Carl continued to type, and moments later, all of the information was
entered.  He read the total amount at the bottom of the screen aloud, and
watched as the man pulled a wallet from the pocket of his jeans.  He
quickly counted out the bills and slid them into the tray beneath the
partition, and Carl retrieved them, automatically double-checking the
amount.   Carl's eyes widened as he counted, and then he looked
quizzically up at the man.

 "Sir," he said slowly, "you've given me a bit much, here.  This is double
the amount I need."

 "What I need," the man replied, his words measured and even, "is for you
to forget that we were ever here."

 For a reason that he couldn't quite explain, Carl's heart began to pound
a little faster, as though he had suddenly become embroiled in something
that transcended the mere purchase of tickets.  He debated for a moment
about refusing the man, about perhaps even calling his supervisor over to
ask them a few pertinent questions.  But a quick glance at the woman
silenced his nagging fears.  There was something vulnerable about her that
made Carl decide that whatever their reasons for secrecy, they were
entitled to them, and he wasn't going to be the one to stand in their way.

 Carl began to slide the extra cash back under the partition, but was
stopped by a shake of the man's head.  "Keep it," he said, and the
intensity in his eyes made Carl realize he meant it.

 "Well, I thank you, sir," Carl said, bringing a smile to his face as
though everything was business as usual.  "The train will be departing
from platform six.  You have a safe journey now."

 The man didn't respond, only gave a brief nod in his direction, before
scooping up the tickets and tucking them into the pocket of his jacket. 
Taking the woman by the arm, he maneuvered their way through the crowds of
people on line.   Carl watched them until they disappeared from his view,
and only then did he tuck the extra money into his pocket, suddenly
inspired to buy some flowers for his wife on the way home.



Walter Skinner paced back and forth in the confined space behind his desk.
 The restlessness was unusual for him, as he was a man for whom composure
was an attribute of utmost importance.  But the paperwork on his desk was
too disturbing, and he was finally at the point of demanding the answers
that he sought.

 The inner door to his office opened, and the man entered, the usual trail
of cigarette smoke following in his wake.   "You wanted to see me?"

 "I want an explanation!"  Skinner's voice was explosive to his own ears,
and he fought to lower his tone.  "I need to know the meaning behind all
this."

 The man crossed over to Skinner's desk and glanced casually down at the
paperwork.  After a moment, he took another drag of his cigarette and
offered a slight shrug.  "As I told you, the investigation is underway.  
There is nothing else to report."

 "Nothing else?"  Skinner glared at the man.  "I have a man in New Orleans
with previous ties to organized crime killed with two bullets from a Smith
& Wesson 1076, the Bureau's standard weapon.   I have a bloody fingerprint
lifted from the face of the man's watch that matches Dana Scully's.  The
dead man in question was found in an alley behind a guest house where the
two tenants of an upper unit, a Mr. and Mrs. Wilder who gave no first
names, have vanished into thin air.  Inside the Wilder's apartment I've
got more prints belonging to Agent Scully, and many belonging to Fox
Mulder as well.  And the icing on the cake?  The Smith & Wesson service
revolver issued to Agent Scully seven months ago was inside.   No shots
fired from that gun, though, which tells me that the gun that killed the
man in the alley is probably Mulder's, and still in his possession."

 Skinner paused, winded from his long tirade, and watched the man, who
continued to smoke implacably.  Silence filled the room, which the man
finally broke.  "Excellent recitation of the facts,  Mr. Skinner.  I don't
see what else I can tell you that you don't already know."

 "What you can *tell* me, is what the hell is going on around here." 
Skinner leaned in close to the man, ignoring the stench of the nicotine. 
"I want to know the identity of the dead man, and what he was doing in
that alley.  And more important, I want to know why I'm only finding this
out from local police instead of Bureau agents."

 The man regarded Skinner with a curious stare that made his skin crawl,
but he met the man's gaze and did not flinch.   A long moment passed
before the man looked away, moving back towards the door.  He placed his
hand upon its knob and turned back to Skinner, the corners of his mouth
turned up ever so slightly.

 "Information is given out on a need to know basis.  And you, Mr. Skinner,
do not need to know any more than this."

 Skinner watched as the man exited the room, pulling the door shut behind
him.  Alone once again, Skinner stared down at the files covering his
desk, and with an angry moan of rage, suddenly swept them to the floor
with a powerful swing of his arm.   He pinched his forehead between two
fingers, fighting to remain calm, then hit the intercom on his desk. 
"Holly, get in here -- I'm gonna need some help with this paperwork."  



Scully made her way around the compartment for the third time since Mulder
had gone, acclimating herself to their new surroundings.  The room was a
long thin rectangle.  The beds were against the far wall, and as the man
at the ticket counter had promised, the lower bunk was much larger than
the other.   The sink and vanity counter were tucked into one corner of
the left wall, and there was a small window above them.    Scully pressed
her fingers against the cool glass and felt it vibrate with the motion of
the train.   The shower compartment took up much of the other corner, and
Scully touched the door handle as she passed, confirming its location in
her memory.  Along the right wall were two armchairs near a small armoire
that stood empty.  

 The key turned in the lock of the door and Scully whirled at the sound. 
"It's OK, Lisa," Mulder said as the door opened, and she sighed with
relief.  She heard the door click shut behind him and then his steps as he
crossed the room.   

 "Where did you go?" she asked, curious.

 "Dining car," he answered.  She could tell he was standing near the sink,
and he dumped something into the bowl that made a strange rattling sound. 


 "What's that noise?  What are you doing?"

 Mulder didn't reply, walking back over to her and taking her gently by
the arm instead.  "Come here," he said, and Scully followed him over to
the chairs along the wall.   She heard one of the chairs squeak as he sat
down in it, pulling her down onto his lap so that her back rested against
the curve of his left arm and her legs dangled over the side of the chair.
  She heard the rattling sound again, more muffled this time, and was then
shocked to feel something cold and damp against the tender bruise on her
left cheek.

 "Mulder!"  Scully instinctively pulled away from the chilling sensation,
but his arm remained firm in its grasp of her shoulders.   His body was
warm against hers, and despite her agitation, she found something very
comforting about his awkward embrace.

 "It's just a little ice," he said, "wrapped in a towel.  Trust me --
you'll be glad about it later."   With his other hand, he again touched
the soft cold cloth to her skin.

 Scully sighed, unable to deny the truth of his words, but still reluctant
to completely acquiesce.  "I can do this myself, Mulder."

 He was quiet for a moment, and then all he said was, "I know."  

 Suddenly she realized that perhaps he wanted to do this for her, needed
to do it in some undefinable way.  That perhaps it felt as good to him to
hold her as it did to her to be held.  The realization calmed her and
Scully relaxed against him, nestling the right side of her face against
his shoulder as he held the compress lightly against the other.  

 They said nothing for a time, Mulder seeming to know instinctively when
the ice was too cold against her skin and moving it away from time to time
without her having to ask.   The only noise was the distant rhythmic
clatter of the wheels as the train rolled down the track.

 A question hit her, and she put words to the thought.   "Why Stewart,
Mulder?"

 "You mean, why did I change it, or why that particular name?"

 "Both, I guess," she answered.

 "Jimmy Stewart.   After all, he's an American icon."  Mulder chuckled
slightly and Scully smiled at the warm rumble it made in his chest.  "As
for the change... the police are going to put two and two together sooner
or later.  They probably already have.  And the landlord -- he knew us
under the name 'Wilder'.  Can't use that anymore."

 Scully nodded her head slightly in response. "We'll need new i.d.'s
then."

 "New i.d.'s, and some more money.  We're almost out."  Mulder shifted
positions slightly beneath her.  "I'm going to get off at the first stop
in the morning -- make those calls, and pick up some clothes and stuff for
us."

 "Okay," she answered.  After a moment, she continued, her voice low.  "We
left a lot behind.  A lot of evidence."

 "So... that means they know where we've been."  Mulder's words were
equally soft.  "It doesn't mean they know where we're going."



Scully didn't say anything further, and for a time they merely sat
quietly.  Mulder tried to relax, but his nerves were on edge, expecting a
knock on the door at any moment, expecting that despite his best efforts
their escape had been tracked.

 But the knock did not come, and as the train continued along unmolested
by police or local law, Mulder began to believe that perhaps luck had been
with them once again.  He could not believe how blessed he felt to have
her here with him now, safe in his arms.  The events of the afternoon had
shaken him more than he would have thought possible.  Though Scully had
said little about what had transpired at the apartment in his absence, her
terror and shock had told him everything that he needed to know.   Never
again, Mulder vowed silently, hoping that this time he would be able to
keep his promise.

 The ice in the towel had almost completely melted before Scully spoke
again.  "Mulder, I'm about ready for bed."

 "Me too," he agreed, moving his arm from around her shoulders to allow
her to get up from his lap.  He rose as well and crossed over to the sink,
dumping the remaining ice fragments into the bowl and draping the damp
towel along its edge.  

 When he turned back around, Scully was seated on the edge of the lower
bunk.  She unlaced her tennis shoes and dropped them on the floor before
pulling back the covers and sliding beneath.  Mulder waited until she was
settled before flipping off the light switch.  In the darkened
compartment, he copied her motions, kicking off his own shoes and climbing
in beside her.  The bed, though a double, was not particularly large,
which Mulder found strangely pleasing.  He slipped his arms around Scully,
her back pressed to his chest, her head nestled in the spot just below his
shoulder that he had already come to think of as hers.  

 Mulder did not realize he had fallen asleep and was surprised when he was
wakened by the motion of her body, shaking in his arms.  Her tremors were
intense but she made no noise, and it took a moment before he realized
that Scully was crying.  He hesitated, unsure whether he should disturb
the privacy of her silence, but her trembling cut at his heart and he was
unable to ignore her suffering.   His lips close to her ear, he softly
whispered, "Dana?"

 Scully froze, her body going completely still in his grasp.  A long
moment passed in which Mulder regretted his actions, hoping that he had
not angered her with his interruption.  Then she twisted in his arms,
burying her face against his chest, and began crying freely, long
wrenching sobs that made his soul ache.  Mulder held her as tightly as he
was able, murmuring a litany of endearments in an effort to stop the flow
of her tears.  

 His shirt was thoroughly damp before she finally began to relax, her sobs
trailing off into a soft combination of sniffles and hiccups as she fought
to catch her breath.  In a small voice, she whispered, "I'm sorry,
Mulder."

 "Oh, Dana..."  Mulder caressed the strands of her hair that lay beneath
his fingertips. "Don't say that...please.  You don't ever have to say that
to me."

 "I just... I don't know if I can do this....I don't think I can,
anymore."

 "Do what?" he asked as she shifted against him, laying her palm flat
against his chest. 

 "This... the running, the hiding, the lying."  Scully's tone carried a
level of despair that Mulder had never before heard.  "I don't think I can
survive much more of this."

 Mulder paused, wanting desperately to say the right thing, to find the
right words, but the ones he chose seemed to him woefully inadequate. 
"Dana... you're not in this alone."

 In response, Scully moved her hand from his chest and trailed it down his
arm until she found his own.  Linking her fingers through his, she
answered, "I know.  And that -- that  scares me, too.  It scares me how
much I need you, Mulder."

 "I need you too, Dana... so much."  Though they were not quite the words
he longed to say, they seemed to serve their purpose.  Mulder felt a
gentle tug on his arm as Scully pulled their linked hands to her lips and
placed a soft kiss atop his knuckles, a kiss that burned deep inside his
chest.   He tilted his head and found her lips with his, reaffirming his
words with his kiss.  

 It was Scully who finally broke the embrace, pulling back from him with
an audible sigh.  Though the compartment was dark, Mulder could see the
flush in her cheeks from the faint light that came in through the window
across the room and he smiled, struck once again by her beauty. 
"Goodnight, Mulder," she murmured, before curling up against him again.

 "Goodnight Dana," he replied, as he closed his eyes and allowed the
motion of the train to lull him back to sleep.  



"...I refused to believe
This could happen to me and you
But it's lonesome and it's hard and it's true
And I hear the train sigh
And idle down below
Why your love is so sweet and wild
Is something I'll never know..."

-- Melissa Etheridge



And that's all she wrote...   ;-)   Thanks a lot for sticking with me!  
With the exception of my thesis, this may be the longest thing I've
written yet... <whew!>  So I would *love* to know what you thought -- even
if all you have to say is, "Wow, nice typing!"  <g>  I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com... Thanks again for reading!!!

And p.s. to Mom -- I did make my goal of posting on my birthday... so I'm
dedicating this to you and Dad, for twenty-seven years of unconditional
love and support.   You both are the best!   :-)



Author Chit-Chat:   I once read a quote that said, "There are no new
stories -- the celebration is found in retelling the old ones in a
different way."  I wish I remembered who said it, so I could thank them,
because in my opinion it really applies to this whole business of fanfic. 
<g>  I'm having a great time with this series of stories, and it's
*incredibly* rewarding to know that people are actually interested enough
to keep reading -- that's enough of a motivator to keep any writer
writing!!  My apologies for the delay in getting this installment out --
after I posted "Blue Hotel" in mid-March, I experienced a bit of fanfic
burnout -- couldn't bring myself to put fingers to keyboard until the
beginning of May. <grrrr>   So thanks for being patient, and I hope this
one is worth the wait.  :-)

Thank You's:  Without running on too long, I want to take a moment to
thank everyone who wrote in with such enthusiastic comments!!   Feedback
is the *best* thing ever, and comments and suggestions do a lot to inspire
my creative muse.  <g>  Special thanks go to Amy S., Dia, MD and the
ever-fabulous Karen for sending me some very specific ideas that ended up
in the mix this time around.  And I can't forget to thank Wonder Kat,
Proofer Extraordinaire, for spell-checking me and making sure that I don't
go too far overboard!  <wink>  

Spoiler Warning:  This story is the latest installment in the road series
that includes "Goin' Nowhere", "Passing Through", and "At The Blue Hotel",
all of which can be found on Vincent's archive at Ohio State -- or e-me,
and I'll send them.  <g>  As I've said before, in a roundabout way I'm
trying to solve the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months. 
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy and all the other related mythic episodes we've seen during Season
Three.  Just a general warning to any overseas readers...   :-)  

Disclaimer:  Thanks as always to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox for providing
me with terrific source material and allowing me to weave my own dreams
from there.   I think everybody knows the folks from Mr. Carter's
Neighborhood by now -- all the other characters are mine.  And special
thanks go to David and Gillian, the two most *rockin'* actors on
television. 

Now that I've bored you all to tears, let's hit the road....



DOWN THE TRACKS (1/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



"...and they're thinking of the long road ahead
 and the strength that they will need
 just to reach the end
 and there in the silence they search for
 the balance between this fear that they feel
 and a love that has graced their lives..."

 - cowboy junkies



Mulder shifted restlessly as he felt sleep slipping away from him, the
remnants of his dreams clinging like cobwebs to his brain as consciousness
slowly dawned, bringing him back into reality.  He yawned as his eyes
fluttered open, his body registering the pressure of a weight against his
tender ribs.  It was dim in the train compartment, the faint light of dawn
seeping in through the window on the far side.  There was just enough
light to illuminate Scully, lying sprawled atop him, her denim-clad legs
tangled with his under the twist of blankets that covered them both.  

 He shifted again, careful not to awaken her with his movements, in a vain
attempt to glimpse her face in its peaceful repose.   Her dark hair was
strewn across his chest, her face buried in the crook of his arm.   In one
hand she clutched the fabric of his shirt, twined between her fingers with
the intensity that a drowning man grasps a life preserver.  He could feel
her breaths, deep and even in sleep, each exhale a soft murmur against his
skin.  

 Mulder lay quietly, enjoying the sensation of her body pressed so close
to his, savoring the peace that came from knowing that she was safe in his
arms.  He ran his fingers through her hair, the strands soft against his
palm as he smoothed it back across her shoulders.  He listened to the
sound of the train, the rhythmic pounding of the wheels along the track a
counterpoint to the softness of her breathing, and tried to formulate a
plan.  As blissful as he felt in the quiet of this early morning, he was
all too aware of the reality of their situation.  On the run, alone, with
no one to turn to but each other.

 No one, he thought.  She has no one to depend on but you.

 The weight of that responsibility was heavy, especially given his
awareness of his own weaknesses.

 She's counting on you to keep her safe.

 She's counting on you to take care of her.

 Though he wasn't one to believe in the power of a supreme being, Mulder
offered up a silent prayer for the strength he was all too conscious of
needing.
 
 A whistle blew then, loud in the stillness, causing Mulder to realize
that the train was approaching a station.  The whistle was loud enough to
cut through Scully's slumber, and she stirred restlessly against him, her
hand grabbing the fabric of his shirt more tightly as she awakened.

 "Hey," he whispered softly, unwilling to raise his voice.

 "Hmmmmm," was all that she said, and though she raised her head enough to
rub at her eyes with her free hand, she did not release her grasp on his
shirt.

 "Sleep okay?"  he asked, still keeping his voice low.

 After a long moment, she answered.  "Yes. You?"

 "Fine," he replied.   There was little else to say, so he remained quiet,
shifting again so that he could draw his arm more tightly around her.  

 "Where are we?"  she questioned finally, tilting her face up towards him
as though she were still able to catch the answer in his gaze.

 "Not sure," he responded, "but I think the whistle means we're coming to
a stop.  I've been hearing them off and on all night."

 "Ummmm," she answered.  "Is it time to get off of the train?"

 "No," he said.  "It's early yet, and none of the stores or things will be
open.  I think our best bet is to wait for the next one."

 She only nodded, burrowing her face once again in the space where his arm
met his shoulder, her body soft and fragile against his.



Scully lay quietly, fighting off the sense of disorientation that
threatened to consume her.  She remembered with an aching, vivid clarity
the events of the previous day that had led to their arrival at the train
station, and their subsequent departure.  Despite her best efforts, the
train compartment felt foreign to her, and part of her longed for the
familiarity of their New Orleans apartment.  And yet the most important
thing had not changed -- Mulder was still here beside her, and she drew
strength from the clasp of his arm across her shoulders.  Taking a deep
breath, she inhaled the scent of him, faint with dust and sweat from his
fight in the alley.  She was reassured by the feel of his body against
hers, warm and solid and strong.

 She emitted a low, whistling sigh, and felt him gather her even more
closely to him.  The protectiveness of his motions made her smile
slightly, and she tried to quell the impulse inside her that wanted her to
beg him to let her go.  Although she had always been a woman who took
pride in her independence and self-reliance, there was something
incredibly comforting about his embrace, and she was reluctant to
relinquish the sensation.

 "Mulder," she questioned, "what are we going to do now?"

 The tone of his voice was flippant as he answered. "Well, I think the
first order of business is to shower, and then see about getting some
food."

 "I don't mean at this very moment," she contradicted, knowing he was
already anticipating her response.  "I mean, what's our plan going to be? 
 Where do we go from here?"

 He hesitated a long beat before replying, and she died a thousand deaths
in the silence. 

 <I'mleavingyouDanaleavingyouandgoinghome>

  "We need to turn the tables on them, Scully.  We can't afford to keep
running.  It's too dangerous for you, and we don't stand a chance of
winning if we play it that way."

 "What do you suggest?" she asked, feeling a rush of relief at his use of
the word "we".  Suddenly it felt as though things were as they once were,
the two of them working as a team, struggling to come up with a strategy
to solve a case.

 Another pause, and then Mulder continued.  "We need to take the offense. 
And part of that lies in finding out who created this disk, and why.   We
need to find the manufacturer, and discover who's in charge of their
payroll."

 Scully nodded, her face rubbing against the coarse fabric of his shirt. 
"Makes sense.  But how?  We don't have any leads... no access to
information."

 She felt Mulder's fingers in her hair, idly toying with the strands just
behind her ear.  "At the library, yesterday... I found some things out
about droperidol."

 Scully didn't say anything, just inclined her head in another nod against
his chest in a silent request for him to continue.

 "It's an opiate, similar to morphine, even more powerful in its effects. 
It was used during Vietnam on the P.O.W.'s, and might have also been a
part of the Nazi experiments."   Mulder's voice was rough, and she could
tell that he was having trouble getting the words out.  "I think... I'm
fairly sure that it was part of that compound that you saw in the lab.  
Part of whatever it was that they gave you...."

 Mulder's voice trailed off, and Scully fumbled beneath the blankets
searching for his hand.  Finding it, she gave it a brief squeeze.  "It's
OK, Mulder," she said quietly, hoping he couldn't hear the churning of her
stomach.  "Tell me."

 He cleared his throat, and managed somehow to finish.  "The drug is
capable of putting a person into a coma.... and keeping them that way,
with additional injections...  indefinitely.   I think... I think that
whoever took you away used that drug, in combination with something
else... to keep you under while they... did whatever it was they did."

 They were both quiet then, each lost in their own thoughts.  Scully
called upon a reserve of strength deep inside to finally break the
silence.  "Can we... can we use that information to find them?"

 Mulder was slow to answer.  "Maybe...  we can start by finding out which
companies manufacture it, and who their customers are.   The Gunmen can
check into that for us, I think."



He could see her face clearly now as she lay nestled in the crook of his
arm.  Her expression was calm and composed, but Mulder was all too aware
of the effort she was expending to make it so.  He could hear the tension
in her voice as she responded.

 "Good.  And maybe they will have some new information about the disk by
now, too."

 "Maybe," he repeated, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.   "Let's hope
so."

 As though she had suddenly realized how closely they were laying, Scully
pulled away from him, releasing her grasp of his shirt to scoot over
towards the wall, leaving a cold empty space in the sheets between them.

 "Scully?"  His voice raised slightly with the question.  "You OK?"

 "I'm fine, Mulder," she answered, and his heart sank at the words he had
heard all too often.  She was withdrawing from him again, and it hurt, as
it always did.

 Good job, Mulder.  Smooth move.  Nice early morning conversation.

 Running a hand through his sleep-tossed hair, Mulder searched his brain
for words that would reassure her, and came up empty.   He reached out for
her, his fingers grazing her cheek, and she flinched.  "Dana... talk to
me.  Please."

 She didn't answer, and that made it hurt even worse.  He debated about
getting out of the bed, about leaving her alone, but he had never been
able to turn his back on her, and now was no exception.

 Before he could stop himself, Mulder reached out to her again, caressing
her face gently with the tips of his fingers.  This time she did not pull
away, and he released the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding as
she allowed his hand to trail down the slope of her jaw.  Her skin was
warm and soft to the touch, and he drew his fingers slowly down her neck
until the collar of her sweater stopped his progress.

 Scully's eyes fluttered shut and Mulder took that as a sign of
acquiescence, allowing his hand to continue its gentle exploration of her
body.  His fingers moved lazily over the rounded slope of each breast,
toying with the buttons of the cardigan that lay between them.  She
murmured softly, a low moan of contentment, and it brought a smile to his
face.

 Enjoying himself now, Mulder moved his hand lower in a soothing, circular
motion across her stomach.  A thin band of smooth pale skin lay exposed
between the edge of her sweater and the waistband of her jeans, and as his
fingers danced along it, Scully emitted a low giggle of protest that
warmed his heart.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her
laugh.

 "Mulder....don't...."

 His smile widened as he deliberately repeated the motion.  "Don't what,
Dana?"



His hand moved against her again and she squirmed, although the sensation
wasn't entirely unpleasant.  "Don't do that, Mulder.... I'm warning you."

 "Oh?"  His voice was warmer now, dark and low and deep in his chest. 
"*You're* warning *me*?  I'll have to keep that in mind."

 Scully tried to relax, to lie still and enjoy the feeling of his hand
against her body, but she couldn't help herself.  "Don't," she pleaded,
the word escaping her lips with an unfamiliar giggle.  "That tickles..."

 Suddenly both of his hands were there, toying at her stomach, pulling at
her sweater to tickle her mercilessly.  The sensation was exquisite, and
her breath caught as she laughed and tried to push him away.  It was as
though his hands were everywhere, coming at her from all directions, and
try as she might she couldn't seem to stop him.  

 Mulder was laughing now, too, and listening to that rich full sound
Scully realized that she would gladly suffer an eternity of this torture
if only to hear him so relaxed and happy.

 When she couldn't stand it any longer, she tried to roll away from him,
but he merely rolled atop her, pinning her beneath his weight.  For a
brief instant Scully panicked, her mind flashing back to the previous day.
 Then she felt his lips brush her forehead and she remembered where she
was, and who she was with, and laughed aloud, surprised at how much she
was enjoying herself.

 "Get... off... me... Mulder," she cried, punctuating the words with a
series of giggles that she instantly regretted as they spurred him on to
tickle her harder.  Desperate for breath, she reached up and found his
shoulders with her hands and pushed with all her might, which finally got
his attention.

 Scully felt Mulder take her hands in his, lacing their fingers together
as he pressed her back down against the pillow.  She gasped as his lips
met her throat, trailing a series of little kisses up along her jaw before
finding her mouth with his.  She relaxed in his embrace, allowing his body
to fall closer to hers, as his tongue explored her mouth.   His beard
tickled her skin as she smiled into the kiss, and felt him smile back.

 All too soon, he pulled away, and she felt his head come to rest beside
hers on the pillow, his breath warm against her ear.   Her own breaths
were coming in rapid gasps that matched the pounding of her heart, and a
long moment passed before she found the energy to form words.  "What," she
finally asked, "was *that* all about?"

 "Just a wake-up call, Scully," he answered in a too-innocent tone. 
"Didn't you put in a request?"

 "I guess I did," she replied.  Tilting her face back towards him, she
captured his lips again with hers and kissed him hard, hoping to erase the
self-satisfied smirk she somehow knew he was wearing.



Mulder wandered down the corridor of the train, watching the scenery as it
flashed by outside the windows.   This was his third trip walking the
length of the cars, and a quick glance at his watch told him that it was
nearly time to go back for Scully.   He had left her in their compartment,
ostensibly to get his bearings as to the layout of the train, but really
to give her some privacy while she showered and cleaned up.  The room was
small enough, he reflected -- the last thing that she needed was for him
to be hanging out infringing on her space.

 Still, it was hard to leave her, if only for a short while, and Mulder
had found his mind occupied by nothing else but her during the intervening
thirty minutes.  Approaching the aisleway where the main corridor met a
smaller artery, Mulder took a left, quickening his pace slightly.   It had
been even harder to leave her this particular morning, he thought,
reflecting on how incredibly aroused their impromptu tickling session had
left him.  Mulder knew that he was attracted to Scully, knew that he had
been for a very long time, and part of his mind and body screamed out to
him to push their physical relationship to the limit.

 Yet he was all too aware of Scully's new vulnerability, and he was
anxious not to do anything that would push her too far, that would put her
in a situation that made her feel threatened or unsafe.  His hand wandered
up to the pocket of his shirt, checking once again to ensure that he still
had the disk, the disk that was a physical reminder of the horror of her
abduction, the disk that she had lost her eyesight to obtain.  She had
suffered so much.... more than she should ever have had to endure.  More
than anything else in the world Mulder wanted to protect her, and if doing
so meant depriving himself of pleasure, that was a sacrifice he was more
than willing to make.

 Lost in these thoughts, Mulder bumped into another passenger while
rounding a turn.  "Sorry!" he said by way of apology, with an embarrassed
wave of his hand.  "Guess I need to pay more attention in these narrow
corridors."

 "Not a problem," answered the passenger, a young man with a mop of sandy
blond hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that had fallen slightly
askew.  Fixing the frames atop the bridge of his nose, he continued, "It's
one of the hazards of train travel."

 "Guess so," Mulder answered.  "Don't do much of it, myself."

 "Ah," the young man grinned.  "Well then, I'll make sure I keep an eye
out for you then.  Least until you get your 'train legs'."

 "Sounds good," Mulder replied, and smiled back as the young man moved
past.

 He climbed the stairwell that separated the lower deck of the train from
the upper, and moments later, Mulder found himself back in front of their
compartment.  Looking down, he noticed a small tray against the door,
containing a coffee decanter and a carafe of orange juice, accompanied by
two cups, saucers, and two small glasses.  A newspaper lay alongside, the
morning's copy of "USA Today".  Reaching down, he retrieved the tray,
before knocking on the door three times, as promised.  

 "Rick?"  Her voice was muffled through the door.

 "It's me," he answered, and waited for the snick of the lock as she drew
back the bolt.  Twisting the knob, he entered the compartment.  "Looks
like they brought us a little snack," he said, pulling the door shut
behind him.

 Scully was standing in the center of the room, a worried expression on
her face.  "Somebody knocked, but I -- I... I didn't want to answer it."

 He walked over to the table between the two chairs and carefully put the
tray on its surface, before taking her briefly in his arms.  "And I'm glad
you didn't."  He kissed her forehead, catching the clean whiff of soap and
shampoo.  "Feel better?"

 Scully nodded, favoring him with a relieved smile as she pulled away.  
She cautiously crossed the room to the bed, finding its edge with her hand
and sitting down before she answered.  

 "A little," she replied, "but I wish I had some fresh clothes."  

 "Me too."  Like Scully, Mulder had been forced to put on his clothes from
the day before after his shower, and he knew exactly how she felt.  "I
promise -- next stop, we're going to do some shopping."

 "What I need," she grumbled, "is a hairbrush.  They give you
complimentary everything else, but no brush."  Scully ran her hand through
the tumble of damp brown waves that fell across her shoulders in
frustration, and Mulder chuckled.

 "It's fine, Scully -- trust me.  Besides, mine looks just as bad." 

 "Yes, but you don't have a giant bruise on one side of your face."

 At her remark, Mulder took a close look at her.  The mark left by the
assassin's pistol was still clearly visible, but the livid purple color of
the bruise had faded somewhat over the intervening hours.  "I don't know
how it feels," he said, "but it seems as though the ice helped.  It's not
as swollen as I would have expected."

 She brought a hand gingerly to her face and ran her fingertips across the
bruise.  "Good," she replied.  "It doesn't hurt as much as it did
yesterday, either."  A pause, and then, "How are your ribs?"

 "Not bad, considering."  Mulder sank down in one of the chairs and
watched her as she fumbled beneath the bed, her hands searching for the
tennis shoes that he could see, just beyond her grasp.  He waited as long
as he was able before finally giving in.  "A little to the left," he said.

 Scully moved her hand in that direction and found the errant shoes, a
slight expression of relief crossing her face.  "Thanks," she responded,
as she picked up the closest shoe and began to put it on.  

 Relieved that his interference hadn't angered her, Mulder asked, "Want
some coffee?"

 "Sure," she answered, and he took the decanter and poured them each a
cup, adding milk to hers the way that she liked it.  He waited until she
had laced up the second shoe, and then crossed the room to her side. 

 "Here," he said as he handed her the cup.  "Be careful."

 Scully nodded as she took a cautious sip.  She murmured her approval and
then asked, "Did you find out where we are?"

 "Yes," Mulder answered as he walked back to the table to grab his own
cup.  "That last stop was Beaumont, Texas.  The next one is Houston --
according to the conductor, we'll be there around ten, which is a little
over an hour from now."  He picked up the paper and unfurled it to its
full size, glancing at the headlines as he sipped the coffee.

 "Sounds good."  Scully paused for a moment, her head tilted to one side
as she listened.  "What are you doing, Mulder?"

 The question startled him for some reason, and it took him a moment to
answer.  "What am I -- um, just looking at the newspaper."

 "Oh," was all that she said, but the stricken expression on her face
stopped him cold.  The awkwardness of the moment brought him once again to
the painful awareness of just how much she had lost.  So many little
things, he thought, so many things that I take for granted she's now been
denied.

 Suddenly anxious to change the subject, he said, "Let's get out of here
-- get something to eat.  You hungry, Scully?"

 She threw a smile in his direction, and he felt as though he'd been
forgiven for yet another mistake.  "You have *no* idea.  How far away is
the dining car?"

 "Not far," he replied, crossing the room to her side.  Gently, he reached
down and took her arm.  "Shall we, Mrs. Stewart?"

 "You bet," she answered, allowing him to guide her up from the bed and
towards the door.  They were nearly there when she spoke again.  "Mulder? 
 Will you bring it with you?  The newspaper, I mean."   She squeezed his
arm lightly with her hand.  "One of us should keep tabs on what's going on
in the world."

 He recognized the need beneath her teasing banter, and it made his heart
ache, but he responded in the same light tone.   "I'll be sure to share
all of my findings with you -- starting with the latest sports scores."  
She laughed as he grabbed the paper up with his free hand, tucking it
under his arm so that he could open the door and lead them both out of the
compartment.



Here endeth part 1... parts 2-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-1                                   X-1


This is part two of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (2/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



The man cradled the phone against his shoulder to free up his hands in
order to light a fresh cigarette.  "So what are you telling me?"

 Christophe's smooth, cool voice hurtled through the receiver.  "They did
not leave New Orleans by plane.  Of that I am absolutely certain.  Nor by
boat, unless it was privately owned.  All of the charters and shipping
vessels check out."

 "Where does that leave us?"

 "Bus, train, or car.  We've searched nearly all the rental agencies and
come up empty, although that doesn't rule out their having purchased a
vehicle, but given the time frame, it doesn't seem reasonable.  A bus
seems the most likely -- there were a slew of departures from all over the
city yesterday, with a wide variety of destinations.  But we are still
checking into the possibility of a train."

 The man nodded, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the dank room.  "Good.  I
want to be kept continually apprised."

 "Of course."

 "And," said the man, dropping the tone of his voice for emphasis, "I
expect you to resolve this matter personally, once you have located them."

 "With pleasure," Christophe replied.  "Make no mistake about that."

 "Good," the man repeated, and hit the button on the phone to end the
call.   He took another long drag of his cigarette, then dialed another
number on the cellular.  It rang twice, and then was answered.

 "Yes?"

 "It's me.  I need to speak to him."  A pause ensued, during which the man
smoked and envisioned the room in New York City to which he was now
connected via the phone.  Envisioned the men of the Consortium as they sat
in their armchairs, making decisions every moment of every day that
affected a multitude of lives.

 Including his.

 "You have something to report?"

 Jarred back to reality by the cold voice, the man stumbled to form a
reply.  "Yes.  The situation has been rectified.  We should have it back
in our possession shortly."

 "We cannot be too clear about the importance of this.  Failure will not
be tolerated.  Do you understand?"

 "Yes," the man answered, the blood turning to ice in his veins.  "There
will be no failure."

 "There is something else," the voice continued.  "The woman... she may
still be of use to us."

 The man took another drag of his cigarette.  "That changes things... may
I ask why?"

 "You will be informed in due course.  Through the usual channels."

 The man exhaled, nodding as he did so.  "And Mulder?"

 The response was quick.  "We have no need for him."

 "Understood.  He will be taken care of."

  "Remember -- we cannot afford any more mistakes.  Neither can you."

 The line went dead then, and the man closed the cellular and placed it on
the table beside him.  His fingers shaking ever so slightly, the man
brought his cigarette back to his lips.



After the relative silence of the corridors, Scully was surprised at how
noisy it was in the dining car.   A jumble of voices filled the air, the
laughter of young children mixing with a loud variety of adult chatter. 
She adjusted her grip on Mulder's arm as they negotiated the car,
listening closely to his directions over the din.

 "This looks good," she heard him say, and stopped just behind him. 
"There's a chair, just to your left."   Mulder pulled the chair away from
the table, the sound barely audible thanks to the carpeting in the car.  
She trailed her hand down the length of his arm and found the back of the
chair, releasing her hold on him only after she was seated.  

 He moved to sit across from her, and Scully heard the rustling of the
newspaper as he placed it on the table.   Mulder reached across the table
and gave her hand a little squeeze.

 "Comfortable?"

 "Yes," she answered, returning the squeeze before pulling her hand away. 
 With quick, light strokes, Scully began to familiarize herself with the
table, locating the plate, the flatware and the glasses, memorizing their
locations in her mind.  She found the napkin and placed it in her lap,
noting as she did so that it was made of the same soft fabric as the
tablecloth.   "Pretty fancy," she remarked.

 "It is," Mulder agreed.  "Much nicer than I would have expected.  Want to
hear the menu?"

 Scully nodded her approval, and listened to the recitation, trying to
decide exactly what she was in the mood to eat.   As hungry as she was,
she had a hard time concentrating on the available selections, focusing
more on the sound of Mulder's voice as he read the choices aloud.   She
had always liked his voice, and during their time as colleagues had
treasured his words of praise and admiration as much as his teasing
banter.  But his voice had come to signify so much more to her now, and
she savored its rich warm cadence.  It was her way to gauge his feelings
and emotions, to help her guess what he was thinking now that she was
unable to study the expressions lurking behind his hazel eyes.

 His eyes... Scully shut her own in a moment of silent regret, wishing
that she had been more appreciative of the power of his gaze.  His eyes
were an intense shade of green when he was on the trail of some
unexplainable theory, flashing with a fiery intensity that spoke of his
passion for his work.  At other times, they were a softer shade of brown,
full of warmth and empathy and his signature combination of worry, fear,
and guilt.   Always expressive, and, she remembered, extremely beautiful.

 Lost in these thoughts, she was startled to hear Mulder calling her name.
 "Lisa?  What is it?  Are you OK?"

 "Fine... I'm fine," she hastened to answer, throwing a smile in his
general direction. 

 "For a minute, it looked like you were going to faint."   Scully could
hear the worry in his voice and she shook her head to reassure him.

 "Well, I might, if we don't order something soon," she teased.  "Why
don't you stop with the recitation and find us a waiter?"

 Mulder chuckled.  "Your wish is my command," he replied.  "I'll be right
back."

 Scully heard him get up from the table and as his footsteps retreated she
fought down the rush of panic that always accompanied his absence,
fighting to retain a modicum of control.   You're fine, Dana, she
reassured herself.   Everything's fine.

 She listened to the sounds of the various diners, catching brief snatches
of the conversation that surrounded her.  After a moment, she heard steps
coming nearer, but knew from the rhythm that they did not belong to
Mulder.   The noise of a chair being pulled back reached her ears, and she
realized that someone had sat down at the table next to her.   In a now
habitual gesture, Scully lowered her head slightly, unwilling to draw any
attention to herself.

 She heard the rustle of papers, followed by the sound of a zipper and
then a noise that sounded as though a pile of sticks had fallen on the
tabletop, muffled by its linen covering.  The train shook as the wheels
went over a bump in the trestle, and Scully heard a small plink as
something hit the floor, followed by a faint rolling sound that seemed to
come from directly below her feet.  She heard a man's voice utter a low
curse.  "Shit!"  Silence, then the voice continued.  "Excuse me, ma'am?"

 Scully froze, and the words reached her again.

 "Excuse me?  Can you hand me that pencil, please?"

 "Ummmm....." Scully leaned back from the table instinctively, her foot
moving against the floor in the vain hope of locating the object, with no
success.

 "Ma'am?"  There was confusion in the voice, and she heard the sound of
the man as he rose from his table.  A slight intake of breath, and then
the voice spoke again, filled with apology and a familiar sound of pity
that made her cringe.  "Oh.... I'm sorry, I... I didn't realize."

 "That's OK," Scully answered, aware of the twinge of anger beneath her
words.  "You dropped something?"

 "A pencil.... I think it's beneath your table."

 Scully waved one hand in a brief gesture of acquiescence, scooting her
chair further back from the table to allow the man to retrieve the lost
item.   The man's hand brushed her leg as he reached past her, and she
heard a light scraping sound, followed by his voice.

 "Thanks," he said.  "I'm awfully sorry about that."

 "No problem," she answered, her voice a mixture of impatience and
embarrassment.

 Familiar footsteps approached and Scully drew a breath of relief at the
sound of Mulder's return.  



Elliot laid the errant pencil back amongst the rest as he sat back down in
his chair, shaking his head ruefully, regretting his own insensitivity. 
Catch a clue, he thought.  Can't you tell a blind woman when you see one?

 He looked up and noticed the man approaching the table next to him, the
same man he had encountered in the corridor earlier, and offered him a
quick smile.  "Hello."

 "Hey," the man responded, as he pulled back his chair and sat across from
the dark-haired woman, taking her hand in his.  "We meet again."

 Elliot's grin widened.  This was one of his favorite things about train
travel.  Trains were a civilized means of travel -- civilized and
sociable, unlike airplanes, where seatmates rarely even spoke to one
another.  "As they say, once is coincidence.  Twice is fate."  He extended
a hand, noting the ink blotch that stained one of his fingers as he did
so.  "Elliot Masters."

 The man offered his other hand in a brief shake.  "Rick Stewart," he
responded.  Indicating the woman across from him, he said, "This is my...
wife, Lisa."

 "We've already met," said Elliot, and Lisa smiled.

 "Kind of," she said.  "Sorry about the pencil."

 "My fault," Elliot replied.  "I need to keep a better hold of things."

 At that moment, the waiter approached their table, and Elliot turned back
to his own, trying to make some sense of the papers he had strewn across
it.  As usual, things were a mess, and he couldn't find the sketch he had
begun the night before.   With a sigh of frustration, he rifled through
the series of drawings, searching for the one he needed, stopping only to
order a cup of coffee and some toast from the waiter.

 Finally locating the paper he sought, Elliot reached for a forest green
pencil and began tracing a series of leaves in the upper corner of the
drawing.  Quickly immersed in his work, he was startled by the
interruption of Rick's voice.

 "That's incredible," Rick said.  "Is that a real place?"

 Surprised and flattered, Elliot looked at the drawing and realized that
it actually was coming along fairly well.  "No," he answered, "but I wish
it was."

 "Rick?"  Elliot could hear the question in Lisa's voice, and her
companion was quick to respond.

 "It's a drawing of a forest -- looks like a rain forest, to me.  Lush
green trees against a deep blue sky, and there's what appears to be a bird
in the upper corner.... something exotic."

 Lisa smiled again, and Elliot realized that despite her somewhat
disheveled appearance and the angry welt that discolored her cheek, she
was actually quite pretty.  "Sounds beautiful," she said.

 "It is," Rick agreed.  

 "Thanks," said Elliot, pleased by the compliments.  "I hope the publisher
likes it as much as you do."   Rick shot him a quizzical look so he
continued.  "I'm an illustrator -- children's books, mostly, but I do
whatever's commissionable.  This is for a fantasy series -- I'm only just
starting on this one."

 "Well," Rick commented, "you're very talented."

 "Thanks," Elliot repeated, and then their conversation was interrupted by
the arrival of breakfast.

 As he sipped his coffee, Elliot watched the couple next to him,
distracted from his work by his interest in their conversation.   He
noticed the way Rick assisted Lisa, explaining the layout of the food on
her plate using the numbers on the face of a clock as a guide.  She
listened to him closely, saying little, and Elliot was surprised by her
accuracy as she began to eat.  

 Over the course of his numerous train trips, Elliot had met many
different kinds of people, from all walks of life.   Yet there was
something about this particular couple that he found particularly
fascinating.   Well, he thought, it's not every day that you meet a blind
woman traveling with her husband.  But it was more than that -- it was
something about the way that Rick spoke to Lisa, reading quietly to her
from the newspaper that lay beside his plate on the table, watching her
closely to gauge her interest as he skipped from one article to the next. 
 And it was something about the way that she responded to him, picking up
hidden undercurrents in his tone effortlessly, as though the two of them
were communicating on a level that transcended mere words.  

 Elliot took another sip of coffee and realized that perhaps it was just
that the two of them seemed so happy sitting there, as though the mere act
of having breakfast together was something special and sacred, something
to be treasured.   The thought made him think of Rebecca, of their lazy
Sunday sessions on the couch with coffee and the paper, and he smiled,
checking his watch and mentally counting down the hours.   A feeling of
contentment filled him as he turned back to his drawing and began
pencilling in more leaves.



Assistant Director Walter Skinner pushed his chair back from his desk,
frustration causing a throbbing pain to pulse at his temple.  Rising to
his full height, he stepped away from the desk to pace the length of the
room in an attempt to burn off some of his nervous energy.

 Something wasn't right, he knew that in the pit of his soul.   The
reports that littered his desk were useless -- less than useless, and read
as though they had been put together by amateurs.  He found it hard to
believe that no new information on Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had
been discovered in the past twenty-four hours.   It was impossible...
inconceivable.

 At that moment, as though summoned by his turmoil, the door to his office
opened and the man entered, brandishing a cigarette in his hand as always.
  An idle part of Skinner's mind wondered if the man had come into the
world with a cancer stick attached to his fingers, and he allowed himself
the privilege of an inner smile at the thought.

 "Any word?"  The man asked, taking a long drag of the cigarette.

 "Why don't you tell me?"  Skinner's eyes flashed with a deliberate
challenge.  "After all, you seem to be so much more on top of things than
I am."

 The man exhaled, a cloud of smoke filling the room.  "Quite the contrary,
Mr. Skinner.  I have no information for you, beyond what I've read in
those reports."

 Skinner crossed the room to his desk and grabbed one of the files, waving
it in the air for emphasis.  "These reports mean absolutely nothing.  Do
you hear me?  *Nothing*."

 The man said nothing, merely continuing to smoke implacably.

   "With all of the evidence left behind in that apartment in New
Orleans," Skinner continued, "I'm to believe that with all of the manpower
at our disposal, the Bureau has come up with nothing.  No new leads, no
new discoveries."

 "Sometimes," the man remarked, "things take time."

 "Time," Skinner responded, "is a luxury I cannot afford.  Not with the
lives of two of my agents at stake."

 The man took another long drag.  "Former agents, Mr. Skinner.  Or have
you forgotten that Mulder and Scully are now fugitives from justice?"

 It was Skinner's turn to remain silent.

 "They *will* be found," said the man.  

 "But by whom?"  Skinner demanded.  "By the Bureau?  Or by someone else?  
Somebody is deliberately manipulating these reports, concealing evidence
that we could use to track them down."

 The man smiled, his lips stretching into a taut, narrow line.  "Those are
wild accusations, Mr. Skinner.  You should be careful to whom you say
these things."

 "I'm not the one who should be careful," Skinner muttered.  Striding to
the door, he threw it open and headed into the hall, leaving the smoking
man behind.



They were nearly finished with breakfast when the whistle blew again.  
Mulder glanced at his watch, and then looked across the table at Scully. 
"Ten-oh-five," he said.  "Right on time."

 "Good," she replied.  "How long are we in Houston for?"

 "I'm not sure," he answered.  "I'll have to check with the conductor."

 The young man at the next table looked up then, peering over the top of
his glasses.  "The Houston stop is nearly three hours," he offered.  "It's
one of the major transfers, and they also refuel here -- takes a bit of
time."

 Scully tilted her head in the man's direction, a quizzical expression on
her face.  "You know a lot about this train, Elliot."

 Elliot grinned.  "This one, and all the rest.  I travel a lot in my line
of work, but I'm terrified of flying.  I don't think there's a train
running across this country that I *haven't* been on."

 The comment made Scully laugh ruefully.  "I'm not the best flyer,
myself."

 "Ah, a kindred spirit," Elliot replied.

 As he pulled money out of his wallet to pay the check, Mulder asked,
"Well, since you're the expert, Elliot, do you know if there's a shopping
center near the train station?"

 Elliot nodded.  "Sure.  There's a big mall not far -- a quick cab ride. 
Just be sure you get back to the station at least twenty minutes before
the train is due to leave."

 "Got it," said Mulder, as he rose from his chair and moved around the
table to where Scully sat. "Thanks for the tip."

 "Anytime," Elliot replied, turning back to his drawings.

 Taking Scully gently by the arm, he helped her up from her seat. 
"Ready?"  he asked.

 "Definitely," she answered, falling into step beside him as they made
their way out of the dining car.



Here endeth part 2... parts 3-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 

X-2            X-2



This is part three of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (3/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



The first thing Scully noticed when they disembarked the train was how
quiet it was.  She hadn't realized how ubiquitous the noise of the wheels
against the tracks had become until it was gone.  The second thing she
noticed was the chill in the air.  The air was crisp and had a clean,
fresh scent, but it was more brisk than she had expected.  She shivered
involuntarily despite the sweater she wore, and rubbed her free hand
against her arm in an attempt to create some friction.

 "Rick," she remarked, "it's freezing!  Are you sure we're in Texas?"

 He stopped, and she stopped beside him, hearing him chuckle.  "Yes, I'm
sure we're in Texas.  But you have to remember, it's the beginning of
November.  From time to time, it *has* been known to snow here."

 November... her mind whirled at the thought, suddenly aware of how much
time had passed since they left D.C.  Scully realized that it had been
nearly two months since she had kept any close track of the date.  She
heard a rustling sound and listened, curious.  The next moment, Mulder was
placing something into her hands.

 "Here," he said.  "Put on my windbreaker.  It should help."

 "I'm fine," she responded, pushing his hands away, but he was persistent
and she finally relented, pulling the light fabric over her head and
rolling up the sleeves where they dangled over the edge of her wrists. 
Though she was reluctant to admit it, the jacket did a fair job of cutting
some of the chill out of the air.

 "Thanks," she finally answered, and felt him take her arm again.

 "No problem," came the response.  

 They walked together in relative silence for awhile, Mulder speaking only
to give her directions.  Reaching a corner, they stopped, and waited while
Mulder hailed a cab.  

 Once they were settled inside, she put words to the question in her head.
 "What's our plan?"

 "We'll get to the mall, and then find a phone.  Make our call, and then
do some shopping.  We've got nearly two hours -- it should be enough
time."

 Scully grinned, knowing he was looking.  "You've never been shopping with
me, have you?"

 She heard his answering laugh and felt him clasp her hand in his.  
Leaning against his shoulder, she relaxed, feeling good about being off of
the train for awhile.



As Elliot had promised, the ride to the mall was a short one.  Mulder
helped Scully out of the cab and paid the driver, his eyes already
scanning the area for a pay phone.  He spotted one near the entrance to
the mall, and despite the crowds milling in and out of the doors, he
deemed it isolated enough to be relatively safe.  He guided Scully towards
it, cautious with his directions amongst the throng of people.

 At the booth, he picked up the receiver, and quickly dialed the number he
had long since committed to memory.   The line picked up on the second
ring, and he spoke rapidly.  "Seven-one-three, five-five-five,
eight-nine-five-three."  Hanging up the phone, he stole a look at Scully
while he waited, pleased to note that she seemed at ease.

 Moments later, the phone rang, and Mulder picked it up immediately. 
"Hello?"

 Byers' voice reached his ears.  "Long time -- we were starting to get a
bit worried."

 "Things haven't been easy on this end.  You?"

 "There's not a lot new to report."  Byers sighed.  "Haven't been able to
track down much regarding that item you wanted us to search -- coming up
with dead ends on all sides."

 Mulder clenched his teeth.  "Nothing?"

 Langly's voice this time.  "Nothing you don't already know -- it *is*
some kind of microprocessing system, and is definitely capable of reading
information contained in the kind of implant that she found in her neck. 
But beyond that, we're not sure."

 Frohike chimed in, saying, "And it isn't clear what purpose a circuit
board like that would serve.  Why someone would need to be able to link up
so many of the implants together in one system.  It doesn't make any
sense."

 "We're running out of time."  Mulder absently ran a hand through his
hair.  "On the search, and on this call."

 "You're right on both counts," Byers agreed.  "What do you need?"

 "Three things.  Check into a drug called droperidol -- who makes it, and
in what combinations.   It may have something to do with the formula she
spotted in the lab."   Mulder noticed Scully's expression darken at his
words, and he reached out to take her hand again in his.

 "Done," said Byers.  "Next?"

 "We'll be needing new ID's -- name of Stewart, this time.  And more money
-- I'm down to my last couple hundred."

 "Where do you want them?"  Langly asked.

 Mulder checked the train schedule that he had tucked into the pocket of
his shirt.  "We'll be in El Paso in about 24 hours.  Is that enough time?"

 "No problem," Byers confirmed. "You'll have it.  And?"

 Mulder hesitated, trying to think of a way to phrase the request.  "Check
into a man by the name of Robert Bard."

 "Common name," Langly commented.  "Can you give us more than that?"

 "At the present time, no."  Mulder cast a glance at Scully, all too aware
that she was listening to every word of his part of the conversation,
hoping she couldn't hear theirs.  "But the man I'm looking for might be a
big help, down the line."

 Frohike's voice cut in.  "This has something to do with her, doesn't it. 
 What is he, some kind of doctor?"

 "Give the man a medal."  Mulder's lips turned up in a hint of a smile.

 "We'll get on it," Byers promised.

 "It's been almost five minutes -- we should end this call," Frohike
cautioned.  A pause, and then, "Tell her hello, will you?"

 "Of course.  Talk to you later."

 With that, Mulder hung up the phone.  Taking Scully gently by the arm, he
led the way into the shopping mall.



The mall was hollow.  That was the closest word that Scully could come up
with to explain the echoing cacophony of the shopping center, the sound of
hundreds of feet against the tile flooring reverberating in her ears. 
>From somewhere in the distance came the noisy clang of arcade machines,
and she could smell the greasy scents of a myriad of fast food
combinations.  The tinny sound of Muzak wafted through the air, faint
enough to be imperceptible amongst the din of normal conversation, but
attuned as she was to every sound, she caught most of the piped in melody.

 "Rick," she asked, "am I right in guessing that this place is something
of a tacky nightmare?"

 "Your normal suburban shopping mall," came the response.  "I hope you
weren't expecting Rodeo Drive."

 "No," she answered.  "At this point, all I care about is finding a change
of clothes."

 She followed him into a store, where the music was louder and
considerably more trendy, yet the general vibe was much less hectic than
that of the mall itself.  "Where are we?"

 "Ummm, The Gap," he answered.  "Seems like a good place -- and I think we
can get a duffel bag here -- we need to be able to put this stuff in
something."

 Scully nodded in response to his logic, following him as he made his way
amongst the racks.   After a moment, he stopped, and she followed suit.

 "Have to find you something warm," he said.  "Try this on for size."

 Mulder assisted her in removing his windbreaker, and then slipped her
arms into a jacket that felt as though it was made of some type of heavy
canvas.  It fit much better than the windbreaker, and she smiled.  "Feels
good....how does it look?  What color is it?"

 "Navy," he answered, "and it looks just fine.  Seems like a purchase to
me."

 That issue having been decided, Scully followed Mulder as he wandered
through the aisles.  He chose two turtlenecks for her, telling her that
one was white and the other, gray.  "Basics," he said, and she smiled. 
Then a plaid flannel shirt, which he described as "navy, with some green
and white", and she shrugged, surrendering the decision making to him.

 "Rick," she reminded him, "something for the bottom might be a good idea
too."

 With one arm draped across her shoulders, he led her over to another part
of the store. Scully listened to the snick of hangers along the rack as
Mulder sorted through the items hanging there.  "What size?"  he asked.  

 "Ummmm, a four, I think," she responded.  A moment later, she heard him
sigh with satisfaction.

 "Khakis, size four.  You want to try them on?"

 She nodded, and allowed him to lead her to the dressing rooms, where they
stopped to stand in line and wait their turn.



The sales clerk in charge of the fitting rooms motioned them forward. 
"Take the room at the end," the clerk said, tossing her long brown hair
over her shoulder.

 "Thanks," said Mulder, and led Scully down to the room the girl had
indicated.  "Right here," he told her.  "I'll be waiting right outside."

 She nodded, and disappeared within, clutching the khakis along with the
white turtleneck he had chosen.  Mulder leaned against the wall and
waited, idly wishing that he was inside the room with her instead.   He
closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of fantasy, only to be
jarred back to reality by the sound of her voice.

 "Rick?"

 There was an undercurrent of worry in her tone that struck him
immediately.  "Lisa?  You OK?"

 "Yes," came the answer.  "But... can you come in here?"

 Mulder twisted the knob on the door of the fitting room, pushing it open
and stepping inside.  Scully stood within, the white turtleneck a perfect
fit.  The pants, however, were another story, bagging slightly at the
waist.  She had tucked both of her thumbs into the waistband and held the
trousers away from her body, a dismayed expression on her face.

 "I guess I've lost some weight," she complained, her lips turning down in
a semblance of a pout.  "Is there a two out there?"

 Mulder grinned.  He couldn't help it -- she looked positively adorable,
standing there.  Unable to resist, he pushed the door shut behind him and
crossed the small space to stand directly in front of her.  He slid two of
his own fingers into the waistband of the pants and pulled her close to
him, startling her as he leaned down to steal a kiss.

 "I don't know if these are such a bad fit," he murmured as he released
her, noting with some satisfaction the flush that his actions had brought
to her cheeks.

 "Rick, go get another pair of these," she demanded, failing in her
attempt to sound stern.

 "I'm going, I'm going...." Mulder dropped another kiss on her forehead
for good measure before he slipped out of the room.



It was funny, Scully mused, that in all the time that they'd spent on the
run, this was the first time that they had done this kind of shopping
together.    She liked the fact that Mulder hadn't left her behind, as he
had done so many times before, and was pleased that she had become adept
enough at dealing with her handicap that she wasn't a total hindrance to
his efforts.  Dressed now in some of their new acquisitions, she followed
him as he made some selections for himself.

 Scully leaned against a rack of clothes, listening as Mulder rifled
through a selection of what she assumed to be jeans.   She allowed her
hands to trail across the clothes beside her, uttering a low murmur of
pleasure at the texture of the fabric.  "Rick?  What are these? 
Sweaters?"

 "Yes," he answered.  "Piles and piles of them."

 She ran her hands across them again, finding one that felt especially
soft.  "What color is this one?"

 "Brown," came the reply.  "Dark, almost chocolate."

 "Ummmm," Scully murmured, dismissing that one.   She swept the piles
again and found another.  "And this one?"

 "Green," Mulder told her.  "A deep forest green."

 She bit her lower lip, considering, and then pulled the sweater carefully
from the stack.  "I like the sound of that.  I think you need this one."

 "Oh, I do, do I?"  Scully could hear the teasing tone in his voice and
grinned in response.

 "Yes... in fact I'm sure of it."

 "Well then," he replied, "who am I to argue?"



At long last, they stood in line for the register, each dressed in clothes
that they had not yet purchased, Mulder holding the tags to those items in
one hand, and another pile of clothes in the other.  They reached the
counter and he dropped the stack in front of the cashier.  "We'll take all
of this, and these are for the clothes we have on."  The teenage boy
behind the counter examined the tags, and then Mulder pointed at a large
brown duffel bag mounted against the wall.  "And that as well."

 As the clerk moved to retrieve the duffel, Mulder took a moment to count
up the money remaining in his wallet.  Just shy of five hundred.  He hoped
it would be enough.  

 "That'll be $373.45," drawled the clerk, and Mulder sighed with relief,
handing over the crumpled bills.   He waited for the clerk to make change,
and felt Scully tap him on the arm.

 "Are we out of money?" she whispered.

 "Not quite," he responded.  "Why?"

 She lowered her voice even further.  "We still need to get....
underwear...."

 Mulder grinned.  "How right you are.  Department store, Mrs. Stewart?"

 Scully smiled back.  "Yes... and then, maybe lunch?"

 "We just had breakfast!"

 "So.....?"



The man walked towards his government issue sedan, his movements slow and
measured.  It had been too long, he reflected, too long since he had heard
any news from Christophe, and he was starting to feel a bit nervous.  It
was an uncommon emotion for him, and he tried to push away the nagging
feeling of panic that signified the beginning of fear.

 It wasn't supposed to have happened like this.  The abduction of Dana
Scully had seemed, at the time, like a golden opportunity.  A chance to
derail Fox Mulder's investigations into the X-Files, investigations that
threatened to point a finger at secrets that were best left undiscovered. 
And a chance at a prime specimen for the tests, someone who would provide
them with the chance to accomplish things on a level that hadn't been
imagined even in dreams.

 And instead everything had gone awry.  Mulder's desperate quest to find
his partner had been only part of it;  if need be, they would have killed
him to shut him up, regardless of the Consortium's fear that Mulder's
death would make him a martyr.  That would have been a small price to pay.

 The real problem had been that the program had failed.

 After all the time spent prepping Scully, priming her body and her mind
to accept their new instructions, the test had failed.   Despite all of
the research, despite all of the previous specimens whose lives had been
donated to the practice of this new science.   Despite the fact that the
implant and its related programs were considered foolproof.

 So they had eventually returned her to the life that they had so nearly
stolen from her.  Returned her to Mulder, and to their work on the
X-Files.

 The man's lips curved in a dark smile as he thought about what he had
learned today, when the Consortium's information had finally reached him.

 It had been discovered that perhaps the experiment that had initially
been labeled a failure, might have actually been a success.

 The man opened the car door and slid behind the wheel, turning the key in
the ignition.  He rolled down the window as he pushed the cigarette
lighter in on the dash, pulling a smoke from the crumpled pack inside his
coat.  He backed the car out of the space, stopping only to light the
cigarette, one eyebrow raised as he considered the irony of the situation.

 Dana Scully had sacrificed her career, her eyesight, and very nearly her
life in a quest to find out who had taken her away, and why.

 Without knowing that those very people were now extremely anxious to get
her back.  

 To finish what they had started.

 The man exhaled a cloud of smoke out the window of the car as he drove
out of the parking structure, heading back towards his dreary apartment,
negotiating the traffic with a practiced hand.

 The situation at the lab had backfired, and those responsible for the
failure had already been punished.  They had set the trap carefully, and
up to a point it had worked.  The bait had been attractive enough to lure
Scully to the lab, the circumstances dire enough to ensure that Mulder
would follow her there.  It was Mulder who was to have been killed in the
explosion, eliminated so that they would not have worried about his
interference again.  

 So that they could have had his partner all to themselves.

 Yet somehow the two had managed to escape.

 No matter, thought the man.  It will all be resolved.  And soon.



"What time is it, Rick?"  Scully tilted her head up towards him, keeping a
close hand on his arm.  

 Mulder raised his arm, allowing the sleeve of his sweater to fall back
enough to allow him to see the face of his watch, the weight of the duffle
bag he carried making the motion difficult.  "It's twelve-ten," he
replied.  "We need to catch a cab and get back to the station."

 She nodded in response, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 
"Perfect timing."

 "Well, we're not there yet."  Mulder stopped them both at the corner of
an intersection, scanning both ways for an empty taxi, with no luck.  "I'm
not seeing any cabs.  We might have to call for one."  He was surprised
that in this relatively crowded area of downtown Houston, a cab would be
so hard to find.  Then again, it was the lunch hour, which might explain
the difficulty.

 Scully didn't say anything, waiting quietly for him to make a decision.

 After a moment, he announced, "Let's go one more block -- if we don't see
any at the next street, we'll call."

 "Sounds good," she agreed, falling into step beside him again as the
light turned green.

 They made their way across the street, Mulder keeping a vigilant eye on
all of the pedestrians that passed them.  It was a varied mix of people,
businessmen and women clad in suits, and an equal number of more casually
dressed, tourist-types.   Mulder noticed a man walking a discreet distance
away, behind them and slightly to the left, and he frowned.  There was
something about the man, something familiar...

 Running the events of the morning through his eidetic memory, Mulder
realized that he had seen the man before, in the mall.   Near the
department store that had been their final stop.   

 Glancing casually over his shoulder, Mulder stole another look at the
man.   He was dressed casually, in jeans and a black sports coat.  He
looked like any of a number of other passersby, but there was something
about him that made Mulder's pulse begin to race.

 "C'mon, Lisa," he muttered, drawing his arm around her to pull her closer
to him as he quickened his pace.

 "Rick?"  Scully's voice raised with the question.  "Something wrong?"

 "No," he answered, unwilling to share his suspicions with her.  "I just
don't want us to miss the train."

 He glanced at her, and could tell from her expression that she didn't
believe him, but she matched her steps to his as they made their way along
the street.

 Mulder snuck another quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the man
had also begun to move faster, closing the distance between them at an
alarming rate.  Mulder could feel the weight of his gun, tucked securely
in the waistband of his new jeans, and it reassured him somewhat.  He made
a quick mental calculation about how fast he could draw the weapon if need
be, weighing their chances if the man turned out to be a threat.

 They reached the next intersection as the light in their direction was
turning from green to yellow.  There were still no empty cabs to be seen,
and Mulder found himself forced to make a split decision.  "Lisa... we're
gonna run for this light.  Can you do it?"

 She nodded, her lips folding into a grim line, as she gripped his arm
more tightly.   Mulder started to jog across the street and she went with
him, stumbling slightly and then finding the rhythm.  The duffel bag
thumped against his side, but he barely noticed, so focused was he on
helping her keep her balance while keeping an eye on the stranger who
pursued them.  

 They reached the other side of the street as the light turned red. 
Mulder helped Scully up onto the curb and looked back, horrified to see
the man leaping into the opposing traffic against the signal, causing a
number of cars to honk their horns in protest.  His worst fears confirmed,
Mulder slung the handle of the duffel bag up onto his shoulder, freeing
one of his hands in preparation to draw his weapon.   He tapped the pocket
of his jeans, making sure that he still had the disk in his possession, as
a short, silent prayer ran across his mind.



Here endeth part 3... parts 4-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-3            X-3


This is part four of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (4/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



Scully felt Mulder's hand tighten on her arm like a vise.   "C'mon, Lisa,"
he said, and the undercurrent of fear in his voice sent a chill up her
spine.   He pulled her along beside him and she did her best to keep up,
concentrating only on the motion of his body beside her as she copied his
strides.   The sounds of passing pedestrians whirled through her brain and
she forced herself to ignore them, trusting that Mulder would negotiate
her safely amongst them, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the
other without stumbling.

 They turned sharply and the noise of the crowd suddenly dimmed.   The air
was different here too, close and dank, carrying with it the pungent odor
of refuse.   The sun left her face, causing Scully to realize that they
had turned down some kind of alleyway, a place where the buildings must be
tall enough to block out the light.  In the distance, she could hear the
sound of water dripping, as though from a faulty pipe.  

 The place scared her, the eerie stillness feeling especially ominous
after the commotion of the main street.  Scully could hear their footsteps
echo as they quickly made their way down the alley, and imitating Mulder,
she made a conscious effort to silence her steps.   

 "Rick?" she whispered, keeping her voice low.  "What's going on?"

 "Shhhh," came the reply, and his lack of any further response terrified
her.  

 After a moment, Mulder stopped, and she stopped beside him.  The water
noise was louder here, she noted.  Scully heard the distinctive sound of a
door handle turning, twice in quick succession, but without the answering
snick that usually signified the opening of a door.

 "Dammit...."

 Hearing his muffled curse, Scully tugged on Mulder's arm again,
frustrated by his silence.  "Rick?  Talk to me," she hissed.

 "Door's locked, and this is a dead end.  Come here."

 Scully followed Mulder back in the direction that they had come, the
sound of dripping water receding as they ran toward the alley entrance. 
"Here," Mulder whispered, taking her gently by the arm.  He propelled her
backwards and Scully suddenly felt a wall behind her, touching the cool
concrete of its surface with one hand.   

 "Down," he ordered, the word barely audible.   Scully obeyed, her heart
pounding in her chest, crouching down in a squat, her legs poised to run
again if need be.  The wall behind her, she extended a hand out to the
side and felt cool smooth metal.   "Dumpster," Mulder whispered in
response to her unasked question.

 Mulder took her hand and placed it atop the duffel bag which was on the
ground in front of her.  "Stay here," he whispered, his voice close to her
ear.   He moved away from her, then, and Scully heard a distinctive click
that she immediately recognized as the safety of his gun.

 "Rick!"  She called to him in a panicked whisper.  "Where are you going?"

 "Shhhhh," he murmured, bending down to brush his lips across her
forehead, a gesture that did little to calm her.  "I think we've been
followed..."

 "What?!"

 "Just wait here... and don't worry -- no one can get to you without me
seeing them."

 He moved away from her then, his footsteps light and growing fainter as
he walked back down the alley.   Scully sat where she was, hating the fact
that she was unable to do more than wait.  Terrified that Mulder was
right, that someone had found them.  



Mulder made his way back towards the street, his gun held steady in front
of him.  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and was satisfied to
see that there was no sign of Scully or their duffel bag visible from this
side of the trash dumpster.  The alley dead-ended into the wall of a
building, assuring Mulder that there was only one way in or out.   If the
stranger was indeed pursuing them, he'd have to enter the alley directly
from the street.

 And Mulder was more than ready to take him on.

 Reaching the end of the alleyway, Mulder pressed his back up against the
wall, raising the gun with both hands up to the level of his right
shoulder.   Leaning ever so slightly forward, he peered around the side of
the wall, glancing first in one direction and then the other.  

 There was no sign of the man.

 Anywhere.  

 Mulder lowered the gun, holding it cautiously behind him as he took a
step out into the street, widening his field of view.

 As best as he could tell, the coast was completely clear.

 Allowing himself a slight sigh of relief, Mulder tucked the gun back into
his jeans.  Retracing his steps, he weighed the possibilities.   Either he
had been wrong, and the man had merely been another ordinary pedestrian, a
Houston resident who was late enough for an appointment that he had risked
dodging four lanes of traffic against the light.

 Or he had been right, and the stranger had been after them.

 The paranoid part of Mulder's mind urged him to accept the second choice,
but the more rational part argued that it didn't make sense.  The alley
had been the only place they could have gone -- there was no way that the
man could have lost them, if they were the object of his quest.  

 Mulder pushed these thoughts away as he reached Scully, crouched where he
had left her, her face a pale mask of fear.

 "Rick?"

 "It's OK," he answered as he helped her to her feet.  "False alarm, I
think."  She was trembling slightly and he gathered her into his arms. 
"I'm sorry.... I didn't mean to scare you."

 Scully wrapped her arms tightly around his back, pressing her face
against his chest.  She said nothing for a long moment, and when she
finally spoke, her voice was quiet, muffled by his sweater.  "I hate not
being able to help you."

 He didn't know exactly what to say to that, so he brushed a kiss across
her forehead before leaning down to retrieve the duffel bag.  "We're both
OK... that's all that matters.  Let's get out of here and back to that
train."



Walter Skinner left the Director's office, allowing himself to feel a
slight rush of satisfaction.  Though his request of additional manpower
was still under consideration, he had at least accomplished part of his
goal.   A new series of bulletins were to be sent out this afternoon to
law enforcement officials across the country.   Although Agents Mulder and
Scully had been on the Wanted list since the day of their disappearance,
Skinner knew all too well how the passage of time dimmed the priority
level of a search.  Two months had gone by, two months in which little or
nothing had been discovered, and Skinner feared that the missing agents
were no longer uppermost in the minds of the local police. 

 And at this point, he had no choice but to place some faith in officers
of the law.  After all, it was the police who had made all of the
important discoveries in New Orleans.  

 And perhaps, it would be the police who could help save them.  

 Skinner was becoming more and more certain of the fact that resources and
personnel within the Bureau were being manipulated by the mysterious
smoking man and unidentified others. As a man who had devoted his life to
the service of the Bureau, Skinner found it painful to accept that there
were those inside the organization whose agendas did not mirror his own. 
Who operated between the lines, and outside of the rules.  But he wasn't
naive, and he had witnessed enough during his course of service to know
that conspiracies were everywhere.  Just because you're paranoid, Skinner
reflected, doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.  

 His head filled with these thoughts, Skinner wandered through the
building, taking an elevator and a series of stairs down to the basement
level.  He walked down the corridor to the unremarkable door at the far
end.

 Twisting the knob, Skinner pushed open the door and found himself inside
Mulder's office.  It appeared as it always did, a cluttered disarray of
files and paperwork.   Only Mulder's practiced eye would notice that the
piles of junk were not as he had left them, having been searched
meticulously by Bureau personnel looking for some clue as to where he
might have gone.

 Skinner stopped in the middle of the office and glanced around.  He was
mildly surprised to see that the black filing cabinets containing the
X-Files themselves were still in place, and wondered idly why the smoking
man and his friends hadn't had them destroyed.   

 Perhaps, he mused, because they think Mulder will return.

 A poster hanging on the wall near the desk caught Skinner's eye.  A
blurry photo of a UFO, with the legend "I Want To Believe" printed
beneath.  It was Mulder's doctrine, his credo, his reason for living, and
the words echoed in Skinner's mind.

 I want to believe, he thought.  I want to believe that you and Agent
Scully will be found.  



Scully walked beside Mulder, keeping a close hold of his arm.  Around her,
she could hear the commotion of the train station, of passengers embarking
and disembarking in a whirl of activity.  Mulder came to a stop, and she
tugged on his arm.  "What are we doing?"

 "Waiting in line," he answered.  "They're checking everyone's travel
vouchers before they let them get on board."

 Scully heard a rustling of papers and assumed that Mulder was pulling out
their own.  "Long line?" she questioned.

 "Long enough."

 Two or three minutes passed, and Scully remained quiet, taking small
steps beside Mulder as the line moved forward.  She was still a bit
unnerved by their close encounter, and wondered if perhaps Mulder had been
correct in his suspicion that they had been pursued.  He had shared with
her all that he had seen during their cab ride back to the station, and
although he had tried to sound nonchalant, she had picked up the fear
beneath his words.  She shuddered, and felt his arm encircle her shoulders
protectively.  

 "I'm OK," she said in response to his unanswered question.  "Just a
little tired, that's all."  And it was true -- as much as she had enjoyed
their little expedition, it had really worn her out.  It still amazed her
how much extra energy it took to get around without being able to rely
upon her eyes.   Even with Mulder's help, even after all this time, it was
still so difficult.

 Finally, they reached the front of the line and Scully heard Mulder
speaking to the conductor as their tickets were checked.  Mulder was
helping her up the steps that led into the train when she heard a voice
calling to them.

 "Hey, Rick... Lisa... wait up!"

 Scully recognized the voice as belonging to Elliot, the man they had met
in the dining car earlier, and she smiled.  There was something about his
energy and enthusiasm that reminded her of her younger brother, and she
wondered idly what he looked like.

 "So much for getting back to the train early," Mulder said by way of
greeting.

 Scully could hear Elliot wheeze as he fought to catch his breath.  "I
know -- I actually just got *off* of the train.  I lost track of time, and
realized I had to make a phone call before we left the station."

 They were moving down the corridor now, Elliot walking directly behind
them, and Scully hoped that their slow pace was not annoying to him. 
"Must have been an urgent call," she remarked, as she trailed the fingers
of one hand along the wall, mentally counting the number of doors that
they passed in the hopes of understanding the layout of the train.  She
heard the whistle blow a third time, and a moment later she felt the
motion of the train as it began to move down the tracks.

 "It was," Elliot replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.  "My
girlfriend, Rebecca, has an interview this afternoon.  And I almost forgot
to wish her luck."

 Mulder chuckled as they turned a corner.  "Sounds like you barely avoided
big trouble."  

 The corridor was narrow, and Scully could hear the sound of the duffel
bag scraping along the wall as they walked.  "Sure did," Elliot responded.
 A pause, then, "You want me to help you with that?"

 "I've got it," Mulder answered, and Scully felt a rush of embarrassment,
knowing that Mulder could more easily handle the bag if he wasn't helping
her negotiate the corridor.  

 In an attempt to switch the subject back, she asked, "What does Rebecca
do?"

 "She's a photographer," Elliot explained, his voice full of excitement. 
"Beck's terrific -- she got her Masters in Fine Art two years ago, and
she's done a lot of great stuff."

 Mulder asked, "What kind of photographs does she take?"

    "She does weddings and things like that for rent money, but she
doesn't really like to shoot people.  This meeting today is about doing a
series for the Museum of Contemporary Art in Santa Fe, which would be
great -- it's local, but it would be good exposure for her."

 "Local?"  Scully questioned.  "Is that where you live?"

 Elliot responded in the affirmative, and she continued.  "I didn't know
this train went to Santa Fe."

 "It doesn't."  Elliot laughed.  "That's the magic of Amtrak transfers. 
There's another line, the Desert Wind, that does.  It's not the fastest
way to travel, but it gives me time to draw, so I don't mind."

 All was quiet for a few moments, save the sound of their footsteps and
the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the track.  Then Scully heard
Elliot say, "Well, this is me," followed by the sound of a door being
opened.  "Maybe I'll see you later."

 "Later," Mulder echoed, and Scully threw a smile in Elliot's direction as
she bid him goodbye.  

 Scully ran her fingers past four more doors and then they reached the
narrow stairs that led to the upper level of the train.  She followed
Mulder, one hand holding tightly to his sweater as she took the steps one
at a time.  They reached the top of the stairs and she breathed a sigh of
relief as they came to a stop in front of their own door.



Mulder opened the door to their compartment and ushered Scully inside,
dropping the duffel bag on the floor near the table.  He watched her
closely as she made her way towards the chairs, finding one with her hands
and sinking down into it.  "You OK?" he asked soliticiously.  "Do you need
anything?"

 She shook her head, then lay back against the cushions, closing her eyes.
 "No.  I just want to sit here for a minute."

 "Sounds like a plan to me,"  Mulder answered.  He unzipped the duffel bag
and began to unpack their new possessions, putting the few items away in
the armoire in the corner.  Scully was quiet, and Mulder had begun to
suspect that she had fallen asleep when he heard her voice.

 "Mulder?"

 "Yes?"

 "Who's Robert Bard?"

 Mulder stopped in his tracks at the question.   He was tempted to smile
at his own gullibility, having been lulled into believing that her silence
on the topic up until now meant that she hadn't noticed his guarded
request of the Gunmen.   But he'd been wrong, and the seriousness in her
tone demanded an answer.

 In an attempt to be evasive, Mulder said, "He's a... researcher.   I came
across his name when I was in the library."

 "What kind of research?"  Scully's eyes were open now, and her head was
cocked slightly to the side as she listened intently.  "Something to do
with droperidol?  Or with the disk?"

 Mulder put the last shirt on its hanger as he debated how to answer her,
debated how much of his pipe dream he should share with her.  His own
hopes were so unreasonably high, especially with all of the odds stacked
against them.  He was reluctant to raise hers, as well, only to have them
crushed in the end.

 "Mulder?"

 "Neither one."   Mulder crossed to her and knelt down beside the chair,
his face level with hers.  Scully's hands were clasped in her lap, and he
covered them with his own.   "He's a doctor, Scully.  Somebody I read
about."

 "What kind of doctor?"  Her voice was soft, nearly a whisper.

 "He's an eye specialist," Mulder confessed.  "A pioneer in his field. 
And I want... I want to try to get you in to see him."

 Scully sat absolutely still.  "He's in Los Angeles, isn't he.  That's the
reason we're going there."

 "Yes.  It is."

 Scully pulled her hands away from his, raking her fingers through her
hair in a gesture of frustration.  A small sigh escaped her lips and her
shoulders sagged a little.  When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet,
resigned.   "Mulder... you're chasing after rainbows.  There isn't
anything that this man can do for me."

 Her words sparked his anger and Mulder had to force himself to keep his
voice calm.  "How can you say that, Scully?"

 "How can I *say* that?"  Scully furiously spat the words out.  "I'm
*blind*, Mulder.  Why is it so hard for you to accept that?"

 "I don't *want* to accept that," Mulder declared.  "And I can't believe
you do, either."

 He reached out for her hand, but she pushed him away, speaking slowly and
deliberately, as though to a child. "This isn't some case that you can
solve.  It's real, and nothing is going to change that."

 In a voice that was almost a whisper, Mulder pleaded, "But what if he can
help you?"

 A brief glimmer of hope flashed across her face, only to vanish a second
later.  "What if he can't?" she asked, and the plaintive tone of her words
cut at his soul.  He reached out to her and Scully allowed the embrace,
wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close.   



Christophe listened to the man on the other end of the phone, committing
the new instructions to memory.  By the time he hung up the receiver, he
had already begun reformulating his plans.

 The fact that they now wanted the woman taken alive made things more
difficult, but surmounting difficulty was one of Christophe's specialties.
 It also made things more interesting, and that was exactly the way
Christophe liked them.

 The real pity, he reflected, was that he would now be unable to avenge
Vincent's death in the way that he had planned.  Christophe still found it
hard to believe that this man and woman had brought about the death of one
of his most valued employees.  Nearly incomprehensible, as a matter of
fact.  

 But Christophe was a man who believed in the power of luck, of chance, of
fate.  Fate had dealt him some odd cards over the course of his life, and
he had managed to take advantage of each and every one.   While he would
never consider himself to be a superstitious man, he knew some of his own
successes were due less to his own abilities and more to unexpected good
timing or circumstance.  To luck.  

 For this reason, Christophe did not begrudge the man and the woman the
luck that had enabled them to survive as long as they had.   

 He was all too aware of the fact that luck eventually runs out.



Scully sat listlessly across from Mulder in the dining car, picking
halfheartedly at the food on her plate.  Her appetite had vanished, and
truth be told, the smell of the food was making her feel slightly ill. 
But she made an attempt for Mulder's sake, to avoid the concerned
questions she knew he would ask.

 He was already worried about her.  She could hear it in his voice, but
she didn't have the energy to allay his fears.  Scully had spent most of
the afternoon in a deep malaise, unable to shake off her dark mood.  She
had told Mulder that she wanted a nap, and he had left her alone, going to
the lounge car to watch television.  However, instead of sleeping, she had
lain restlessly in the bed, unable to relax.   Hours later, the train had
stopped in San Antonio, and Mulder had returned, asking her if she wanted
to take a walk during the two-hour stop.  She had declined, and he had
opted to stay with her, laying beside her on the bed.  At first, he'd
tried to talk to her, but when she remained silent, he gave up, and merely
held her in his arms until the train started up again.

 It was only Mulder's reminder that they would miss dinner if they didn't
go to the dining car soon that roused her from her funk enough to leave
the bed.  Food had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now that she
was here, Scully had begun to think she'd made a mistake.

 Mulder's mention of the doctor in Los Angeles had depressed her in a way
that was as surprising as it was sudden, and Scully couldn't quite figure
out why.  It wasn't as though she hadn't harbored her own hopes about
regaining her sight, at least in the beginning.   Being a doctor herself,
she knew a fair amount about temporary blindness, and had prayed that
perhaps the explosion hadn't done any permanent damage to her eyes.  Yet
as one day followed the next with no change, she had pushed that faint
hope further and further away, burying it deep within her in a place she
was loath to touch.

 Now, to hear that Mulder had been clinging to a similar hope, to hear the
words spoken aloud, somehow felt like more than she could bear.  Scully
knew Mulder well enough to know that he was capable of nourishing the
smallest flame, keeping it alive inside him and using its faint warmth to
sustain him through the darkness.   He'd been doing it for twenty years
with Samantha, convincing himself that she would someday be found, alive
and unharmed.    The hopes of a dreamer, of an ardent romantic.  Of a
believer.

 In her heart of hearts, Scully feared that Samantha's return was as
likely as the return of her eyesight.  

 And that fear left her cold and dead inside.

 "Lisa?"  Mulder's voice broke into her reverie.  "Do you want some more
bread?"

 "No," she answered, finding the edge of her plate with her hands and
pushing it away.  "I'm finished."

 He was quiet, and she knew he was staring at her still full plate with
concern, but he didn't say anything more about it, for which she was
thankful.

 "Let's get out of here, then," he said, and a moment later she heard the
sound of him rifling through his wallet for bills to pay the check.  



Here endeth part 4... parts 5-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-4            X-4


This is part five of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.   



DOWN THE TRACKS (5/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



Mulder rose from his chair and went around to the other side of the table
to take Scully by the arm.   She had been listless and unresponsive
throughout the afternoon, and he couldn't help feeling as though once
again, it was all his fault.  He had known better than to say anything
about the doctor, yet it was so incredibly hard for him to keep things
from her.   And, truth be told, he had hoped that she would find the news
promising.   Probably, he thought, she once would have.  The Dana Scully
who had been his partner at the Bureau had been tireless, as relentless in
her pursuit of the answers as he was.  It scared Mulder to see the changes
that the accident had wrought in her, to see her operating more often than
not from a position of defeat.  

 "Want to go back to the room?" he asked. "Or do you want to wander around
the train for awhile?"

 "The room, I guess," Scully answered, her voice flat and dull.

 "Okay," he replied, guiding her through the car.  

 They were nearing the door that led back into the corridors when it
opened and Elliot entered, carrying a hardcover book under his arm.  He
greeted them with a friendly wave of his hand.  "Hey guys," he said.  "How
was dinner?"

 "Fine," Mulder said, smiling at the young man.   He found it funny that
Elliot was so relentlessly cheerful.  It shattered the stereotype that
Mulder had long harbored about the tortured soul of an artist.

 "Did you get off the train in San Antonio?  It's a great city," Elliot
remarked.

 "No.  Did you?"  Mulder was surprised to see Scully answer the question. 
It was practically the only thing she'd volunteered in hours, so he
paused, waiting for Elliot's response.

 "Just for a little while,"  Elliot replied.  "Went into town to the
bookstore -- one of the books I did over the summer just came out."   He
offered the book to Mulder, who took it, admiring the artwork on the
cover.

 "This is terrific," he said.  "The colors are great."

 Scully reached out her hand and touched the jacket of the book with two
fingers.  "What is it?  A fantasy book?"

 "No," answered Elliot.  "It's a mystery story of sorts, called 'The
Westing Game'.   It's by a writer named Ellen Raskin -- the publishers
just did a reissue of all of her books, and commissioned new artwork for
the hardcovers.  For a young adult book, it's actually pretty clever."

 Mulder cracked open the book and flipped through the pages, glancing at
all of the drawings inside.  "Looks good -- and they certainly used a lot
of your stuff."

 Elliot grinned.  "Just wish they'd *paid* me a lot.   I'm tired of being
a starving artist."  A pause, then, "Would you like to keep it?"  His grin
widened.  "I'll even autograph it for you, if you'd like."

 Scully answered before he had a chance, a small smile crossing her face. 
"Thanks -- and you definitely have to sign it."

 "Our own little brush with celebrity," Mulder concurred, handing Elliot
back the book.  The young man pulled a pen from the pocket of his shirt
and opened the book to the frontispiece, signing his name to it with a
flourish.

 "Here you go," he said, passing the book back to Mulder, who tucked it
under his arm.  "Maybe someday you can sell it for a pile of money."  With
another grin, he moved past them.  "Now I've gotta get some food -- I'm
starving."

 "Goodbye, Elliot," Scully responded, placing her hand back on Mulder's
arm.   Taking his cue from her silent signal, Mulder led her out of the
dining car.



"I like him," Scully said as they made their way through the corridor. 
"He seems really nice."

 "He is," Mulder agreed.  "But I'm suspicious of anyone who's always in
such a good mood."

 Scully smiled, surprised to find that her own dark mood had lightened
somewhat.  "You're suspicious of everyone, Rick.  That's your defining
characteristic."

 "Oh, really?"  The teasing tone was back in Mulder's voice, which cheered
her a bit more.  Sometimes Mulder's overwhelming concern for her could
feel a bit smothering, and she preferred it when things were light between
them.

 "Yes, really.  But I've gotten used to it, don't worry."  They walked on,
and suddenly Scully didn't feel like going back to their small
compartment.  "I don't want to go back to the room, yet.  Is there
somewhere else we could go?"

 Mulder paused for a moment, and she could almost hear him think.  "Well,
there are two lounge cars.  The one on this level has the television in
it, and there's one on the upper that's called the 'sightseer lounge', or
something like that.  It's just a big room with lots of windows."

 "Let's go there," she said.  "I don't feel like hanging out in the TV
room."

 She followed him down several more corridors and then up the stairs to
the upper level.  They walked on a bit further and then she heard a door
open.  "Here we are," Mulder said.  

 It was very quiet inside, which surprised her.  "Are we alone in here?"

 "At the moment, yes," came the response.  "I guess most people are still
at dinner."

 Mulder led her over to the wall of the car, and then they stopped. 
Scully reached out a tentative hand and felt cool metal beneath her hand. 
 The object was long and cylindrical and extended beyond her reach, and
she realized that they were standing against some type of railing.  She
lifted her hand out directly in front of her and, as she expected, found
glass beneath her palm.  It was cold to the touch and vibrated with the
motion of the train.

 As she made her exploration, Mulder stood beside her silently.  Scully
wondered if he were watching the view, or watching her, with his eyes that
worried shade of brown.  "So, Rick, what's it look like outside?"  

 "Fields, mostly.  I can't tell what kind -- it's already pretty dark."

 Scully closed her eyes, picturing the scenery in her mind.  "Any houses?"

 "None that I can see.  It's pretty desolate through here.  In the far
distance, though, there are a lot of lights -- that must be San Antonio."

 "Can you see the moon?"

 "Not from here -- maybe from the windows on the other side.  But there
are plenty of stars."

 Scully felt a contentedness spread over her, standing there listening to
his description.  Reaching down, she found Mulder's hand, and clasped it
in hers.  He responded by moving closer to her, and she leaned her head
against his shoulder.  

 After a time, she spoke, using his alias although she longed to say his
name.  "Rick... I'm sorry about earlier.  I didn't mean to be so moody."

 He sighed, a whistling rush of air.  "I'm sorry too.  I didn't mean to
upset you, with what I said about the doctor."

 "You didn't upset me," she reassured him.  "I just.... I guess I just
need some more time to deal with all of this.  That's all."

 "I understand."  Mulder put his other hand on her shoulder, turning her
slightly towards him.  Scully could feel his eyes on her, studying her,
and she smiled a little for his benefit.

 "I bet it's beautiful out there," she said, trying to distract him.

 "It's beautiful in here," he responded, his voice hushed.   He moved his
hands up to cradle her face in his palms, and a moment later Scully felt
his lips brush hers in the lightest of kisses.  

 Her heart beating faster, Scully rose on her tiptoes, her hands at his
waist for balance, and kissed him back.  

 After a moment, Mulder released his hold on her, only to draw her into
his arms.  They stood that way for awhile, and she was soothed by the beat
of his heart, solid and strong.  He ran his hand through her hair, his
fingers grazing the back of her neck, and she felt a tremor run through
her at the realization of how much she enjoyed being near him. 

 An idea popped into her head, and Scully gave words to the thought. 
"Rick?  Do you still have Elliot's book?"

 "Right here," Mulder answered, his voice a low rumble in his chest.  

 "Will you read it to me?  Back in the room?"

 A small laugh escaped him, and he hugged her tighter.  "It's a children's
book, Lisa."

 "So?"  She grinned up at him.  "What are you, an elitist?"

 "Don't start with the name-calling," he teased as he took her again by
the arm.  "Let's go."



Back in the room, Scully pulled off her tennis shoes and Mulder did the
same, before sitting down in one of the chairs.  Scully climbed into his
lap, her legs dangling atop his over the edge of the cushions.  He slipped
one arm around her back to hold her comfortably against him, opening the
book so that the base of its spine rested against her stomach.

 "Does that bother you?" he asked, shifting slightly to relieve some of
the pressure.

 "It's fine," Scully replied.  One of her hands lay on the arm of the
chair, and she slid the other down across his lap to rest against his
thigh, its warmth seeping through his jeans to his leg.  

 "Okay, then," he answered, and flipped past the introductory pages to get
to the first page of real text.  He cleared his throat and began to read,
hearing her sigh as she snuggled closer to him.


 "The sun sets in the west (just about everyone knows that), but Sunset
Towers faced east.  Strange!  
 Sunset Towers faced east and had no towers.  This glittery, glassy
apartment house stood alone on the Lake Michigan shore five stories high. 
Five empty stories high.  
 Then one day (it happened to be the Fourth of July), a most
uncommon-looking delivery boy rode around town slipping letters under the
doors of the chosen tenants-to-be.  The letters were signed 'Barney
Northrup'.  
 The delivery boy was sixty-two years old, and there was no such person as
Barney Northrup."


 Mulder continued to read, turning the pages as he finished them carefully
so as not to disturb her with the sound.  Scully sat quietly, her head
resting against his shoulder, the crown of her hair tickling the underside
of his chin.  From time to time she would murmur a quiet response to
something he'd read, occasionally eliciting a chuckle from him.  

 Time passed, as Mulder sat contentedly, happy that he was able to provide
her with this small pleasure.  It was so peaceful, so calm and quiet,
close to Scully, the sound of the train's wheels against the track a
soothing and distant accompaniment to his voice as he read.  


 " 'Isn't there some sort of a last statement?' Sandy asked Plum.  'I
mean, like the intern says, nothing makes any sense.'
 The lawyer continued to read from Samuel Westing's will.  'Eleventh: 
Senseless, you say?  Death is senseless yet makes way for the living. 
Life, too, is senseless unless you know who you are, what you want, and
which way the wind blows.
 So on with the game.  The solution is simple if you know whom you are
looking for.  But heirs, beware!  Be aware!
 Some are not who they say they are, and some are not who they seem to be.
 Whoever you are, it's time to go home.
 God bless you all, and remember this:
 Buy Westing Paper Products!' "


 Mulder turned another page and then Scully shifted in his arms, her hand
leaving his lap to find his chin.  He stopped reading when she placed two
fingers against his lips in a gesture that was as surprising as it was
seductive.  

 "I don't want you to read, anymore," she whispered, and a chill raced
down his spine.

 His throat was dry as he tried to speak, acutely conscious of her fingers
against his lips.  "No?" he murmured, unable to say more.

 "No."  Scully shook her head slowly, deliberately, her dark hair
shimmering against her shoulders, illuminated by the light from the lamp. 


 Moving her fingers from his mouth, she brought her hand up to his
forehead.  A moment later, her other hand had joined it, and she ran all
ten fingers along his hairline, each hand tracing a path down either side
of his face.  Mulder sat absolutely still, mesmerized by her gentle touch,
unable to look away.   Her clouded blue eyes were wide, staring over his
shoulder to a point in the middle distance, and her face was slightly
flushed.  

 With gentle, delicate strokes she traced the outlines of his face.  His
forehead, his eyebrows, the faint lines around his eyes.  Scully ran her
fingertips down the bridge of his nose, then allowed them to dance across
his cheeks and his jaw to his ears.  Her fingers brushed across his beard,
stroking the unfamiliar hair around his mouth and chin.

 Her touch was slow, sensual, and incredibly erotic.  Mulder could feel
the spaces between his breaths growing shorter, but he merely sat quietly
and allowed her hands to do their work of creating a picture of him in her
mind.  Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and her lips were slightly
parted, allowing him the barest glimpse of the perfect teeth behind them.

 He was captivated by her pristine beauty, by the feel of her smooth hands
against his skin.  After a blissful eternity had passed, she finished her
exploration, and placed her palms on either side of his face, holding it
close to her own.  Suddenly he found himself unable to remain still, and
he leaned in towards her, closing the inches between them in one simple
motion to press his lips against hers.



His kiss was immediately, instantly electric, and she shivered in his
grasp.  Unlike the kisses that they had shared against the railing, this
kiss was deep and urgent and full of need.   It was a fervent kiss, borne
of ardor and passion, and it robbed her of breath and left her wanting
more.  She kissed him back, trying to communicate to him all that she
thought, all that she felt, all that she wanted.

 Scully heard the sound of the book dropping to the floor as his hands
moved to link behind her back, his arms pulling her closer to him,
crushing her against his chest.  Her hands slid down to rest on his
shoulders, gripping his sweater for balance.   Her breasts felt full and
heavy and tender as they pressed against his body, and she moaned slightly
at the sensation.  The low sound seemed to arouse him even further and he
pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, forcing her head back with the
intensity of his desire.  

 She moaned again, shifting against him, savoring his warmth, his taste,
his touch, wanting this moment between them to last forever.   After a
minute, Mulder moved his mouth away from hers, and she gasped for breath
as his lips began to trail along her neck.  He nibbled at the sensitive
skin beneath her chin and she slid her hands up behind his head, her
fingers tangled in his hair to hold him close.   He slid his lips down her
throat, pulling her turtleneck aside to trace the edge of her collarbone
with his tongue.  

 "DanaDanaDana...." he murmured softly, and she felt a warm rush of desire
flood her body at the sound of his voice.

 Using her hands to guide the motion of his head, Scully brought his mouth
back up to hers, kissing him with a ferocity that she had not known she
possessed.  His tongue matched hers, stroke for stroke, and she was
consumed by a heady dizziness that rocked her to her core.

 One of his arms remained where it was, encircling her with a strong firm
grasp, while the other shifted, allowing his hand to roam its way down her
body.   His fingers worked their way down her chest, stopping to toy with
each of her breasts with a possessiveness that made her sigh with
pleasure.  His hand moved over her sensitive stomach, but she was far too
aroused now to be ticklish.  His fingers reached the waistband of her
pants and trailed lazily along it as far as his arm could reach, before
moving lower with deliberate intensity.  She felt his hand cup her crotch
and she gasped as his hand slipped beneath her, his fingers against her
butt, pulling her even closer to him.

 His lips were still on hers, probing, searching, seeking, and suddenly it
was all too much.  Feeling as though she might faint, Scully pulled back
from him.  Fighting for breath, she rested her chin against his shoulder,
only to feel his breath against her ear.

 "I want you, Dana," he whispered, his voice rough and ragged.

 She couldn't answer him, couldn't find the words she needed to express
what she wanted to say.



She didn't respond, her head pressed against his shoulder in such a way
that he couldn't see her face.  He could feel her body shake with deep
tremors, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and suddenly Mulder was
afraid that he had gone too far.  

 "Dana?"  He infused her name with all of the urgency he felt. "Dana....
I'm sorry."

 She raised her head, then, and he placed two fingers gently under her
chin, turning her face to allow his worried eyes to meet her empty gaze. 
"I didn't...."  His words were fumbling, hesitant.  "I didn't mean.... to
push you....  to take advantage."

 Her pale skin was flushed, and her hair was mussed, and Mulder thought
she had never looked more beautiful.   His desire for her threatened to
consume him, yet he forced himself to continue.

 "Dana... I *do* want you... more than you could ever know.  But I... I
don't want to rush you."  Unable to resist, he placed a soft, gentle kiss
on her lips, fighting the urgent demand of his body to take her then and
there.  "I'll wait for you, Dana... I'll wait for you forever, if that's
how long it takes."

 She smiled then, a slow dreamy smile that began as a hesitant curve of
her lips and blossomed into something deeper and more seductive.  "I don't
want to wait, Mulder.   I don't....."

 He leaned over and kissed her then, all of his emotions racing to the
surface in a moment of pure, unbridled passion.  Her lips parted beneath
his, and he heard her sigh as she pulled him closer, her arms still
wrapped around his neck.   Suddenly the chair in which he sat felt too
confining.  He was overcome with a need to touch her, to caress her.  
With one arm still around her back, Mulder braced the other on the cushion
beneath him as he raised up just enough to lower them both to the floor.  
Scully reacted to the motion with a small sound of surprise, but quickly
adjusted to their new position by sliding her arms down to encircle his
back.



She ran her hands up and down along his back, the wool of his sweater
scratchy beneath her fingers.   Scully broke off their kiss as she brought
her hands around to his chest, feeling her way down to the bottom of his
sweater.  Feeling suddenly bold, she tugged on the sweater with both hands
as she found his lips again with hers, telling him what she wanted without
using words.

 Mulder seemed to understand, pulling away from her for a moment, and when
he took her back into his embrace she felt the cool cotton of his tee
shirt beneath her hands.  Running her hands over his shoulders and down
his arms, her fingers met his skin where it emerged from below the short
sleeves of the tee.  She trailed her fingers up and down his forearms,
feeling the way his muscles rippled under the slight pressure.   Her heart
thumping in her chest, she kissed him again as a reward, pulling now on
the hem of his tee shirt in another silent signal.

 Mulder moved his lips away from hers and placed a delicate kiss on her
forehead, before moving his mouth close to her ear.    A warm rush of air
met her skin as he spoke in a hoarse whisper.

 "Dana.... are you sure?"

 "I've never been more sure of anything...."

 He responded to her whisper by moving his mouth across her face, with
excruciatingly slow strokes.   Scully fought for breath as his lips
caressed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, before finally returning
to meet hers in another long, deep kiss.

 Mulder released her again, and she heard the soft rustle of cloth against
skin as he removed his tee shirt.  Scully sat absolutely still, acutely
conscious of the thrum of blood through her veins.  She *was* sure about
this, about being with him.  She knew that there was nothing she had ever
wanted more.  And yet part of her was terrified that somehow they were
making a mistake.   That he was making a mistake, choosing to be with her.
 Especially now, after all that had happened. 

 Scully was all too aware that if they crossed this divide together she
could never again be without him.  Aware that she would need him, forever
after, in the same way that she needed air to breathe, and she was
terrified of this simple, honest truth.   

 She felt Mulder's arms encircle her again, and this time his skin was
entirely bare to her touch.  She ran her hands along the broadness of his
back, the muscles in his chest, and he pulled her close in response, his
mouth against her ear, his tongue slowly tracing its curves in a way that
made her tremble.

 "Mulder...."

 "Yes....."

 "Are you......?"

 "What......"

 His mouth was still against her ear, his moist, wet whispers seeping
straight into her brain, robbing her of the ability to think.   One of his
arms was wrapped around her back, and the other was tracing lazy circles
across her chest.  Scully knew she was on the brink of being completely
swept away, and she forced herself to concentrate, to ask the question
that was burning deep inside her.

 "Are you....sure....that I'm the one you want?   Even now?  After...."



Her words stopped him cold and he pulled back slightly so that he could
look at her, there in his arms.  When he did, she turned her face away
from his, her hair falling like a curtain to obscure her features from his
view.   Mulder reached out with one hand and swept the dark locks aside,
then gently caressed her cheek.  Her lips were reddened from their kisses
and her face was flushed but he could see the fear in her expression, and
it cut at his soul.

 How could she doubt him, he wondered.  Didn't she know that he was the
lucky one?   

 "Dana...."  He spoke in a tone that was quiet and firm and left no room
for questions.  "You are the *only* one I want.  Now.... forever....
always...."   He punctuated his words with three short kisses, watching as
some of the tension left her face.

 "But Mulder, I --"

 "It doesn't matter to me, Dana."  Mulder pulled her close to him again,
and murmured softly in her ear.  "It doesn't matter to me.... the accident
didn't change the way I feel about you.... what I have always felt about
you."

 "Mulder....."

 "Listen to me, Dana."   Mulder took one hand and traced it slowly along
her face, in a gesture reminiscent of her own exploration of his.  "You
are the most incredible woman I know.... the most incredible woman I have
*ever* known.   Your eyes are the most breathtaking shade of blue I've
ever seen, and I would willingly trade anything I have to get your sight
back.  For you, Dana, only for you.  Not for me."



Scully felt the tender strokes of his hand against her skin, his touch
gentle as it traced the outlines of her face, and listened to his words. 
Listened to the depth of emotion behind them, the gentle tremors that
lowered the timbre of his voice ever so slightly, and she believed him. 
Believed that he was telling the truth, that it didn't make a difference
to him.   One more question, she thought.  Just one more...

 "Are we doing the right thing, Mulder?  Are we?"

 "Yes.... oh, yes."

 His voice was hoarse with desire and it seduced her completely.  Scully
relaxed in his embrace, surrendering to the kisses he sprinkled across her
face.  He captured her lips again with his and she moaned softly as his
touch ignited something deep inside her.  She was ready to possess him, to
own him completely.  Ready to be possessed by him, to give herself over to
him totally, to share with him everything she had.

 Pulling away from him, Scully grasped the lapels of her flannel shirt and
pulled it off of her shoulders, carelessly tossing it aside.  She reached
down and pulled her turtleneck from the waistband of her pants, using both
hands to draw it up and over her head.  Tossing it away, she heard
Mulder's slight intake of breath, and allowed herself a tiny smile.



Here endeth part 5... parts 6-10 posted simultaneously.  IMPORTANT:  the
next section is rated NC-17 -- if you're underage, or don't like that sort
of thing, skip directly to part 7 -- I *promise* you won't miss anything
important to the story as a whole!!!   Also, I feel compelled to mention
that I didn't ask Ms. Raskin for permission to quote her book, but I'm
hoping she won't mind... it's for a good cause. <g>  

Let me know if there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.  


X-5            X-5


This is part six of a ten-part post.  IMPORTANT:  This section is rated
NC-17 -- if you're not old enough to be reading this, or are just plain
uninterested, skip directly to part 7 -- I *promise* you won't miss
anything important to the story!!!

Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the
beginning of part 1.  If there are problems with the posting (or comments
on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (6/10)    *NC-17*
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



Mulder gazed at her, taking in the expanse of pale skin that lay revealed
to him.  There was a light sprinkling of freckles visible above the plain
white brassiere that they had purchased earlier that day, and he ran a
finger across them, making her sigh in response.  The sound excited him,
and he repeated the gesture, this time with his tongue.   He felt her
fingers in his hair as his mouth moved across her chest, and he continued
his exploration, tracing the lines of her brassiere with slow, tender
strokes.

 Reaching behind her, his hands fumbled for the clasp to her lingerie. 
Finding it, he released her breasts from their harness, tossing the scrap
of fabric to the side and placing a hand on each breast.  Scully murmured
his name softly as he stroked her, feeling her nipples harden into sharp
points beneath his fingers.   She made a low sound deep in the back of her
throat that he answered with a kiss, plunging his tongue deep into the
warm cavern of her mouth, running it along the lines of her teeth.  

 Her hands did a dance of their own along his back, tracing the ridge of
his spine, arousing him to the point where he was only conscious of her
warmth, her nearness.   He kissed her harder, and she responded in kind,
her tongue matching the movements of his own.  

 Unable to stop himself, Mulder guided her down towards the floor, until
she was laying on her back, her hair falling in messy waves across the
carpet.  He moved his mouth away from hers, trailing it slowly down her
neck until he reached her left breast.  As his hand continued its massage
of the other, he took her nipple in his mouth, reveling in the softness of
her skin against his cheek.  She whimpered, a faint sound from deep
within, as he continued his gentle seduction of her body, moving his mouth
from one side to the other with deepening intensity.



Scully shuddered, powerless in his embrace, as his hands moved across her
body.  Mulder's touch was firm and assured, his fingers rough yet tender
against her skin.   Each new stroke sent a current racing through her body
to pool at her center, and she writhed against him in silent
encouragement.  His mouth left her breast and she sighed, conscious only
of his hands as they moved across her naked torso, her body responding of
its own accord to each of his erotic caresses.  

 She felt his hands move lower, finding the waistband of her pants.  His
hands strained against the fabric and she sighed, a low murmur of
acquiescence.  She felt his fingers fumble for the button that held the
pants closed, and then heard the sound of the zipper as he pulled it down.
 She went completely limp as he guided the pants down off of her body,
feeling the cool rush of air as it met her bare legs.  He pulled off each
of her socks, one by one, caressing each foot as he did so.  Although the
motions of his hands were intoxicating, she missed his nearness, and
stretched her arms up into the darkness, searching for him.

 He returned to her instantly, gathering her into his embrace, kissing
every part of her that his lips could reach.  She could smell the warmth
of his body, his distinctive musky scent heightened by the sweat she could
feel on his skin beneath her fingertips.  She kissed his chest and tasted
him, salty and sweet in equal combination, and ran her tongue along his
torso, drowning in the sensation.



He felt her mouth on him and uttered a low groan full of need and desire. 
"Wait," he murmured, and she nodded, permitting him to pull away long
enough to rid himself of his own jeans and socks.  He lay back down beside
her and allowed her hands to roam across his body, taking in the length
and breadth of him in long, slow strokes.  One of her hands ran aimlessly
down his chest to massage his waist, then moved lower, her touch becoming
more tentative and hesitant.

 Mulder took her hand in his, guiding it beneath the waistband of his
boxer shorts, listening to her gasp as she felt the proof of his desire
for her against her palm.   He kissed her again as she stroked him gently,
every fiber of his being focused on her fingers as they did their work.  

 Wanting her to share in his pleasure, he took his own hand and slipped it
beneath the cotton of her panties, running his fingers against the soft
curls that he found there.  After a moment, he slipped two fingers inside
her, elated to find her moist and wet.    A low cry escaped her lips and
he smiled, kissing her, using his tongue to mirror the motion of his
fingers inside her.  With his other hand, he caressed her chest again,
toying with one nipple and then the other, squeezing the soft roundness of
each breast, relishing the sighs that his strokes engendered.



Scully couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move.  She released her
grasp of him, her hand falling limply to the floor as she concentrated on
the currents of desire coursing through her body.  She was focused only on
the exquisite sensation of his fingers inside her, on their slow motion as
they moved in and out, rubbing against her center in a way that left her
absolutely helpless.  She was utterly consumed by him, ruled only by his
gestures, his motions, his tenderness.

 His other hand moved away from her breast to grasp the elastic of her
panties, tugging them down and away to tangle near her knees.   Scully
felt vulnerable and exposed, but at the same time completely and totally
safe.  The pressure of his caresses increased, and she whimpered again,
desperate for more, wanting him in a way she had never imagined possible. 
Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the need to hear him, to hear the richness
of his voice, and she called to him with words that sounded soft and weak
to her own ears.

 "Mulder.... talk to me...."

 "What.... what do you want me to say...."

 "I need.... to hear your voice...."

 He brought his mouth close to her ear, murmuring softly as his hand
probed deep within her, bringing her to the point where she felt as though
she would shatter beneath his touch.

 "Should I tell you how beautiful you are?"

 "Yes...."

 "Should I tell you how much I want you?   How much I need you?"

 "Yes...."

 "Should I tell you what I want to do to you?  How I've dreamed of
touching you?"

 "Yes...."

 "Like this.... and this...."

 "Ahhh...."



Her last response was more of a sigh than a word, and it pushed Mulder to
the brink.  He increased the intensity of his caresses, wanting to
pleasure her more than he wanted his next breath.   He couldn't take his
eyes off of her, intoxicated by the way she writhed beneath his touch. 
Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark against her cheek.   Little beads of
sweat had pooled along her brow, and he licked them gently away with his
tongue.  He kept whispering to her, describing his actions as his hand
continued its work. 

  He knew that she was close when her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of
crimson, her lips parting as though seeking his own.  He answered her
silent request, plunging his tongue into the warm depths of her mouth as
his fingers closed upon the sweet spot at her center and squeezed.  She
cried out, calling his name in a voice that rang in his ears and
reverberated through his entire body.  He held her tightly as her body
shook with spasm after spasm, floored by her trust and the fact that she
would allow herself to surrender so completely to his touch.  

 Long moments passed before her body relaxed, his fingers still deep
inside her.  He kissed her tenderly, murmuring her name and a litany of
all of the endearments he could call to mind as he cradled her in his
arms.  



Slowly she came back to herself, to the reality of Mulder's arms wrapped
around her, his voice crooning in her ear.  "...Dana.... sweet, sweet,
angel...."

 Scully sighed, a deep sigh full of satisfaction, and nuzzled her head
against his chest.  "Welcome back," she heard him say.

 "Miss me?" she murmured faintly.

 "I didn't miss a thing," he assured her, placing a light kiss against her
cheek.
   
 She felt him pull his hand away and groaned in protest.  Finding his
shoulders with her hands, she used them for balance as she crawled atop
him, seeking to quench the feeling of loss.  Tucking her head beneath his
chin, Scully stretched languorously, extending her body along the warm
length of his.   She felt his arms encircle her waist, pulling her close. 
 Beneath the cotton of his boxers, his erection was firm against her
belly, and she rotated her hips against him, savoring the pressure of his
hard length.

 He groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest, and she smiled,
repeating the motion.  "Mmmmm," she sighed.  "Much more comfortable than
the floor.  I think I could sleep here all night."

 Another twist of her hips, and then Mulder spoke in a strangled whisper. 
"I.... I could think of a more comfortable place...."

 "Really?"  She nibbled at his neck, enjoying an unexpected rush of power.
 "Where would that be?"  She began to rock her body against his slowly, in
counterpoint to the rapid beating of his heart.

 "Ahhh.... if you don't stop that.... we'll never get there."



Scully tilted her head up and smiled a small secret smile, and Mulder
didn't care in the slightest that her aim was slightly off.  God, he
wanted this woman...

 His body shaking, Mulder slid out from beneath her, rising to a crouch
that allowed him to scoop her up into his arms.  He reached the bed in a
few short strides and yanked the comforter back before laying her down
atop the sheets.  He pulled off his boxers and tossed them to the floor
before turning back to her.  

 She lay there quietly, her eyes half-closed, her dark hair strewn across
the pillows.  Mulder stood where he was, drinking in the sight of her, the
smooth lines and curves of her body.  It felt as though his heart was
squeezed into his chest, pounding with an intensity he had never before
felt.  His lungs were tight, and he fought for every breath.  If he could,
he thought, he would stop time right now, at this instant, with his nerves
on fire with delicious anticipation.   To preserve forever the perfect
clarity of this moment, the exquisite pain of longing for her.



The sheets were cool against her heated skin, and Scully wished it was as
simple to cool her fevered brain.  Her skin was tingling in all of the
places that he had touched her, and every part of her body called out for
more.  Called out for him, with a desperate aching need.  She sensed him
there, near the bed, still and unmoving, and her desire flooded her with
impatience.

 "Mulder," she whispered, "what are you doing?"

 "Looking at you," he answered, his voice dark and quiet.

 Scully felt a rush of embarrassment sweep over her.  "Is.... are the
lights on in here?"

 "The lamp.... by the chair.  Does that bother you?"

 It was as though she could feel his eyes raking over every inch of her,
penetrating deep inside her, possessing her with his gaze.  The sensation
was odd, to know that he was staring at her so boldly and to be unable to
do the same.  And yet there was something about the fact that he *wanted*
to look, something provocative about the tone of his voice, that made her
feel undeniably, incredibly sexy, and she relished the feeling.

 "No...." she purred in a way that she hoped was alluring, trying to drown
out the pounding of her heart.  "As long as you do more than just
look...."

 He growled, a low, feral sound, as he swooped down upon her, his body
enveloping hers in a savage embrace.   His kisses were fierce and
aggressive, yet mixed with the tenderness that she had come to expect from
his touch.  She kissed him back, wanting to taste and touch every inch of
him, her hands roaming across his body, holding him to her with all her
strength.   After a moment, he moved his mouth away from hers, to bite and
suck at her neck.  She could feel his naked erection pressed against her
thigh and she trembled with desire, taking the length of him in her hand
and caressing him with firm strokes.



Mulder bit his lip to keep from crying out, the sound escaping from him as
a low moan as he fought to retain control.   He twined his fingers roughly
in her hair, holding her head firmly in place as he drove his tongue deep
inside her mouth, aroused by her touch to a point he had never before
reached.  She felt incredible beneath him, her body twisting against him
in a way that made him hot with desire.  She was so tiny, so fragile, and
yet she embraced him with a strength he had not known she possessed.  

 Now, now, now, his mind screamed, and he tried to focus, tried to hold on
as the world began to swim around him, threatening to carry him away on a
raging tide of pure sensation.

 "Oh..... Mulder...."

 Her voice was faint, a breathless whisper that escaped between their
frantic kisses, yet it was enough to snap the final bit of his restraint.

 "Dana.... please...."

 Her body arched beneath him as she spread her legs wider, her hand still
grasping him firmly.   She moaned as she guided him towards her, and he
copied the motion, shuddering as he rubbed against the damp curls that
guarded her entrance.  With one sharp, smooth stroke he entered her, the
air rushing out of his lungs as he thrust deep inside her.  



He drove into her with one massive stroke and Scully gasped, the twinge of
pain drowned in a rush of pleasure as his shaft pierced her, pinning her
to the bed beneath his weight.  As his lips found hers, she twined her
legs around his waist, opening herself further to him and crossing her
ankles behind him to keep him close.  

 A fog of ecstasy enveloped her, and Scully was only conscious of his
warmth and his nearness, the way that his presence suddenly made her feel
whole, and complete.  It was as though she had found something she hadn't
realized she was lacking, and having found it, all she wanted was more.

 For a moment, Mulder lay quietly atop her, shaken as she was by the power
of their joining.  Then he began to move, slowly at first, then with
increasing force and intensity, rocking her body with the power of his
strokes.  Scully held on to him tightly, feeling the muscles in his back
ripple beneath her hands with the rhythm of his motions, clenching him
deep inside her as she rode with him towards the edge.



She felt so good to him, hot and wet and tight.  He wanted to lose himself
inside her completely, to disappear into her warm dark depths forever. 
Consumed by these thoughts, Mulder continued to move, the motions of his
body causing him to draw back only in order to plunge deeper within her.  
Soft breathy cries escaped her lips, little moans of pleasure that made
him crave her even more.  He was delirious with desire for her, attuned to
every motion, every sound that she uttered in the throes of passion.

 There was no awkwardness, no hesitation in their movements.  It was as
though they had long ago learned the steps to this ancient dance, and in
some way, they had.  It felt so right to be sharing this with her, joined
as they already were in so many other ways.  This physical act was like
fitting the last piece into a puzzle they had spent years solving, the
synchronicity of their bodies together the natural, physical extension of
the linking of their minds and souls.

 These thoughts ran through Mulder's mind like a whirlwind, fragments of
consciousness lost amongst a flood of emotions.   He yearned to share
these discoveries with her, to put words to his ardor, his passion, his
need.  To explain to her his intuitive sense that they had been destined
for each other, that each day that had passed since they had come into
this world had been mere stepping stones leading towards this moment.  
Yet he couldn't find the words....



Scully could feel herself tremble, could feel the aching in her muscles as
she fought to hold him, fought to keep him with her, afraid to tumble over
the abyss if he were not by her side.   His arms were like steel bands as
they encircled her, his hands like fire against her skin.  He was moving
even faster inside her now, his strokes no less deep or intense for the
rapidity of their rhythm.   His breaths were shallow and she could hear
him gasping for air as he kissed her desperately, mixed with the sound of
flesh against flesh as their bodies met, parted, and met again.   She
gloried in the smell of him, the taste of him.  Gloried in the feel of him
as he moved atop her, and within her.

 Scully squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to picture him, calling
to mind every image of him she had ever committed to memory, and some that
she had only envisioned in her dreams.  Trying to visualize how he must
look, at this moment, how it would be to see him gazing down at her when
she was close, so close....



He had to tell her, had to find a way.  "Dana.... Dana.... listen to
me...."



His voice was rough and ragged, quavering with emotion, and listening to
him she found herself poised on the edge.  "I.... I'm
listening....ahhhh....."



He had to say it, had to say it now, before he lost the power of speech. 
"Dana.... I love you.... oh, God.... I love you....."



The words swept over her as she tumbled towards ecstasy, falling across
her consciousness in a rush that was almost vivid in its intensity, and
she called to him as her body splintered apart.   "Mulder.... I ....
love.... you....."



And then he followed her, groaning as he allowed the remnants of his
control to fall away, his body shaking with the force of his release,
holding her tightly as he rode the final waves of pleasure.



"...I will be with you tonight
 I will be with you 1,000 miles away
 I will never leave
 Inside of you a piece of me will stay
 One little piece of my soul
 One little piece of my whole life
 I give to you  
 Take it now..."

 - Melissa Etheridge




This is part seven of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (7/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



Afterwards, they lay quietly together, their breathing the only sound in
the room besides the rumble of the train.  Mulder held Scully tightly
against him, relishing the way the naked skin of her back felt against his
chest, the way her butt fit perfectly into the curve of his lap.  She
shivered slightly and he pulled the sheets up a little more before
returning his hands to the rounded softness of her belly.

 "I don't think I'm gonna let you wear clothes anymore, Scully," he
whispered, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder.  "This feels too good."

 "Mmmm....." Scully murmured, resting her hands on his forearms as she
snuggled further into his embrace.  "I'll be awfully cold."

 "I'm sure we can work something out."  Mulder moved one of his hands up
to sweep her hair away from the nape of her neck.  He ran his finger
lightly along the delicate bones there, reflecting on the long ago time
when he had first touched her in that spot, on the feelings that he had
had for her, even then.  She sighed, and he smiled, repeating the motion
with his lips.  "Feel good?"

 "Yes.... I'm just wondering what it would feel like without the beard."

 Mulder groaned.  "Leave it to you to spoil the mood."

 Scully laughed and twisted in his arms, favoring him with a smile.  She
brought a hand to his face and caressed his cheek.  "I didn't say I didn't
like it, Mulder... just wondering, that's all."

 He tried to think of a witty comeback, but looking at her made his entire
vocabulary vanish from his brain.  She was so incredibly lovely... and
somehow, she was his.  She had chosen to give herself to him.  The very
thought made his heart ache.



Mulder pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly and Scully felt a
pleasurable tingle rush down her spine.  The way he touched her, the way
he held her, the way he spoke to her... it made her feel special, as
though she was something to be treasured.  Laying in his arms, it was
almost as though the accident hadn't happened.  For the first time since
the explosion, she didn't feel flawed, didn't feel incomplete.   He had
restored to her a part of herself that she had thought was forever lost,
and the fact that he had the power to do so amazed her.

 Scully found his lips with her own and kissed him, attempting to convey
the gratitude that she felt, to show her appreciation for the fact that he
had never treated her as anything less than whole.  Mulder kissed her
back, and then she pulled away, tucking her head beneath his chin.  She
could feel sleep fast approaching, her limbs heavy and tired, and when she
spoke her words were hushed.

 "Mulder... I meant what I said.  I love you."

 "Oh, Dana..."  His breath was warm against her ear.  "I love you too.  So
very, very much."

 Reassured by the truth that she heard in his voice, that she felt in his
arms wrapped so tightly around her, Scully allowed herself to drift off to
sleep.  



It was his kiss that woke her, a kiss that tasted vaguely cool and minty. 
 Mulder's lips caressed hers gently as he called to her in a soft whisper.

 "Hey sleepy.... wake up...."

 Scully stretched lazily, her eyes still closed, hoping that somehow when
she opened them she would be able to see him standing there.  She returned
the kiss, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers, and raised her arms
in search of him.   He leaned down to embrace her and she reacted with
surprise to find the flannel of his shirt instead of the bareness of his
skin.

 "Mulder?"  Her voice was heavy with sleep.  "What are you doing?  You're
already dressed?"

 He sat down on the bed and laid his head down next to hers on the pillow,
and his hair was damp against her cheek.  "Showered and dressed.  We'll be
in El Paso in ten minutes."

 "Mmmmmm...." She nuzzled her face against his, savoring his clean smell. 
"Why didn't you wake me?"

 "You looked so peaceful, sleeping there."  Mulder placed a gentle kiss on
her cheek.  "Besides, El Paso's just a short stop -- only forty-five
minutes.  It'll be faster if I go on my own."



She frowned slightly at his words, but it didn't mar her beauty in the
slightest.  "Are you ditching me, Mulder?"

 "Never," he answered, sitting up beside her to take a better look at her.
  She was absolutely bewitching, a naked, dark-haired siren swathed in
white cotton sheets, and Mulder felt a stirring in his groin that made him
rue the fact he had errands to run.  "I'm obsessed with you, Dana
Katherine Scully."

 Her lips turned up in a hint of a smile.  "Really?"

 "Yes," he answered truthfully.  "Now.... forever.... always...."  As he
had done the previous evening, he punctuated the words with kisses for
emphasis.

 Scully's smile widened, one eyebrow raising in a signature gesture that
suddenly seemed to have a wicked connotation.  She found his chest with
her hands and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.  "Well, if that's the
case, perhaps you should come back to bed."

 Her touch aroused him even more, and Mulder found himself sorely tempted.
  Just then, the train's whistle blew, and the sound brought him back to
earth.  "There's nothing I want to do more," he reassured her.  "But at
some point, we're going to want some food -- and if I don't go get this
money, we'll end up doing dishes to pay for it."

 "You have a point," Scully sighed, tugging on his shirt to bring him
close for one more kiss.  "Just hurry back."

 "Will do," he promised, returning the kiss and wondering how he was going
to make it through the next forty-odd minutes without her.  "And don't
open the door for anyone except me."

 Scully nodded and lay back down against the pillow with a yawn.  Mulder
gently caressed her cheek and then got up from the bed, rebuttoning his
shirt.   He took his gun from the table and tucked it into the back of his
jeans, then threw on his windbreaker.  His hand on the door, he asked, "Do
you need anything from town?"

 "No..."

 "Okay then.  I'll be back soon."  Mulder stole one more glance at her and
then closed the door behind him.



Elliot pulled the door to his compartment shut behind him and yawned so
widely it brought tears to his eyes.  God, he hated morning.  His brain
consumed only by thoughts of coffee, he began to stumble down the hallway.
 

 "Morning, Elliot."  It was Rick, walking down the corridor towards him, a
friendly smile on his face.

 "Morning," Elliot replied, slowing his pace to allow Rick to catch up. 
"Sleep well?"

 Rick's smile widened.  "Sure did.  You?"

 "Mmmmmm," Elliot yawned again.  "Yes... but I stayed up pretty late
working.  I think coffee is the order of the day.  You going to the dining
car?"

 "No."  Rick shook his head.  "Got to go into town and take care of a
couple things."

 "Okay then."  Elliot stopped at the intersection that led towards the
dining car.  "See you later."

 Rick nodded.  "Later."  A pause, then, "Oh, and Elliot?"

 "Yeah?"

 "Thanks for the book."   Rick continued down the corridor past him, his
smile now more of a rakish grin.    Elliot watched him walk away, puzzled,
then ran a hand through his tousled hair and headed for the dining car.



Retrieving the Federal Express package from the Gunmen went even more
easily than Mulder had expected.  It was waiting for him at the counter
inside the Amtrak station under the name of Rick Stewart, and his train
ticket had been enough proof of identification for him to pick it up.

 Good thing, he thought, as he exited the station, tearing open the
package as he did so.  Inside, as promised, were two new drivers licenses,
issued to Rick and Lisa Stewart.  The photos were duplicates of the ones
that they had taken at a photo shop in Ohio, nearly two months earlier,
after they had first escaped from Washington.   These particular licenses
claimed that the Stewarts were residents of Orlando, Florida, and Mulder
grinned.  He hated Florida.  But he had to commend the Gunmen -- however
they managed to do it, they did a fantastic job.  The lamination was
impeccable, and Mulder had no doubt that the licenses would pass even a
detailed examination.

 Mulder took the old Rick Wilder license out of his wallet and replaced it
with the new one.   After a few tries, he managed to snap the Wilder
license into four separate pieces, planning to drop them in four different
trash bins as he made his way along the street.   He took Scully's new ID
and put it in his pocket, making a mental note to destroy her old one as
soon as he got back to the train.  

 That task accomplished, Mulder checked the address that the conductor had
given him for the Western Union office against the nearest street sign,
getting his bearings before continuing on his way.  



Scully took a deep breath, trying to force herself to be patient.  You
know it's here, she reminded herself.  Just take your time.

 Running her hands more slowly across the table, she finally found the
hairbrush she was seeking and began to pull it through her damp hair,
wincing when she hit a snarl.  Although she had been sorely tempted to
wait in the bed for Mulder's return, she had to admit that the shower had
felt quite good.  Scully wondered idly how much time had passed since he
had departed and wished, not for the first time, that she had a watch she
could read.   She smiled at the memory of Mulder's attempt to remove the
crystal from the watch she'd brought from D.C so that she could tell time
by touching the hands on the face.  He'd managed to shatter not only the
crystal, but the workings of the watch itself, and they hadn't wasted
money to buy another.

 Now that she had dressed and finished with her hair, Scully began the
tedious process of searching the room for her shoes, wishing that she'd
had the foresight to put them someplace specific.  She found them not too
far from the chairs in the corner, alongside the heap of clothes that they
had discarded the night before.   Ignoring the shoes for the moment, she
searched through the tumble of clothes until she ran across Mulder's
sweater.  She raised it to her face and inhaled the scent of him, savoring
the memory of the previous evening.

 The thought ran through her mind that she was acting like a lovesick
teenager, and Scully could feel herself blush.  She put the sweater aside
and laced up her tennis shoes, then gathered up the clothes in her arms
and moved over to the bed.   She dumped the clothes on its surface and
then began to fold them up, pleased to discover how smoothly she handled
the task.    

 Her hands found Mulder's jeans and as she tried to fold them, Scully felt
something firm in the back pocket that prevented her from doing so.  
Reaching inside, she was surprised to find the disk.    Good thing we
didn't put these in the laundry, she thought, taking the small circular
piece of metal and tucking it into her own pocket.   Finally finished
folding the clothes, Scully made her way back over to one of the chairs
and sank down into the cushions to wait.  



Pam cast another glance at Marty, sitting in the passenger seat beside
her, and frowned.  "I don't know what you mean by that," she argued.  "It
isn't as though you didn't have every opportunity to make things right
with her."

 "Listen," Marty countered, "she's a lunatic.  A certifiable, stark-raving
mad, A-number-one psycho.  Glenn Close in that movie?   The character was
based on Julie.  No doubt about it."

 Pam spun the wheel to the left, turning the car around yet another
corner.  Why do you even try, she mused, running a hand through her short
brown hair.  "You're a caveman, Marty."  She sighed, wondering why she
felt the need to reason with him, to put in her two cents and defend a
fellow woman, one whom she only barely knew.  "All you want is somebody
who's gonna be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, bringing you beers
while you watch Monday night football."

 "Hey!" Marty's voice rose with indignation.  "That is so not true."  A
pause, as he took another sip of coffee, then teased, "I'm not even home
on Monday nights.   I'm working -- with you."

 "Nice," she commented wryly.  "Maybe that means that Julie's the lucky
one."

 "Bitch."

 The traffic light turned red and as they came to a stop, Pam caught his
eye.  "Bastard," she teased him back, and then they both started laughing.
 For all of his exceedingly arrogant masculinity, she had to admit that
Marty could be a lot of fun.  And considering how much time they had to
spend together, she knew things could be a lot worse.   People called them
the Bobbsey Twins because they looked enough alike to be brother and
sister, and they treated each other as such.  Beneath their casual banter
lurked a deep and abiding friendship, and Pam was thankful for that.

 "Look Pam," Marty reasoned, "just because you can't keep a man isn't any
reason to give me grief."

 "Oooooh....." Pam threw as much menace into her voice as she possibly
could.  "You don't want to go down that road, you just don't."

 Marty grinned at her.  "Okay, okay.  Let's call a truce.  You ready for
some more coffee?"

 Pam checked the cup she had placed in the dashboard holder and noticed
that it was near empty.   "As long as you're buying."

 At Marty's nod, Pam turned another corner and pulled up alongside the
curb.   They exited the car in tandem and headed up the street towards the
convenience store, Marty dumping both of their styrofoam cups into the
trash.   As they walked, Marty kept up his normal non-stop patter of
conversation which Pam tuned out with a practiced ear, thinking about the
comment he had so casually tossed off in the car.

 There was some truth to it, she had to admit.  It had been almost a year
since she'd broken up with Steve, and although she knew that her lifestyle
wasn't exactly tailor-made for a solid relationship, Pam found it hard to
believe that so few fish had been biting.  While Marty, on the other hand,
seemed to change girlfriends as often as he changed underwear.  The
thought made her grin, and Pam had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. 


 A man exited through the glass door of a store across the street, and Pam
gave him what she now thought of as the Cursory Glance, in capital
letters.  Tall, with brown hair and a beard.  Cut a good figure in jeans. 
Engrossed in the contents of an envelope that he held in his hands.  Not
bad, she mused, as they continued on.

 "So anyway, I told her that I'd call her, but now I'm not so sure." 
Marty's babble was still ringing in her ears, but Pam wasn't paying much
attention.  There was something about that guy, something familiar....

 Suddenly she remembered the bulletin that had been circulated through the
office the day before.  Remembered the picture, and the text beneath.  
Pam grabbed Marty's arm to shut him up as she pulled her weapon from its
holster and spun on her heel.



"Police!!  Freeze!!"

 The words reached Mulder's ears and he actually did stop, for a fraction
of a second, paralyzed by the meaning behind them.   It was as though time
stopped as he looked up, feeling as though he was moving in slow-motion.

 There was a female cop standing just across the street from him, her feet
apart in classic shooting posture, her gun held steady in both hands,
staring directly at him.   Her partner, a stocky man, stood beside her and
was now in the process of drawing his own weapon.  The pedestrians around
them on both sides of the street were frozen, stunned by the events
transpiring around them.  

 For a long moment, Mulder's eyes remained locked with those of the female
cop, his body coiled with tension and panic like a deer in the headlights
of an oncoming car.   He hadn't even noticed them.  How could he have been
so oblivious, so stupid as to let down his guard so carelessly? 

 Then the female cop took a step towards him.  Instinct took over, and
Mulder began to run.

 "I said freeze!!"  Mulder could hear the woman shouting at him, but he
paid her no mind, jostling his way past several onlookers as he raced down
the street.  "STOP!!"

 He couldn't believe this was happening... how could this be happening?? 
Mulder fought to lengthen his stride, hearing the sound of the two cops
coming after him, their feet pounding against the pavement.  It had all
been so easy...  the licenses, the money... so easy.  Too easy.

 Without any idea where he was headed, Mulder swerved around a corner,
looking desperately around him for someplace, anyplace to hide.  He had a
slight advantage in the fact that although it was still early in the day,
the streets were fairly crowded, and he doubted that the cops would fire
at him from so far away for fear of hitting a bystander.  Yet they were
closing the distance, and fast, and Mulder knew if he didn't come up with
something quick it would all be over.

 Heedless of oncoming traffic, Mulder darted into the street, hearing the
sound of car horns blaring at him as he tore across the intersection.  
One car refused to slow down and sped past him, nearly knocking him down,
and Mulder could feel his heart thudding in his chest at the near miss.  
Another car shot towards him and Mulder leapt out of the way, hearing a
screeching of brakes followed by the crashing sound of metal.  Reaching
the other side of the street, he glanced back and saw that his evasive
maneuver had bought him at least a small break -- two cars had smashed
into each other in an accident that didn't appear serious but that was
causing a backlog of traffic, slowing the cops down.

 Taking the opportunity he'd created, Mulder rounded a corner and darted
into an alleyway between two buildings, his mind an incoherent panicked
whirl.

 <Scullycan'tletthemfindhercan'tletthathappen>

 At the end of the alley where the curb met the street was a drainage
duct, and Mulder pulled Scully's new ID out of his pocket and tossed it
down into the dark depths of the sewer.  He threw his ticket voucher in
behind it, not concerned at the moment with how he would get back onto the
train, if he were lucky enough to make it back to the station.  All of his
mental energy was focused on getting rid of the evidence, getting rid of
any clues that would point towards her.

 That task accomplished, Mulder started running again, short of breath
now, looking desperately for a place to hide.  But there were no big
stores open yet, no obvious places where he could disappear into a crowd
and be lost.   He could hear the cops shouting at him, calling attention
to him, alerting the people he passed and depriving him of the opportunity
to merely blend in.

 He rounded another corner, glancing quickly through the windows of the
cars he passed, hoping against hope that he would see forgotten keys in
the ignition.   Hoping against hope that there was some way, any way, out
of this.  

 The woman cop yelled at him again, and Mulder could hear the anger in her
voice.  "STOP!!!"

 Mulder reached the end of the block, footsteps close on his heels, and
turned the corner only to find himself face to face with the barrel of a
gun, held steady in the hands of the male cop. "FREEZE!!"   the cop
shouted.   "Don't move -- and put your hands up!!"

 A second later, the female cop was behind him, and Mulder felt his heart
sink into the pit of his stomach at her words.  "You're under arrest!"

 Mulder slowly raised his hands, his eyes trained on the gun pointed at
him, his mind still spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening. 
 As her partner kept the gun aimed squarely at his head, the female cop
pushed Mulder over towards the wall of the nearest building with the
barrel of her own.  "Against the wall," she ordered, and he slowly
complied, resting both of his palms against the cold concrete.   He heard
the sound of her gun being placed into its holster, and then the
unmistakable rattle of handcuffs as the woman pulled them from her belt.

 "You have the right to remain silent," the cop declared as she yanked
Mulder's hands behind his back and secured them with the cuffs.  "Anything
you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

 As the female cop continued to read him his Miranda rights, Mulder could
hear the sound of her partner, radioing for backup.  The cuffs tight
against his wrists, Mulder stood, unresisting, a bleak feeling of despair
washing over him.  The cop frisked him, removing his wallet and his gun,
and the envelope with the money he had just obtained.  It was only at that
moment that Mulder became aware that he didn't have the disk.  I must have
left it on the train, he thought, stunned by the realization.  His eyes
slammed shut as a wave of dread consumed him.

 <ohDanaDanaDananonono> 



Here endeth part 7... parts 8-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-7            X-7



This is part eight of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (8/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



It wasn't until she heard the third whistle blow that Scully really began
to panic.   She had been on the train long enough to understand the
pattern, well aware that the first whistle signified the ten-minute
warning, and the second blew after five more had passed.  It was the third
that preceded the actual departure of the train from the station, and sure
enough, a moment later she felt the shuddering vibration of the engine
coming to life as the train started down the tracks.

 Take it easy, she told herself, trying to calm down.  He's probably just
wandering through the corridors, taking his sweet time.

 As soon as the thought entered her brain, it vanished.  She knew better
than that.  Knew Mulder wouldn't delay, knew that he would be aware of her
concern.

 Still, her mind found it incredibly hard to entertain the notion that the
train could actually be leaving the station without him aboard, and Scully
sat where she was, her legs tucked beneath her in the chair, waiting for
Mulder's knock.

 A knock that didn't come.

 When she reasoned that the train had been en route for five full minutes,
Scully got up from the chair and made her way over to the door, searching
for the button that would signal the coach attendant.   Finding it, she
pressed it three times in quick succession, an angry twinge of fear
creeping up her spine.

 

The door to his office was opened by one of the rookies and Russell
Hackett looked up from the paperwork he held in his hand.  "They've
brought him in, sir," said the young cop.

 Rusty nodded, rising to his feet and brushing a hand across the spiky red
hair that inspired his nickname.  Carrying the paperwork with him, he
followed the rookie through the station, down to the bottom level where
the holding cells were located.  

 As Chief of Police in El Paso, Texas, Rusty Hackett's job basically
consisted of dealing with a constant stream of drunk-and-disorderlies,
occasional border crossings, and the rare homicide.  In seventeen years on
the force, including six as Chief, he had never before been involved in
the apprehension of a federal fugitive.

 There's a first time for everything, he thought.

 Rusty reached the last holding cell and greeted the two officers standing
guard with a brief incline of his head.   One of the men opened the outer
door, allowing Rusty access to the inner part of the cell.  As the door
shut behind him, he stood quietly for a long moment, studying the man
seated on the cot inside the steel-barred cage.

 Although he was seated, it was obvious that the man was fairly tall, and
rather thin for his height.  He had a short beard, and brown hair that was
in need of a trim, tumbling over his ears and across his forehead.   All
in all, he bore little resemblance to the photograph attached to Rusty's
paperwork, with the exception of the eyes.

 The man had looked up at Rusty's entrance, and had immediately fixed him
with a glare that was fiery in its intensity.  The same gaze stared up at
Rusty from the photo in his hand.   As far as Rusty was concerned, those
eyes provided stronger proof than the matched fingerprints that the man in
the cell was indeed Fox William Mulder.



After only a few moments passed, Scully heard a knock on the door of the
compartment, followed by a woman's cheery voice.  "Hello?"

 Without opening the door, Scully asked, "Are you the attendant?"

 "Sure am," answered the woman.  "My name is Sheila -- can I help you with
something?"

 Scully hesitated a moment, and then slowly opened the compartment door.  
She heard the woman's slight, surprised intake of breath, and then the
words, "Is everything alright, ma'am?"

 "My... my husband hasn't come back yet.   I'm... afraid he might have
missed the train."

 Sheila's confusion was almost palpable.  "Are you sure about that?  He
might still be on his way back to the compartment."

 Scully shook her head firmly.  "No, I don't think so.  It's... it's not
like him to be late."

 "Well, it wouldn't be the first time that's happened, especially on such
a short stop."  Sheila gave a little laugh.  "I'm sure if he did miss the
train, he's already notified the station desk back in El Paso.  I can have
the conductor check, if you'd like."

 "That would be terrific," Scully answered, a faint ray of hope blooming
inside her.  "If he did miss it, what happens then?"

 "Well," Sheila replied, "the easiest thing would be for you to wait for
him at the next stop.  There'll be another train on this route coming
through later tonight -- he can board that one and then you can meet up."

 Not so hard, Scully thought.  You can handle that.   Aloud, she said,
"Great.  Can you find out if that's what happened?"

 "Not a problem," came the response.  "I'll be right back."

 Scully heard the woman's steps receding as she shut the door, leaning
against it with a small sigh of relief, hoping that the attendant's
explanation for Mulder's absence was correct.



"I want to make my phone call," Mulder demanded, his eyes never wavering
from the red-haired officer.

 "Can't allow you to do that," the officer drawled.   Mulder could tell by
the badge on his uniform that he was of senior rank, probably the man in
charge, and he harbored a faint hope that perhaps he could reason with
him.

 "I know my rights," Mulder countered, trying to keep his voice calm.  "I
have a right to a phone call, and to see an attorney."

 The officer waved the sheaf of papers in his hand as he shook his head.  
"My jurisdiction as Chief has been superseded, by the federal government."
  He read slowly from the top sheet of paper.  "The fugitive is not to be
allowed to speak to anyone outside of enforcement personnel.  No phone
calls or outside contact is to be permitted."   He paused, tracing his
finger down the page, before continuing.  "There's more, but it's all the
same.   Basically, we're just supposed to hold you until the Feds show
up."

 Mulder said nothing, his mind whirling.  He hadn't really expected that
they would allow him to use the phone, and he wasn't positive that it was
a good idea anyway.  But part of him ached to call the Gunmen, to give
them a message, some kind of clue as to what had happened.

 The chief studied him through the bars, wearing an expression that
bordered on curiosity.  "You're in a great deal of trouble, boy."   A
pause, and then, "I hope you realize that."

 You have no idea, Mulder thought, his stomach tight with tension.  

 The chief ran a hand across his brush-cut hair.  "They've forbidden me to
interrogate you, which is fine, far as I'm concerned.  But they did ask me
a question I couldn't answer, so I'm going to put it to you."

 Mulder sat where he was, absolutely silent.

 "Where is she?  Where's the girl?"   A beat, and then, "What's happened
to her?"

 It took all of Mulder's effort to maintain eye contact with the chief,
all of his strength to keep from screaming in panic, to shout that he
didn't know.  That he wasn't sure.  That he needed to get back to her,
right now, this instant.

 <DanaDanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

 He said nothing.



When she heard the knock, Scully leapt up off of the bed and made her way
quickly back over to the door.  "Sheila?" she called, hoping that she had
remembered the attendant's name correctly.

 "Yes," came the response, and Scully pulled open the door.

 "Is he at the station?" Scully asked, her voice slightly breathless.

 Sheila's response came just a beat too late, and in that silent pause,
Scully's heart sank.  "No, he isn't.  At least not so far as we know --
nobody's come up to the desk in El Paso."

 Scully could feel the bleak beginnings of despair beginning to overtake
her and she fought to retain her composure.  "Oh.... well, thanks for
checking."

 "Can I do anything to help?"  Sheila's voice was full of concern, and
Scully knew much of it was due to her blindness.  "Is there someone we
need to notify?"

 "No, no...."  Scully shook her head, forcing herself to smile.  "I'm fine
-- I'm.... I'm meeting my mother in --"  She paused, searching her brain
for the name of a city on the route that Mulder had read to her.  "In
Tucson.   I'm meeting her in Tucson, when the train gets there.  So, I'll
be fine until then."

 Sheila was silent, and for a panicked minute Scully feared that her lie
had been too transparent.   

 "Okay, then," Sheila finally answered.  "As long as you're sure."

 "I am -- believe me, I am."

 "All right."  Scully could hear the hesitation in Sheila's voice, but
fortunately the woman didn't push her any further.  "Just ring the bell if
you need anything -- I'm on duty all day."  

 "Thanks -- I will."  With that, Scully shut the door again.  Making her
way back over to the bed, she collapsed upon it as the fear gripped her
completely.



The man remained completely silent, and after a moment, Rusty shrugged,
giving up.  "No matter.  They'll figure it out."

 The man finally turned away from him, laying down on his bunk, his arms
crossed against his chest.  Interrogation over, Rusty thought wryly,
feeling as though he had been utterly dismissed by the prisoner.  

  Rusty turned and knocked on the outer door of the cell, and as he waited
for the door to open, he took another glance at the fugitive.   There was
something about the way that the man was lying on the cot, something about
the way that his body seemed tense even in repose, that Rusty found a bit
unsettling.  It was as though the man was coiled to spring, ready to move
at a moment's notice.  He showed none of the animosity, none of the rage
or anger that Rusty was so used to encountering in his more disorderly
prisoners.  Nor did the man seem resigned to his situation, plagued by
uncertainty and grief.  

 Focused, thought Rusty.  The guy is completely and totally focused.   The
thought frightened him for some reason, and he felt relieved to step into
the hall and leave the prisoner behind.

 "Everything okay?"  The question came from one of the duty guards, and
Rusty nodded.

 "Fine, just fine."  Checking the paperwork that had been faxed to him
from Washington D.C. once again, Rusty signaled to the guards.  "He's all
yours.  Take care of him, as instructed."  A pause, and then he added,
"And watch your backs.  I don't trust this one as far as I can throw him."

 The two young officers nodded to indicate their comprehension of the
order, and Rusty turned on his heel and headed back upstairs.



"I don't care -- call them again!"  Skinner shouted into the phone.  "I
want it made absolutely clear -- no one sees or speaks to Mulder until I
get there!!"   He waited for a response and then hung up the phone.

 The door to his office opened and Holly poked her head inside.  "Sir,
your car is waiting."

 "I'll be right down," he responded, and she nodded, ducking back out of
the room.

 Skinner surveyed his desk quickly, checking to be certain that he wasn't
forgetting anything that he needed.  He spotted one particular file and
scooped it up, stuffing it into his bag.  

 After all this time....

 When the call had come in, Skinner had found himself frozen in place,
unable to believe that Fox Mulder had been found.  Arrested by two beat
cops in the unlikely location of El Paso, Texas.  Apprehended after an
intense manhunt that had lasted nearly two months, thanks more to sheer
coincidence than any sharp investigative work.

 Mulder had been found.

 Alone.

 Skinner stormed out of his office, his thoughts a confused jumble.  
There had been no sign of Dana Scully anywhere near Mulder;  he'd been
taken in the middle of the city, and a slew of beat cops had combed the
streets, looking for Mulder's missing partner, only to come up empty.

 Where was she?

 There had been nothing found on Mulder's person that indicated her
whereabouts, and so far as Skinner had heard, Mulder wasn't talking.

 What had happened to her?

 Skinner suspected that the answer lay in the place that Mulder had come
from, on his fateful trip into town.  Perhaps she's holed up in some
motel, he mused, although he knew that by now all of those establishments
had been thoroughly searched, looking under the name Stewart that had been
found on Mulder's false ID.  

 Of course, she could have gone off on her own.   Skinner dismissed the
thought as soon as it entered his head, for two reasons.  

 First, because the one thing he knew about Dana Scully was that she would
never have abandoned her partner, at least not of her own volition.

 And second, because if the rumors he had heard were true, Dana Scully was
now blind.

 Which effectively ruled out that possibility.

 Skinner reached the street level and exited the building, descending the
steps with brisk strides.  As Holly had promised, the car was indeed
waiting for him, and he climbed inside, ordering the driver to disregard
the speed limit on the way to the airport.

 For reasons too numerous to name, Walter Skinner was in a hurry.



Elliot held the drawing at arms' length, eyeing it with a practiced gaze. 
 More orange, he decided, picking up the pencil and beginning to sketch. 
The knock at the door caught him off guard, and the pencil slipped in his
hand, skidding across the page and leaving a bright orange streak in its
wake.

 Cursing under his breath, Elliot crossed the room to the door and threw
it open, and his eyes widened in surprise.  "Lisa!  What are you doing
here?  How did you find my compartment?"

 "Down the stairs, four doors to the left," she answered, her words flat
and automatic.  "Can I come inside for a minute?"

 "Sure," said Elliot, stepping aside to allow her to enter.  He glanced
into the hallway as she did so, puzzled to see that Rick was nowhere in
sight.  "What's up?"

 Lisa didn't answer, moving slowly across the compartment, and after a
moment Elliot realized that she was searching the unfamiliar room for a
seat.  "Here," he said, taking her gently by the arm and guiding her
towards a chair.

 "Thanks," she responded, sinking down into the cushions.  

 Elliot went back and shut the door, then came to sit in the adjacent
chair.  Lisa remained quiet, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap, a
lost expression on her face.  Elliot waited until the silence overwhelmed
him before he spoke.

 "Lisa?  Is something wrong?"  He paused, then, "Where's Rick?"

 At the mention of her husband's name, Lisa sat up straighter in the
chair.  Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she said, "Elliot, I need
your help."

 Confused, Elliot replied, "Name it."

 "Rick.... he.... he missed the train."

 Elliot sighed, smiling with relief.  "No problem," he told her.  "It
happens all the time.  You can just catch up with him at the next stop."

 She shook her head, her face grim.  "You don't understand.  Rick, he ....
there's no way he missed the train by accident.  It just.... it didn't
happen like that."

 Elliot looked at her closely, trying to discern the meaning behind her
words.  He couldn't imagine that she meant what he thought she meant. 
He'd never seen a couple more in love.

 Then again.... Elliot couldn't ignore the livid bruise on her cheek.  It
wasn't as dark as it had been the day that he had met her, but it was
still clearly visible.   He found it hard to believe that a man like Rick
was capable of that kind of violence, yet he was old enough not to be
naive.   

 Choosing his words carefully, he asked, "Did he -- do you think that....
that he left you?  On purpose?"

 Elliot saw something flash across Lisa's face, so fast that it barely
registered.  A peculiar mix of doubt, panic, and despair.   Something dark
that vanished as quickly as it appeared.   Then she lifted her head, her
jaw set with determination, and spoke to him through clenched teeth.

 "Rick would *never* have left me behind.   *Never*."   Lisa paused, and
then rose to her feet.  "I'm sorry -- I shouldn't have bothered you.  This
wasn't a good idea."

 "No -- no!"  The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush as Elliot grabbed
her arm, urging her to sit back down.  "Lisa -- I'm sorry.   I am..... I
didn't mean it.   I -- I just had to ask."



Scully heard the earnestness in Elliot's voice and it calmed her somewhat.
  She took her seat again, cautioning herself to take it easy.  Don't
panic, she thought.   You can't get out of this if you panic.

 "I know," she answered, relieved at the normal tone of her voice.  "I
didn't mean to overreact."

 The room was quiet for a minute, and Scully knew Elliot was thinking. 
"So," he said finally, his voice slow and measured.  "If you don't think
Rick missed the train by accident, and he wouldn't have missed it on
purpose, what you're saying is you think something happened to him."

 Scully nodded, certain he was looking.

 "Can I ask, why?"  A pause, and then, "I mean, if it were me, I wouldn't
immediately jump to that conclusion."

 Scully raked her fingers through her hair, trying to figure out exactly
how much to tell him.   Enough to get you off the train, her mind
instructed.  No more than that.

 "I don't really want to get into it," she answered.  "Rick and I....
there are.... some people who are looking for us.   Dangerous people.  
And if --"  her heart seized up at the thought and she had to force
herself to continue.  "If they found Rick.... he could.... he could be in
a lot of trouble."

 "Why don't you call the police?"

 Another difficult question.  Scully searched her brain for an answer but
only came up with the truth.  "I can't.   The police are looking for us
too."

 "What about.... what about your parents?"

 The simplicity of the idea made Scully want to laugh and cry
simultaneously.  If only it were that easy... 

 "Elliot, I -- I just can't.   You have to believe me.   It's just -- it's
not possible, not now.  If Rick is in trouble, a call like that would only
make it worse."

 Scully heard Elliot sigh, a long troubled exhale.  "Then exactly what is
it you want me to do, Lisa?"



 As though it were the most normal thing in the world, Lisa said, "I need
you to help get me off of the train."

 Elliot massaged his temples with one hand as he asked, "And then what?"

 "Take me to a hotel, someplace away from the train station."

 "And what are you going to do then?"

 The expression on her face told Elliot clearly that she had no idea,
although she tried to hide her uncertainty behind a brave voice. 
"Well.... I'll figure that out.   I just have to get away from here --
sooner or later, they're going to figure out that Rick was on this train. 
And I can't do anything to help him if they find me here."

 This isn't happening, Elliot thought.  This cannot possibly be real.

 And yet it was.  Lisa was sitting across from him, a tiny figure in a
flannel shirt and jeans.  A blind woman who was asking him to spirit her
off of an Amtrak line and deposit her in some Texas hotel with who knows
what pursuing her.   Suddenly Elliot felt as though he had become a
character in one of the books he'd spent the last few years illustrating.

 As though his silence frightened her, Lisa's next words were soft.  "Will
you.... help me?"

 "Of course," he answered, the words rushing from his mouth before he gave
them a second thought.  

 Lisa smiled, a tentative smile of relief.  "Thank you... you have no idea
how much I appreciate this."

 "One question, first."  She nodded, and Elliot continued.  "I don't want
to know who these people are, or why they're after you.  But the thing
about the police... what kind of trouble are you in?   Did you and Rick
do... whatever it is you're being accused of doing?"

 Lisa face darkened, shadowed by some distant memory.   When she spoke
again, in a low voice, her chin trembled slightly and for a moment Elliot
feared she might cry.  "Some things happened.... some very bad things.  
And Rick and I were involved.  But --"  She took a deep breath.  "But it
wasn't our fault.   It wasn't our fault."   

 Elliot noticed that Lisa repeated the phrase as though she was trying to
convince herself of that fact, but he decided that it was enough for him. 
For now.  

 "I believe you."  Elliot studied her, still considering her request.   A
vision of her, alone in some cheap motel, flooded his mind, and he spoke
again out of sheer instinct.

 "I'll help you get off of the train, Lisa, but I'm not going to leave
you."

 A puzzled frown settled on her face.  "What are you talking about?"

 This is crazy, Elliot thought, the words flashing madly in his brain, but
he couldn't stop himself.  "I can't leave you alone -- it wouldn't be
right."

 As he said the words, he knew they were true.  There was no way he could
look at himself again in a mirror if he abandoned this woman, despite the
fact that for all intents and purposes she was a stranger to him.  But he
couldn't help but think about Beck, about what he would want someone to do
for her, if the circumstances were reversed.  And there was something
about Lisa that seemed honest, and desperate.  Something that made him
believe her.

 Feeling the rush of confidence that comes from making a decision, Elliot
continued, "You should come with me.  To Santa Fe."



Here endeth part 8... parts 9-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-8            X-8


This is part nine of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (9/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



Elliot's words ran like ice water in her veins as Scully thought about the
distance between El Paso and Santa Fe.  Too far, she thought, too far
away.

 "I can't do that," she protested.  "I have to -- I have to stay here. 
Close to El Paso."

 "Lisa."  There was a firm tone in Elliot's voice that Scully hadn't heard
before, and it cut through some of her panic.  "You're not thinking
clearly.  There's nothing you can do on your own -- as much as you may
hate to admit it, you need some assistance."

 Despising the truth in his words, Scully grit her teeth and said nothing.

 "I would stay with you, if I could, but I have to get back.  So you
should come with me -- at least until you can figure out what you want to
do."

 Scully took a deep breath, trying to make a decision.   Every bone in her
body protested the idea of going so far away from Mulder, so far from the
place where she had last seen him, but the rational part of her mind told
her that Elliot was right.  She knew that what she needed was to get out
of harm's way -- to hide somewhere that they couldn't find her.  To be
safe, at least for the moment.

 She knew that was what Mulder would want.

 Mulder...

 Thinking of him made her dizzy and she shut her eyes, trying to surmount
the fear that threatened to consume her completely.  

 <MulderMulderMulderpleasepleasebeokay>



Her face was pale and when she started to tremble Elliot panicked, patting
her on the arm in an attempt to reassure her.  "Lisa... it's okay, really.
  I didn't mean to freak you out."  Nice job, he thought.  She probably
thinks you're a serial killer trying to lure her to some out of the way
spot.   "If you want me to take you to a hotel, I will -- I will.   I was
just trying to help."

 Lisa's eyes fluttered open and she shook her head.  "You didn't freak me
out, Elliot.  I was just...thinking.  And you're probably right.  It's
better for me to go somewhere that they won't be looking for me, until I
figure things out."

 Elliot sat back, relieved.  "Okay then.  It's settled."  He glanced at
his watch.  "We need to get our stuff together, though -- the train will
be getting into Las Cruces in twenty minutes, and that's the station where
we have to switch lines."

 "I don't think we should get on another train."

 "What?"  Elliot was confused.  "Why not?"

 Lisa sighed.  "If... if somebody finds out that Rick was on this train,
they'll search it, and all the other connecting lines.   Is there another
way to get to Santa Fe from there?"

 "Well, there's a bus.  We can take that to Albuquerque -- that's where
the train would have let us off, anyway."   Trying to crack a joke, he
added, "Is that cloak and dagger enough for you?"

 If she got the joke, Lisa didn't show it.  A serious expression on her
face, she said, "I think so.  Elliot....." her voice trailed off as she
searched for words.  "This isn't your problem.  And I don't want to
involve you in it, without you understanding how dangerous it could be. 
These people -- they're the kind of people who shoot first, and ask
questions later."

 Elliot's stomach started to churn at her words, suddenly realizing just
how Lisa might have gotten that bruise on her face.  Although he
considered himself to be as brave as the next guy, this might be pushing
the envelope.  Idiot, you're an artist, not James fucking Bond, he
thought.  

 But how could he leave her alone?

 Swallowing the lump in his throat, Elliot replied, "I get it."  A pause,
and then, "I'm in.  Now we need to get packed and get out of here."



"Where are you now?"  The man fired up another cigarette, his hand shaking
with anticipation.

 "Just outside of Austin."  Christophe's voice rang in his ears, undimmed
by the crackling of the cellular phone.  "I'm doubling back now -- should
be there in about twenty minutes."

 "Good."  The man inhaled deeply, satisfied with the answer.  "There will
be a plane waiting for you at the private airfield just outside of town."

 Dead air on the line, and then, "How should I handle it?"

 "That," the man said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, "is up to you.  You
know what we need -- I'm not going to counsel you as to the method."

 "Understood," Christophe replied.  "I'll check in with you as soon as I
can."

 "I'll be waiting."  With that, the man disconnected the call, feeling
once again as though success was within his grasp.



Pam walked down the hallway, balancing the tray carefully with both hands.
 She was acutely aware that she was acting against policy, but at the
moment, she was too curious to care.   She was off-duty now, which would
usually mean making a beeline out of the building in order to savor every
precious moment of free time she had.  Instead, she was hanging out at the
station, bribing one of the duty officers to allow her to be the one to
bring the prisoner his meal.

 If pressed, Pam would have attributed her curiosity to the fact that she
had yet to come across a federal fugitive in her time on the force, at
least aloud.  Deep inside she knew that she found the man fascinating, and
had from the moment that she'd arrested him.  There was something strange
about him that piqued her interest, and she felt compelled to see him
again, if only for a moment.

 Reaching the holding cell, Pam greeted the duty guard with a nod of her
head.  "Hey Sam," she greeted him.  "Want to let me in?"

 She saw Sam glance at her, surprised that it was she who had brought down
the tray, but he was junior in rank and knew better than to ask the
question.  "Sure," he replied, opening the outer door and allowing her to
enter.

 The prisoner was sitting on his cot, leaning back with his head against
the wall.   His eyes had been shut but they opened at the sound, and he
stared at her, his expression revealing nothing.  He looked different than
he had when she'd arrested him, and it was due to more than the regulation
blue prison garb he'd been issued.  Someone had cut his hair and shaved
his beard, which made him look younger and more vulnerable than the man
Pam had seen on the street. 

 "Brought you something to eat," she declared, placing the tray on the
shelf on her side of the iron bars.  

 The man said nothing, merely continuing to stare at her.

 Pam shrugged slightly as she released the latch that held the partition
closed.  Flipping the panel up, she slid the tray through to rest on the
shelf on the other side, and then shut the partition and reaffixed the
latch.   

 The man sat where he was, not moving towards the tray as she would have
expected, and there was something about his stillness that she found
vaguely chilling.

 "Need anything else?" she asked.

 The man shook his head, a motion so small as to be almost imperceptible,
but Pam got the message.  

 "All right, then," she said, rapping on the outer door as a signal to
Sam.  

 Back in the outer hallway, Pam took a deep breath, inexplicably relieved
to be away from the man.  Curiosity killed the cat, she thought, deciding
that she'd seen enough of him to hold her for quite some time.



Carrying his bulky backpack with one hand, Elliot knocked on the door of
Lisa's compartment.  After he'd identified himself, she opened the door as
the whistle blew for the third time, announcing the arrival of the train
in Las Cruces.  "Ready?" he asked, and she nodded, allowing him to enter.

 "I think I've got everything," she said, indicating the duffel bag on the
bed with a wave of her hand.  "But would you mind checking, just to be
sure?"

 "No problem," Elliot responded, doing a quick scan of the room and
finding nothing amiss.   "I don't see anything lying around."  A beat,
then, "We should go."

 Lisa nodded, and Elliot noticed that she had changed her flannel shirt in
favor of a dark green sweater that dwarfed her small frame.  She made her
way over to the chair near the wall and scooped up the navy jacket that
lay there, draping it over one arm.  

 Elliot took her cue and shouldered his backpack, the backpack that he had
bought five years earlier for his post-collegiate Europe trip, the
backpack that Beck regularly chastised him for carrying.

 <Normalpeopleusesuitcasesnotbackpacksyoudork>

 For once, Elliot was glad he had the backpack, as it enabled him to carry
the duffel bag with one hand and steer Lisa out the door with the other. 
"Santa Fe, here we come," he declared, as they made their way down the
corridor.  



As they made their way off of the train and into the station, Scully tried
to adjust her steps to Elliot's stride.  He wasn't quite as tall as
Mulder, but his steps were faster, and she found herself wondering just
how much effort Mulder had made to accommodate himself to her pace. 
Elliot also lacked some of Mulder's vigilance, and she had already
stumbled twice as a result of his failure to inform her of a change in
their direction.

 "Sorry," Scully heard him mumble, as she once again lost her balance.

 "That's okay," she replied, adjusting her grasp on his arm.  "It takes a
bit of getting used to."

 Though it hadn't taken Mulder long, Scully thought, a tremor shuddering
through her body as her fear for him resurfaced.  From the very beginning,
his movements had been almost naturally attuned to hers, and the
instinctive trust she placed in him had done much to alleviate her fears
of falling.  

 <MulderMulderMulderIneedyou>

 Pushing thoughts of Mulder to the back of her mind, Scully forced herself
to focus on the matter at hand.  "Elliot -- look around."  She kept her
voice low.  "Do you see anything out of the ordinary?"

 "Like what?"  She could hear the confusion in his voice and sought to
explain.  

 "Suspicious people -- anyone taking too much of an interest in us."  A
beat, then, "Or police.  Anybody in uniform."



Elliot looked around the station.  It was fairly crowded with an
assortment of people, each of whom seemed intent on reaching their own
particular destinations.  As far as he could tell, there wasn't any one
person paying them special attention.   "I don't see anything strange," he
responded, glancing down at her.  

 Lisa's face was drawn, her expression worried.  "Are you sure?"

 "I'm positive," he told her, putting a great deal of emphasis on the
words.  "The only thing I see is one of the Amtrak security men -- but
he's on the other side of the station, and he's not looking our way at
all."

 "Keep an eye on him," was all that she said, but the tone in her voice
spoke volumes.

 Elliot guided her out the doors of the station and towards a cab parked
alongside the curb.  "We have to take a taxi to the bus station," he
explained, and she nodded, stopping next to him automatically.

 "Where to?" asked the cabbie, as he exited the vehicle to grab their
luggage.  

 "Bus station," Elliot replied, and the cabbie nodded, walking around to
the back of the cab and opening the trunk.   

 Elliot pulled open the car door and waited for Lisa to enter.  It took
him a moment to realize that she was waiting for him to help her inside,
and then he quickly moved to do so, apologizing to her with a low murmur. 


 This isn't going to be easy, he thought, as he climbed into the cab
beside her.  



Mulder paced the cell restlessly, every muscle in his body protesting his
imprisonment.  The cell wasn't large, and he reached each side in a few
short strides before turning on his heel to head the other way.  

 His mind was moving even faster than his feet, occupied solely with
thoughts of escape, weighing every option, each seeming more bleak than
the last.  

 If they'd found her, you'd know...  

 The thought ran through his mind, but Mulder wondered if it was the
truth, aware that there were plenty of reasons that information might be
kept from him.

 If they'd found her, you'd know...

 Assume they haven't, he told himself.  Assume they haven't figured it out
and Scully's still on the train.  

 <havetogetouthavetogetbacktoherhavetohaveto>

 Mulder sighed and ran a hand through his newly close-cropped hair. 
Although the barber's visit had come as a bit of a surprise, he understood
the reasons behind it.  Eliminate the disguise.  Eliminate the chance that
he might escape their grasp again.

 If they'd found her, you'd know...

 If they haven't, what is she going to do without you?

 The thought ricocheted inside him, pulsing viciously in his brain, and
Mulder sank back down on the cot, resting his head in his hands.  Another
wave of guilt swept over him, rocking him to the core.

 <MulderImeantwhatIsaidIloveyou>

 Before he could stop it, Mulder felt a single tear escape his eye, and he
brushed it angrily away with the palm of his hand.   No time for that, he
thought.  No time at all.



Scully sat beside to Elliot on the bus, feeling the springs in the
uncomfortable seat beneath her.  She was next to the window, and rested
her head against the cool pane of glass.  Her eyes were closed and she was
pretty sure Elliot assumed she'd fallen asleep, which was just as well. 
He had spent the first part of the ride chattering aimlessly, and although
she had at first welcomed the distraction, she was now glad to be alone
with her thoughts.

 Try as she might, Scully couldn't shake the heavy weight of guilt that
had descended upon her the moment Elliot had proposed his plan.  It just
seemed wrong, somehow, to be leaving Mulder behind.  After all of her
fears that he would abandon her, she couldn't believe that she was doing
it to him.

 He could be dead, a dark voice echoed in her mind.  They might have
killed him.

 Choking back an angry sob, Scully pushed the thought away, hoping against
hope that the voice was wrong.  Somehow, deep inside, she was certain he
was still alive.  In trouble, perhaps, but definitely still alive.  

 If he died, a little piece inside of her would die too.

 And that she would be able to feel.

 "Lisa?  You okay?"

 Scully detected the concern behind his words and attempted a smile. 
Elliot had been so kind, so incredibly generous.  When they had arrived at
the bus station and she had suddenly realized she didn't have a dime to
her name, he had paid both fares without saying a word.  "Fine," she
answered, feeling a rush of gratitude towards him.  "How much further?"

 "Hmmmm," Elliot paused, and she assumed he was checking his watch. 
"About two more hours to go.  We've just passed the halfway mark."

 Scully sighed.  "You like living all the way out here?"

 Elliot chuckled.  "It's not so far out of the way.   Especially if you
travel by plane."  A beat, then, "Besides, Santa Fe's beautiful, and we
have a really nice place."

 "We?"  Although Scully wasn't really in the mood for conversation, she
needed the break from her dark thoughts.  "You and...."

 "Rebecca."  Elliot supplied the answer to her unfinished question.  
"It's Beck, and me, and Coop -- Cooper is a friend we went to school
with."  Another small laugh.  "Rent's expensive, you know?  The more the
merrier, especially when you still have school loans to pay off."

 A thought hit her and Scully asked, "How old are you, Elliot?"

 "Twenty-seven," came the response.  "I'll be twenty-eight in January."

 The same age as Charles, she mused.  Aloud, she said, "What day?"

 "The thirtieth," Elliot answered.  "Aquarius."

 He fell silent after that, as did Scully, vague memories floating at the
edge of her consciousness.   Something about horoscopes, and astrological
signs.   All of the stuff that Melissa had placed so much faith in.  
Aquarius... an air sign... air signs were Swords...

  Suddenly it all came back to her with a shocking, vivid clarity, and
Scully remembered the prediction delivered by Lucy, the woman they had met
back in New Orleans.  Remembered the explanation she had given Mulder
during the tarot card reading.

 "The Knight of Swords is a man in Lisa's life -- might be you, but the
placement signifies a future influence, so maybe not.  Someone
intelligent, courageous and capable, who deals with problems swiftly and
effectively.  Someone who will be a strong ally for her down the road a
ways."

 It was as though everything now made an eerie sort of sense, and Scully
felt herself shudder.  She reached down on the seat beside her and fumbled
until she found Elliot's hand.  She linked her fingers with his, and felt
him give her an answering squeeze, tightening the clasp of their hands. 
Reassured, at least for the moment, Scully exhaled a sigh of relief.



"Sir?"  

 Rusty Hackett was on the phone when the desk officer opened his door, and
the look on the young woman's face caused him to cut the call short.  He
had barely put the receiver back in its cradle when she spoke again.

 "The men from the FBI are here, sir.  Asking to see you."

 With a wave, Rusty dismissed the officer, who exited, pulling the door
shut behind her.   Glancing at the array of detritus on his desk, Rusty
exhaled a long, low sigh.  Well, he thought, it isn't as though they're
here to give me some kind of Good Housekeeping award.

 A moment later, the officer returned, holding the door open for three men
dressed in suits.  The man who entered first was clearly the one in
charge, and Rusty noted his formal, almost military bearing with approval.
 

 Rising from his desk, Rusty said, "Afternoon, gentlemen.  I'm Chief
Hackett."

 Extending a hand towards him, the lead man said, "Walter Skinner,
Assistant Director."  Skinner didn't introduce the other two men who
remained standing at the back of the room, near the door, but Rusty
acknowledged them with a nod.  "I want to thank you for the discretion
you've exercised in this matter."

 "Well," Rusty replied, "the orders were quite clear.  And I can
understand your need for precaution, given the circumstances."

 "At this point," Skinner declared, "all we want is to take him back to
Washington and get to the bottom of all this."  A pause, then, "I'd like
to see him.  Right away."

 There was a gleam in Skinner's eyes that spoke of relief, which didn't
surprise Rusty in the slightest, given the length and difficulty of the
search.   There was something else beneath it though, something that
looked almost like excitement, and it caused Rusty to hesitate, for just a
moment.

 "Certainly, sir," Rusty answered.  "First, though -- can I see some
identification?"  Off the man's look, he continued, "As I said, the
instructions were quite clear."

 Skinner nodded, and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket,
removing a standard government issue badge.  "Of course," he said, passing
the badge to Rusty.

 Rusty flipped it open, reading the text inside.  Assistant Director
Walter S. Skinner, it said, alongside the words Federal Bureau of
Investigation.  The picture was unmistakably that of the man who sat in
front of him.

 "Thank you," said Rusty, returning the badge.  "If you'll follow me, I'll
take you downstairs."



Mulder heard the sound of the outer door to the cell being pulled open and
sat up on the cot, trying to push thoughts of Scully out of his mind in
order to deal with this new interruption.   He tried to focus, to remain
vigilant, all too aware that he couldn't afford any further mistakes.  

 In the bit of the corridor that was visible to him through the partially
opened door, Mulder caught a glimpse of the red-haired chief.   The chief
was speaking to a man clad in a suit, but Mulder could only catch a little
of their conversation.

 "....a moment alone," said the man in the suit.

 "Certainly..." The chief's voice faded out, and then Mulder heard him
say, "... right outside."

 The man in the suit then entered the cell alone, allowing the outer door
to fall shut behind him.  Mulder looked at him, curious, certain that he
had never seen him before.  He was a tall, well-built man, with a vaguely
European air about him.  He had a full head of dark hair and piercing
black eyes.   His olive complexion and strong features were unquestionably
attractive, but there was a vaguely ominous air about him that twisted his
good looks into something more sinister.

 "It's been awhile, Agent Mulder," said the man as he stepped closer to
the iron bars.  

 Mulder didn't reply, trying to figure out the man's game.  

 The man stopped within an inch of the bars.  "Don't you have anything to
say for yourself?"  Barely moving his lips, he continued, in a voice that
was no more than a whisper.  "If you want to help her, play along."



Christophe fought to keep the smile from his lips as Mulder's face drained
of color.   The simple line had worked even better than he'd expected.  

 He watched as Mulder rose from the cot, fighting to speak in a normal
tone of voice.  "There's a lot we have to discuss, sir.  I'm not sure
where to begin."   Coming close to the bars, Mulder matched Christophe's
own low tone, the words escaping from him in a hiss.

 "Where is she?"

 Christophe deigned not to answer that particular question, knowing that
the success of his plan depended on Mulder's complicity.  Ignoring the
plea in Mulder's eyes, Christophe backed away.  "I suppose we'll have
plenty of time to talk on our way back to D.C."

 Mulder said nothing, his face registering confusion, so Christophe
dropped another clue.  "I had to pull a lot of strings to get out here,
Mulder.   For some reason, they seem to feel I'm too lenient an A.D. to be
trusted to bring you back safely."

 Comprehension flooded Mulder's eyes, mixed with a fair amount of
distrust, and for a moment Christophe feared that he had misjudged the
man, feared that he had overestimated his desire to find the girl.

 A long moment passed, and then Mulder slowly replied, "You've always been
fair, sir, and under the circumstances, that's all I can ask for."

 Christophe nodded his approval of the response.  "Then let's get out of
here."



Here endeth part 9... part 10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if there
are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-9            X-9


This is part ten of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



DOWN THE TRACKS (10/10)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
6/5/96



The bus arrived in Albuquerque without incident, and Elliot relaxed as it
pulled into the station.  Almost home, he thought, allowing himself a
brief smile at the thought of Beck.   He helped Lisa off of the bus and
then led her over to the side where they waited for the driver to unload
their bags from the compartments beneath.

 "Now what?" asked Lisa, once their bags had been retrieved.

 "Last leg," Elliot responded, checking his watch.  "We'll be in Santa Fe
by dinner."   She nodded, and he took her by the arm.  "C'mon," he said,
"it's not far to the parking lot."

 He led her to the parking structure, forcing himself to walk more slowly
to enable her to keep up with him.   Lisa seemed extremely nervous, and
was startled by every unfamiliar sound.   
Elliot could tell that she was tired, and he was feeling the same way
himself, worn out from all of the travel and from the undercurrent of fear
that had permeated their journey.  

 They took the elevator up to the third level of the structure and then
walked across to the far side.  "Here we are," Elliot finally announced,
dropping the duffel bag before removing the backpack from his aching
shoulders.

 Lisa extended a tentative hand in front of her, a surprised look crossing
her face.  "Elliot?  This isn't a car."

 "No," he answered, admiring his motorcycle with a familiar surge of
pride.  "It's a bike."

 "A bike?"  

 Elliot could hear the panic in her voice, and sought to reassure her.  "A
motorcycle -- it's a vintage Harley.   But don't worry -- it's in great
condition, she's my pride and joy.  And I'm a very good driver."

 Lisa gave a weak nod, but said nothing.  

 "Trust me, it'll be fine."  Elliot picked up the backpack and secured it
onto the back of the bike, before picking up the duffel bag and doing the
same.  "You should put your jacket on, though -- it gets a little cold on
the freeway."

 In response to his comment, Lisa pulled on the jacket, the hem of the
sweater she wore remaining visible beneath the bottom of the coat.   It
was a bulky fit, but she didn't seem to mind.   

 Finished with securing the luggage, Elliot released the mechanism that
allowed him to lift the seat.  He retrieved the two helmets from the clasp
that dangled them against side of the bike, thankful that he'd brought
Beck's along.   He put his own helmet on his head, fitting the strap
snugly beneath his chin, and then turned to Lisa.

 "You have to put this helmet on, okay?   It's illegal to drive around
without one."

 "Okay," she answered.  "Will you do it?"

 "Sure," he responded.  Lisa stood absolutely still as he placed the
helmet on her head and secured the strap, careful not to pull it too
tight. "Feel alright?"

 Lisa nodded again, and Elliot was struck by how calm she seemed, by the
amount of faith she was willing to place in him.  Faith that somehow
things were going to work out for her.

 Well, he thought, it isn't as though she has a lot of choice in the
matter.

 And it was that thought which made Elliot realize that whoever she was,
Lisa was very brave.

 "Let's go," Elliot said, feeling a new admiration for her.   He helped
Lisa up onto the back of the bike, positioning her so that she was leaning
against their piled luggage.  Then he climbed on himself, and turned the
key in the ignition.  

 "Put your arms around my waist," Elliot instructed, "and just hold on. 
We'll be there in no time."   With that, he revved the engine and drove
the bike out of the lot.



Flanked by several other Bureau agents, Walter Skinner made his way into
the El Paso police station, pausing only to ask directions of the officer
behind the main desk.  "I'm here to see Chief Russell Hackett," he
informed her, his tone terse.

 She glanced at him, a peculiar look on her face.  "And you are?"

 "Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI."

 The woman picked up a phone and repeated the information into it quietly.
  She waited a moment, and then replaced the receiver.  "Chief Hackett
will be right with you, sir."

 "Thank you."  Skinner moved away from the desk to stand with the agents
alongside the wall, shrugging off a twinge of impatience.   Calm down, he
told himself.  You're here now.

 A few minutes later, the door leading to the inner part of the station
opened, and a stocky, red-haired man emerged.   He had the build of a
pro-football player, and a bright, intelligent gaze.  "Can I help you?" 

 "Looking for Chief Hackett," Skinner replied, weary of the question and
answer.  

 "I'm Hackett," the officer replied.  "And you are?"

 Skinner exploded, unable to contain himself.  "Skinner!  From the FBI!  
I'm told you were expecting me?"

 "Can I see some ID?"

 The officer's response was so unexpected that it cut through some of
Skinner's anger.  Surprised, he whipped his badge out of his breast
pocket, tossing it at the man.  

 Hackett opened the badge and looked carefully at the credentials inside. 
 A long moment passed, and then he handed the badge back.  "I'm not sure
what to say, sir."

 "What you can *say*," Skinner declared, drenching each word with
intensity, "is that you are going to take me to see Agent Mulder, this
instant."

 "I can't do that, sir."  Hackett's face was pale.  

 "And why not?"  Skinner roared, past the point of caring.

 "Because, sir.  I've already released him -- to your custody."



They said nothing to him on the short ride, although Mulder made more than
one attempt to engage the men in conversation, only to be stopped by a
blow to the jaw that finally silenced him.  The tall man who had come into
his cell was seated in the front passenger seat, diagonally across from
him, and although he glanced back at Mulder occasionally, he remained as
silent as the driver.   The third man, on the back seat beside him, was
equally taciturn, though Mulder completely understood the significance of
the gun the man held to his side.   Still handcuffed and dressed in his
prison garb, Mulder could do little more than wait.

 The car finally came to a stop, and Mulder was surprised to note that
they had arrived at a small airfield.  A Gulf Stream jet was waiting, the
engine primed and ready, and Mulder was buffeted by the wind it created as
the tall man and the gunman led him over to the plane and up the air
stairs.   Glancing over his shoulder, Mulder noticed that the driver of
the car was already speeding away, presumably in a hurry to ditch the
vehicle.

 The plane was empty of other passengers.   Like many small, private
planes, this one was equipped with several lounge style seats, as well as
a table-and-chair arrangement ideal for business meetings or board games,
depending on the purpose of the flight.   The gunman led Mulder over to
the table, pushing him down into one of the seats and taking the chair
next to him, keeping the gun cocked and aimed.

 The tall man sat down directly across from Mulder, but remained silent
until the plane left the ground.   When he spoke, his voice was low,
barely loud enough to carry over the noise of the plane.  

 "Well, Mulder, how does it feel to be out of jail?"

 Refusing to play games, Mulder cut straight to the point.  "Who are you,
and what do you want?"

 "You can call me Christophe," the tall man smiled.  "And you and I, we
want the same thing.  The girl."  

 It was Mulder's turn to remain silent, although had he not been cuffed,
he would have been tempted to reach across and choke the smile off of the
tall man's face.

 Seemingly unperturbed by Mulder's lack of response, Christophe continued,
"Let me be more specific.  You want the girl -- we want the disk."

 "She doesn't have it."

 "I'm not so sure about that," Christophe replied, his tone smooth as
silk.  "Either she has it with her, or she's stashed it someplace. 
Because you certainly didn't have it when they brought you in."

 "How do you know *I* didn't stash it?"  Mulder countered, and he saw the
man's eyes flicker the minutest amount.

 "That possibility certainly exists," Christophe replied.  "If that's the
case, all you'd need to do is tell me where to find it.  Tell me, and I
vanish -- how is that for a deal?"

 For a wild moment, Mulder considered bluffing, considered leading
Christophe on a wild goose chase in search of the disk, but there was a
malevolent glint in the man's eyes that told him that was a fool's move.  
He didn't trust Christophe as far as he could throw him, but he didn't
doubt for a moment that the man was determined to find the disk, which
meant finding Scully.

 With or without Mulder's help.

 Which, Mulder realized, feeling suddenly nauseous, left him very little
choice.

 As though he could easily read the thoughts passing through Mulder's
brain, Christophe smiled.  "It seems to me that the best thing is for you
and I to become partners, Mulder.  I'll keep the police away from you long
enough to help you find her.  And then you give me the disk, and we call
it even."

 "I don't even know where she is," Mulder told him, painfully aware of the
truth in his words.

 "Maybe not."  Christophe smiled darkly.  "But I've heard you're an
excellent investigator.  And you know her better than anyone else -- I'm
sure you'll be able to track her down."   

 Mulder knew, without question, that leading Christophe to Scully would be
a fatal mistake for the both of them.  Knew that the man wouldn't be
satisfied with reclaiming the disk.  Knew, somehow, that Christophe's job
wouldn't be finished until they were both dead.  

 But on the other hand, what else could he do?   At least now he was out
of prison.  At least now he had some freedom to look for her.

 Please, Mulder thought, closing his eyes for a moment.   Please let me
find her.

 Safe.

 And alive.

 "Do we have a deal?"  Christophe's voice, cold as ice, broke through his
reverie.   Mulder opened his eyes and stared at the man, who matched his
gaze, unflinching.  

 All too aware of the Faustian bargain he was making, Mulder finally
answered, his voice dimmed by anguish.  "Yes.  We have a deal."

 

Scully held on to Elliot as tightly as she was able, her arms wrapped
around his waist, her face pressed against the back of his coat.   The
force of the wind was terrifying, and she couldn't help but feel as though
she was about to be blown straight off of the motorcycle.   Scully could
feel the bike lean from side to side as Elliot wove his way in and out of
passing cars, and the sensation made her extremely dizzy.   She knew how
easy it would be for him to lose control of the bike, to send them
skidding through traffic to crash into the retaining wall, and she tried
to push those thoughts out of her mind.  

 Not being able to see where they were going made it even worse, made her
even more positive that an accident was waiting to happen around every
bend in the road.   The speed of the bike and the pressure of the wind
made conversation impossible, so Scully sat hunched against Elliot,
pretending she was on some dark amusement park ride like Space Mountain at
Disney World, where the cars always arrived safely back at the beginning
of the track.

 After what seemed like an eternity, Scully felt the bike slowing down,
and the noise of the wind and traffic gradually died away.  We must be
there, she thought, her body flooding with relief.  A minute or so later,
she felt the bike come to a stop, and released her grasp of Elliot.  "Are
we there?" she asked, excited.

 "Not yet," came the response, and her heart sank.  "Just have to get some
gas."

 "Oh," she replied, unable to say anything more.

 Elliot gave her shoulder a squeeze as he climbed off the bike and Scully
forced herself to smile, unwilling to let him know how much the motorcycle
terrified her.   She sat where she was, waiting as he filled up the tank.

 A short time later, Elliot said, "Lisa?  I have to go in and pay for
this.  Will you be okay for a minute?"

 "Sure," she nodded.

 "I'll be watching the whole time -- the cashier windows are all glass."

 "I'm fine, Elliot," she told him, and listened as his steps retreated. 

 When he was far enough away, Scully opened her jacket and took hold of
the sweater she was wearing, raising it quickly to her nose with both
hands.   She inhaled deeply and caught a faint whiff of Mulder, and for a
moment, a brief moment, she could almost feel his arms around her, the
memory so vivid as to almost be real.

 <I'mobsessedwithyouDanaKatherineScully>

 His scent, his touch, his voice....

 <nowforeveralways>

 Scully could feel the burning wetness in her eyes and fought down the
urge to cry.  She rebuttoned her jacket, and a moment later, heard the
sound of Elliot's footsteps returning.

 "All set," Elliot said, as he climbed back on the bike.  "You alright?"

 Scully forced the words out, her throat dry and tight.  "I'm fine...
let's just go."

 She wrapped her arms back around Elliot's waist, bracing herself as the
motorcycle roared to life.  It wasn't until she could tell that they were
back on the freeway, speeding amidst a profusion of cars, that Scully
finally allowed the tears to spill down her cheeks.   She cried for only a
moment, unwilling to break down completely.  Not here, she thought.  Not
now.

 Too afraid to release her grasp of Elliot to brush away the tears, Scully
raised her head and allowed the wind to dry her face, a silent prayer in
her heart as they rocketed down the road.

 Mulder....




Ummmm, that's the end of this one, folks!!  <Nic, ducking as objects are
hurled through cyberspace at her head>  What???   It seems like as good a
place as any to stop... besides, my fingers are numb.  <g>  Thanks to all
of you who stuck with me through this one -- I hope it was as fun to read
as it was to write!!   As always, I would *love* to hear from you --
feedback makes the world go round!!!!  I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.   :-)


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:27:18 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (1/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:27:18 GMT
--------
Author Chit-Chat:  We're back on the Road, and I shout out a hearty THANK
YOU! to everyone who has written me over the past months, inquiring about
this next installment.   I appreciate your patience -- I never dreamed
that it would take me six months to get this finished.  What can I say --
sometimes real life has to take precedence over fanfic.  <g>  I'm
dedicating this to Shannon, my most loyal Road correspondent, whose
pending overseas trip gave me a deadline that I *almost* met.  Now I've
got to spring for snail-mail postage to Europe... <bg>  Big kudos to the
Cafe -- you guys have been a tremendous source of inspiration for me and
it was your extremely vocal enthusiasm that encouraged me to continue with
the story during my darker moments of frustration.  Special thanks to
Bonnie, my stalwart co-captain and encouragement-giver;  to MD, whose
endless pleas and entreaties did not fall on deaf ears;  and of course to
Karen -- where would Bert be without Ernie???  :-)   And last, thanks to
WonderKat, my editor extraordinaire!!!

Spoiler Warning:  This story is the latest installment in the Road Series
that includes "Goin' Nowhere", "Passing Through", "At The Blue Hotel", and
"Down The Tracks", all of which can be found on the various archives -- or
e-me, and I'll send them.  <g>  As I've said before, I'm trying to solve
the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months. 
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy and all the other related mythic episodes we saw during Season
Three.   (Funnily enough, Season Four hasn't touched on Scully's abduction
or the chip in the back of her neck at all -- I'm starting to suspect that
the 1013 staff has forgotten that any of it ever happened. <bg>)  At any
rate, there's nothing post -"Piper Maru"/"Apocrypha" in here, so overseas
readers should be perfectly safe.  :-)  Except I *have* borrowed Season
Four's New And Improved Action Mulder -- anyone who has seen "Herrenvolk"
and "Terma" shouldn't give me any criticism for his actions in these
pages.  <g>

A Word To Our Sponsors:  Thanks as always to Chris Carter and Fox for
providing me with such an amazing springboard for my own imagination. 
Everybody knows the folks from Mr. Carter's Neighborhood by now -- all the
other characters in this story are my very own.  And I thank David and
Gillian, the two most rockin' actors on television, for their constantly
inspired performances.

Ready guys??   It's a long one, so fasten your seatbelts and let's hit the
Road...



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (1/16)   X, MSR
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



"...every minute
every hour
every day that passes by
there's not a second
or a moment
that you're not on my mind
if you wonder
when I think of you
well just let me put it this way
every minute
every hour
every day...."

- james house



Fox Mulder was caught in a nightmare of his own creation.  A true waking
nightmare, where his thoughts were jumbled and his body was slow to
respond to his mind's commands. 


     <AreyouditchingmeMulder>

     <Never>


     He'd promised her, and yet he'd gone and done it anyway.

     He would never forgive himself.

     <DanaohGodDanaI'msorryI'msosorry>

     He'd abandoned her, despite the fact that she needed him.   He'd
left her alone on that train, to fend for herself. 

     But then, he'd never expected this...

     He'd never expected to find himself the prisoner of a man who
undoubtedly would like nothing more than to see them both dead.  

     Mulder looked at the man whose eyes were dark and cold, yet spoke
of victory.   A victory that had been earned more by lucky circumstance
than any concerted effort on his part.   Refusing to give the man the
satisfaction of seeing his pain, Mulder merely asked, "And where exactly
do we go from here?"

     Christophe regarded him coldly.  "All I need to know is where you
saw her last." 

     Mulder hesitated, still unwilling to completely go along with the
game.

     "I'm not going to ask you more than once."

     It was at that moment that Mulder was positive.  That he knew,
without question, he'd made the wrong choice.  But it was a choice that
had been made, and now there was no turning back.

     "El Paso," he finally responded, his voice low and pained.  "I
left her on an Amtrak train, the Sunset Limited, at the El Paso station."

     "Ah, so you *were* traveling by train," Christophe mused, alerting
Mulder to the fact that he had indeed been tracking them for some time. 
"Under the name of Stewart?"   Mulder didn't answer, but Christophe took
his silence as a yes.  "Do you think she's still on board?"

     Mulder shrugged, having contemplated the answer to that question a
thousand times only to come up empty.   He had no way of knowing if
Christophe was aware of Scully's blindness, and was unwilling to reveal
anything unnecessarily.   "Probably," he answered, keeping his voice
deliberately noncommittal.  

     "Then that's where we start."  Turning to the gunman, Christophe
ordered, "Find out where that train stops next.  We'll be there to meet it
-- and if she's not on board, we'll work our way back from there."

     The man nodded and passed the pistol to Christophe before making
his way to the back of the plane.  Christophe laid the pistol on the table
in front of him and then turned his attention back to Mulder.  "I'm glad
to see you know how to play by the rules."

     "The question is, do you?"  Mulder countered.
     
     "What do you mean by that?"

     "I just want to make sure that we have a deal," Mulder explained,
wishing more than ever that his hands weren't still cuffed behind him,
watching Christophe closely to gauge his reaction.  "I want to be sure
that the only thing you're after is the disk."

     "I hope, Mulder, that you're not insulting my honor by implying
that I might go back on my word."   Christophe's expression was
poker-faced blank, and try as he might, Mulder was unable to read him in
the slightest.  "But, if it will reassure you, I'll say it again -- I have
no interest in the girl."

     Their eyes locked then, hazel against black, each man taking the
measure of the other.  Mulder refused to look away, somehow feeling as
though this was but the first of many tests he was going to encounter over
the next few days.

     The moment was broken by the return of Christophe's associate. 
"Tucson," he said, addressing his remark to Christophe.  "The train's due
in Tucson in about fifty minutes.  We're headed that way now -- we should
be landing in twenty-five."

     Christophe nodded with grim satisfaction.  Motioning to his
associate, he ordered, "We need to get Mr. Mulder wired up."

     Mulder's forehead creased in confusion as the man nodded, moving
towards a small box that sat on the side of the table.  Opening the box,
he removed a wide steel bracelet.   Moving towards Mulder, the man reached
behind him and unlocked the cuffs.  Before Mulder could adjust to his new
freedom, he instructed, "Your right arm, please."

     "What's this all about?" Mulder asked, not moving a muscle, his
eyes on the gun laying on the table just within Christophe's reach.

     "Insurance," Christophe answered, his dark eyes narrowed.  "This
is just a little something to help us track you down, if need be."

     Mulder remained still, defying Christophe with his lack of motion.

     "The bracelet isn't an option,  Mulder.  I'm afraid I have to
insist."

     Deciding that for the moment resistance was futile, Mulder slowly
extended his right arm to the associate, who rolled back the sleeve of his
shirt in order to affix the steel device.  It was snug but not
uncomfortable, yet the snap it made as it closed on his wrist sounded like
the slam of a cell door.  "State of the art," he remarked, his sarcasm
firmly intact.

     "Without question," Christophe assured him.  "It can't be unlocked
without a specific electronic key, and the range is nearly infinite." 
Reaching into the box from which the bracelet had come, he pulled out a
black device the size of a TV remote control.  The upper half of the
device was a glass-covered screen;  the bottom was covered with a series
of buttons.  Christophe pushed one of the buttons and the device emitted a
small hum as the screen lit up, revealing a neon green grid of
intersecting lines.  In the exact center of the screen was a small
blinking red dot.

     Mulder had no doubt as to what the red dot represented.

     The device now activated, Christophe slipped it into the inside
pocket of his jacket.  "This way, I can be sure that you don't weary of
our company before the appropriate time."

     Mulder met Christophe's gaze once more and gave a curt nod before
turning away, focusing his thoughts on options for escape.
     


Moving in relative darkness, Rebecca dipped the contact sheet into the
developing fluid emulsion side up, gently rocking the tray back and forth
to keep the fluid in constant contact with the paper.  Two minutes passed
on the luminous clock beside her, and then she used a pair of tongs to
lift the sheet out of the basin, draining off the excess solution.  She
carefully placed the print into the orbit bath, shaking it gently, and
then moved it to the fixer tray.  Another five minutes passed and she
watched with a familiar sense of wonder as images took shape, fading in
gradually, lines resolving to form row after row of tiny pictures.  With a
smile of satisfaction, she lifted the damp sheet from the basin and hung
it up to dry alongside its companions from the other rolls she had shot. 
Nearly through, she thought, pleased with the accomplishments of the
afternoon.  She had processed six rolls, and though she wouldn't be able
to really evaluate the contact sheets until they completely dried, it
appeared that there were relatively few bad shots in the bunch.  Not that
all of them would work out in the end, of course, but it was always nice
to have a variety from which to choose.

     As she attached a clip to the bottom of the sheet, weighing it
down to prevent it from curling, Rebecca was startled by a low growl. 
Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, she noticed that Tucker had
awakened from his nap and was now standing on all fours, his head tilted
curiously towards the darkroom door.   

     "What's up, Tucker?"  Rebecca asked.  "You hear something?  You
hear Dad?"  

     Tucker's response was another growl that managed to convey more
than a bit of impatience.

     "I hope so too," Rebecca answered, understanding the dog
perfectly.  "It's been too long."  Although she herself had yet to hear
anything out of the ordinary, Rebecca trusted Tucker's instincts and his
extremely sharp hearing, and her smile widened into an anticipatory grin. 
 Though she had to admit she got more work done when Elliot was away, she
knew she was more than willing to sacrifice productivity for his presence.
 This latest book trip had seemed to go on forever, ten endlessly long
days punctuated only by brief phone calls that did nothing to assuage the
longing.  

     "If we could only get him on a plane," Rebecca explained to
Tucker, "all this traveling wouldn't take up so much time.   You want to
help me with that?"

     Tucker replied with a series of excited barks and made a circle in
front of the door.  

     "Okay then," said Rebecca, wiping her hands with a cloth.  "Sounds
like we've got a plan."

     Finished for the moment, she opened the darkroom door, blinking
instinctively as sunlight  filtered in from the studio.  Tucker followed
her out and she closed the door firmly behind her, though light was no
longer a danger to the drying prints.  Satisfied, Rebecca took a cursory
glance around the converted barn that was her studio.  The word 'barn' was
actually probably too expansive a word to describe the structure, but the
word 'shed' didn't do it justice.   It was a rectangular shaped-building
about 900 square feet in diameter.  Only half of the studio was dedicated
to the darkroom.  The rest of the space was filled with all manner of
photographic equipment:  cameras and mounts and tripods;  tables covered
with books and prints and layout pages;  bottles of developing fluids,
fixers and cleaning agents;  old jelly jars filled with brushes and clips.
  The wooden walls were painted in a kaleidoscope of bright colors, red
crossbeams in diametric opposition to green slats and blue trim around the
windowsills.   Photographs of all shapes and sizes adorned the walls, some
surrounded by brilliant yellow or purple frames, others shadowed by
professional black mats or encased by glass.   The wooden floor was worn
in the places of heaviest traffic, between the door and the washbasin on
the far wall, and again near the potbellied stove that occupied most of
the opposite corner.  

     Not far from the stove was the staircase, a winding open-sided
structure that led in a steep diagonal to the loft space above.  Half the
size of the studio itself, the loft was mounted with a series of braces
that hung from the ceiling and supported its wooden floor.  From where she
stood, just outside the completely enclosed darkroom, Rebecca could easily
look up into the open space.  Only the thinnest of railings marked the
edge of the loft, leaving nothing to block the view.  An antique
iron-frame bed rested on the platform, accompanied by a matching
nighttable and a small free-standing armoire.   Not much, Rebecca
reflected, but it would do.  Earlier that morning she had put fresh linens
on the bed and it looked warm and inviting, the quilted comforter a
brightly-colored contrast to the white flannel sheets.  

     Tucker was now scratching at the barn door and so Rebecca moved
over to join him, lifting the latch and pushing the door open with one
hand.  Released at last, the dog scampered away from the barn, running
full speed across the dry grass towards the gate at the bottom of the
hill.  Their small house was about fifteen miles from downtown Santa Fe,
which pleased her a great deal.  They were close enough to the
conveniences of the city and yet far enough away that the beauty of the
desert remained unspoiled.  Their closest neighbors were nearly a mile
away in any direction;  beyond the north end of their property, the land
sloped upward in the beginning of a seemingly endless series of hills.  An
avid hiker, Rebecca loved nothing more than taking long walks, skirting
the random caves and abandoned mines and climbing the various hills to
savor the breathtaking vistas.  

     As was her habit, Rebecca locked the barn, using a different key
for each of the two deadbolts.  Cooper had installed the locks before he'd
built either the darkroom or the loft, to protect her valuable camera
equipment from potential thieves.

     That task finished, Rebecca followed Tucker down the hill,
reflecting on the brief phone call she'd shared with Elliot earlier that
day.   They'd only been on the line a moment, and she'd been in the midst
of teasing him as she always did, when he'd cut her off.

     "Listen, Beck," he'd said, and she had heard a peculiar strain in
his voice.  "I'm bringing somebody home with me, for a little while."

     "Who?" she had asked, but his answer had done little to assuage
her curiosity.

     "A friend," was all Elliot had told her.  "Someone I met on the
train.  She just -- well, she needs a place to stay for a couple of days."

     Rebecca had sighed with a familiar twinge of impatience.  "Elliot!
 What are you talking about?  Some girl you met on the train?   A perfect
stranger?"

     "It's complicated, Beck.  You have to trust me -- I can't talk
about it here."  That remark had struck her as odd, being so atypical of
Elliot.  He was usually willing to talk about anything, anytime, and in
the most explicit kind of detail.  "I'll explain it all when I see you.  I
promise."

     She....  Rebecca rolled the word around in her head as she
adjusted the barrette at the bottom of her long braid.   It didn't really
bother her that Elliot's mysterious friend was a woman.  After four years
of dating and nearly two of living together, she was secure in their
relationship, confident that Elliot loved her as much as she did him.  
Besides, it was a typical Elliot maneuver to open up their home to a
perfect stranger.   He had the world's most generous heart, always ready
to donate his time or his money or his skills to help someone else, ready
to support the underdog and champion the defeated.   He was always
brimming with unbridled enthusiasm about one thing or another, and it was
one of the things Rebecca liked about him.   She was a more reserved
person, and it took time for her to open up to people, but not Elliot. 
Five minutes after meeting him you were ready to adopt him, marry him, or
just plain take him home.  

     Chuckling a bit to herself, Rebecca finally saw the motorcycle
approaching, marveling as always at Tucker's uncanny ability to sense the
return of his master.  The cycle came roaring up towards the gate and
Rebecca threw a wave at the riders as she unlatched the main gate, backing
up to pull it fully open and allow the bike to zoom past.  Tucker turned
in a series of excited circles as she latched the gate back, only to race
away from her side once more, headed towards the side of the barn where
Elliot pulled the bike to a stop next to her battered blue Jeep.

     Elliot climbed off of the bike, pulling the helmet off of his head
and hanging it on the handlebars by its strap.   He then moved to help his
passenger off of the seat, offering her a hand as she stepped awkwardly
down.   As Rebecca walked towards them, Elliot assisted the woman in
taking off her helmet, unfastening the strap and pulling it off of her
head, allowing the woman's dark brown hair to tumble to her shoulders.  
The woman was small, wearing jeans and a navy canvas coat, and didn't look
nearly as mysterious as Rebecca had expected, given Elliot's cryptic
message.

     "Hey you!"  Rebecca called, and Elliot looked up, a broad smile on
his face.

     "Hello yourself," he answered, running a hand through his sandy
blond hair and fiddling with his glasses in an adorably self-conscious
gesture.

     Tucker reached them then, jumping up and down and barking
excitedly.  The sudden commotion seemed to startle the woman, who grabbed
frantically for Elliot's arm with a possessiveness that caused Rebecca's
forehead to wrinkle.

     "It's okay, Lisa," Rebecca heard Elliot say as she approached. 
"It's just Tucker, our dog... he won't bother you."    He bent forward to
scratch Tucker behind the ears and guided the woman down so that she was
crouching beside him.   As he held Tucker gently by the collar, he placed
the woman's hand on the dog's back.   "He's a good boy... aren't you,
Tucker?"

     Rebecca reached them then, and Elliot rose to greet her, pulling
her into his arms for a quick embrace.  "Beck...." he murmured her name
softly just before he kissed her.  "I missed you..."    His brown eyes
were filled with a combination of desire and longing potent enough to make
her blush.  

     "I missed you, too."  Rebecca kissed him once more for good
measure and then turned her attention to the woman, who was still petting
the dog.  "Hi," she said by way of greeting.  "I'm Rebecca.  Rebecca
Montoya -- but you might as well call me Beck.  Everybody else does."

     The woman paused for a moment and then slowly stood up, one hand
swinging behind her to find the frame of the motorcycle which she used as
though it was a handrail.   Rebecca stifled a gasp of surprise as she
realized for the first time that the woman was blind.  "Hi," she answered,
extending her other hand in front of her.  "I'm Lisa.  Lisa Wilder."

     It took Rebecca a moment to recover from the emptiness of those
cobalt blue eyes, and then she took the woman's hand and grasped it
firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Lisa."  Rebecca glanced at Elliot and noticed
him nod his approval of her response.  The woman's hand was cold and
Rebecca shook her head ruefully.  "You must be freezing after coming all
this way on Elliot's bike -- I hope he wasn't too much of a maniac."

     Lisa's lips turned up in a hint of a smile.  "It wasn't so bad."

     "You don't have to lie to me, Lisa -- I've ridden on that bike.  I
know the truth."   Rebecca smiled at Lisa's nervous laugh.  "Come on --
let's get inside."  

     It was Elliot who spoke then, motioning towards the unfamiliar
duffel bag on the back of the bike.  "You want to get Lisa's bag, Beck?"  
 Shouldering his backpack, he moved forward and took Lisa's arm in a
smooth, fluid motion, guiding her gently towards the house with a skill
Rebecca found surprising.

     "Sure," Rebecca replied, raising an eyebrow in astonishment at
Elliot as she grabbed the bag.  It was her trademark
you've-got-a-lot-of-explaining-to-do look, and she knew he hadn't missed
it.   With Tucker trailing at her heels, Rebecca carried the duffel bag
and walked beside them towards the house.



Here endeth part 1... parts 2-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-1                                     
               X-1


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:29:06 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway"  (2/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:29:06 GMT
--------
This is part two of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (2/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Scully focused her attention on Elliot's steps, trying to find the rhythm.
 She could hear the dog scampering along beside them and hoped that the
animal wouldn't inadvertently cross her path and cause her to lose her
balance.  She was tired, so tired, and it felt as though an eternity had
passed since Mulder had awakened her that morning.

     Mulder... just the mere thought of him caused her heart to
constrict with physical pain.  Scully drew in a deep, quiet breath, trying
to push her fears away long enough to concentrate on the matters at hand.

     "Okay Lisa," she heard Elliot say, "we've got three steps here,
and then we're into the kitchen."

     Scully nodded her understanding as Rebecca spoke.  "I've got the
door."   Scully heard the creak of a door opening and then Rebecca's voice
again.  "No, Tucker, you stay outside for now.  Good boy."  

     Scully kept a tight hold on his arm as she accompanied Elliot up
the steps, feeling a welcome rush of relief at the warmth of the room.  
Elliot released his grasp on her and Scully heard the sound of something
heavy dropping to the floor that she assumed was his backpack.  "Beck?" he
asked.  "Where should I --"

     "Our room," came Rebecca's response, and Scully could hear a
slight twinge of irritation beneath her simple words.  "The studio
obviously won't work."

     "Guess not," Elliot replied.  "Beck --"

     She cut him off, and Scully recognized the tone.  It was the one
that her mother had always used with her father when she was irritated
with him, when there was something that she wanted to discuss, but not
with the children present.  "Why don't you get Lisa settled, and I'll make
us something to eat."

     "Okay," Elliot answered, and Scully felt him take her arm again. 
As they started to move, Elliot asked, "Isn't it Coop's night to cook? 
Where is he?"

     "He's gonna be late tonight," said Rebecca.  "And I didn't think
you'd want to wait."

     "Did I ever tell you you're a genius?"  Scully heard Rebecca laugh
at Elliot's question, and then heard the unmistakable sound of a brief
kiss.

     "Not in the last ten minutes," Rebecca teased.  "But flattery
isn't going to get you out of doing the dishes."

     Scully didn't know whether to be relieved that some of their
tension had dissipated or to be embarrassed at the awkwardness her
presence had created, but it seemed as though the latter emotion might
prevail.   When Elliot took her arm again, she followed him gratefully,
listening to his explanation of the layout of the house.

     "We all usually come in and out through the kitchen -- habit, I
guess.   There are four doors in the kitchen," said Elliot, guiding her
past each.  "The first's the one we came in through.  Then on the back
wall is the door to the laundry room.   On this wall is the door that
leads to the hall -- there's another, at the opposite end of this wall,
that leads to the dining room.  We'll be in there later."   Scully
listened closely, trying to create a map in her head as he spoke.

     "We're in the hall now -- this is the foyer.  Right here, where
we're standing?  This is the front door."  Scully reached out with one
hand to touch the wood and then nodded her comprehension.  "This is kind
of an L-shaped hallway.  If you think of the front door as the place where
the two lines converge, the short end of the L goes off to your left.  It
ends in the living room, which is a pretty big space."  

     Elliot took her arm again and led her down what Scully presumed
was the "long" part of the L-shaped hall.  She could hear the sound of her
duffel bag thumping against his leg as they walked.  "Now, even though
this hallway is long, it's pretty simple.  The first door on your right
leads to Cooper's room, and the second one on the right leads to his
bathroom."

     "Cooper's room shares a wall with the dining room, right?"  Scully
asked, hoping she was getting her mental diagram correct. 

     "Exactly."  Elliot sounded pleased, and Scully smiled.  "As you're
coming down the hall like this, there's only one door on the left hand
side.  That leads to our room, Beck's and mine.  That's where you'll be
staying."

     Scully felt the smile slip away from her face.  "I don't want to
put you out of your own room," she demurred.

     "Don't worry about it," said Elliot, and Scully heard the sound of
a door opening.  "There's a bed in Beck's studio -- we can sleep there."  
Scully tried to protest but he cut her off.  "This is easier -- trust me. 
And there's a bathroom right inside here, so you don't even have to go out
into the hall."

     Scully reluctantly allowed Elliot to lead her inside and describe
the details of the room.  The bed was up against the far wall, with the
door to the private bath in the back corner.  The design of the room was
such that the bathroom took up the same amount of floor space as a large
walk-in closet on the opposing side, turning the square room into
something more of a rectangle.  It sounded to Scully as though the floors
were wood, like the rest of the house, but there were a series of throw
rugs covering the ground in here.  The shifts in texture threw her off
balance and Scully realized that she'd have to learn their locations
quickly or risk taking an unexpected spill.

     "I'm putting your bag right over here by the bed," Elliot
finished.  "There are towels and everything in the bathroom -- but if you
need anything else, just let me know."

     Scully nodded, making her way back towards the bed where she sat
down with a sigh and pulled off her coat.

     "You okay?"  Elliot asked, concern in his voice.

     "I'm fine," Scully answered, forcing a smile to her face.  "You've
been great, Elliot, really.  I'm just a little tired."

     "Me too," Elliot replied.  "I'll leave you alone for a bit, then. 
Beck and I will let you know when dinner's ready."

     "Thanks," Scully responded, listening as the door shut and
Elliot's footsteps receded.  Alone at last, Scully sat quietly for a long
moment.  She could feel the weight of the disk in the pocket of her jeans
and she traced its outline with trembling fingers, thinking about all that
it represented.  Exhaustion overcame her and she turned to lie face down
on the bed, clutching one of the pillows in her arms and burrowing her
face in it.   She drew in a long deep breath, inhaling the clean scent of
the freshly laundered linen.  

     <MulderMulderMulder>

     Holding the pillow tight against her body, Scully allowed herself
to relax enough to cry.



The Tucson station was crowded, full of people headed towards a variety of
destinations.  Mulder walked with Christophe and the associate, dressed in
some casual civilian clothes that they'd given him just before landing.  A
third man who had met their plane had remained with the nondescript car
that they had taken to the station, and Mulder was glad of this fact.
Somehow it seemed easier to attempt to elude two instead of three.

     Not that he had had much of a chance to do so.  Christophe had
remained right by his side throughout their journey, carrying a gun
discreetly in his suit jacket, and Mulder was all too aware that the
associate was packing as well. And, though the long-sleeved shirt
concealed the security bracelet he was wearing, Mulder was acutely
conscious of its presence on his wrist. 

     Their timing was a bit off, the Sunset Limited having already
arrived.  They made their way fairly quickly to the loading platform, to
see that passengers were beginning to disembark.

     "Check the crowds for someone matching her description,"
Christophe ordered the associate, and he immediately moved away, blending
in with the throng of people.

     Finding the conductor, Christophe produced some phony
identification that seemed to do its job.  With the Amtrak employee's
reluctant permission, Mulder and Christophe made a thorough search of the
train, checking each of the compartments one by one, but found no sign of
Scully.

     "She's not here," Mulder said, consumed by complicated feelings of
relief and disappointment.

     That wasn't enough to satisfy Christophe. "We need to speak with
all of the train attendants before you depart," he told the conductor.

     "This isn't normal procedure," the conductor reminded them, barely
able to conceal his irritation at the delay they had already caused.
     
     "Unfortunately," Christophe replied, his voice calm, "this isn't a
normal circumstance."

     With the speed of a practiced professional, Christophe raced
through the first several interrogations.  It wasn't until the fourth
attendant came forward that they learned anything interesting.

     "I think I may know who you're talking about," said the woman,
nervously twirling a lock of blonde hair that had strayed loose from her
clip.  "There was a woman, in one of the upper cabins -- she was waiting
for her husband.  She thought he might have missed the train."

     Mulder's heart caught at her words, but before he could say
anything, Christophe took the lead.

     "I'm sorry," he said.  "I seem to have forgotten your name."

     "Sheila," the woman answered.

     "Sheila," Christophe continued, "were you able to locate the
woman's husband?"

     "No," Sheila answered.  "There wasn't any word from him at either
the station we'd left behind or the upcoming one."
     
     "Do you remember what stations those were?"  Christophe asked.

     "Hmm...." Sheila tilted her head to the side, closing her eyes for
a moment as she thought.  "It was somewhere around El Paso, I think."  
Opening her eyes again, she smiled.  "I'm sorry --  it's just that I'm
responsible for so many passengers.  Sometimes it gets confusing.  The
only reason I really remember her at all is because I wasn't sure it was
safe for her to be traveling alone."

     Panic in his throat, Mulder cut her off, not wanting her to say
anything more about Scully's condition.  "What happened to her?"

     Sheila shrugged, her expression vaguely apologetic.  "She told me
that her mother was meeting her in Tucson.  I didn't see her again after
that -- I assume she got off of the train here."

     Christophe looked at Mulder, a long penetrating look, before
turning back to the attendant.  "Thank you, Sheila.  You've been a great
help."

     "No problem,"  Sheila answered.  "But now I really need to get
back on board.  Is that okay?"

     "Fine," Christophe smoothly replied. 

     As the woman walked back to the train, the associate returned. 
"No sign of her, sir," he said.

     Christophe turned to Mulder.  "Your call," he said.  "Did she
really get off of the train in Tucson?  Or could it have happened
earlier?"

     Mulder hesitated, uncertain how to answer.  "I guess we should
start here," he finally said.  "After all, Sheila seems fairly positive
that this was the station she mentioned."

     Christophe regarded him for a long moment and then looked at the
associate.  "Get me a list of any stops between El Paso and here.   Meet
us back at the plane when you're through."  To Mulder, he said, "We start
here.  Let's both hope that we find her quickly."



Skinner paced anxiously behind the narrow desk, watching as the computer
technician fiddled with his keyboard, manipulating the image on screen.  A
man's face was slowly taking shape, a man with dark hair and olive skin, a
man who looked almost foreign in appearance. Who was this man, he
wondered, who had assumed his identity and spirited Mulder out of a Texas
jail cell?  Who was he, and who gave him his orders?

     Skinner wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

     It was equally frustrating because he hadn't been this close to
Mulder or Scully in ages.  The elation he'd felt when he'd received the
call had been dimmed by the fact that there was no news of Scully, but
he'd been counting on Mulder to fill in the missing pieces.   Had been
counting on Mulder to explain the situation.  

     And now, inexplicably, Mulder was missing once again.

     And Skinner couldn't shake the feeling that he was back at square
one.

      Filled with impatience, Skinner burst out,  "Well?  Is that him?"

     The question was directed at Rusty Hackett, the police chief of El
Paso, who was standing just beside Skinner in the local Bureau office. 
"Looks pretty much like him," he replied, but the statement lacked
conviction.  "I only saw him for a moment, you know.  And I didn't have
any reason to suspect him -- he had the right ID."

     "I understand that."  Skinner fought to keep his voice calm, to
avoid losing patience with the hayseed cop.  "But this is very important. 
And so I need you to be a little more certain about whether we've come up
with the right composite."

     "This'll do," Hackett told him.  "Only thing I'd change would be
to make him a little more ... I don't know.  A little more intense."

     "What do you mean by that?"

     "There was something about him, something about his eyes, I think.
  Something that said he doesn't take no for an answer."  Hackett looked
up at Skinner before continuing.  "Hell, I wasn't so far off to believe
his story -- you've got that look too."



Elliot walked into the kitchen, running a hand through his still damp
hair.  He'd taken a shower in Cooper's bathroom, trying to postpone the
inevitable as long as possible, but he was all too aware that the time had
finally come.  

     The kitchen was filled with a fragrant aroma and Elliot took a
deep breath, savoring the smell.  "Mmmm," he said, pleasure evident in his
voice.  "What's for dinner?"

     "Paella," Rebecca answered, from where she stood near the stove. 
A pause, then, "I know it's your favorite."

     Some of the tension Elliot had been feeling eased out of his body
at her words.  He looked at her where she stood, twirling a spoon in a pan
simmering with fragrant vegetables.  She was wearing a cream long-sleeved
shirt that was embroidered with tiny flowers around its scooped neckline
underneath her favorite pair of faded denim overalls.  The long, curly
black hair he so admired was braided in a ponytail that hung halfway down
her back, and a few wayward tendrils that had escaped her grasp curled
around her olive-skinned face thanks to the steam rising from the stove. 
She looked up at him with eyes so dark they were almost black, especially
now, fired with an intensity that Elliot knew all too well.  

     "Thanks," he offered as a gentle prelude to their conversation. 
"Want me to set the table?"

     "In a minute," Rebecca replied, removing the spoon from the pan
before covering it with a lid.  She turned the burner on the stove down to
low and then crossed to where he was leaning against the counter. 
"So...." she began.  "Why don't you tell me what's going on here."

     Elliot reached out and took both of her hands in his, willing her
to understand what he'd done, hoping she'd believe that he hadn't had
another choice.  Speaking slowly, testing every word in his head before he
uttered it, he told her about his train trip.  About meeting Rick and Lisa
in the dining car.  About Lisa's arrival in his room, and the story that
she'd told him.  He left out nothing, wanting Rebecca to experience it all
just as he had, hoping that she'd come to the same conclusion.

     When he finished, Rebecca was quiet.  During the course of the
story, she'd released his hands and moved to her usual perch atop the
butcher block table that stood in the center of the kitchen.  She sat
there still, toying with the curls that emerged from beneath the barrette
at the end of her braid.  Finally, she spoke, her words low.  "What do you
think happened to him?"

     "I don't know," Elliot shrugged, palms up.  "There's still a part
of me that thinks he might have run off.  I mean, on the one hand, it
looked to me like they were really in love.  Big time, you know?"  At
Rebecca's nod, he continued.  "But on the other hand, I don't believe for
a minute that they're actually married.  No rings -- not that that
necessarily proves anything -- but it was something about the way they
said it.  As though it was an idea that they were getting used to, but not
a reality."

     "But why bother lying to you?"  Rebecca's eyes were wide with
confusion. 

     "Well," Elliot replied, "if they're in as much trouble as Lisa
says they are, I guess they can't trust anyone."   

     Rebecca hopped off of the counter and moved back over to the
stove, lifting the lid on the saucepan to check the vegetables.   "She
trusts you."

     The simple phrase felt like a weight on his shoulders as Elliot
walked over to the wine rack in the corner.  Pulling a bottle from the
wire frame, he placed it on the counter and then opened a drawer, fumbling
around for the corkscrew.  Without missing a beat, Rebecca fished the
corkscrew out of another drawer and handed it to him.

     Elliot smiled his thanks, but made no reply to Rebecca's
statement, and he could see her frustration in the set of her jaw.  
"Elliot!"  She infused his name with an urgency that caused him to look up
from his task. 

     "What do you want me to say, Beck?"  Elliot reached into the
cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses, setting them down on the counter
with a force that threatened to shatter them.  "I couldn't have left her
on that train.  I just couldn't do it!"

     "And why not?"  Rebecca glared at him.  "It's not your job to save
the word, Elliot, and it never has been.  This is a whole hell of a lot
different than bringing home a stray dog and deciding to keep him."  

     "Beck!"

     "I'm serious, Elliot!  This is absolutely ridiculous," Rebecca
ranted, her eyes flashing sparks at him.  "You meet a blind woman on a
train who tells you a cloak-and-dagger story about her supposed missing
husband and just bring her home.   You don't know *anything* about her!
This could all be one elaborate lie for God knows what reason!"

     Elliot had finished pouring wine into one glass and had the bottle
poised above the other but her angry words made him stop.  "Don't you
think I *know* that?"  He paused, his own ire now rising, his words icy
cold.  "I'm *aware* of that.   I weighed all the possibilities, Beck.  
And I did what I had to do."

     Rebecca's arms were folded across her chest but it didn't hide the
fact that she was starting to tremble.   "Did you ever think about what it
means if she *is* telling you the truth?"

     Elliot said nothing, just stood where he was, one hand still
clutching the wine bottle.

     "If there are people after her, bad people, like you say...." 
Rebecca's voice trailed off and it was in that moment that Elliot realized
that she was afraid.  "Did it ever occur to you that they might follow her
here?"

     Elliot crossed to her in four quick steps, taking her in his arms,
sighing with relief when she encircled his back with her own and pulled
him close, resting her head on his shoulder.  "I *did* think about that,
Beck," he murmured into her ear.  "From the minute she told me, all the
way here.  I never stopped thinking about it.  And it scared me too."   

     Pulling back from her slightly, Elliot raised his hand and gently
caressed her cheek.  "But do you know what finally helped me decide?" 
Rebecca shook her head, the action causing her face to rub gently against
his palm.  "You, Beck.  I kept thinking about what I would've wanted Rick
to do for you if the situation was reversed.  And that's when I knew I
really didn't have any other choice."

     Rebecca's eyes were locked with his, and Elliot was almost certain
he saw tears starting to gather there, but true to form Rebecca looked
away before he could be sure, burying her face against his neck and
kissing him gently.  "I know," she murmured, her voice muffled by his
skin.  "And I love you for it."

     Elliot lifted her chin with one hand and kissed her deeply,
grateful as always for her wisdom and understanding.  Rebecca smiled at
him, and squeezed his hand, before turning back to the stove.  "It still
doesn't answer the question of what we're going to do.  How can we help
her if we don't know what's really going on?"

     He filled the other glass of wine and then recorked the bottle,
carrying both glasses over to where she stood and placing one in her hand.
 "Well, we can figure it out in the morning.  Talk to her.  Maybe we can
convince her to go to the police."

     "I'm not going to the police."

     Elliot almost dropped his wine glass at the sound of that simple,
firm statement.   He whirled around to see Lisa standing in the doorway of
the kitchen, one hand resting against the frame, her hair damp from the
shower.  She had changed into a pair of khakis but was still wearing that
big green sweater, the sweater that he suddenly remembered having seen
Rick wear.

     "Lisa!"  He sought for words, for some explanation, wondering
desperately just how long she had been standing there, how much she had
overheard.  

     "I'm sorry, Elliot," Lisa said, her words clipped and even, as
though it pained her to say them.  "I never meant to put you and Rebecca
in this kind of position.  It isn't fair to either one of you."

     Elliot took his eyes away from Lisa long enough to glance at
Rebecca, who stood stock-still in front of the stove, looking as horrified
as he felt.  

     "Lisa.... "  Elliot knew he was fumbling the pass, but he gave it
his best shot.  "It's alright, really.  We were just --"

     Lisa slowly shook her head, resignation evident in the motion.  "I
know.  Believe me.  But I can't involve you in this any more.  Tomorrow,
I'll need you to take me into town.  I'll figure out the rest of it from
there."   With that, she turned and headed back down the hallway, her
footsteps slight against the wooden floor.



Here endeth part 2... parts 3-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-2                                X-2

From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:30:38 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (3/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:30:38 GMT
--------
This is part three of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (3/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Rebecca stood where she was, a complex mixture of embarrassment and shame
creeping over her.  She stared at Elliot, whose eyes behind his glasses
were filled with pain.   The silent moment between them was shattered by
the kitchen door slamming open, a breeze of cold air followed by the sound
of a familiar voice.

     "What's this, a goddamn funeral?"  

     Rebecca turned to see Cooper entering the kitchen, Tucker in tow. 
As he entered, he pulled off his buffalo plaid jacket, tossing it
carelessly on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.  Lifting his hand to
the back of his head, he removed the rubber band that held his brown hair
back, allowing it to fall loosely around his jaw.  "E-man!   Great to have
you back."   When nobody responded to his greeting, Cooper asked, "Is it
something I said?" 

     "Beck --"  Without acknowledging Cooper's presence, Elliot turned
to her, his expression anxious.  "I'd better --"

     "No," Rebecca replied, cutting him off.  "You fill Coop in on
what's going on -- it's your story anyway.  Let me go talk to her."

     Rebecca could tell that Elliot wanted to protest, but he said
nothing, and merely nodded his acquiescence.

     Oblivious, Cooper remarked, "Something smells great.  I think I
should bail on my turn at cooking more often."

     Rebecca threw Cooper a brief smile and then headed for the
hallway.  Behind her, she could hear Elliot greeting Cooper and offering
him a glass of wine.  Their voices receded as she made her way down the
hall towards the closed door of her bedroom.  The lack of light emanating
from beneath the door indicated that there wasn't anyone inside, but
Rebecca knew better.

     Knocking softly on the door, Rebecca called, "Lisa?  May I come
in?"

     There wasn't a response at first, and then Rebecca heard a faint
voice answer.  "Sure."

     Rebecca pushed open the door to see Lisa, sitting on the bed in
the dark, her legs tucked up underneath her, arms folded in her lap. 
"Hey," Rebecca said, uncertain how to continue.

     Lisa didn't reply, sitting still as a statue.

     With one hand, Rebecca flipped on the light switch by the door,
illuminating the two antique lamps on either side of the bed.  Although
the lamps were small, they did a fair job of lighting up the room.  Lisa's
head was bowed, her dark hair obscuring her face.   With slow hesitant
steps, Rebecca crossed the room and came to sit next to Lisa on the bed.

     After a moment, Rebecca gathered her courage and spoke. 
"Lisa....I don't know what you heard, or what you think you heard --"

     "I heard enough," Lisa told her.  "And you're right.  It was wrong
of me to come here.  It was... it was selfish of me to involve you in
this."

     "No."  The single word was short but surprisingly vehement.  "You
weren't wrong to come, and Elliot wasn't wrong to have invited you.  I...
I overreacted.  I think it all just caught me by surprise."

     "Rebecca..." Lisa raised her head then, turning as though to find
her with that clouded gaze.  "You don't understand."

     "I don't have to," Rebecca answered, though she was more than a
little curious as to how Lisa had acquired the dark bruise on her pale
cheek.  "That's not important, at least not now."



Scully sighed, feeling utterly vulnerable and alone.  "But it is."  She
sought for the words that she needed to explain.  "It's more important
than you know.  I can't ask you to do this.  It isn't fair to you, or to
Elliot."

     "Why don't you let us decide what's fair?"  Rebecca asked, and
Scully found the question to be sweet and yet incredibly naive.

     "Because I can't.  I can't ask you to be responsible for me.  Not
like this."

     Scully was surprised to feel a hand gently touch her knee. 
"Lisa... you're in trouble.  And Elliot's right -- it doesn't matter how,
or why.   I don't need to know the circumstances, unless you want to tell
me.  I trust Elliot, and I trust that he did the right thing by bringing
you here."

     Trust... the simple word reverberated in Scully's brain.  Such a
simple concept, and yet so difficult to achieve.   To have faith in
someone else, an implicit belief in the validity of their decisions, in
the justice of their actions.  Something that she herself accepted in
Mulder without question, an aspect to their partnership that she had never
doubted. 

     Lost in thought, Scully was unaware that Rebecca was expecting a
response until she heard her say, "I'm glad you're here, Lisa, and not off
somewhere by yourself trying to sort all this out.  You're welcome to stay
with us as long as you need to."

     Scully recognized the statement for what it was, both an apology
and an invitation.  And although she was all too aware of the fact that
her mere presence posed a danger to the young couple, at the moment she
was too exhausted to refuse Rebecca's offer.  "Thank you," she finally
said.  "And I appreciate it, more than you know."

     "Not a problem," Rebecca answered, and Scully could hear the smile
in the girl's voice.  "In the morning, we'll figure something out.  I'm
sure we will.  Now, you want some dinner?"

     "I'm starved," Scully admitted, realizing the words were true.  

     "Then let's go," replied Rebecca, causing the bedsprings to squeak
as she stood up, tugging on Scully's arm in a beckoning gesture.  "Before
the boys eat it all."

     Unable to stifle a small smile of her own, Scully allowed herself
to be pulled to her feet and guided towards the door.  Just before they
stepped out into the hallway, Scully paused, finding Rebecca's hand with
her own and squeezing it tightly.  "Just promise me something," she said
softly.  "Promise me you're not going to talk to the police."

     There was a long pause during which Scully found it hard to
breathe, hoping that her statement hadn't offended her hostess.  Finally,
Rebecca responded, speaking slowly for emphasis.

     "You have my word, Lisa.  We're not going to the police."

     "Thanks," Scully answered simply.  "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't
important."

     "I believe you," said Rebecca, and then they headed down the
hallway.



There was no sign of Scully anywhere near the Tucson station.  At least
not based on their admittedly cursory examination.  In a strange way,
their search reminded Mulder of some of his more tedious Bureau
investigations, a kind of needle-in-a-haystack attempt to solve a mystery
with only the slimmest of leads.  

     Which wasn't to say that Christophe didn't have a specific method
of attack.  On the contrary, he was extremely focused, moving in a logical
pattern that radiated outward from the train station itself.   His
intensity was frightening, leaving Mulder little option for the moment
except to do as he was told.  

     As best as they could tell, Scully hadn't taken another Amtrak
train.  Nor had she climbed aboard any of the city buses that circled the
station -- they had managed to stop and search the three that had arrived
at the same time as her train.   Mulder hadn't expected to get anything
out of the myriad cab drivers but as fate would have it, the station was
organized so that all of the taxis had to pass through a single stop in
order to collect their fares.   The man in charge of orchestrating this
operation became extremely friendly at the sight of Christophe's fifty
dollar bill and assured them that no one matching Scully's description had
taken a cab in the last few hours.

     The last stop on their exploration of the surrounding area was a
diner directly across the street from the train station.  None of the
waitresses remembered seeing Scully, but the coffee and sandwiches were
fresh and the associate hadn't yet returned with the car, so Mulder found
himself sitting in a booth beside Christophe.  

     "I need to know what this means."  Christophe's tone was almost
conversational, but there was no masking the seriousness of his request. 
"Did she manage to sneak out of the station without our seeing her?  
Perhaps she never made it to Tucson."

     Mulder didn't respond.  There was no point in engaging.   Until
Christophe spoke again.

     "Either way, it's a pretty neat trick for a blind woman, don't you
think?"

     The blood froze in his veins.

     "I don't know what you're talking about."

     "Don't you?"  Christophe's face was devoid of expression, save his
eyes.  They were the eyes of a predator, hungry and questioning.  "I think
perhaps you do.  I saw the way you interrupted that attendant back at the
station.  You were afraid she'd reveal the truth to me, weren't you."

     He doesn't know, Mulder thought frantically.   Not for sure, not
for certain.  He's just fishing, hoping you'll give it up.  

     "I think," Mulder carefully replied, "that you've been given some
incorrect information."  He paused for a moment, then volleyed his own
serve.  "Which makes me wonder, exactly who gives you your information,
anyway?"

     "You should know better than to imagine I'd ever reveal my
sources," Christophe responded curtly.

     "I thought we were partners," Mulder countered.  "Working
together, remember?   It seems to me our little arrangement is a bit
one-sided."   A waitress came by to refill their coffee cups and Mulder
waited until she left before continuing, lowering his voice to a whisper. 
"I don't even know who it is that's after the disk."

     "Maybe I have my own reasons for wanting it."

     "I don't think so," Mulder disagreed with a shake of his head.  "I
get the impression you're little more than a gun for hire."

     It was obvious by the way Christophe's face darkened that the
words hit home.  "Let's get something straight," he hissed, the words
barely audible.  "I don't work for *anyone*.  I make my own decisions."

     He paused deliberately until Mulder acknowledged the words with a
small nod.

     Satisfied, a grim smile crossed Christophe's face. "There is
nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop me from killing you right now except
my own charitable nature.  But even that has its limits, Mulder."   

     The sound of a car horn outside alerted them to the return of the
associate.  Tossing a handful of crumpled bills on the counter, Christophe
rose to his feet and Mulder did the same.   As he followed his captor out
towards the street, Mulder snatched up the bills and stuffed them in the
pocket of his jeans.  A rush of guilt flooded over him as he did so but he
ruthlessly shoved it aside, fairly certain that at this point he needed
the money more than the waitress.   



Skinner paid the driver and climbed out of the cab, his carry-on and
briefcase in hand.  Entering the terminal, he looked for the United
counter and then crossed towards it.

     He still wasn't certain that he should be leaving Texas, but then
again he didn't know if there was really anything to be gained by staying.
  The local Bureau office had committed full manpower to scouring the
area, in search of Mulder and Scully as well as the mysterious man who had
impersonated him.   Skinner knew for certain that he'd never seen the man
before, and thus far searches of the Bureau's computer files had turned up
no information on his identity.  He couldn't help but wonder if the man's
identity was somehow being concealed by powers within the Bureau itself. 
It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

     Skinner put the fare for the red-eye back to Washington on his
credit card and then made his way up to the gate.  The plane wouldn't be
boarding for another hour and a half, so he settled down in one of the
hard-backed airport chairs and prepared to wait.  

     Again, the nagging sensation that he shouldn't be leaving flooded
through his mind.  Forget about it, Skinner, he told himself.  There's
nothing more that you can do.

     "At least not now," he muttered aloud, causing the teenaged girl
sitting next to him to look at him strangely.   He offered her an
apologetic smile which only seemed to confirm her suspicions about him,
and she gathered her backpack and moved to another seat, leaving him
alone.

     That was the real problem -- Skinner felt like he was alone in
this, and it frustrated him.  He had refused to help Scully in her search
because he had believed that what she was doing went against the interests
of the Bureau, and it was his job to protect and defend those interests,
not to assist stubborn agents in their personal quests.   Yet now two of
his agents were missing, and he couldn't help but blame himself for that. 
 And the institution to which he had devoted his life seemed to be working
against him instead of with him in his attempt to find them and bring them
back.  

     Skinner massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers, raising
his glasses from their perch momentarily in an attempt to alleviate the
headache he could feel pounding behind his eyes.  It didn't work, nor had
he expected it to.  There was something else that was weighing him down,
the dread of a conversation that he had to have.   More than anything
else, that was his reason for returning to D.C.   The conversation was
going to be hard enough as it was, and it was something that he didn't
want to do over the phone.

     Checking his watch, Skinner noted that he still had more than an
hour to wait.   Grabbing his bags, he decided that the time was right for
a quick visit to the airport bar.

     

Cooper ran his hands along the extensive collection of compact discs that
rested on a series of stacked shelves on the wall of the living room,
looking for one that would strike his fancy.  Cooper spent more money than
he would care to admit on music -- it was something that never failed to
bring him joy, and as he was so fond of saying, if he got hit by a bus
tomorrow, at least he'd be listening to good tunes at the time.  Nothing
really seemed appropriate for the mood he was in at the moment, however,
so the decision was harder than he would have expected.

     There was a really strange vibe in the house, and one that he
couldn't say he was fond of.  The tension between Elliot and Rebecca when
he'd walked in had been thick enough to cut with a knife, which was
surprising since the two of them usually got along like peanut butter and
jelly.  That was the only reason he'd agreed to move in with them in the
first place.  After nearly three years of traveling the world, a steady
home had seemed like a good idea, and Elliot was one of his oldest
friends.   And Rebecca -- well, she was, in a word, great.   Cooper really
approved of Elliot's choice, and thought she suited Elliot just fine.  He
had to admit, the three of them made a great team, and he hadn't regretted
a moment of the time they'd spent as housemates.

     But tonight -- tonight, things were definitely weird, but at least
now Cooper knew enough about what was going on to be able to ascribe the
tension to something specific.  

     Or someone specific, to be precise.  Elliot's mysterious friend
from the train, who had become their new houseguest.

     Cooper had yet to see the stranger for himself, but hearing
Elliot's story had him more than a little intrigued.  Like his two
roommates, the photographer and the illustrator, Cooper had a creative
mind, though his own skills tended more towards architecture and
engineering than something that you could frame and hang on a wall.  But
he shared with them an imaginative spirit, and his imagination was
definitely working full time at the moment, bursting with curiosity about
the blind woman who had invaded the sanctity of their home without
warning.

     Consumed by these thoughts, Cooper finally surrendered his compact
disc selection to mere fate and pulled the next plastic case his fingers
encountered off of the rack.  Tom Waits, he read, his eyes scanning the
paper label beneath the smooth surface.  Never a bad idea.  Popping the
disc out of its case, he placed it gently into the CD player and adjusted
the volume to a comfortable level.  Satisfied, he made his way back down
the hall to the dining room, the music he'd chosen filtering through the
speakers.

     When he entered, Elliot was already seated, pouring wine into the
four glasses that were placed in front of the matching place settings.  
There were several serving dishes already present on the table, a dish
full of paella and two others containing vegetables and salad.

     "Chianti is my fuel.  Excellent choice, E-man."  Cooper's face
reflected his approval of Elliot's wine selection.

     "Always a good call," Elliot responded easily, but Cooper could
see the tension in his friend's shoulders and wasn't fooled.

     "Need any help in there?"  Cooper called, directing his voice
towards the kitchen although it seemed that the table was already full.

     "Nope, we're all set."  Rebecca's voice preceded her entrance into
the dining room.  In one hand she carried a basket full of bread, using
the other to guide their houseguest towards the table.  

     Cooper tilted his head to the side, ignoring the strands of hair
that fell across his cheek as he regarded the stranger.  She was a petite
woman, with dark brown hair and eyes that were a startling shade of blue. 
Her face was pale and drawn, and it was obvious from the way that she
moved that she was tired.  Yet her exhaustion couldn't conceal the
remarkable beauty of her finely chiseled features.   

     Rising to his feet, Cooper pulled out a chair from the table,
reaching for the woman with one hand to guide her towards the seat.  
"Here, sit down," he said, assisting her as best as he was able.  When she
appeared to be comfortable, he took his hand with hers and shook it
gently.  "I'm Cooper -- it's nice to meet you."

     "I'm Lisa," the woman said, her eyes looking just past him, her
face solemn.  

     Cooper took his seat and watched as Elliot began to dish out the
food, putting a generous amount of each item on Lisa's plate.   She didn't
move, sitting still as a statue, as everyone helped themselves to
Rebecca's cooking.  When everyone had been served, Cooper picked up his
fork, ready to dive in, only to notice that Lisa still hadn't moved.

     Elliot had noticed her stillness as well, his face creased with an
expression of dismay that vanished as a thought struck him.  "Oh, Lisa,
I'm sorry," he apologized, and then proceeded to explain to Lisa the
layout of the food on the plate that sat before her, describing the
location of each item as though it occupied a position on the face of a
clock.

     Lisa nodded her understanding, and as she picked up her fork and
began to eat, Cooper shot Rebecca a look of surprise that he saw reflected
back tenfold.  Quick study, Cooper thought, as he took his first bite of
the steaming paella.  

     The dinner conversation consisted mostly of Elliot's recitation of
the events of his trip, embellished Elliot-style with lots of anecdotal
details.  As always, Cooper was amused by the stories, entertained by his
friend's ability to weave a tale.  Over the course of the meal, some of
the tension dissipated.  Although she tried to be discreet, Cooper caught
more than one of the loving glances that Rebecca shot in Elliot's
direction, and was happy to see that at least the two of them were
enjoying themselves.

     Lisa, on the other hand, was almost totally silent, speaking only
when spoken to.  It was obvious that she had a lot on her mind, and
although Cooper suspected that his housemates were equally curious about
the secrets she concealed, by unspoken agreement none of them attempted to
tear down the barrier she had so painstakingly constructed.  

     When dinner was finished, Cooper helped Elliot clear the table,
stacking the dishes in the sink in preparation to be washed.  Certain that
the two women still seated in the dining room were unable to hear him,
Cooper whispered, "She's a piece of work."

     "Who, Lisa?"  Elliot asked, turning on the faucet and allowing
water to fill the basin.

     "No, Rebecca," Cooper replied, exasperated.  "Of *course* I'm
talking about Lisa.  She didn't say one word over dinner."

     Elliot shrugged. "Well, assuming what she says is true, she's got
a lot to think about."

     Cooper plucked several pieces of chicken out of the nearly empty
dish of paella and held them out to Tucker, who was circling at their
feet, anxious for such a treat.  "She didn't tell you anything?  About who
she is, or where she comes from?"

     "It wasn't like that."  Elliot shook his head as he started the
dishes.  "It all happened really fast.  One minute I'm making conversation
with them, giving them an autographed copy of my book.  The next thing I
know she's knocking on my door."

     With each passing minute, Cooper found himself more intrigued by
their mysterious visitor.   "What do *you* think happened to her husband?"
 Feeling a bit like he had stepped into the middle of a melodrama, he
lowered his voice further and asked, "You think somebody killed him?"

     Surprisingly, Elliot took the question at face value.  "At first,
I thought that the guy just ran off.  He seemed nice enough to me, but you
never can tell."  Pushing his glasses back up on his nose with a soapy
finger, he continued, "But from the little that she told me, it sounds
like they were in some kind of big time trouble.  So I guess it's
possible."

     Cooper picked at the paella dish again, this time selecting a
piece of shrimp that he popped into his own mouth, ignoring Tucker's
pleading gaze.  "I don't know.  If it had been me, I don't know if I'd've
brought her back with me."

     Elliot laughed. "If it had been you, Coop, forget about saving her
ass.  You'd be off with her right now at some motel."

     "Put a sock in it, Elliot," Cooper responded, "and give me a
little credit."

     "Oh, I'll give you plenty," came Elliot's reply.  "I just don't
know if you'd call it credit."

     Cooper threw Elliot a dark stare that wasn't without mirth.  "On
that note, I'm taking out the trash," he declared.   Pulling the plastic
bag out of the bin, he headed out into the yard, Tucker trailing at his
heels.



Here endeth part 3... parts 4-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-3                                     
               X-3


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:33:14 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (4/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:33:14 GMT
--------
This is part four of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (4/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



They took the plane back to El Paso, a quick but surprisingly turbulent
trip that reminded Mulder of his dislike of small aircraft.   Christophe's
main gunman was again along for the ride, and had now been joined by two
other cronies.  As introductions didn't seem to be forthcoming, Mulder had
secretly christened the men Larry, Moe and Curly, which seemed even more
appropriate since the third man was almost totally bald.  The presence of
the additional manpower made Mulder uneasy, serving only to remind him of
the seriousness of his predicament.

     Christophe said little on the short flight to anyone, sitting
quietly in a seat by the window.  Occasionally Mulder caught the man
watching him.   He could actually feel Christophe studying him, those
steel gray eyes penetrating him with sharp ferocity.  It was as though
Christophe thought he could literally read minds simply by trying hard
enough.

     Mulder wondered if perhaps he could.

     The plane touched down on the same private airfield that Mulder
remembered from the first trip, but it didn't remain on the field. 
Instead, the pilot taxied it into a hangar on the far side, and it was
there that Mulder and his captors exited the plane.

     Turning to Moe and Curly, Christophe said, "Get into town and
start the search -- begin at the station and work outward from there."  He
shot a glance at Mulder and then added, "I'm particularly curious as to
whether or not the girl exited the train here in El Paso.  The attendant
who remembered her didn't seem terribly certain about when their
conversation took place.  I don't want to have to backtrack again, is that
understood?"

     Moe and Curly nodded their understanding in perfect synch and
Mulder found himself stifling a laugh at their textbook response.  

     As the two henchmen exited the building, Christophe indicated that
Mulder follow with a wave of his hand and led the way over to a small door
in the side of the hangar.  

     The room beyond the door was small, barely bigger than a walk-in
closet.  It was a kind of makeshift office, but the only furniture inside
was a worn armchair and a tiny steel table.  There were no windows and no
other doors, and Mulder quickly noted, there was no phone.

     "I wish I could say the accommodations were top of the line,"
Christophe remarked, "but it's the best I can do on short notice."  He
ushered Mulder into the room and then stopped in the doorway, his hand on
the knob.

     "In case you have any funny ideas about running off, Mike will be
right outside."

     Mulder looked at the henchman, standing beside Christophe, and put
on his most insouciant smile.  "Ah, so his name is *Mike*.  And all this
time I've been calling him Larry.  Glad to get that straight."

     "And I'm glad to see you're still in such good spirits,"
Christophe coldly responded.  "It makes all of this less of a chore."

     With that, he pulled the door shut and a moment later Mulder heard
the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.   He heard the sound
of Christophe giving his associate some instructions in a low voice, and
then the sound of Christophe's footsteps echoing on the concrete as he
exited the hangar.

     He was alone now, with the exception of the guard dog at the door,
and Mulder made the most of the opportunity, examining the barren room in
the vain hope of discovering some kind of weapon.   His search turned up
nothing.   The steel table was a solid piece and there was no way to
remove any of the legs.  The worn armchair was filled with some kind of
polyurethane stuffing and contained no metal springs that he might be able
to fashion into something useful.  The rest of the room was, as he had
previously ascertained, empty.  Even the ceiling light was of no use --
the glass bulb was protected by a wire mesh frame that he was unable to
pull from the plaster despite his best attempts.

     Mulder was frustrated and, though he was loath to admit it, he was
tired.  Reaching into his pocket, he counted the money he'd swiped at the
diner.  Eleven dollars.  Not enough to do much of anything, but at least
he no longer felt completely destitute.

     Sinking down into the armchair, Mulder stretched his legs out in
front of him, leaning his head back against its creaky frame.  The
security bracelet was chafing his wrist and he twisted it with his hand,
seeking some relief from the pressure.  Mulder closed his eyes and an
image of Scully swam unbidden into the forefront of his consciousness.  

     <DanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

     A thousand frightening thoughts flooded his brain, making him
panic, making him worry.   Visions of her alone, afraid, vulnerable.  
Visions of her hurt, injured, helpless.   

     Visions of her dying.   Visions of her dead.

     Mulder's eyes snapped open and he fought down an anguished cry. 
He stood up and restlessly paced the tiny length of the room several
times, trying to erase the dark images from his head.  Hoping against hope
that the terrifying visions were just the result of his imagination
working overtime and not some kind of horrible intuition.

     He lost himself in the repetitive motion of the pacing, so that
the pounding on the door came as a surprise.  "Keep it down in there!" 

     It was Larry's voice, Mulder realized.  Larry or Mike or whatever
he was called.  The fact that his pacing was an irritant to the man was
almost enough to keep Mulder walking, but he wasn't really in the mood to
get into an altercation with a trigger-happy bodyguard.

     Mulder collapsed back down into the armchair and tried to relax.  
He closed his eyes again and this time when the visions reappeared he
fought them off, hoping to replace the dark images of Scully in jeopardy
with brighter ones, images that would give him strength, and courage, and
hope.   He thought of her skin and how soft it was beneath his fingertips,
and of her smile and the childlike laughter that sometimes accompanied it.
  He remembered how she had sat in his lap in a chair not unlike the one
in which he sat now, and how she had stopped his reading aloud to her by
placing two of her small fingers against his lips.

     Yesterday, he thought.  It was only yesterday.

     Something about the memory tickled the edge of his consciousness,
made him think that there was something important he was missing.   But
Mulder was too tired to focus on it clearly and he slipped off towards
sleep, beckoned into dreamland by thoughts of Scully's tender kisses.



Christophe slid behind the wheel of the rental car that had been left for
him just outside of the hangar and put the key into the ignition, heading
back into town.   He wasn't worried about leaving Mulder at the hangar --
it was the safest place for him, all things considered.  There was no way
out of the room save the door that Mike was guarding, and even if he did
manage to find some way out, he couldn't escape their reach for long
thanks to the tracking device. 

     Besides, there were a few things Christophe needed to take care of
on his own.   

     Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cellular phone and
dialed a number, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and keeping
the car on the road with the other.  The phone rang twice and then it was
answered, a brief burst of static reaching his ear as the line connected.

     "Yes?"  The man managed to make the simple word both a question
and a command.

     "Everything is proceeding according to plan," said Christophe.  "I
have him in my custody."

     "And the girl?"

     "We're searching for her now,"  Christophe replied, wishing that
he had better news to deliver.  "We should know something by morning."

     There was silence on the line, but Christophe was a patient man
and endured the dead air.

     Finally, the man responded. "Time," he said, "is of the essence in
this matter."  He exhaled a long breath of air and Christophe could almost
smell the cigarette smoke through the phone.  "You do understand that."

     "Yes," Christophe answered.  "You'll get what you want.  You have
my word on that."  He paused, then added, "As long as I get what I want."

     "You have *my* word on that," the man replied.  "Find me the girl
and the disk, and then he is yours to dispose of as you see fit."

     The line went dead then, leaving behind the hollow buzz of a dial
tone.  Christophe turned off the phone, tossing it on the seat beside him
and continuing down the road.
     

     
He doesn't believe you just look at his face he thinks you're crazy crazy
like Mulder --

     < YouhavetolistentomesirI'mtellingyouthetruth >

He's turning away you've lost Skinner you've lost everything --

     < AgentScullyyou'vetakenthistoofar, you'renotmakinganysense > --

     < Iammakingsenseyou'rejustnotlisteningtomeIhaveproof > --

     < IfIhavetoputyouonsuspensionIwilldon'ttestmeonthat > --

Forget about it don't even try to make him believe you he's working with
them anyway they're all in league together maybe even Mulder don't trust
any of them just don't you can do this on your own --

     < AmImakingmyselfclear, Scully > --

     < Perfectlyclearsir, Iknowjustwhereyoustand > --

Get out of there get out of there don't waste any more time with him don't
waste any more time with any of them --


Scully moaned, soft and low, her mind working overtime even in sleep. 
Taking her back down corridors of memory that she had done her best to
seal.  Corridors that had suddenly snapped open, despite her best attempts
to keep them shut.


He's going through the door hurry hurry if you really run you'll catch him
dammit it's locked how did he do that?  Down the hall then there must be
another entrance after all this is the center there's got to be another
way in and what is that noise feet pounding behind someone shouting at me
--

     < Scullystopdon'tfollowhimit'satrap > --

     He's grabbing me pulling on my arm  -- <
Letgoletgoletgohe'sgettingaway >

     < LethimgoScullywehavetogetout > --

     Push him shove him get him off me --

     < GetoffmeMulder > --


Scully tossed and turned in the bed, her hands clenching at the sheets as
she struggled to fight her own subconscious.  


     Push him hard and now he's tripping falling how did I do that
never mind keep running you can't let the man get away there's another
door and it's open get inside and slam it shut quick what is this place? a
lab? is this the lab where they discovered it? but where did he go where
is the doctor? pounding on the door behind me --

     < Scullyopenthisdoordammit > --

     Just ignore it --  < Youcan'tstopmeMuldernotnownotnow > --

     Check the walls there must be a hidden exit somewhere I know he's
here where could he have gone what is that sound --

      < Ohmygodohmygod > -- 


And it was then that the dream changed, shifted its course, careening down
in a frightening spiral, illuminating her darkest fears with sharp vivid
clarity.


     There's nothing here now it's empty and silent why is it so quiet
open the door and it's a street how did I get so near the street?  I was
just in the compound in the lab not this alley what is that?  on the
ground?  don't go near it don't don't don't just walk away don't look
don't don't don't --

     < MulderMulderMulderohmygod >

     It's a body it's his body oh my god oh my god they cut his throat
and look at his eyes they are so blank so blank and empty his hands so
cold oh my god they killed him and left him here --

     < MulderMulderMuldernonononono >


A scream poised on her lips, Scully sat bolt upright, regaining the barest
modicum of composure in the nick of time, enough to reassure her that she
had merely been dreaming, enough to keep her from emitting a wail of pain
and agony loud enough to wake the dead.  

     She curled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly
around her legs, seeking a balm and a comfort that was nowhere to be
found.  Her body shook with vicious tremors and she was unable to stop the
tears that spilled down her face, helpless tears of shame and rage and
fear that reduced her to a quivering wreck, threatening to shatter her
from the inside out.

     Struggling for breath, Scully fought to calm herself down, to
banish the nightmare from her thoughts.  Long moments passed during which
she almost gave in, almost succumbed to the panic, until she finally felt
calm enough to raise the edge of the sheet to her face and dry her eyes.

     Dear God, she thought, unable to do more than utter that small
prayer.   

     Running a shaky hand through her hair, Scully listened for any
sounds, any indication that she had caused enough of a disturbance to
create alarm.  The house remained still and silent, and for that she was
thankful.   She had no way of knowing what time it was, how late in the
evening or early in the morning, but she was positive that she would be
getting no more sleep that night.

     Suddenly consumed with a need to be outside, away from this
strange room with its unfamiliar furnishings, Scully carefully climbed off
of the bed.  Moving as quietly as she was able, she located the khaki
pants she had discarded and pulled them on, then fumbled for her tennis
shoes and laced them up.  The sweater she'd had on earlier was laying at
the foot of the bed, and she put it back on over the tee shirt she'd worn
to bed.   Raising the sleeve of the sweater to her nose, Scully took a
deep breath, desperately trying to find Mulder's scent amongst the wool
fibers.  It was there, but faint, and did little to assuage her anxiety.

     Dressed at last, Scully reached beneath the pillow where she had
stashed the disk while she slept and slipped it into the pocket of her
pants.  Then she walked towards the door, tensing as a floorboard creaked
beneath her feet.  Finding the doorknob, she made her way out into the
hall, feeling her way along.  Remembering Elliot's earlier instructions,
when she reached the front door at the end of the L she turned left,
entering the kitchen.  Using first the counter and then the table as a
guide, she made her way across the room to the outer door.   Twisting the
knob didn't seem to work until she found the latch and released it,
finally enabling her to swing the door open.  

     The rush of air that met her face was cold enough to be shocking,
but there was something about its crisp bite that swept away the remnants
of her terror.   Scully took a deep breath of its clean sweetness and
moved out onto the steps, pulling the door shut behind her.    Crouching
down on the second step, Scully tugged the sleeves of the sweater down and
over her hands, balling them up into fists to keep the material in place. 
Wrapping her arms again around her legs, she buried her face against her
knees and tried her best to think, to clear her mind in search of an
answer, a plan that might get her out of this mess.

     But what could she really do?  Although Elliot's suggestion had
seemed almost beautifully simple, Scully knew she could never contact her
mother, out of fear of putting her at risk.  Skinner was no better as an
option;  her nightmare had served at least one purpose, to remind her of
his unwillingness to believe in her when she had so desperately needed his
help.  The Lone Gunmen were a possibility, but Scully was painfully aware
that she had no idea how to contact them.  That had always been Mulder's
bailiwick, and she had never given any thought to the possibility that she
might need to find them on her own.

     All of the avenues seemed to be closed, but Scully knew that she
had to do something.  There were people after the disk that she carried,
people like the man she had encountered in New Orleans, and she knew that
it was only a matter of time before they found her again.  She shivered as
she realized that she didn't even have a weapon, her gun having been
abandoned in that Louisiana alley.  

     She was alone, unarmed and virtually defenseless.  Try as she
might, only one thought ricocheted in her head, a name beating a ceaseless
rhythm in time to her pounding heart.

     < MulderMulderMulder >



The man was an early riser and always had been.   He chalked it up to
productivity, but the real truth was that he wasn't much of a sleeper.  

     He retrieved the newspaper from outside the door of his apartment
and carried it into the kitchen where he poured a cup of strong black
coffee and sat down to peruse the headlines.   The man was always amused
by the spin that journalists managed to put on their stories, trumpeting
exposes and startling revelations as though they were actually aware of
the events that had transpired.   He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply,
savoring the first nicotine rush of the day, and flipped through the paper
until he reached the end.

     Glancing at the clock, the man wondered idly when he would next
hear from Christophe.  He hoped it would be soon, for he was growing
impatient, and he knew if he was feeling a sense of urgency, the men to
whom he answered would be equally anxious.  

     Not for the first time, he debated the wisdom of turning such an
important assignment over to the likes of Christophe.  Yet the man had
proved his worth thus far, retrieving Mulder in time to keep him out of
Skinner's reach.   The man was vexed by Skinner.   He considered Skinner
to be a man of conflicted loyalties, and found it regrettable that he had
ever been placed in charge of the X-Files.   Blevins had been fairly
incompetent, which is why he had been reassigned, but at least Blevins had
been a man who could be controlled.   

     A grim smile crossed the man's face as he realized that if things
worked out as planned, Skinner would cease to be a thorn in his side. 
After all, with Mulder dead and Scully otherwise engaged, the X-Files
would no longer exist.  Pleased by the thought, the man stubbed out his
cigarette and then headed to his bedroom to dress for work.



Here endeth part 4... parts 5-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-4                                     
               X-4


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:35:03 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (5/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:35:03 GMT
--------
This is part five of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (5/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



"Tucker.... not now, boy."  Cooper rolled over onto his side, hoping that
the dog would get the message.  He wasn't used to sharing a room with
Tucker;  as much as he liked the animal, Tucker was Elliot's dog, and
spent every night in the room that Elliot shared with Rebecca.  The
arrival of their houseguest had changed that pattern, however.  It wasn't
safe to have Tucker sleep in the studio -- though it wouldn't have been a
problem for the dog, Rebecca's photographs and supplies would have been
placed at considerable risk.   And having Tucker share a room with Lisa
hadn't seemed appropriate, leaving Cooper's room as the best alternative,
especially considering the November chill that had settled over Santa Fe.

     Tucker was nothing if not persistent, however, and Cooper's
turning his back only spurred the dog on.  His tail thumping against the
floor, Tucker made his way around to the other side of the bed and nuzzled
his face against Cooper's arm.  

     "Tucker...  it's too early.   Too early to go out."  Squinting,
Cooper glanced at the clock that sat on the milk crate by his bed.  The
luminous digital numbers read 5:27, and Cooper groaned.   "Go back to
sleep, boy."

     If Tucker understood him, he gave no sign of it, deciding instead
to leap up onto the bed, his paws dancing in a mad rhythm across the
sheets.  With a low groan, Cooper surrendered to the inevitable.

     "You just aren't gonna give me a minute's peace, are you, boy?" 
Cooper sat up and stretched, a huge yawn escaping his lips.  He scratched
his head and regarded the clock again, hoping that the numbers might have
changed dramatically now that he was actually awake.  No luck.   5:28.  
Still too damn early.

     "Okay, Tucker,"  Cooper relented.  "You win.   We're going out." 
Under his breath, he continued, "Not like I needed sleep or anything like
that."

     Reluctantly, Cooper crawled out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweat
pants and an old crew sweatshirt with a prominent hole in the left
shoulder.  Pushing the dog aside, he dug through the clutter that
surrounded the bed, emerging triumphant with a pair of tennis shoes.  
"Hold your horses," he muttered at the anxious dog, wondering just what
had gotten into the animal to rouse him so early.

     His mind filled with the hope of returning to bed for a few more
blessed hours, Cooper followed Tucker down the hallway and into the
kitchen.  Pulling open the door, he was startled to see Lisa sitting on
the steps, curled up against the early morning chill.  She reacted to the
sound of the opening door with a start of surprise, and Cooper hastened to
reassure her.

     "Lisa?  It's just me.... Coop."

     She raised her head at the sound of his voice, sweeping one arm
across her face in what Cooper realized was an attempt to dry her tears. 
"Hi," she said, in a tiny voice.

     Unwilling to embarrass her, Cooper decided to ignore the obvious
fact that she'd been crying.  "You're up early."

     Lisa nodded, her dark hair swinging across her shoulders. 
"Couldn't sleep."

     "It's hard sometimes," Cooper acknowledged.  "Especially in a
strange place."

     Lisa made no comment, her head tilted as though she was
contemplating the dew-filled yard, but Cooper knew better.   There was
something forlorn about her that tugged at his heart, but though he
yearned to comfort her, he wasn't sure how to do so.

     "Mind if I sit here for a little?"  he asked, ignoring the anxious
circles Tucker was making at the bottom of the stairs.

          Lisa shrugged, so Cooper decided to take yes for an
answer, and settled down on the step next to her.  Sitting so close, he
was acutely aware of how small she was.  Engulfed by the baggy green
sweater she was wearing, she seemed incredibly fragile.

     They sat for awhile together, not speaking, until Cooper finally
felt as though the pall of their silence was more than he could bear. 
"Want to talk about it?"  

     "About what?"  Her response was faint.

     "Whatever it is that has you up at the crack of dawn."

     At first Cooper thought she would ignore the pathetic attempt at
conversation, and was surprised to see that she was actually considering
his words.  At last, she replied, "I was thinking about taking things for
granted."

     "Like what kind of things?"

     "Everything," she sighed.  "Things happen that you never plan for.
 I mean.... you think you've got it all thought out.  And then everything
changes, and you realize you never planned for any of it at all."

     "I know what you mean," Cooper replied, and meant it.  Lisa turned
her head towards him slightly, and he continued.  "I'm the living example
of that.  I was a design major in school, with a minor in art history. 
Took some time off to see the world -- you know, to explore, broaden my
horizons.  And I came back to discover that everyone else had a career. 
Not just a job.  And I'd never given it any thought -- I always assumed
things would just fall into place."

     Lisa nodded, weighing his words.  "And did they?"

     "I suppose," he told her.  "I work for the state, in urban
planning.  It's a good enough job, but it's not exactly how I imagined my
life would turn out."

     "I guess I could say the same," she said, wrapping her arms more
tightly around her legs.



"Really?"  Scully was surprised to hear a hint of amusement in Cooper's
voice.  "Did you throw away your college education too?"

     "No," she replied, hiding a sudden urge to smile.  "I did just
fine with mine."

     "What did you major in?"

     The absurdity of the question made her laugh unexpectedly.

     "What's so funny?"  he asked.

     "Do you have any idea how long it's been since somebody asked me
that?"

     It was Cooper's turn to laugh.  "I can't imagine it's been that
long," he told her.  "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were still in
college."

     The backhanded compliment made her blush unexpectedly.  "Not by a
long shot," she retorted.  "I finished college *and* medical school."

     "Ah.... so you're a doctor, are you?"

     "Yes.  Well... kind of."  Suddenly Scully felt as though she'd
said too much, and turned her head away, hoping that Cooper would pick up
on the silent signal.  

     If he did, he gave no indication of it.  After a moment, he asked,
"How did it happen?"

     "What?"  Scully responded, though she knew exactly to what he
referred.

     "Losing your sight.  Was it an accident?"

     "You could say that," Scully replied, unwilling to go any further.
 

     Cooper was not so reluctant.  "Did it happen a long time ago?"

     "No," Scully finally answered.  "Not so long ago."

     Scully heard Cooper sigh, though the sound was almost lost
underneath the sound of Tucker's anxious growls.  "I'm sorry."

     "Me too."

     Tucker barked, apparently bored with their conversation, and she
felt Cooper's body shift on the stair next to hers as he leaned forward to
scratch the dog.

     "I think Tucker's ready to get moving," Cooper remarked.  "Want to
take a walk?"

     The idea was surprising, but not entirely unwelcome, and Scully
considered the offer.  "Depends on how far, and how fast."

     "Not too far -- I'd need coffee before a real hike," Cooper
replied with another laugh.  "I can't speak for Tucker, but it's still
early, so I'm moving pretty slow."

     "Pretty slow I think I can handle," Scully smiled, allowing Cooper
to help her to her feet.  He offered her his arm and she grasped it
firmly.  He was taller than Elliot, and for some reason she found that
comforting, falling easily into step beside him.   She walked with him
across the damp grass, listening to the sound of Tucker's collar jingling
as he ran ahead.



"...if your life were taken from me
all the trees would freeze in this cold ground
it would be as cruel as the world before Columbus
sail to the edge and I'd be there looking down

those men who lust for land
and for riches strange and new
who love those trinkets of desire
oh they never will have you
and they'll never know the gold
or the copper in your hair
how could they weigh the worth
of you so rare

if your love were taken from me
every light that's bright would soon grow dim
it would be as dark as the world before Columbus
down the waterfall and I'd swim over the brim..."

- suzanne vega



Consciousness crashed down on him with shattering force and Mulder leapt
out of the chair, instinct causing him to reach for a gun that wasn't
there.   A few frantic seconds passed as he sought his bearings, looking
wildly around the room before he remembered where he was.  

     Locked inside a tiny empty room in a private airport hangar.  

     A prisoner without a means of escape.

     But it's worse than that, isn't it, Mulder chided himself.  You're
more than a prisoner.  You're a Judas.  You've become the weapon of her
destruction.

     He allowed himself to wallow in these defeatist thoughts for a few
minutes, still shaken from the nightmare he'd been having.   A nightmare
in which he'd found Scully, found her alive and well and took her in his
arms only to watch her literally fade away in his embrace, winking out of
existence as he held her, her sightless eyes still managing to accuse him
as she vanished, blaming him for failing her.   It had seemed so real, so
painfully real, that even now he had a hard time reminding himself that
nothing of the sort had happened.

     If he had his way, nothing of the sort ever would.

     Mulder checked his watch, noting that it was just after eight in
the morning.  Nearly twenty-four hours since he'd last seen her.  

     Twenty-four hours.  The very thought made him sick to his stomach.

     Where was she?

     Suddenly, with the clarity that only sleep could bring, a possible
answer swam into his mind as he remembered Elliot, the young man from the
train.

     Could Scully have gone to him for help?

     Mulder weighed the question in his mind, starting to pace again. 
It made a certain kind of sense for Scully to have approached him -- after
all, he was the only person on the train with whom they had made any sort
of connection.  And if she had exited the train with Elliot, that might
explain why her departure hadn't been noticed.  After all, they'd been
asking about a woman traveling alone, not about a couple.  

     Galvanized by this new train of thought, Mulder realized with some
excitement that it was quite possible Scully was still in El Paso.   She
would have wanted to get away from the train as soon as she could, fearing
that his failure to return signalled that some trouble had befallen him.  
She might have convinced Elliot to help her hide... but where?   A motel,
perhaps, somewhere that they could lie low and wait.  

     Would they have registered under her name, or his?   Mulder
considered each option carefully.  Scully knew that they had switched
their fake surname to Stewart, yet the ID that she still carried bore the
name of Lisa Wilder.  She might have used either, in the hope that he
would more quickly find her under one of their shared aliases.  But he
quickly discarded the idea -- it would be too dangerous, especially since
she had no idea what had happened to him.   It made more sense for them to
have used Elliot's name.

     Which was... Mulder forced himself to think, calling upon his
eidetic memory to retrieve the answer.   He pictured the jacket of the
hardcover book in his mind, remembering the words printed there.   Elliot
Masters... that was it.   Elliot Masters.

     Just as the name clicked into his brain, Mulder heard the lock
turn in the door of his cell.   He whirled around as the door opened,
revealing Christophe standing there.

     "Time to get back to work," he declared, his dark countenance
grim. 

     Clinging tightly to his new shred of hope, Mulder followed
Christophe out of the cell.



Elliot rolled over on his back, gazing up at Rebecca where she stood by
the edge of the bed, her long dark hair a wild mane cascading over the
flannel shirt she'd pulled on over her pajamas.   "Beck...."  He infused
his words with a generous amount of wheedling charm.  "It's freezing out
there, and it's warm in here.  Especially --"  he pulled back the covers
with a dramatic flourish -- "under here.   So what's the rush?"

     "The rush is, I've got to get those proofs over to the museum by
noon.  And," Rebecca continued, a sparkle in her dark eyes, "if we get
moving, we'll be first in the shower."

     "Did you say we?" 

     "Sure did...."

     Suddenly the bed seemed far less appealing.   "Well, I suppose in
the interests of water conservation...." Elliot crawled out to join his
girlfriend, giving her a quick kiss before copying her motions and pulling
on a sweatshirt to ward off the early morning chill. 

     "I didn't know you were so concerned with saving the planet,"
Rebecca teased as she kissed him back and then headed for the stairs.

     Following Rebecca down the stairs that connected the loft with the
studio, Elliot thought again about how lucky he was to have her in his
life.   They crossed the yard hand in hand and entered the blessed warmth
of the kitchen.   

     "I'm just going to put some coffee on," Rebecca told him with a
warm smile.  "Go ahead -- I'll be there in a minute."

     Elliot nodded his acquiescence and started down the hall.  To his
surprise, Cooper's door was open.  Peeking inside, he found the bed a
disheveled but empty mess.  Walking back towards the kitchen, he called
softly to Rebecca. "Where'd Coop go so early?"

     "He's not in his room?"  A puzzled expression crossed Rebecca's
face.  As she poured coffee into the filter, she hazarded a guess.  "Maybe
he went into the office."

     "Coop?  After working late?  You've got to be kidding."  Elliot
moved to stand behind Rebecca and nuzzled her neck.  "But I could care
less -- so long as he doesn't come back and decide he needs to jump in the
shower right away."

     "Don't make me regret this," she scolded, trying to make her
teasing sound fierce, but Elliot was having none of it.  

     "Don't worry.... you won't," he promised, as he continued his slow
seduction by running his lips along the curve of her ear.   



Rebecca leaned back against him as she poured water into the top of the
coffee machine, enjoying the early morning affection.  Amidst the
caresses, she heard Elliot whisper in her ear, "Beck -- look."

     Placing the glass carafe into the appropriate slot, Rebecca
followed his instructions and raised her head to glance out the window.  
Her eyes widened in surprise to see three figures approaching from a
distance.  Tucker was easy to spot, familiar as she was with his loping
stride.   It was the other two figures who caught her attention, much as
they had Elliot's.  Their houseguest Lisa was holding onto Cooper's arm
with one hand, and even from so far away, Rebecca could see the smile on
the young woman's face.

     "Guess now we know what got Coop up so early," Rebecca remarked.

     "Yeah," Elliot replied, a slight twinge of guilt in his voice.  "I
should have thought to check on her.  I hope she slept okay."

     Rebecca turned to face him, planting a kiss on his cheek to wipe
away his look of concern.  "She seems just fine to me," she told him.  "I
wouldn't worry.  Now, wasn't there something we were supposed to be
doing?"

     "When you're right, you're right," Elliot answered, taking her by
the hand and leading her towards the bathroom.



It was the sound of the gate being pushed open that alerted Scully to the
fact that they had finally made it back. "I don't know, Cooper," she
remarked, slightly out of breath.  "That felt a little bit like a hike to
me."

     "It's just because the ground is so hilly," he explained.  "If
we'd gone up behind the house to the north, it's even steeper.   Beck and
I go that way sometimes -- she's really into hiking, and it's pretty cool.
 There are a couple of abandoned mines up there, but we just explore the
hills."

     "I didn't know that there were mines in New Mexico," Scully
remarked.

     "Oh, sure," Cooper replied.  "All different kinds.  Some are
man-made;  there's also a lot of natural cave mining.   You've heard of
Carlsbad Caverns, right?"

     "Of course."

     "Well, those are the biggest caves in the state, but there are
plenty of others.  Saltpeter and other natural minerals, and some are
mined for bat guano."

     She frowned.  "That," she declared, "is disgusting.  What for?"

     "Fertilizer, mostly," he replied with a laugh.  

     Scully took another step and then her foot collided with
something, causing her to lose her balance.  Cooper grabbed her arm,
steadying her before she could fall, and then she heard him say, "God,
Lisa, I'm sorry.  We're at the stairs -- I should have warned you."

     "It's okay," she told him, lifting her foot to find the step in
response to his words.  

     "I think it's my fault that this walk seemed long," Cooper
groaned.  "I'm obviously not the best escort.  I probably kept tripping
you up." 

     "You did just fine," Scully assured him, as they mounted the
stairs and entered the kitchen, reveling in the warmth of the room and the
rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.  "Mmmm," she said, "somebody put the
coffee on."

     "You bet," came Cooper's response.  "We're all java junkies around
here.  Want some?"

     "That would be great."  Scully found the edge of the table and
leaned against it, releasing her grasp of Cooper's arm.  The dog stopped
beside her, and she could hear him panting as she leaned down and patted
him on the back.  "Good boy," she said.  "It sounds like you could use
some water."

     "I just filled his bowl,"  Cooper told her.  "Don't worry -- he
knows where it is."  

     Sure enough, Tucker ambled away from her seconds later, and she
heard the sound of his loud slurping mixed with the noises Cooper made as
he rummaged around the kitchen, cabinet doors being opened and closed and
the rattle of cups hitting the counter.  The sound of liquid being poured
reached her ears and she sighed with anticipation.  In the distance, she
heard water running and remarked, "Sounds like everybody's up now."

     "Yeah," Cooper laughed.  "Beck's a morning person, so it doesn't
leave Elliot much of a choice."  He paused, then asked, "How do you take
your coffee?"

     "Just a little bit of milk," she told him.  "No sugar."

     A minute later she felt Cooper pressing something into her hands. 
A mug, not a cup, and a big one from the feel of it.  "Be careful," he
told her.  "It's hot."

     Scully nodded, and took a long sip.   Cooper was standing next to
her and she heard the unmistakable sound of paper rustling.  "Newspaper?" 
she asked.

     Cooper muttered an affirmative.  "Nothing too exciting in the
headlines.  The usual litany of depression."

     His wry comment brought a grin to her face.  "I know what you
mean."  A thought struck her, and she put words to it.  "Is there anyplace
around here to get newspapers from out of state?"

     "There's an international newsstand in town," Cooper replied. 
"They carry papers from most of the major cities, but usually just the
Sunday editions.   Whatever they've got now is probably from last
weekend."  He drew a hesitant breath and then continued.  "Looking for
something in particular?"

     Scully proceeded with caution, her words deliberately vague. 
"Maybe," she answered.  "But it would only be in a Texas paper, if at
all."

     "You're looking to see if there's any news on your husband, aren't
you."

     It wasn't really a question, but Scully knew it deserved an honest
response.  "Yes," she admitted quietly.  "If -- if he got into some kind
of trouble, there might be a mention of it."

     "Well," Cooper told her, "there's an easy way to check.  These
days, all of the major papers in the country can be accessed on the
internet.  I've got a little time before I have to get to work, if you
want me to see what I can find."

     Scully felt a rush of warmth at his kindness.  "That would be
great, Cooper.  I'd really appreciate it."

     "Let's go, then," he said.  "My computer's in my room."  He
laughed as he took her arm.  "I have to warn you, though, it's a mess."

     She laughed in response as she carefully set her coffee mug down
on the counter.  "As long as you don't let me trip over anything, I won't
hold it against you."

     "You've got a deal," Cooper said, and they headed out of the
kitchen together.  



Here endeth part 5... parts 6-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-5                                     
               X-5


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:36:45 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (6/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:36:45 GMT
--------
This is part six of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (6/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97 



Moe and Curly hadn't had any luck tracking down Scully, and Mulder
couldn't help but feel pleased.  Now that he had his own theory about
where she was, Mulder's only concern was ditching his companions long
enough to find her.  

     The real problem was figuring out a way to make that happen. 
Mulder hadn't been alone for a second since Christophe released him from
his makeshift cell, with the exception of a quick stop in the hangar's
barren bathroom, where he had changed into the fresh shirt Larry handed
him and splashed a bit of water on his face.  

     At the moment, the four of them were sitting in a rented sedan
parked on a side street not too far away from the El Paso Amtrak station. 
Christophe had driven the car from the private airfield;  when Curly and
Moe exited the station, Curly had slipped behind the wheel and Christophe
had taken the passenger seat, ordering Mulder into the back.  There was no
sign of Larry -- the last Mulder had seen of him was when they had
departed the airport hangar -- but he could have cared less.  As far as he
was concerned, the fewer henchmen the better.

     "We've done the rounds, sir," Curly said, "and she's not
registered at any of the hotels or motels around here."

     "You're certain of that."  Christophe phrased the question as an
ominous statement.

     It was Moe, sitting next to Mulder in the back seat, who answered.
 "Positive.  And we're not the first people to check, either.  Both the
local cops and the Feds have been through here."

     Not looking under 'Masters' they haven't, Mulder thought to
himself.

     As he turned in his seat to face Mulder, Christophe's forehead
wrinkled the tiniest bit, the only outward expression of the stress he was
undoubtedly feeling.  "I find it hard to believe that you and the girl
didn't have some kind of contingency plan arranged in case you were
separated."

     Mulder shrugged, basking in private confidence.  "We're just not
the kind of people to plan ahead, I guess."

     Christophe threw the briefest of glances at Moe and before Mulder
knew what was happening, the business end of Moe's gun was tucked firmly
against his ribs.

     "I have a favorite saying, Mulder," Christophe remarked, his face
again cold as ice.  "That which is not a help is a hindrance.  And I have
no room in my life for any kind of hindrance.  So I suggest you come up
with something to prove your usefulness."

     The gun pressed to his side was a powerful encouragement to think,
and to think fast.  As he did, a new idea fluttered into his head.  Even
if Scully had gone to Elliot for help, she might not have done so in time
to get off of the train in El Paso.  The more he thought about it, the
more Mulder realized he was probably right.  She would have waited,
probably past the point that the train left the station, before taking any
course of action.  Which meant, if his theory was correct, that they would
have left the train at the next stop.  

     The question that raced through his mind then was, should he
mention this to Christophe?  To do so might put the man back on her trail,
and Mulder was reluctant to risk that.  But the look in Christophe's eyes
did an effective job of convincing him that if he didn't speak, he might
not live long enough to find her.  To protect her from his menace.

     "I'm waiting, Mulder."

     Mulder made his decision.  "I don't think Scully got off the train
in El Paso."  He spoke slowly, reluctantly.  "I don't think she would have
left until she was sure that I wasn't coming back."

     Christophe regarded him closely, and then leapt to the obvious
conclusion.  "So you think she got off at the next station."

     Mulder nodded, certain that Christophe was unaware of Elliot's
existence, praying that if Scully had turned to him for help that she had
used Elliot's identity to conceal her own. 

     Accepting the nod as confirmation, Christophe turned to where
Curly sat, tucked behind the steering wheel.  "What was the next stop?"

     Curly pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and checked it. 
"Las Cruces," he announced.

     "Let's go," Christophe ordered, and Mulder was relieved when Moe
pulled the gun away from his side and tucked it back into his coat.  

     As Curly turned on the ignition, Mulder decided the time had come
to put part of his plan into action.  "Any chance of my finding a bathroom
before we hit the road?"

     Christophe fixed him with another long look.  "I'm not in the mood
to play games."

     "Neither am I," Mulder answered evenly.  



With a warm and companionable shower behind him, the newspaper in front of
him, and a cup of coffee in his hand, Elliot felt like a whole new man. 
"Hey, Beck," he said as he glanced across the dining room table at her, "I
think I'm going to ride into town with Coop."

     "What for?" she asked, spooning up a mouthful of cereal.

     "I want to play around with the color graphics at the copy
center," he explained.  Drawn by the food, Tucker lurked at his side,
hoping for a piece of toasted bagel.  "See how some of the new sketches
I've done hold up as reprints.  This way I don't have to carry my
portfolio on my bike."

     "Fine with me," Rebecca answered.  "If you want to meet me at the
museum, around one, I can drive you back."

     "Exactly what I was hoping," he grinned.

     Rebecca pointed her spoon at him in mock accusation.  "You," she
told him, "are a master manipulator."

     "Hey," Elliot held up his arms in protest.  "I didn't ask -- you
offered."

     "Yes, but you knew I would," she retorted.  She took another bite
of cereal and then asked, "Are Coop and Lisa still on the computer?"

     "Think so," he replied.

     Glancing at the clock on the wall, she remarked, "If he's not
careful, he's going to be late."

     "So what else is new?"  asked Cooper as he entered, Lisa in tow. 
"If you worked for the state, Beck, I don't think you'd be racing to get
to the office either."

     "You've got a point," Rebecca grinned.  "But in my car, racing is
at least an option.  I don't think that you can say the same about yours."

     "There's absolutely nothing wrong with my car," Cooper insisted. 
"I've had that car since college."

     "Exactly my point," Rebecca countered, finishing the last of her
cereal.

     As Cooper guided her to a chair, Elliot noticed that Lisa's
expression was carefully neutral.  "Did you guys find what you were
looking for?"  he asked.

     "We didn't find much of anything," she replied.

     "True," said Cooper, as he grabbed a bagel from the plate in the
center of the table.  "But no news is good news, right?"

     "Right," Lisa sighed, without sounding terribly positive.

     "Good news," Cooper philosophized, "is supposed to make you
happy."   He gave Lisa's shoulder a little squeeze and said, "We'll check
again later.  I promise."

     "Okay," Lisa answered, and Elliot saw her mouth curve upwards in a
small smile.

     Carrying his bagel, Cooper headed back towards his bedroom. 
"E-man, I'm just gonna jump in the shower, and then we've got to get out
of here."

     "Ready when you are," Elliot answered, and then turned to their
houseguest.  "Lisa, you want something to eat?"

     She shook her head.  "I'm not really that hungry."

     "Need anything from town?"

     Another small smile.  "I'm fine, Elliot.  But I appreciate you
asking."

     Rebecca got up from her chair, cereal bowl in hand.  "Well, Lisa,
as the boys are abandoning us, it's just you and me.  I've got to go out
to the studio and do a little bit of work.  Want to come and hang out?" 

     "Sure,"  said Lisa.  "As soon as I grab a shower of my own."  She
rose from the table and threw a little wave in his general direction. 
"Bye, Elliot."

     "Bye," he answered, watching as she carefully made her way back
towards the hall.  "I'll see you later."

     Glancing up at Rebecca, he saw that she too was monitoring Lisa's
slow but steady progress.   As their houseguest closed the door of their
bedroom behind her, Elliot whispered, "I wish there was more I could do to
help her."

     "I don't think that asking for help comes easily to her," Rebecca
answered sagely, and then carried her dishes into the kitchen.



They pulled up outside a family-style restaurant and Mulder climbed out of
the car, Curly slipping from behind the steering wheel to follow at his
heels.  Reaching into his pocket, Christophe pulled out the tracking
device and indicated the blinking red dot with a pointed finger.  "I'm
going to be very angry if this moves."

     Mulder gave him a nod and headed for the door with Curly dogging
his steps.  The restaurant was really just a fast-food joint in disguise,
but Mulder had a feeling it would serve his purposes.  He approached the
ponytailed hostess who stood behind a menu-covered podium and asked, "Can
you tell me where the restroom is, please?"

     "Around the corner and down the hall," said the girl, whose
nametag labeled her as 'Jackie'.  

     "Thanks," Mulder told her, throwing her a smile.  He glanced at
Curly whose hand moved slightly towards the pocket of his coat, indicating
that he, too, carried a weapon.  Mulder waited for Curly to follow, but
the thug merely took up a stance against the lobby wall.  "Make it quick,"
he instructed, and Mulder nodded.

     Alone, Mulder walked around the corner and down the hall which was
decorated with a couple of ugly framed prints.   He stifled a shout of
satisfaction on seeing the two pay phones hanging on the wall between the
doors marking the entrances to the men's and women's facilities.  Hurry,
he thought needlessly, well aware that he didn't have much time.  

     Grabbing the closest phone, he dialed the private number as
quickly as he could.  He knew that they would be expecting him to rattle
off a number and hang up, but he didn't have the time to wait for them to
call back.  He'd just have to talk fast and hope that they listened.

     Three rings and then Mulder heard Langly's voice.  "Hello?"

     "It's me," he said quickly.  "Don't hang up."   The line remained
open and he raced through the rest of his message.  "We've been separated
and I'm in trouble.  I need you to look for her.  Start in Las Cruces, New
Mexico and work west -- I think she'll be in a motel under 'Elliot
Masters'.  I'll call you back when I can."

     Mulder heard the sound of footsteps behind him and slammed the
receiver back into its cradle, not waiting for a response.  The footsteps
turned out to belong to a heavyset woman who smiled at him politely as she
entered the ladies room.  

          His mission accomplished, Mulder turned and headed back
towards the lobby, where he knew Curly would be waiting.
 


     After the boys left, Rebecca took Lisa by the arm, and they made
their way across the yard to the studio in silence that was broken only by
Tucker's occasional barks as he trotted beside them.   Rebecca wasn't sure
what to say that wouldn't sound silly or trite, so she remained quiet. 
She unlocked the door, Lisa waiting quietly beside her, and then she led
the way inside.  She helped Lisa get settled atop a stool near the wall,
and then moved towards the table and began sorting through the contact
sheets she'd developed the previous day.

     After a time, Lisa remarked, "You have an interesting name,
Rebecca.   It makes me wonder what you look like."

     Rebecca chuckled.  "My father's family comes from Spain," she
explained.  "I have cousins who live there -- I spent a summer with them a
couple years ago.  The other side of the family is Irish;  I was named
after my maternal grandmother."

     "So?"

     "So, what?"  Concentrating on the proofs, Rebecca realized the
thread of the conversation had escaped her.

     "What do you look like?"

     "Oh..... dark hair -- curly hair, much darker, and longer, than
yours -- and dark eyes.  Olive skin.  The exact opposite of Elliot, in
case you were wondering.  He's a sandy blond who gets burned just thinking
about the sun."

     Lisa grinned.  "I can relate."

     They fell silent again, but the quiet was more companionable this
time.   Rebecca used a small magnifier to examine the various shots, using
a grease pencil to circle the best ones, pleased that there were so many
good ones from which to choose.

     "What is it that you're doing?"  Lisa finally asked.

     "I took a bunch of photos for the museum," Rebecca responded,
"examples of the work I could do for them if they give me the job.  Now
I'm reviewing the proofs, looking for the best shots.  I've got to turn in
the contact sheets by noon today."

     Lisa nodded slowly, digesting the information.  "It must be nice
to do such creative work," she remarked.  Sitting near her feet, Tucker
barked once in agreement.

     Rebecca laughed.  "Well, I don't know how creative these
particular shots are, but I do enjoy photography.  It's not the easiest
way to make a living, though.  My parents haven't ever gotten over the
idea that I didn't pursue some sort of regular career, you know? 
Something where I could wear a suit every day, and work in an office.  But
I just couldn't do that -- it's not me.  As much as I wanted to make them
happy, I just couldn't."  The long explanation suddenly seemed
embarrassing.   "Sorry -- I didn't mean to babble on like that."

     "You didn't," Lisa assured her.  "I know what you mean.   And I
think you did the right thing.  You have to do what makes you happy....
even if it isn't what people expect you to do."

     There was something about the tone of Lisa's voice that caused
Rebecca to look up from what she was doing.  The expression on the young
woman's face was thoughtful, reflective, and Rebecca sensed that at some
point she'd made a similar decision.   Curiosity flooded her but she
hesitated, unsure how to frame her question.  Finally, she decided on a
general approach and asked, "What is it that makes you happy, Lisa?"

     "Not much, lately."

     "Oh."  Rebecca's cheeks flamed at the curt reply and she turned
back to her work, feeling hurt and more than a bit stupid for asking the
question in the first place.



"Rebecca -- I'm sorry."  Scully hastened to apologize, ashamed of her own
rudeness.  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded.  I'm... I guess I'm
just a little bit on edge.  I didn't mean to snap at you."

     "That's okay.  I understand."  The words were strained, polite.

     "The thing is, you don't."  Scully searched for words to explain
herself.  "You don't, and you can't.   I can't let you."

     Rebecca didn't respond at first, and when she did, she spoke
softly.  "I didn't mean to pry, Lisa.  But you can't blame me for being
curious."

     "I know," Scully replied.  "But the one thing I can't really talk
about is my work."  She hesitated, then decided it was safe to say just a
little bit more.  "In a way, that's what got me into trouble in the first
place."

     "Talking about work?"

     "No," Scully said.  "Doing it.   The work, I mean.   It wasn't the
easiest job in the world."

     "But did you like it?"

     A sigh escaped her and Scully nodded.  "I did.  I really did."  
An understatement, really.  For the first time since they'd left D.C.,
Scully realized that it wasn't just her home and her family that she'd
been missing.    Realized how much her job with the Bureau had meant to
her, how much she had loved being a federal agent.   

     There's no going back now, she thought ruefully.   Even if somehow
she did manage to find Mulder and they were actually able to clear their
names, that part of her life was over forever.  After all, there wasn't
much call in the federal government for a blind agent.

     "Is that how you met your husband?"

     Rebecca's question brought her back from where she had been
trembling once again on the edge of tears.  Scully murmured her assent,
afraid to fully trust her voice just yet.

     "What's he like?"

     "What's he like..."  She knew it shouldn't be so difficult to
answer, but it was so hard to sum Mulder up in a few simple words. 
"He's... he's brilliant.  He's smart and he's funny... and he can be very
very stubborn.  Well, not stubborn, exactly.  More like driven.   Very
focused and intense."

     The sound of papers rustling preceded Rebecca's response. 
"Doesn't sound like the easiest kind of guy to get along with."

      "Not by a long shot,"  Scully agreed with a chuckle.  "He doesn't
make friends easily, either -- and the ones he does have are a little bit
odd."   She pictured the Lone Gunmen and the vision made her laugh harder.

     "What's so funny?"  

     "Nothing, really.   Just thinking."

     "Well," said Rebecca with a laugh of her own, "obviously you
figured out a way to get along with him, since you married him."

     Scully nodded wistfully.  "We do just fine.  I'm very lucky... to
have him in my life."    

     "I'd say he's pretty lucky to have you in his."  

     Her mind suddenly kicking into overdrive, Scully didn't bother to
respond to Rebecca's last comment.  Instead, she asked, "Rebecca, do you
have Cooper's number at the office?"

     "Of course."

     "Can we call him?  I have a question I want to ask him."

     "Sure," Rebecca answered.  "Let me just finish this and we'll go
back to the house."  She paused, then added, "As long as you agree to
start calling me Beck."

     "It's a deal," Scully grinned.



Here endeth part 6... parts 7-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 

     
X-6                                X-6


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:38:26 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (7/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:38:26 GMT
--------
This is part seven of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (7/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



The stale smell of cigarette smoke alerted Skinner to the man's arrival
before the door even opened.  "Welcome back, Mr. Skinner," said the man as
he entered, crossing to stand beside his desk.

     Skinner looked up at him with barely concealed disgust.  "I don't
suppose it does any good to remind you that this is a non-smoking
building."

     The man gave him a half-hearted smile and took another drag.  "How
was your trip to Texas?"

     "I'm surprised you're even bothering to ask the question," Skinner
retorted.  "I would venture to guess that you knew he was gone before I
did."

     "You give me too much credit," the man replied.  "I do, however,
have some concerns as to how you're handling the situation."

     "Oh, you do, do you?"  Skinner rose from his chair and met the
man's stare head on.  "Let me guess.  You've come down here with some
half-baked reason as to why we need to scale back on the search.  Well let
me tell *you* something instead."   He paused for effect, making every
word count.  "I will *not* scale back on the search.  I intend to devote
every available resource at the Bureau's command to finding Mulder and
Scully and this man who helped Mulder escape.  And I defy anyone to try
and stop me."

     The man raised an eyebrow but made no other response, merely
continuing to look him in the eye.   The stare was direct enough to be
uncomfortable, but Skinner was in no mood to back down.   It was the
stench of the nicotine that finally caused him to add, "If there's nothing
I can do for you, I've got some work to take care of."

     "Certainly, Mr. Skinner," the man responded.  "Far be it from me
to keep you from your work."  With that, he turned and walked out of the
office, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.   

     Skinner waited until the door shut behind the man before sinking
back down into his leather desk chair, feeling more than a bit puzzled by
the brief interchange.  He had no idea what the man had up his sleeve, but
he had the sinking feeling that this little visit was only a precursor to
a more insidious future assault. 



Cooper stared at the blueprint for what seemed like the zillionth time.  
It was a particularly complex design, and he'd been fine-tuning it with
painstaking precision, wanting to catch any flaws before submitting it. 
So far, so good, he thought, holding it up for yet another appraisal.

     The knock at his office door startled him and he almost dropped
the blueprint, but he recovered in time to say, "Come in."

     "Hey, Coop," said Rebecca as she opened the door.  "Is this an
okay time?"

     Rebecca was dressed in a suit instead of her usual jeans, looking
every inch the consummate professional, and Cooper threw her a smile of
approval.  Lisa was standing beside her, holding on to her arm with a grip
that betrayed her discomfort at the unfamiliar surroundings.  

     "Sure," Cooper replied, rising from behind his desk.   He pulled
one of the guest chairs forward and Rebecca guided Lisa towards it. 
"Perfect timing, actually."

     "Thanks for letting me come down," Lisa said as she sat down,
pulling off her navy coat to reveal a plaid flannel shirt beneath.  "I
really appreciate it."

     "Not a problem," he told her.  

     Rebecca was already moving back towards the door.  "I've got to
run, guys -- my meeting's in fifteen minutes.  Lisa, will you be okay
until I get back?"

     "Sure," Lisa replied, just as Cooper said, "Don't worry, I'll take
care of her."

     Rebecca raised an eyebrow at him and threw him a grin that Cooper
was suddenly thankful Lisa couldn't see.  "I'm sure you will.   Lisa, make
sure he behaves himself."

     The comment made Lisa laugh.  "Will do."

     With that, Rebecca left, pulling the door shut behind her.  Cooper
turned to Lisa and asked, "So, what's up?  On the phone, you said
something about needing to use the computer here at the office?"

     "I want to post a message to an internet board," she explained,
"but I don't want it to be easily traced."  She paused, a small frown
wrinkling her brow.  "Are you sure that your company has a public
address?"

     Cooper nodded, then remembered that he needed to use words.  "I'm
sure.  We have two options -- we can log on using an address that consists
of our first and last names, or we can use the 'company screenname'.   Of
course, anyone that wanted to trace it could trace it back to this firm,
but not to me directly."

     Lisa considered his statement for a moment and then nodded.  "I
guess that's the best we can do."

     "Let's get on it then."  Cooper went back and sat behind his desk
and attacked the computer.  "Give me a minute," he told her, "and I'll get
to the boards.  Where am I going?"

     "Alt.conspiracy," she answered, tucking a wayward strand of hair
behind her ear.  Cooper caught himself watching and looked away, trying to
concentrate on the matter at hand.

     After a few minutes, he was where he needed to be.  "Go for it,"
he instructed.  "What's the subject?"

     "Say that it's regarding 'The Lone Gunmen Theory',"  she said. 
"Capitalize all of the words, and be sure that you spell 'Gunmen' with an
'e' instead of an 'a'."

     Cooper looked up at her in surprise.  "If you're talking about the
grassy knoll kind of gunman, you're spelling it wrong."

     "Trust me," Lisa replied, and shot a sweet smile in his direction
that wiped everything else straight out of his mind.

     Focus, Coop, he told himself, as he applied himself to the task of
typing up the rest of her very strange message.



Thanks to unusually heavy traffic, it was afternoon by the time they
arrived in Las Cruces, and Mulder's mind was working overtime to formulate
a plan of action.  

     The concern that was uppermost in his mind was the steel bracelet.
 Understanding how it worked was crucial to his escape;  he had no idea
where Christophe was keeping the electronic key and doubted that he could
get his hands on it anyway.  So removing the bracelet wasn't a
possibility, at least at this point.  Which meant that his only option was
to somehow jam the system, at least temporarily.

     But how?   This was the problem that he'd set his mind upon, and
he hadn't quite figured out the solution.   He decided that the best way
to figure out how it worked was to test it, but he harbored the secret
fear that if he tried to run, Christophe might opt to cut his losses and
just kill him.  

     It was a risk, Mulder decided, that he had to take.

     Curly parked the car in the Amtrak station lot, and as they
exited, Mulder looked around for an opportunity.  There weren't a lot of
people in the parking lot, however, so the timing wasn't right.  Not yet.

     Curly stayed with the car, and Mulder obediently accompanied
Christophe and Moe towards the entrance, wondering again just where Larry
had gone.  The only possible explanation, he decided, was that Christophe
had ordered the man to remain in El Paso with the plane. 

     Like the parking lot, the station was fairly empty.  As they
approached the ticket counter, Mulder spotted a possible opportunity. 
Unlike some of the other stations that he had been in, this one boasted a
metal security detector and an X-ray conveyor belt that separated the main
area of the terminal from the passenger loading platform, in a set-up was
identical to that of an airport.  It seemed reasonable that the detector
would jam Christophe's security device, at least momentarily, which was
all that Mulder needed.

     The only problem was, he didn't know how he could possibly get
near the machine.  Moe was standing so close to him that they were
practically sharing air, and Mulder didn't doubt that the man would shoot,
given an opportunity.

     Resigned, Mulder decided to file his discovery away for later,
hoping that circumstances would change before they left the station.  With
Moe right beside him, Mulder followed Christophe up to the counter, where
Christophe again presented his false credentials to the clerk.   She was
an older woman, and Christophe's smile made her eager to please.  Tapping
into the system computer, she checked the most recent records, but came up
with nothing under either Lisa Wilder or Lisa Stewart.

     A trilling buzz rang out, startling them all with the sound. 
Looking around, Mulder realized that it was coming from the metal security
detector.  As he watched, the guard directed the woman who had set off the
detector away from the other passengers, pulling a thin, wand-shaped
security device from his belt.  He ran the device across the woman's body,
revealing the source of the disturbance to be a necklace that she was
wearing;  the woman removed it and passed through the main detector
unmolested.

     An idea forming in the back of his mind, Mulder turned back and
pretended to focus on Christophe's interrogation of the clerk, not wanting
Moe to follow his train of thought.  

     "Unfortunately, sir, we don't keep records of the stations where
people disembark."  The clerk shook her head ruefully.  "I'm sure it would
be easier if we did, but we don't."

     His demeanor unruffled, Christophe was cool in his reply.  "But
you *can* verify that the woman we're seeking did not buy another ticket
at this location."

     "That's correct, sir.  I wish I could be of more help."

     Christophe dismissed the clerk with a nod and stepped away, Moe
right behind.  Daring to make a move, Mulder asked the clerk, "I was
wondering why this particular station is equipped with that security
checkpoint."

     "Oh," she replied, "it's because we're so close to the border
here.  There have been some incidents, and it doesn't pay to take any
chances."

     "No, it doesn't," Mulder agreed.  He desperately wanted to ask her
if the security guard carried a gun, but Moe glanced back at him so he
merely thanked the woman and moved away. 

     As they exited the station, Mulder noticed that the sky was
darkening, ominous gray clouds gathering to blot out the waning sunlight. 
 Christophe drew his attention away from thoughts of the pending storm by
saying, "Well, it appears that the girl didn't leave here by taking
another train.  But there are other ways out of Las Cruces, and we're
going to explore every single one."

     Mulder didn't doubt him for a moment. 



It was getting late when Skinner pulled his car up to the curb and parked,
debating for a moment whether he should have called before coming over. 
As he climbed out of the car he decided that his instincts had been
correct.  A phone call would have inevitably resulted in a detailed
conversation, and this was something he felt would be better discussed in
person.

     Knowing he had put this off long enough, Skinner made his way up
the steps to the front door, noting the landscaping of the front yard with
appreciation.  The lawns and shrubs were well maintained, small potted
plants lining the walk.   He reached the door and rang the bell, fixing
the lapels of his suit with nervous hands.

     The woman who opened the door was dressed casually in a sweater
and slacks, her dark hair graced by gentle streaks of gray.  The eyes that
regarded him carefully were as wide and blue as her daughter's, a few tiny
wrinkles on her fair skin her only other concession to age.  "Hello,
Walter." She greeted him with an informality that had developed during
their previous meetings, many of which had taken place within hospital
corridors.  She said nothing further, as though to say more would be to
invite bad news.

     "Hello, Margaret," Skinner said.  "May I come in for a moment?"

     "Of course," she replied, pulling the door open further to allow
him entrance.  She led the way into the living room, which was simply but
elegantly furnished, and offered him a seat.  

     Skinner sat down on the couch and she took a chair directly across
from him, sitting ramrod straight with her hands folded in her lap.  "Do
you have news about Dana?"

     So hard, thought Skinner, so hard.

     Aloud, he said, "My call to you yesterday may have been a bit
premature."

     Margaret Scully sighed, the sound one of resignation.  "The man
they arrested.  It wasn't Fox."

     Skinner shook his head.  "On the contrary, I'm fairly certain that
it was."

     "What do you mean by *was*?   Is -- is he --"

     "No, it's nothing like that,"  Skinner hastened to reassure her. 
"As far as I know, Agent Mulder is alive and well.  But when I reached
Texas, he was gone.   Someone managed to get him out of jail, using false
credentials in my name."

     "Who would have done such a thing?"  Margaret asked, confusion
evident on her face.

     "I have no idea," Skinner shrugged.  "That's what we're in the
process of trying to find out."

     Margaret nodded, accepting the information.  "And Dana? 

     "There's been no sign of her yet.  We've searched the area
thoroughly -- local agents and the police are still searching -- but thus
far we've turned up nothing."  Skinner paused and then added, "I'm sorry."

     Margaret closed her eyes, drawing her lips together in a visible
gathering of strength, and then met his gaze once more.  "I know you are. 
 And I appreciate all that you are doing to try and find her.  I just wish
there was some news..."  

     Her voice trailed off into silence, making Skinner acutely aware
of how hard this was on her.  He had never mentioned anything to Margaret
about the rumors of Scully's blindness, and it was at times like this that
he felt that he had done the right thing by concealing that information
from her.  There was no point, he felt, in adding to her already heavy
burden of worry and grief.



"We won't stop until we find her,"  Skinner declared with conviction, and
Margaret desperately wanted to believe him.  The idea of losing yet
another daughter was unfathomable to her, yet she woke each morning filled
with the dread that it might turn out to be so.

     A thought struck her and she asked, "Fox didn't say anything about
Dana while they had him in custody?"

     Skinner shook his head.  "Not a word.  The police chief put the
question to him directly, and he refused to talk.  My suspicion is that he
was trying to protect her."

     A small bit of relief coursed its way through her body, and
Margaret held tightly to the shred of hope.  "There wouldn't be any reason
for him to keep silent if something had happened to her, would there."

     "My thoughts exactly," Skinner confirmed.  "We're close, Margaret,
I'm sure of it.  This is the closest we've been since their disappearance.
  It's only a matter of time now."

     "I hope so," she told him, praying that his words would prove to
be true.

     "I should be getting back," he said, rising to his feet.

     Margaret nodded and stood as well, leading the way back to the
front door.   She held it open for him and as he stepped outside she said,
"Please, Walter, you have to let me know if you hear anything.  Anything
at all."

     "I will," he replied, and she could see in his eyes that he meant
it.  She uttered a silent thanks for this man, who had been so tireless
and diligent in his search for her missing daughter.

     Turning away, Skinner walked towards his car and Margaret stood in
the doorway and watched until he drove off, taking with him all of her
hopes.



It was easier than Mulder had expected to work his phone trick a second
time.   

     They were in another restaurant, this one a bit more upscale than
the last, but still nothing that would rate four stars in any reputable
guide book.  The four of them had stopped for dinner, as though they were
a companionable group of friends on a road trip instead of three hired
guns and a hostage.  

     This time, it was Moe who rose from the table to accompany him,
and Mulder was dismayed to find that he was better at following orders
than Curly, walking with him every step of the way.  For this reason,
Mulder wasn't too upset when he failed to see any pay phones near the
restrooms, as there would be no opportunity to make a call.  

     Carrying out the charade, Mulder entered the restroom but Moe
stopped just outside, having apparently decided that orders would be
followed only so far.  Inside, Mulder was elated to discover that the
restaurant, with pretensions of grandeur, had equipped the restroom with a
lounge area that included two gaudy chairs and one beautiful pay phone in
perfect working order.

     Checking his watch, Mulder saw that it was just past six o'clock. 
Nearly nine hours had passed since his first call that morning;  hopefully
the Gunmen would have had the time to come up with something.  With
trembling fingers, knowing Moe could push open the door at any moment,
Mulder dialed the number and counted the rings.   It connected right after
the second, and Byers' voice hurtled across the line.  "Hello?"

     "It's me.  Find anything?"

     "No luck on that search."

     Mulder's heart stopped.  He'd been so sure...

     "But we may have something else."

     "What ?" 

     "Something we pulled off of the Net during our daily sweep.  It
was posted to the conspiracy message board."

     His heart began to beat again.  "Read it to me."

     "Subject header says, 'Re: The Lone Gunmen Theory'.   The message
that follows is, 'I believe there were three of you on the grassy knoll. 
I'm looking for a redwood among mere sprouts'."

     "I think that's you."  It was Frohike's voice that interrupted. 
"I described you that way to her once."

     "There's more," Byers continued.  " 'If you find him, tell him I'm
safe and staying with Barney Northrup.'  It's signed, 'Enigmatic Doc'."

     Mulder felt a wash of relief flood over him.  "It's her," he said
excitedly.  "When did you get this?"

     "This afternoon," Frohike replied.  "But we couldn't figure out
who she meant by 'Barney Northrup'."

     "It's from a story," Mulder said.  "No time to explain.  I need
you to get a home address on that name I gave you before, Elliot Masters."

     "Already got that," Langly chimed in.  "We looked that up when you
first asked about him.  He's just outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico."

     Mulder committed the address Langly gave him to memory and then
asked, "Can you post a reply to this message?"

     "We can do anything," Byers responded.

     Mulder couldn't help but smile.  He gave them his reply and then
hung up the phone, feeling better than he had in a long, long while.



Here endeth part 7... parts 8-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-7                                     
               X-7


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:40:18 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (8/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:40:18 GMT
--------
This is part eight of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (8/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



It was late, night having fallen with a cold dark vengeance, yet the man
remained in his office, his desk illuminated by an antique lamp.  The file
that he was reviewing was best read alone and away from prying eyes who
might disapprove of the agenda of certain men who operated outside the
constraints of normal law.

     The man flipped a page and then lit another cigarette, his motions
so practiced as to be unconscious.  He drew in a long breath and then
exhaled with satisfaction, pleased by what he was reading.  Pleased by the
fact that they trusted him enough to allow him to read it.

     The file was broken down into several different sections, all of
which combined to outline a master plan, a strategy which had enormous
potential ramifications if properly executed.  According to the research
that had been done, the method was now available.  Every possible test had
been conducted, with complete success. 

     The time had come to put the project into motion.

     Each page of the document referred to the test subject only by a
coded number.   The man was one of the people who had the privilege of
knowing that the number 2-65-49557
referred to Dana Katherine Scully.

     Finished at last, the man closed the file and placed it inside a
thin attache case that rested across his desk.   He fastened both of the
locks on the case, spinning the combination wheels around several times,
leaving the numbers in a confused jumble.   He would return the attache
case on his way home, as instructed;  they trusted him enough to let him
read the information, but not enough to let him keep it.  Not yet.

     The man was certain, however, that his success in returning both
the disk and Dana Scully to the men of the Consortium would finally prove
his worth to them, making him a valued part of their circle.

     Picking up the attache case, the man turned off the lamp on the
desk and walked out of the office, finishing his cigarette as he made his
way through the darkened halls of the building.



The rain that had begun as a gentle pattering against the windows had
graduated into a major downpour.  Scully had always loved the rain, and
there was something about the sound that she found soothing even now, when
she had so much else on her mind.   Against the backdrop of falling water,
she could hear Tucker's collar jangling as he paced around the room,
trapped inside thanks to the storm.

     Scully shifted her position on the living room couch, sliding
further back against the cushions.  It was a comfortable piece of
furniture and she suspected that it had served as a bed on more than one
occasion.  The television was on, playing a rerun of "Seinfeld".  Though
she hadn't ever been a big fan of sitcoms, she had discovered since the
explosion that they generally made for more interesting listening than
dramas -- there was a lot more talking and a lot less music.  

     Elliot was sitting at a table on the other side of the room,
working on something, and Scully could hear the intermittent scratch of
pencils against paper as he sketched.  From time to time, they shared a
laugh at a particular joke from the television, and she welcomed the
companionable interaction.

     The show cut to a commercial and Scully heard the sound of
Elliot's chair scrape against the floor.  "I'm going to get a beer," he
said.  "Do you want anything?"

     Scully shook her head.  "No," she told him.  "I'm fine."

     "Be right back."  He paused and then added, "I hope Beck and Coop
get home soon.  This storm is getting worse by the minute."

     "It sounds like it," she agreed.  In an ironic twist, considering
his proud words at breakfast, Cooper's car had chosen this particular day
to break down.  After Rebecca had volunteered to pick him up, he had opted
to leave the car at the office and deal with it over the weekend,
hopefully after the storm had passed.

     Scully heard Elliot's footsteps cross the room and then recede,
and then it was quiet save an advertisement for some new detergent.  She
sighed, trying to quell her anticipation.   It was ridiculous, she knew,
to expect a response to the message she had sent, but she couldn't help
but be hopeful.   More than anything else, the passivity was draining her.
  She wanted to be doing something, anything, to try and find Mulder, but
she was at a loss as to what else she could do that wouldn't jeopardize
her newfound friends.  She wasn't equipped to mount a search for Mulder on
her own, and to ask Elliot and his roommates to help her more than they
already had just didn't seem fair.  

     But Scully knew she had to do something, and soon.  Her fear for
Mulder was growing, becoming a tangible, palpable thing that threatened to
consume her.  

     Tucker barked twice in quick succession and then Scully heard him
race out of the room.  In the distance, a door slammed, and then the sound
of voices mingling in the kitchen reached her ears.   Anxious, she rose up
from the couch, and with slow, careful steps, she made her way in the
direction of the noise.



"I'm telling you, Coop, it's time for an upgrade," Rebecca declared as she
pulled off her wet jacket and hung it on the back of the door.   

     "Not on your life, Beck," Cooper replied, tossing his own coat on
the back of a chair as was his habit.  Beside him, Tucker chose that
particular moment to shake off the excess water he'd brought in from
outside when he'd greeted them, and Cooper winced as he was hit with the
spray.  "Damn, Tucker!"  he cried, shaking the dog playfully by the scruff
of the neck.  "Do I look like I need a bath?"

     Elliot burst out laughing at the sight.  "Maybe you should take
the hint," he chuckled, pulling a handful of beers from the fridge. 
"Anybody in the mood for some of Sam Adams finest?"

     "Definitely," said Rebecca, grabbing one of the bottles.  "Here's
to new cars," she teased as she popped off the top.  

     Taking a bottle for himself, Cooper announced, "I think we should
drink to new jobs."  He watched Elliot's face as comprehension set in and
his mouth opened in surprise.

     "Beck, did you get the job?"  Elliot asked, and Rebecca nodded,
her face splitting into an ear to ear grin.

     "I just found out when I went into town," she explained.  "I was
waiting for Coop and I decided to swing by the museum...."

     "Congratulations!"  Cooper watched with satisfaction as Elliot
pulled his girlfriend into his arms and rewarded her with a big kiss. 
"I'm so proud of you," he said.  Throwing a wry glance in Cooper's
direction, he added, "Though I wish you wouldn't have told him first."

     "You snooze, you lose," Cooper grinned, taking a long, satisfying
sip of his beer.  He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to see
Lisa standing in the doorway, her dark hair pulled back in a loose
ponytail.  "Hey, Lisa.  Care to join us for an impromptu happy hour?"

     "No thanks," she declined with a smile.  "Elliot already offered."

     "Rebecca got the job!"  Elliot proudly announced. 

     "Congratulations, Beck," said Lisa.  "I'm happy for you."

     "Thanks, Lisa," Rebecca replied, twining her arms around Elliot
and leaning in for another kiss.

     Amidst the frivolity in the room, Cooper couldn't help but notice
that Lisa seemed awfully subdued.  "Are you okay?"  he asked her, lowering
his voice.

     "I'm fine, thanks.  I was just wondering..."  She hesitated, and a
slight blush of color rose in her cheeks.  "It might not be the right time
-- I know you just got back -- but I was wondering if we could use your
computer to check the message boards on the Net."  

     "No problem," he told her, watching her face brighten as a result.
 Carrying his beer in one hand, he walked over and took her by the arm
with the other.  "Come on."  He threw a glance towards his roommates and
said, "We'll catch you guys later."

     "Later," they echoed, almost in tandem, with Elliot adding, "Hey,
it's my night to cook -- any requests?"

     "Just make it edible," Cooper replied, and Lisa chuckled as she
accompanied him down the hallway.

          Inside his room, Cooper settled Lisa on the bed and then
booted up the computer, listening to it whir and hum as it ran through the
startup procedures.   Turning on the modem he logged onto his service
provider, typing in his password and then waiting, the singsong sound of
the modem ringing in his ears as it connected.

     Lisa didn't say a word as she waited, and Cooper stole a look at
her over his shoulder.   She was sitting on the bed, one leg tucked up
beneath her, the other dangling over the side.  Her posture was relaxed,
with the exception of her hands.  They were clasped in her lap, fingers
tightly interlaced, and Cooper found himself hoping that he'd find some
good news to give her.

     Finally, he reached the message boards and double-clicked on
"alt.conspiracy", waiting as the machine retrieved the latest listings. 
"I'm in, Lisa," he told her, using the mouse to scroll down the list,
scanning each subject header closely.  

     Out of the corner of his eye Cooper saw her nod, but she made no
other response.

     He was nearly to the end of the list when he saw it.   "I think
we've got something," he announced, double-clicking on the item.

     "What?"

     "The subject header says, 'Attn: Enigmatic Doc'," he told her. 
"That's the way we signed your post, right?"

     "Yes, yes... what's the message?"  The words poured from her lips
in a rush.

     "There's only two lines of text.  It says, 'Stay put, Doc.  Sam
Westing is on his way.' "

     Lisa gasped and Cooper spun in his seat to see her hands fly up to
her mouth in a gesture of elated surprise.  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my
God..."

     "What does it mean?"  Cooper asked her, certain from her reaction
that the news was good.  "Who's Sam Westing?"

     "It's him, Mul --  Rick, my husband," Lisa said, stumbling over
her words in excitement.  "It means he's okay, it's from that book,
Elliot's book, no one else would respond like that but him, he's alive....
oh, God, he's alive..."

     Cooper noticed with some alarm that her joy had given way to
stronger emotions, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry.  He slipped
out of his chair and sat down beside her on the bed, putting a hesitant
arm around her in an attempt to give her comfort.  "Of course he is,
Lisa," he said.  "I never doubted it for a minute."

     "I -- I didn't either," she admitted softly, resting her head
against his shoulder.  "But I was so afraid for him..."  

     He held her gently until her tears began to subside.  Lifting her
head from his shoulder, Lisa rubbed the sleeve of her turtleneck across
her face in an attempt to wipe away the evidence.  "I'm sorry," she
murmured.  "I didn't mean to break down like that."  She gave an
embarrassed shrug.  "Lately it seems like everything makes me cry."

     "That's okay," Cooper assured her, not sure what else to say.  He
started to pull his arm away but Lisa drew him close, embracing him in a
very brief but very real hug.  She felt warm and soft in his arms and her
hair smelled like spring as it brushed against his cheek.  

     "Thanks, Cooper," she told him as she released him.  Throwing a
smile in his direction, Lisa stood up and made her way towards the door.

     "No problem," he responded automatically, his body still thrumming
from the unexpected effect of her touch.   He stared after her until she
was gone, suddenly realizing he was incredibly jealous of a man he'd never
met.  



Mulder had to admit that the cheap motel was a step up from his
accommodations the previous evening, although at least when he'd been
locked in the airport hangar he had been free to move around, whereas now
his left wrist was cuffed to the bed.  

     Not to mention the fact that Curly was asleep on the opposite bed,
gun held firmly in hand.

     Asleep, and snoring.

     Beggars can't be choosers, Mulder thought wryly, unable to shake
his good mood.

     <she'ssafeshe'ssafeandalivealivealive>

     The phone call with the Gunmen had elevated his spirits more than
he had ever thought possible, eliminating all of the nagging doubts and
fears he had had about Scully's safety.   Now, it was only a matter of
time.

     Time, and a bit of strategic planning.

     The fact that there were still several seemingly unsurmountable
obstacles to be conquered did nothing to quench his enthusiasm.  Mulder
was nothing if not determined, and now that his goal was in sight, there
was nothing that would stop him.  Not Christophe and not an army of
Christophe's goons.  

     For the moment, however, there was nothing he could do save wait
for morning.

     Tomorrow, he thought with satisfaction.  Tomorrow....

     His plan firmly in mind, Mulder shut his eyes and did his best to
ignore Curly's snoring, knowing that the most important thing he could do
for now was get some sleep.  



Christophe sat on the bed, a glass of sparkling water on the nighttable
beside him.   He never allowed himself to indulge in alcohol, preferring
to keep his wits about him at all times, wanting his mind to be as precise
and accurate as the weapons he used.

     He knew that time was growing short, and it bothered him that he
was still so far from achieving his goal.  At least they had not run
across any problems with the law.  He had been prepared to use the phony
FBI credentials again if need be, if someone had spotted Mulder with them
and asked inappropriate questions, but it hadn't yet proved necessary. 
That, Christophe supposed, was one thing to be thankful for.   

     The one thing that he did not want to do was to underestimate his
hostage.  Taking a sip of water, Christophe admitted to himself that
Mulder was an interesting adversary, at the very least.    He was
undeniably very smart, and it wasn't terribly surprising that he had
managed to elude capture as long as he had.   His stubborn chivalry when
it came to the girl was particularly amusing;  Christophe himself had
little doubt that she was indeed blind, based on the reports that Vincent
had delivered to him before his untimely death.  Yet he allowed Mulder to
persist in the fantasy that he was keeping something from him.  It was all
part of the game.

     What Christophe found fascinating was that Mulder exhibited none
of the behavior that he would have expected, given the circumstances.  On
the contrary, the former agent was a model prisoner, almost sanguine in
his captivity, which Christophe took as a major warning.  He had expected
Mulder to have tried something by now;  the fact that he hadn't signalled
that he had some scheme up his sleeve.   What that was, however,
Christophe didn't know.  And until he figured it out, he would be a fool
not to remain on his guard.  

     He heard the sound of a key in the door and looked up expectantly.
 Not feeling that Mulder needed two bodyguards, he had ordered Simon, the
more experienced man, to continue the search.  

     The door opened and Simon entered.  "I've got some news," he said,
shaking the rain off of his coat.

     "Which is?"

     Closing the door behind him, Simon crossed to sit on the opposite
bed.  "A guy at the bus station in town thinks he remembers seeing the
girl."

     "She bought a ticket?  Headed where?"

     "He's not sure, but he's pretty positive it was day before
yesterday."

     Christophe nodded, considering the information.  "It's a start, at
least."

     "There's more -- she wasn't traveling alone."

     "Really..."  Finally, Christophe thought, they had something to
work with.  "Did you get a name?"

     "No," Simon replied.  "But I got a description.  It's a little
vague, but chances are, he's somebody she met on the train.  I figure we
could track him down that way."

     "Excellent idea," Christophe agreed.  Pulling out his cellular
phone, he dialed a long distance number and waited for the line to
connect.

     

Finally showered and dressed, Rebecca walked down the hall, making a
mental note to talk to Cooper about taking a look at the hot water heater.
 It wasn't any fun being the fourth person in the shower on a cold
November morning, especially with a pile of long curly hair to wash.

     Wandering into the living room, Rebecca found Elliot seated at his
usual table, Tucker curled up on the floor beside him.  There was loud
music playing on the stereo and he was hard at work, his forehead
scrunched in concentration as his pencil flew across the page.  "How's it
going?" she wondered.

     "Good," he said, looking up at her with a pleased expression.  "I
just woke up this morning feeling inspired, I guess -- it's almost like I
can't get the ideas out fast enough.  Check this out."  He held up a
drawing for her examination and Rebecca nodded with enthusiasm.

     "That's terrific," she told him, dropping a kiss on his forehead
as a reward.  "This is still part of the fantasy series, isn't it?"

     "Yep," he replied, admiring the drawing again himself.  "I'm on a
roll here, Beck -- I bet I can finish three more of these by tonight,
especially if this weather keeps up."
     
     "Well aren't you the lucky one," Rebecca sighed.  "I, on the other
hand, have to go into town."  Moving towards the window, she gazed out at
the pouring rain with dismay.  It had been coming down in buckets all
night, and though the weather report the previous evening had predicted a
quick storm, it showed no signs of letting up. 

     "Can't you put it off?"  Elliot asked, a frown crossing his face. 
"I don't like the idea of you driving in this weather."

     Though she was secretly pleased by his concern, she brushed his
remark aside.  "I'm a big girl, Elliot -- I think I can handle driving in
the rain," she grinned.  "Besides, I don't have much of a choice.  I'm
supposed to meet with the museum director today to go over some of her
ideas."

     "On a Saturday?  Who works on a Saturday?"

     "You do," Rebecca pointed out, and he conceded with a smile.

     "Okay, okay," he said.  "I get the message.  Just be careful, will
you?"

     "Will do," she promised.  "What are Coop and Lisa up to?"

     Elliot picked up a blue pencil and began to sketch again as he
replied.  "Coop's in his room, talking on the phone, and Lisa's in the
kitchen, having some cereal."  He lowered his voice and said, "Do you
think Rick's going to get here today?"

     "I don't know," she answered, her own words hushed.  "Depends on
where he's coming from."  She paused, then added, "Don't you dare let him
leave before I get home.  I'm dying of curiosity."

     "Don't worry," he assured her.  "I won't.  I think you'll like
him."

     "If he's as great as Lisa says he is, I'm sure I will."  Rebecca
kissed Elliot goodbye, and then went in search of her umbrella.



Here endeth part 8... parts 9-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-8                                X-8


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:42:49 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (9/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:42:49 GMT
--------
This is part nine of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (9/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Despite the pouring rain, the Las Cruces Amtrak station was much more
crowded than the previous day, and Mulder chalked up the activity to the
fact that the weekend had arrived.   Christophe had been vague about his
reasons for returning to the station, but it was of no importance to
Mulder.   He was just glad that he had another chance to put his plan into
motion.  

     It was Moe's job to remain with the car this time around, and
Mulder walked beside Christophe and Curly, biding his time and waiting for
the appropriate moment.  There was a different clerk on duty at the
counter from the previous day, a young man who responded to Christophe's
bogus ID with equal respect.  Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder watched
Curly closely, waiting until the man's attention was diverted by a sexy
blonde in a tight sweater.  Moving as quickly as he dared, Mulder edged
away from them, hoping that both men would remain preoccupied until he was
able to get far enough away.

     Luck was with him, and Mulder managed to slip through a crowded
line of prospective passengers before Christophe noticed his absence. 
Glancing over his shoulder, Mulder saw Christophe break off his
interrogation to call Curly's attention to his escape.  As Curly headed
towards him, Mulder broke into a run, sprinting towards the metal
detector.

     Reaching the line of passengers waiting to put their bags through
the X-ray machine, Mulder skirted his way to the front and darted his way
through the metal detector.  As he had expected, the detector went off, a
trilling buzz alerting the attendants to the fact that he was carrying
something potentially illegal on his person.  

     "Step aside, please," the security guard instructed him, and
Mulder did as he was told, glancing over his shoulder to spot Curly no
more than forty feet away.   The guard pulled the security wand out of his
belt and waved it over him.  As it passed over his left arm, the wand
emitted a chirping sound, which was all Mulder needed to hear.   Knowing
that he would only have one chance, he leapt into action.

     Grabbing the wand from the guard with his left hand, Mulder
viciously elbowed the man in the ribs with his right, the unexpected blow
knocking him to the ground, causing the two passengers immediately behind
him to fall in his wake.  Curly was no more than ten feet away now, and
Mulder jumped over the huddled group of people, dashing down the stairs on
the other side of the metal detector.  

     There were quite a few people on the stairs and Mulder jogged
around them, holding tight to the stolen wand.  He was expecting to take
the stairs all the way to the train platform below, but halfway down he
found an alarmed security door and crashed through it, revealing a
hallway.  The alarm went off, the ringing sound causing pandemonium on the
staircase and creating an additional logjam that pleased him as he
sprinted into the hall.

     Curly was relentless, however, and Mulder could tell from the
sound of pounding footsteps that the man was gaining on him.

     Hide, hide, hide.... the thought pulsed in the back of his mind
and he searched the hallway desperately but it was empty, without even a
single door save the one that he could just see at the corridor's end.   A
tiny idle part of his mind wondered why Curly didn't just shoot him there
in the hallway, but Mulder wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
He just kept running.

     Reaching the door at the end of the hall, Mulder threw it open,
elated to find himself outside, at the far end of the parking lot. 
Forcing his legs to keep churning, he headed out into the pouring rain,
thankful for the windbreaker Moe had given him.  Glancing behind him he
saw that Curly was falling slightly behind, his shorter stature proving to
be something of a hindrance.

     Mulder ran out of the parking lot and darted into the street into
the midst of oncoming traffic.  Horns blared at him but he ignored them,
zigzagging between the cars, hearing the screech of brakes as they swerved
on the wet pavement to avoid hitting him.   He made it to the other side
of the street, desperation forcing him to quicken his pace.



Christophe strode out of the station on a rising tide of fury, ignoring
the rain that drenched his coat.   As instructed, Simon was waiting in the
car.  "What's going on?"

     "Mulder is gone," Christophe hissed between clenched teeth as he
climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.  Pulling the
small black device from inside his jacket, he was relieved to see the
small red dot in motion amongst the neon green gridwork.  "And I promise
you, when I find him, he will pay for this.  Let's go."

     Obediently, Simon fired up the engine.  "Take a left at the
corner," Christophe instructed.   As the car pulled away from the curb,
his cellular phone rang, and Christophe answered it brusquely.

     "Yes?"

     "You sound agitated, Christophe."  It was the man's voice that
hurtled across the line.  "Is there something wrong?"

     "No," Christophe replied, hoping the man couldn't hear the
screeching sound of their tires as the car made a sharp left turn, the car
skidding on the wet street.  "Everything is under control."   

     "Good," said the man, with a loud exhale.  "I think we're close to
finding the young man you seek.  There were only two men on that train
traveling alone who fit the description your associate obtained;  we're
checking the identities on both of them now."

     This, at least, was good news.  "How should I proceed?" 
Christophe asked.  Using his hand, he indicated to Simon that another left
turn was in order.

     "Get the plane, and wait for my call."

     "Done," said Christophe, and switched off the phone.  Glancing at
the device, he told Simon to take a right.   



He'd come five blocks, and yet Curly was still on his tail.  Glancing
around, Mulder saw a busy intersection at the end of the street and headed
for it, feet pounding against the pavement.   Luck was with him when he
reached the intersection;  a delivery truck was just pulling into an open
industrial garage, and Mulder ducked behind it, running alongside it,
praying that Curly hadn't seen him.  

     There were a multitude of trucks inside the garage, and Mulder ran
amongst them until he reached the furthest wall, flattening his body
against the side of the truck that was parked there.  Gasping for breath,
he unzipped the soaked windbreaker and pulled it off.   He then took the
security wand and slipped it inside the sleeve of his shirt, resting its
sensor directly against the metal band of the bracelet he wore.  It began
chirping wildly, the sound muffled slightly by his shirt, the rapid beeps
matching the pounding of his heart.  

     Mulder pulled off his belt and used it to awkwardly fasten the
device to his arm.   That task accomplished, he pulled the windbreaker
back on and then crouched down by the tires of the truck.   Now, it was
time to wait and see if his plan had indeed been successful. 



They were approaching another intersection, wipers scraping furiously
against the window, when Simon interrupted him. "Sir, it's Kurt."  

     Christophe looked up from the device and saw his other employee
standing on the corner, looking wildly around in all directions.   "Get
him," he said.

     As Simon maneuvered the car towards the curb, the device emitted a
strange low beep and then fell silent.  Glancing back at it, Christophe
was horrified to see that the readout was frozen, the red dot no longer
blinking, the neon green grid slightly faded in color.  "This cannot be
happening," he muttered, shaking the device to no effect.

     Kurt walked over to the car and leaned into the open window.  He
was soaking wet and out of breath, and Christophe glared at him in
disgust.  "You lost him."  

     Kurt replied with a nod, standing as quietly as he was able,
waiting for further instructions.

     The blood rising in his veins, Christophe shook the device again,
but the result was the same, the red dot almost insolent in its stillness.

     "Sir," Kurt said, water dripping down his face, "he stole the
guard's security wand.  I think he may be using it to jam our system."

     Christophe allowed the anger to flood him completely, using his
rage to focus his mind.  "This isn't a big city," he told his employees,
"and he can't have gone far.  *Find* him.  Find him, and bring him back to
me."  

     Christophe stepped out of the car and into the rain, indicating
for Kurt to take the seat he had just vacated.  As he did so, Kurt asked,
"If he doesn't want to come back?"  The words were laced with dark
implication.

     "I don't want him killed," Christophe ordered.  "Mr. Mulder is
mine to deal with."  As he moved away from the car, he added, "Keep me
posted as to your progress on this phone."

     "Where are you going?"  Simon asked, starting the motor again.
     
     "To the plane," Christophe replied darkly, his ire rising.  "This
is far from over."



Mulder waited as patiently as he was able, watching the endless sweep of
the second hand on his watch until it had made fifteen revolutions. 
Fifteen minutes... unable to wait a moment longer, he hoped that the fact
that he hadn't yet been tracked down meant that his trick had worked, that
he had been successful in jamming the device.

     Rising to his feet, Mulder scanned the garage.  There were two men
talking in an office at the far end, but otherwise, the coast was
completely clear.  

     Moving fast, he made his way back to the front of the garage. 
Finding a pedestrian door he pushed it open, checking the street before
stepping outside.  The deluge of rain that had pelted him only a short
time before had trickled away to almost nothing, which was a relief.   
The street was crowded with people, and Mulder slipped in amongst them,
careful not to jostle the security wand, still fastened to his arm
underneath his jacket. 

     He turned left at the first street and spotted a grocery store
across the way;  the parking lot was packed with cars and Mulder figured
it was a golden opportunity.  He darted across the street against the
light and scooted into the lot, making his way quickly to the far end. 
Hopefully far enough away from prying eyes, he began to search the cars,
looking for one in good condition not protected by an alarm or a security
club.  

     Luck was with him and he found a relatively new Honda that didn't
have the telltale red alarm light blinking in the dash.  Pulling the
sleeve of the windbreaker down over his left hand, Mulder bashed in the
window, glancing around to see if anyone had heard the sound of shattering
glass.  He saw nothing, so he opened the door and slipped behind the
wheel, fumbling beneath the dash for the wires that he needed.  It was
awkward work, what with the security wand still tied to his arm, but he
had the engine running in seconds.  The thought flashed through his head
that Bureau training was good for something, after all.

     Putting the car in gear, Mulder saw that the gas gauge was nearly
full, and a smile crossed his face as he pulled out of the parking lot.



As Simon drove up and down the streets of the city, Kurt kept his face
pressed to the window, searching desperately for their escaped prisoner. 
He was acutely aware of the fact that he was solely to blame for Mulder's
escape, and he hoped that finding the man would lessen the punishment that
he would undoubtedly receive.

     "Faster," Kurt said with desperation.  "We've got a lot of ground
to cover."

     Simon didn't bother to respond, but Kurt felt the car accelerate. 
"Which way?" he asked.  "Right or left?"

     "Right,"  Kurt replied, not really having an opinion one way or
another.

     The car turned right, Kurt's eyes peeled, glancing at every
pedestrian, every passing car.  Up ahead, he saw the green and white sign
announcing a freeway interchange, and seconds later, noticed a green Honda
Accord edging towards the right, towards the north onramp.   Though he
couldn't see the driver from so far away, there was something urgent in
the motion of the car that caught his attention.

     "Take that onramp up ahead,"  Kurt instructed, praying that he was
right and that he had just caught a glimpse of their quarry.



Mulder glanced at the freeway sign as he piloted the car up the ramp with
his left hand, his right arm still wired up and hanging at his side.  The
white letters informed him that he was entering the 25 Freeway North,
which seemed right.   As he merged with traffic, speeding all the way over
to the far left lane, he discovered that he had indeed made the correct
choice.   Whizzing past a mileage sign, he found that he was 247 miles
from Albuquerque, which meant he was headed in the proper direction.  If
memory served, Santa Fe was no more than an hour or so beyond Albuquerque.

     Doing a quick mental calculation, Mulder figured that if his luck
held out, he'd be in Santa Fe in about four hours.  Hang on, Dana, he
thought.  Only four more hours.

     Energized by these thoughts, he darted around a Ford truck that
wasn't going fast enough for his tastes, returning to the fast lane to
find the road clear ahead.   Slamming the gas pedal to the floor, Mulder
continued on his way. 



The rental sedan was old and not in the best condition, but Las Cruces
wasn't a big city, and Christophe had been forced to take what he could
get.    He was frustrated by the waste of time, but there wasn't a closer
airfield where the pilot could land the plane;  it made more sense for him
to drive back to El Paso and meet with Mike there.

     Christophe threw a glance at the mobile phone laying on the seat
next to him, waiting for it to ring.  Waiting for news of Kurt and Simon's
progress, and more importantly, waiting for another call from the man. 
Once he had the location of the mysterious man who had departed Las Cruces
with the girl by bus, he would be on his way.  If nothing else, Christophe
vowed, he would succeed in finding the girl and bringing her back.  



Mulder hadn't gone ten miles when he spotted the gray rental car in his
rearview mirror.   It was maybe a half mile behind him, but the way it was
weaving through traffic had his heart pounding.

     No, no, no, he thought, glancing down at his right arm.  The
security wand was still in place, and he could still hear the telltale
chirp which made him certain that he was still jamming the tracking
device.  Which meant that if he was being followed, it was through
old-fashioned hard work, not technology.  

     Two can play at that game, Mulder thought grimly, twisting the
wheel hard to the right, skipping around two slower cars and again taking
the lead.  Behind him, the gray rental car speeded up, and he realized
with a sinking feeling that his suspicions were right.   They were on his
tail.  He had to do something, and fast. 



"That's definitely him," Kurt announced as their car edged closer.

     "What now?"  Simon asked, hands tight on the wheel.  "Force him
off the road?"

     Reflecting for a moment, he nodded in response.  "Think so."  
Glancing around, Kurt noticed how crowded the freeway was.   It was the
only major north-south interchange in the state, so it made sense, but it
also made things difficult, especially in light of Christophe's
instructions.  "But be careful -- we can't afford a slip up.  Boss wants
him alive."

     "I've got it under control," Simon replied, his mouth tightening
in a grim line. 



The rain had now stopped entirely, making the driving a lot easier.   So
far, Mulder had managed to keep ahead of his pursuers, but just barely.  
Miles had passed, and they were still on his tail, but thus far they
hadn't made any moves to try and stop him.   He was surprised that they
hadn't started shooting at him, and he didn't think that the relatively
heavy traffic was the only reason.  

     In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of the passengers in
the pursuit car, noticing that only Moe and Curly were inside.  There was
no sign of Christophe, and that made Mulder extremely nervous.  Where was
the man?  And why had he sent his henchmen on alone?  

     Mulder pushed that thought aside for the moment, concentrating on
the matter at hand.  Most likely, Moe and Curly had been given orders to
merely follow him, which was probably the same reason that Curly had
failed to shoot at him when he'd chased him out of the Amtrak station.  He
suspected that their objective was just to track him, but where he was
headed, Mulder wasn't about to let them follow.  

     Up ahead, Mulder saw that the road narrowed up ahead, the
four-lane highway becoming two as it wound towards a series of hills.   An
idea began forming in the back of his mind, and he accelerated further,
pushing the Honda to its limit.  



Driving like a demon, Christophe was halfway back to El Paso when the
phone rang.   He grabbed it immediately, leaving one hand on the wheel. 
"Yes?"

     It was the man, his voice wavering thanks to the static-filled
connection.  "We've found the young man you're looking for."

     "Where?"

     "Santa Fe, New Mexico.  His name is Elliot Masters."  The man
paused, then asked, "How long until this situation is resolved?"

     Christophe did some fast thinking and replied, "No more than a
couple of hours.  I'll call you as soon as I have the girl."

     "I'll be waiting," the man said, and then the line went dead. 



It was a ridiculous plan, and Mulder knew it, but he didn't see that he
had any other options.   He had to lose his pursuers once and for all, and
if it meant taking a risk, he would do it.  The element of surprise was
his only weapon, and he was more than ready to use it.  

     The car whined as it made its way up the grade and Mulder glanced
at the fuel tank.   The indicator had slid down a great deal, his nearly
full tank now down to a quarter.  But there was more than enough fuel to
make his move, and he decided that the time had come.

     Reaching the top of the next rise, Mulder checked the lanes of
oncoming traffic headed his way on the opposite side of the freeway. 
There was no median at this point on the road, two lanes of traffic racing
by in either direction.   The hills were close to the road here, rising
like tiny mountains that loomed over the cars.  He was in the fast lane,
and there weren't any cars near him in the slow lane;  behind him, there
was one car between him and his pursuers.   Slowing down slightly, Mulder
allowed that car to race up towards him, holding steady at this newer,
slower speed.   As he had hoped, the car became frustrated, its driver
moving the car into the other lane where it passed him, leaving him alone
in the fast lane with his pursuers.

     The first step to his plan accomplished, Mulder checked the
oncoming traffic again.   There were five or six scattered cars heading
his way in the two opposite lanes, but behind them there was empty open
road.  

          His car wound around the next turn, his pursuers close
behind him now, and Mulder braced himself, knowing that the moment was now
or never.   As the last of the oncoming cars passed him, headed south
towards Las Cruces, Mulder tightened his grip on the steering wheel.   He
grit his teeth and turned the wheel sharply to the left, throwing the car
into a squealing skid as he swerved across the double yellow and into the
opposite lane.

     His plan worked better than he ever would have dreamed.  As he
fought to straighten out the car, Mulder glanced out his window and saw
Moe attempt to copy his action, spinning his own steering wheel
frantically.   The road was still wet from the rain and Moe's car went
into a vicious skid, sliding across the pavement with a wild screech of
tires.   Rather than completing the turn, the pursuit car went into a
savage 360-degree spin, drifting across the freeway with uncontrollable
speed.  His eyes on their car, Mulder almost lost control of his own, his
mouth opening in shock as the pursuit car crashed into the side barrier
and barrelled sideways into the hill, exploding into flames immediately on
impact.

     Stunned, Mulder maneuvered his own car over to the side of the
road, watching as cars on the opposite side of the freeway honked and
swerved in an effort to avoid the fiery crash.   His body shaking, Mulder
climbed out of his car and stared at the wreck, acrid smoke burning his
eyes, even from this distance.

     Mulder stood where he was, watching the car burn, waiting for any
sign of life.   He waited long enough to hear the sound of approaching
sirens, but he saw no one emerge from the flaming wreck.  He had wanted to
stop his pursuers, and he had succeeded.   A brief twinge of remorse raced
through him at the thought of the two dead men, but he ruthlessly shoved
it aside.   He had done what he had to do.  

     As the emergency vehicles arrived, Mulder climbed back in his car,
heading south towards the next exit.   He had to change direction again,
but he was going to do it the legal way this time. 



"Now that the rain has stopped, I think I'm heading into town," Elliot
said.

     "What for?"  Cooper asked from his lazy perch on the couch.

     "I can't draw anymore today, and I'm dying for something to read,
so I'm going to the bookstore.  Besides," he added with a devilish grin,
"we're almost out of beer, and we don't want to find ourselves
empty-handed on a Saturday night."

     "Be gone, young man!  Be gone," Cooper replied with a grin of his
own. 

     "Aye, aye, captain," Elliot responded.  He crossed to the chair
where Lisa was sitting and gave her shoulder a little squeeze.  "And as
for you -- don't even think about leaving before I get back.  I want to
say goodbye."

     "I wouldn't dream of it," she assured him with a grin.  "Don't
worry -- we'll be here when you get back."

     "Good," Elliot said.  "You guys need anything?"

     "Pick up a copy of Newsweek while you're at the store," Cooper
instructed.

     "Done," Elliot grinned.  "See you guys in a bit."   He grabbed the
keys to his bike and gave Tucker's head a scratch as he passed.  "Keep an
eye on things while I'm gone, Tuck."  The dog answered him with a bark,
and he headed out the door. 



Christophe drove the rental car straight out onto the airfield, stopping
it with a squeal of brakes a short distance from the plane.   He was
pleased to notice that the engine was already up and running, per his
instructions.   He climbed out of the car and sprinted towards the air
stairs, taking them two at a time.

     Mike was waiting inside the plane, and nodded in greeting.  "We're
ready to go, sir," he said.  "Where to?"

     "Santa Fe," Christophe ordered.  "And tell the pilot to make it
fast."



Here endeth part 9... parts 10-16 posted simultaneously.   Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-9                                     
               X-9


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:44:37 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (10/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:44:37 GMT
--------
This is part ten of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (10/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Margaret Scully glanced at her watch.  It was only a little past five but
it was almost totally dark outside now, the last rays of cold November sun
slipping away to leave the eastern seaboard in darkness.   No longer able
to see the words on the page she was reading, she closed the book rather
than turning on the lamp on the table beside her, deciding that the time
had come to start some dinner.

     Walking into the kitchen, Margaret tried to shake the uneasy
feeling that she'd had since waking.   She had been feeling edgy ever
since Skinner's visit the previous day.  Though she hadn't dared dream
that he would return from Texas with her daughter in tow, she had at least
hoped for some more substantial news, and it was difficult to reconcile
herself to the disappointing result of his trip.

     Taking a head of lettuce and some vegetables out of the
refrigerator bin, Margaret carried them over to the counter and began to
prepare a salad.  There was some chicken in the freezer that she could
broil.   Not much of a dinner, but then she didn't have much of an
appetite.

     Margaret's thoughts wandered back to another cold November day, a
day that had dawned bright after weeks of bleak despair.  A phone call had
brought her to the hospital and she had sat in a chair next to the
hospital bed, her eyes closed in a litany of endless prayer as she held
the hand of her sleeping younger daughter.   She had listened as Dana's
breathing changed cadence, and had opened her eyes in time to see her
daughter's blue ones flutter open and wearily meet her gaze.  

     She was so strong, her Dana.  A fighter, from the time that she
was a little girl.  There had never been a challenge that she hadn't met
head on, and she had managed to win the battle with the coma that had
almost claimed her life.

     Margaret could only hope that her daughter would continue to be so
lucky.

     Fox is with her, Margaret reminded herself.  He's watching out for
her, and she's doing the same for him.  She was aware that their bond
transcended mere partnership, and had known it for quite some time,
despite Dana's claims to the contrary.   She had heard it in the way that
her daughter spoke of the man with whom she worked, and she had seen it
quite clearly in the time that she had spent with Fox during Dana's
disappearance.   Margaret knew, with a mother's intuition, that they were
in love.  Regardless of whether they had ever admitted that fact to each
other, she was certain that it was this love was the cornerstone of their
relationship, and it always had been. 

     She prayed that wherever they were, their love for one another
would be enough to keep them safe.  



Headed north on the freeway once again, Mulder raced along the freeway at
top speed, heedless of the other cars on the road.  He kept a cautious eye
out as he drove, but he saw no other suspicious cars approaching.  He was
still shaken from seeing the crash, all too aware that the same thing
could have happened to him.   And, as much as he had wanted to lose his
pursuers, his goal had not necessarily been to kill them.   

     You did what you had to do, he reminded himself, putting the
incident behind him and focusing on the object of his quest. 

     <DanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

     Mulder couldn't shake a nagging fear that Christophe's absence
from the pursuit car was of dire significance.  For some reason, he was
all too certain that the real trouble was only just beginning.

     Glancing down at the fuel gauge, he noticed with dismay that the
needle was now solidly fixed in the red zone.  Although he hated the idea
of stopping for gas, there was no way he could afford to run out, and he
still had too far to go to try and chance it.   Thankful for the stolen
money that was still tucked in the pocket of his jeans, Mulder guided the
car to the far right lane and took the next exit.  



"I'm starving," Cooper announced.  "Want anything from the kitchen?"

     "What are you getting?" Lisa asked.

     "Pretzels, probably," he responded.  "I don't know what else there
is to munch on."

     "Pretzels sound good," she told him.

     "Coming up," he replied, and headed into the kitchen, Tucker
following at his heels.

     Inside the kitchen, Cooper opened up the fridge, checking to see
if there was anything more interesting to eat, but found nothing that
didn't require serious preparation.  Behind him, 
Tucker was pacing in anxious circles, throwing occasional barks at the
back door.  "What's the matter with you, boy?"  Cooper wondered, but the
dog gave no reply.

     As he opened the cupboard, he heard the sound that had Tucker so
agitated.  It was the motor of an approaching car, and it drew his
attention to the window.  Cooper watched as the car pulled up and parked
outside the gate at the bottom of the hill.  The car was unfamiliar to
him, as were the two men who sat inside, and something about it sent a
chill down his spine.

     "Lisa," he called out to her, "what does Rick look like?"

     "Why?"  she replied, and he heard the sound of her footsteps
against the hardwood floor.

     "There's a car at the bottom of the hill," he answered, watching
as the men climbed out of the car.  "The two men inside are headed this
way."

     As she approached, she described her husband to him, and Cooper
noticed with some alarm that the description didn't fit either of the men,
though he couldn't be sure from this distance.  One of the men was
definitely too short, and there was a decidedly menacing air about the
other, taller man, that made him uneasy.

     "Lisa," he said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant, "I think we
need to get out of here."

     She was right behind him now, and he turned to look at her,
watching as the color drained out of her face.  "Who are they?"  she
asked, a tremor in her voice.

     "I don't know," he responded, "but I don't think they're door to
door salesmen."

     Acting on instinct, Cooper took Tucker by the collar and led him
into the laundry room, shutting the door behind him.  Tucker began to bark
wildly in protest but Cooper ignored him.  He didn't want to risk having
Tucker follow them and alert the men to their presence. 

     Glancing back out the window, he saw the shorter man unlatch the
gate, holding it open, and they both walked through, allowing the gate to
fall shut behind them.  Cooper's mind was racing, searching frantically
for options, wishing desperately that he had his car.

     "Come on," he said, taking Lisa firmly by the arm.  They couldn't
go out through the kitchen, or the front door for that matter;  they'd be
spotted the instant they hit the yard.  Thinking fast, Cooper led the way
down the hall, towards Beck and Elliot's room.   He shut the door firmly
behind them and then crossed to the window, releasing his grasp of Lisa as
he pushed it open.

     "What are we doing?"  Lisa said, her voice low.

     "Getting out of here," he muttered.  "Through the window.  Work
with me, here."

     Lisa nodded and offered him her arms and he boosted her up onto
the sill.   The window was just wide enough for him to squeeze out with
her still seated on the ledge;  outside, he easily dropped the couple of
feet to the ground and then reached up and lifted her down.  She stood
beside him, waiting, as he pulled the window shut again.   

     Taking her by the hand, he said, "Let's go."

     "Where?"

     "The hills," he grimly replied.  "After that, I don't know."



Back on the road, the fuel tank full now, Mulder pushed the gas pedal down
as far as it would go.  He kept only a cursory eye on the speedometer.  At
this point, he would have dared any traffic cop to try and stop him.  He
passed a posted sign that announced that he was 20 miles outside of Santa
Fe.   According to the map he'd bought at the gas station, Elliot's house
was about fifteen miles from the center of town.

     "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he urged the car, as though sheer words
would make the vehicle move faster.  He swerved the car into the fast
lane, restlessly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.  No more than
thirty minutes, he told himself, and kept driving. 



They went up behind the house on the north side, Cooper leading Lisa as
fast as he dared.  There was a sparse gathering of trees at the top of the
first rise, a half-mile from the house, and he stopped them there.   The
trees were too small to offer much protection, but from this distance,
Cooper felt it might be enough.  

     Besides, from this vantage point, he was still able to see the
house.

     In the minutes that they had been crouched there, waiting, Cooper
had only seen one of the men.  He had made a half-hearted attempt to get
into the barn;  when he didn't try and break down the door, Cooper knew
that at least one of his suspicions about the men were correct.  They
weren't thieves, at least not of the ordinary variety.  There was no sign
of the men now, and he assumed that they were inside the house, waiting. 

     It was cold outside, and Cooper cursed himself for not having
thought to grab any jackets before they made their escape.   Lisa was
wearing a turtleneck shirt, but he could feel her shivering beside him. 
He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pulled it off, the cold air
immediately slicing through the long-sleeved tee he wore beneath.   "Put
this on," he told her, placing the shirt in her hands. 

     "I'm fine," she insisted, though the tone of her voice indicated
otherwise.

     "Put it on," Cooper repeated.  "It's cold, and I don't know how
long we'll have to stay out here."

     His words seemed to get through to her and she slipped on the
shirt, fumbling for the buttons with shaking fingers.  



Cooper's shirt was big, and Scully rolled up the sleeves, wanting to be
sure that her hands were free.  Its warmth made her feel a little better
physically, but her nerves were still on edge.  Reaching out, she found
Cooper's arm with her hand and squeezed it gently.

     "What's happening?"  she asked.

     "They're still inside the house.  I don't know what they're
doing."

     This is not happening, a desperate part of her mind insisted, but
Scully knew better.   She was frightened by the arrival of these
strangers, as much for Mulder as for herself.   There was no way for
anyone to know where she was hiding, unless the message she sent to Mulder
had somehow been intercepted.   His reply had sounded as though everything
was okay;   Scully couldn't bear to think about what might have happened
to him since then.

     Though Scully had no idea who the mysterious men were, she knew
why they were there.  And she didn't want to put Cooper into more jeopardy
without him knowing the truth.

     "They're looking for me," she told him.  "More specifically,
they're looking for this."  Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans,
she pulled out the disk, laying it in her palm.

     "What is it?"

     "Funny thing is, I'm not exactly sure."  Scully hesitated, then
decided to finish.  "But it's important enough that people have killed for
it.  I lost my eyesight trying to retrieve it.  No matter what, I can't
lose it."



Cooper looked at the object in her hand.  It didn't look like much to him,
a shiny metal circle that resembled a mini-compact disc, marked with a
bunch of color-coded grooves.  If not for her words, he would have assumed
that it was a piece of somebody's computer harddrive.  Then again, he
thought, it might be exactly that -- a piece of a harddrive that carried
information worth dying for.

     His throat felt suddenly dry, and Cooper forced himself to swallow
as he raised his head to look at her.  At first glance, her expression
seemed calm, but when he looked more closely he could see the tight lines
of her jaw.  Though her unfocused blue eyes were staring just past him,
there was no mistaking the determination in her face.    

     "What do you want to do with it?"  he finally asked.

     "We have to hide it.  I can't take the risk of their finding it on
me."

     Cooper nodded, thinking.   The house was obviously out, and he
didn't want to risk going back to the barn;  the chances of being spotted
were too great.  They couldn't bury it in the damp ground, as they had
nothing to use to protect it from the elements, and there was too great a
chance that the rain would return and wash it away.  Glancing around him,
Cooper searched for an answer, finding it in the hills beyond.

     "Come on," he said, helping Lisa to her feet.

     She slipped the disk back into the pocket of her jeans and asked,
"Where to now?"

     "Remember the mines I told you about?"  At Lisa's nod, he
continued.  "There's one not too far from here.  We can hide it there, at
least for a little while;  it's too wet out here for us to do anything
else with it."

     Lisa weighed his words for a moment and then nodded, reaching for
his arm.  "Let's go."  



Rebecca saw the rental car parked just outside the gate and felt her heart
quicken with anticipation.   He's here, she thought excitedly, leaping out
of the Jeep and pulling open the gate.  Driving up to park by the barn,
she noticed that Elliot's bike wasn't in its usual spot.   Wondering idly
where he'd gone, she grabbed her bag out of the back seat and headed
towards the house. 

     As she opened the kitchen door and stepped inside, Rebecca
realized that something was amiss, but at first she couldn't figure out
exactly what it was.   She heard the muffled sound of Tucker's barks and
had time to wonder why he hadn't come rushing up to greet her before the
unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked reached her ears.

     "Hold it right there," an unfamiliar voice instructed, but Rebecca
hadn't ever been one for following orders and she turned to see a strange
man standing just behind her, tucked behind the open doorway, his gun
pointed directly at her head.

     "Oh my God..."  Suddenly her heart was pounding loud enough to
drown out everything else, and Rebecca barely heard the man's next words.

     "Drop the bag, and step inside."

     Moving on auto-pilot, she did as she was told, walking further
into the kitchen, her now-empty hands at her side.  It was then that she
noticed the second man, standing near the door to the dining room, and
Rebecca unconsciously fisted her hands as a wave of terror swept over her.

     This second man was tall and cut an imposing figure, and if
circumstances had been different, Rebecca would have described him as
good-looking.   Now, however, he merely seemed menacing, approaching her
with an insouciant stride.   Though this man didn't appear to be armed, he
wasn't any less threatening, and the smile that crossed his face carried
the unmistakable aura of pure evil.

     "Where is she?"  the man asked, by way of introduction.

     "Wh -- who?"  Rebecca replied instinctively.

     "The woman who's been staying with you," the man responded.  "Her
things are in the bedroom.  I need to know where she is."

     Rebecca's mind was whirling in confusion, a dizzying sensation
that was only exacerbated by the feel of the other man's gun as it pressed
against her back.  "No..." she whimpered, too paralyzed to say anything
more.

     It was as though the taller man sensed her panic.  He made a small
motion with his head and the gun was removed from her spine, though from
the corner of her eye, she could see that it was still pointed at her. 
"Let's try this again," the man said.  "I don't want to hurt you -- I have
no interest in you whatsoever.  I just need to find the girl, and I need
to find a disk that she's carrying.  You help me with that, and I promise,
no harm will come to you."

     The man's assurance carried no weight whatsoever.  The malevolent
look in his eyes was enough to convince Rebecca that no matter what she
did or said, she was marked for death, and the thought terrified her.  
The small part of her mind that was still functioning was wondering what
had happened to everyone else.  Elliot's bike was gone, which was a good
sign;  it implied that he had left before the men had arrived.   As for
Cooper and Lisa, Rebecca had no idea where they had gone, but she had
enough presence of mind to be thankful that they too seemed to have
escaped somehow.

     Not knowing what else to do, Rebecca met the man's gaze with her
own and remained silent.



The girl gazed at him defiantly but said nothing, fueling Christophe's
impatience.  "Make no mistake," he told her.  "I have no time for games. 
Tell me what I need to know."

     "I don't know anything," the girl replied.  "I just got home --
you heard me drive up.  I don't know where anyone has gone, and I don't
know anything about any disk."

     Christophe regarded her closely, wondering if she was lying.  He
had seen quite clearly that the Jeep she had arrived in was empty;  that
didn't mean, however, that she hadn't taken the girl he sought to some
other safe place before they had arrived.  However, the glimpse of fear
behind her eyes spoke of a lack of awareness that indicated that she might
indeed be telling the truth.  If she had been asked to hide Dana Scully,
he surmised, she would have at least some knowledge of the situation, and
that didn't appear to be the case.   For the moment, he decided to accept
her story at face value.

     "That may be true," he told her.  "Perhaps it is.  But you do live
here, correct?"

     The girl nodded, her dark eyes wide with panic.

     "Then I suppose you have the keys which unlock the adjacent
building."

     The girl hesitated, and Christophe could almost feel her weighing
her options.  Finally, she nodded again, more slowly and reluctantly this
time.

     "We need to get inside there.  I want you to take us, now."

     The girl nodded a third time, her head bobbing like that of a
puppet on a string, and she backed up towards the spot where she had
dropped her purse.  Fumbling inside it, she came up with a ring of keys,
and held them up towards him.  

     Taking the keys from her, Christophe gave Mike a nod, and the man
prodded the girl with the gun, leading her towards the door.   They
stepped outside, their shoes squishing against the wet grass, and a
thought struck Christophe.

     "Wait here," he ordered Mike, and the man nodded in response,
keeping the gun trained on 
the girl's neck.

     Alone, Christophe walked around the perimeter of the house,
looking closely at the ground.  Near a window on the far side, he noticed
some indentations in the grass, flattened impressions that looked a lot
like footsteps.  Further on, the grass dissipated into wet, muddy ground,
and there the footprints were much clearer.  Two sets from the look of it,
and a slow smile creased his face.

     Returning to where he had left his associate and the girl,
Christophe said, "There are footprints leading away from the house,
towards the hills.  Take her, and check the barn, and wait for me here."

     Mike nodded his acceptance of the orders, and Christophe pulled
his own gun from inside his coat, cocking and loading it.  Then he walked
away from them, heading back towards the muddy footprints.  



Here endeth part 10... parts 11-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-10                               X-10


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:46:22 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (11/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:46:22 GMT
--------
This is part eleven of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (11/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



It was much warmer inside the mine, and Scully was thankful for that,
though none of her fear had vanished.  If anything, she was more afraid
than before;  the air in the mine was stale, and it made her feel vaguely
claustrophobic.  She kept a tight hold of Cooper's arm, afraid of tripping
and falling in this dank and cavernous place.

     "How far in are we?" she asked him.  It felt as though they had
been walking for miles.

     "Not far," he answered, his words reverberating with a strange
echo.  "We passed through the outer cavern;  this is one of the main
tunnels."

     "Is it safe in here?"

     "Safe enough," Cooper responded.  "Parts of the main cavern are
visible from the outside, which doesn't make it the best place to hide. 
In here, there's less chance of someone spotting us."

     His words comforted her somewhat.   Cooper had secreted the disk
in an alcove of rock somewhere near where they were hiding, and she felt
reasonably certain that even if they were found, it wouldn't be.  More
than anything else, Scully didn't want the mysterious men to find it.  She
was positive that if they did, it would only make things worse for Mulder.
 Assuming Mulder was still alive.

     The thought made her shiver, and she felt Cooper's arm raise up to
slip around her shoulder.  "Are you still cold?"

     "No," she answered.  "Just a little...uneasy."

     "Me too," he told her.  "But I think if we stay here, we'll be
okay."

     "I hope so," Scully responded, scooting a little closer to him as
they waited. 



The man prodded her with the gun again and Rebecca responded to the
gesture, walking as slowly as she dared towards the barn.  They reached
the door and she fumbled with the keys, turning first one deadbolt and
then the next.   When she had finished, the man moved so that he was
standing beside her and opened the door, forcing her inside.

     Rebecca exhaled a relieved breath to find the studio dark and
apparently empty.  "Turn on the lights," the man instructed, and she did
as she was told, flipping the switch and illuminating the space.  

     "Come on," said the man, tapping the gun against her, and Rebecca
led the way, walking a few steps in front of him as he conducted his
search.  The man was nothing if not thorough, examining every crevice and
corner in which someone might hide.   The darkroom door was closed and she
opened it when she was bidden, again pleased to find that there was no one
inside.  

     Seemingly satisfied, the man turned back to her and then asked,
"Did you put the disk in here?"

     Rebecca shook her head emphatically, hoping the man would believe
her.  "I don't know anything about a disk," she told him. "There's nothing
like that in here."

     "Stay right where you are," the man ordered.  "Don't even think
about trying to run."

     That was the farthest thing from Rebecca's mind;  all she wanted
to do was survive, so she stood still as requested, watching as the man
poked his way amongst her photographic equipment, searching for the
mysterious disk that seemed so important to him.  Terrified, she was
unable to take her eyes off of him or the gun that he carried.  

     It was when the man's back was turned that Rebecca spotted another
man out of the corner of her eye.   He was standing in the doorway and
when she turned her head slightly to look at him, she was surprised to see
him put one hand over his mouth as though ordering her to keep silent.  
He was unarmed, dressed in a windbreaker and jeans, but it wasn't the fact
that he didn't seem to be a visible threat that reassured her.  It was the
look on his face, a look that was equal parts gentle and determined, that
made her instinctively feel that she could trust him.

     Rebecca gave the man a small nod and then looked away from him,
back towards the man who had forced her to open her studio to his prying
eyes.  He was rifling through the equipment that she had placed on one of
the small tables, and watching him, an idea came to mind.

     "You might want to check the cupboard on the far wall," she
offered, knowing that there was nothing inside that would be of interest
to him, but feeling as though it would make for a worthy distraction.  
The man glanced up at her and then took a step towards the cabinet, before
motioning to her again with the gun.

     "Come with me," he ordered, and she complied, walking with him
towards the far end of the studio.  

     Once there, the man poked her again with the barrel of his gun. 
"Open it," he told her, and Rebecca did as instructed.  The cabinet
contained a variety of plastic containers, each bearing a different kind
of developing agent, labeled according to type.  The man leaned in towards
her as though reading the labels, his breath hot on the back of her neck.

     Behind them, she heard the squeak of a loose board, and the man
whirled, his gun pointed in front of him.  Acting on instinct, Rebecca
grabbed the closest container and unscrewed the lid.  Turning to face the
man, she shouted, "Hey!"

     The man spun on his heels to look at her and as he did so, she
raised the container with astonishing speed, tossing its contents directly
at his head.  The liquid splashed on his face and the man shouted, a loud
agonized yell, dropping his weapon as he brought both of his hands to his
face, clawing at his eyes.

     The man that Rebecca had first seen in the doorway leapt towards
him, jumping on him and hurling him to the ground, pummeling him with his
fists until the temporarily blinded man was gasping for breath.   The
second man then grabbed the abandoned gun and pointed it at the first, his
breath coming in heavy pants.  

     Looking up at Rebecca the second man said, "Good job."

     Rebecca suddenly found it hard to catch her own breath, and merely
nodded.  An impulse seized her and she said, "Rick?"

     The second man nodded, glancing at the man sprawled on the floor
and then turning his eyes back to face her, the gun in his hand still and
unwavering.  "Yes," he replied.  "And you're Rebecca, right?"

     She nodded again, resting her hands on her thighs, feeling winded
as some of the terror she'd been feeling began to dissipate.

     "What did you hit him with?" Rick asked, and Rebecca glanced at
the container, which lay on the ground where she'd dropped it after making
her move.

     "Fixer," she told him.  "Sodium thiosulfate.  It's pretty toxic
stuff."

     "I guess so," Rick replied, looking back at the man writhing on
the floor. 



Reaching out with one hand, Mulder hauled Larry to his feet, careful to
keep the gun pointed at his head.  When Larry was standing, his hands
still wiping at his eyes, Mulder said, "Give me the key."

     Larry glared at him balefully but remained still, so Mulder cocked
the gun again for emphasis.  "Give it to me."

     Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Larry pulled out the
electronic key to the bracelet and held it in his hand.   "Help me out,
here," Mulder instructed Rebecca, and the girl moved forward and grabbed
the key.

     "Pull back my right sleeve," Mulder told her, using his left hand
to hold the gun steady on Christophe's henchman.  Rebecca did as she was
told, untying the belt he'd used as a makeshift anchor for the wand and
tossing it away.  Yanking the wand from his sleeve, she threw it down as
well and then used the key to unlock the electronic bracelet from his
wrist.  It fell to the ground with a satisfying clang and Mulder couldn't
stifle a triumphant grin.

     "Now," he said, addressing his remarks to Larry, "tell me where
Christophe is."

     Larry didn't respond, his eyes never wavering from the gun.

     "Tell me," Mulder repeated, to no avail.

     "There was another man here," Rebecca offered, and it was the look
of anger that crossed Larry's face at her remark that got Mulder's
attention. 

     "Behind the house," Rebecca continued, "he found some footsteps. 
I think Coop and Lisa went out that way, towards the hills -- the man, he
went after them.  That's where I think he's gone."

     Turning his full attention back to Larry, Mulder asked, "Is that
true?"  This time, he pulled the trigger back with his finger before
repeating the question.  "Is she telling the truth?"

     This time, Mulder was rewarded with a small shrug.   Glancing back
at Rebecca, he asked, "What's up there?" 

     "The hills are full of caves," Rebecca responded.  "Some of them
used to be mines -- Cooper knows where they are.  They might have gone up
there to hide."

     It made a certain sort of sense, and Mulder nodded.  "We're going
after them," he told Rebecca.  "I want you to stay here -- go inside the
house, and lock all the doors.  Don't let anyone in except for me."

     Rebecca nodded her comprehension, and then held up the fingers of
one hand in a gesture that indicated that he wait.  She moved away from
them, out of his line of vision, and Mulder heard the sound of cabinet
doors being opened and closed.

     She returned a moment later, clutching a battered lantern in one
hand.  "Here," she said, holding it out towards him.  "It's carbide --
I've used it before, when I've gone exploring.  It's dark in those mines
-- if that's where they are, you'll be glad you have it."



Cooper crouched next to Lisa in the darkness, one arm still resting across
her shoulders.  She was trembling slightly, but he suspected that she was
telling the truth, and that her shudders were due to anxiety rather than a
chill.  It was actually warmer inside the mine than it had been outside,
and that pleased him, as he didn't know how long they would end up having
to wait.   He had no way of knowing when it would be safe to return to the
house, having no idea what the strangers who had arrived so unexpectedly
had planned.

     He thought of Rebecca and Elliot, wondering what would happen if
either of them returned home to find the men inside the house, and he
shivered, hoping that they both decided to stay in town for a good long
time.

     "Are you okay?" Lisa asked, having sensed the small tremor that
rocked him.

     "Yes," he told her.  "Just thinking."

     "Me too," she answered, and he pulled her a little closer to him
in response.

     They were hiding at the end of the first tunnel, near a wooden
catwalk that crossed the width of an abandoned shaft.  The shafts were
dangerous, Cooper knew, plunging far below the earth.  The ground was
stable where they were, however;  that much he was sure, the tunnel itself
firmly entrenched on solid earth.

     Next to him on the ground lay an old, battered shovel that he had
retrieved from the main cavern.  There had been a few abandoned tools left
to rust against the walls of the mine, and the shovel had looked like the
most solid of the lot.  It wasn't the best of weapons, but he still felt
better having it by his side.  

     Lisa tilted her head to the side, a frown crossing her face that
was barely visible in the shadows.   "Cooper?  What's that noise?"

     Cooper listened intently, but only silence met his ears.  "I don't
hear anything."

     "Listen," she murmured.  "That noise."

     This time, in the distance, Cooper heard a rattling sound.  His
mind processed the noise, and told him that it was the sound of footsteps
against rock.  His heart began to pound as he realized that someone was
coming their way.

     "Stay here," he whispered, slipping his arm from around her and
giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

     "Where are you going?"  she asked, and though her words were soft
he could hear the panic beneath them.

     "I just want to check things out," he told her, unwilling to lie. 


     Lisa shook her head violently.  "Don't.  Don't go."

     There was nothing more that he wanted to do than stay, but if
there was a confrontation to be had, he felt better about having it in the
main cavern.

     "It's probably nothing," Cooper assured her.  "Some falling rock,
or something like that.  I'm just going to take a look."

     His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the tunnel, he could just
barely see her face.  Her lips were pressed tightly together, but she
finally acquiesced with a reluctant nod.  "Then take me with you."

     "No," he said, shaking his own head though he knew she couldn't
see him.  "Stay here -- stay right here.  I'll be back in a second."

     Before she could protest further, he slipped away from her,
clutching the rusted shovel in his hand, knowing he would be unable to
deny her if she asked him again.

     Walking slowly, careful not to make any noise, Cooper made his way
back down the tunnel towards the main cavern.  He stepped inside, his eyes
adjusting to the faint light that filtered in from the outside to cast
shadows along the walls.  He saw nothing amiss, and though he stood still
and waited, he heard no sounds.

     Unsatisfied, he moved further into the cavern, gripping the shovel
tightly, turning his head from side to side as he searched for the source
of the disturbance.  He was glancing to his left when he heard a noise on
his right and he turned towards the sound, only to be blindsided by a
shadow as it rushed towards him.  Acting on instinct, Cooper raised his
arms and swung.  His aim was surprisingly accurate and he felt the blow
find its mark, a grunt of pain coming from his surprise assailant.  A loud
bang echoed in the cavern and it took him a moment to realize that a gun
had just been fired.

     Relieved by the fact that the bullet had missed its mark, Cooper
struck again, determined to bring down his opponent, successfully landing
another hit.  Something connected with his head and he yelled as a
brilliant constellation of sparks exploded in his brain, sending him
reeling towards unconsciousness.  A second blow made him trip and the
ground came rushing up at him.  He fell hard on his left side, a loud
snapping sound crashing in his ears, pain ricocheting through his body as
his mind faded to black.  



Scully heard the gunshot, followed by Cooper's shout of pain and a shudder
raced through her body, all of her instincts telling her to run to his
aid.  She rose to her feet, but the rational part of her mind stopped her
in her tracks.

     Hide, she thought.  You have to hide.   But she had no idea where
to go;  without Cooper by her side, the mine was a large, forbidding
menace.  Scully had no way of knowing where she could even dare step,
fearing that danger lurked on all sides.   

     Horrified, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and it
galvanized her into action.  She flailed her hands wildly, searching for
something, anything that she could use to help her.  Behind her, Scully
found a railing and grabbed hold of it with both hands.  Taking a cautious
step forward with one foot, she felt a solid surface beneath her, and
decided to continue.  Clutching tightly to the railing, she moved further
back into the mine.  



Mulder and Larry had almost reached the end of the trail of footsteps,
close enough to see the point where they vanished into a dark, yawning
cavern cut into the rock of the hillside, when the echo of a gunshot
filled the air.

     Mulder was momentarily stunned by the sound, his mind instantly
flashing to Scully, and Larry chose that moment to attack, whirling and
leaping on him in an attempt to grab the gun.   Though he dropped the
carbide lantern, years of Bureau training didn't fail him and Mulder
parried the attack, retaining his grasp on the gun and pulling the
trigger.   Larry was blown back by the force of the gunshot, falling away
to collapse on the ground.  

     Fighting the impulse to rush into the mine and search for Scully,
Mulder moved towards the fallen man, unwilling to take the chance of being
blindsided by him.  He kept a steady hold on the gun, watching him
carefully.   From the looks of things, the shot had been a good one,
catching Larry in the chest.  He lay on his back, blood pouring from the
wound.  

     Mulder approached until he was close enough to see the man's face.
 Larry said nothing, glaring at him with an expression frozen in anger
until his eyes finally fluttered closed.   Leaning down, Mulder checked
for a pulse, but discovered none.

     Leaving Larry where he lay, Mulder picked up the fallen lantern
and sprinted towards the entrance to the mine. 



Here endeth part 11... parts 12-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-11                               X-11 


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:47:55 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (12/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:47:55 GMT
--------
This is part twelve of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (12/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Rebecca sat on the couch, her arms clutching her knees against her chest. 
Tucker was curled up beside her, growling deep in the back of his throat,
and she took comfort in his nearness.  It felt like they'd been sitting
there forever when the dog raised his head and began to bark, leaping off
the couch and running towards the kitchen.  Her heart thudding in her
chest, Rebecca slowly followed him.

     In the kitchen she glanced out the window, relief washing over her
as she saw Elliot piloting his bike up the hill.  Rebecca yanked open the
kitchen door and dashed down the steps, Tucker running along beside her as
she headed for the barn.

     "Elliot!"  She threw herself at him before he could even take off
his helmet, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate hug.

     "Beck -- what is it?  What's wrong?"

     He had slipped his own arms around her waist automatically, and
Rebecca drew strength from his embrace, pulling back enough to look at
him.  "We've got to do something," she cried.  "These men -- these men
showed up at the house, and they had guns -- something's happened to Coop
and Lisa...."   She knew she wasn't making any sense, the words tumbling
from her in a confused panic, and inexplicably she began to cry.



Elliot kept one of his arms tightly around her, using the other to tug the
helmet off of his head.  "Beck, honey, you have to tell me what happened. 
What men?  What's going on?"   He stroked her hair gently, trying to calm
her down.

     Rebecca nodded, her breath coming in little choking gasps as she
fought back the tears and told him what had happened in the short time
that he'd been gone.  He listened, in a shocked and horrified silence, and
then pulled her close again, thankful that she, at least, was okay.

     "What are we going to do, Elliot?"  she asked him.  "Should we
call the police?"

     Elliot considered the question carefully, weighing the options in
his mind.  It made sense -- hell, it made a whole lot of sense -- to call
in the authorities and end this thing, once and for all.  A fury was
raging inside of him at the fact that the woman he loved had been put at
the mercy of a man with a gun, and part of him wanted to curse at Rick and
Lisa for ever having involved them in this situation.

     Then again, Rick and Lisa weren't entirely to blame;  he'd brought
Lisa home with him of his own volition, and he had been at least partially
aware of the danger that might bring.  Try as he might, Elliot couldn't
completely absolve himself of his involvement  in the current
circumstance.  And the one thing he knew Rick and Lisa feared, above all
else, was the police.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to risk violating the
trust they had placed in him by calling the authorities.

     Aloud, he said, "I don't know, Beck.  I promised Lisa that we
wouldn't -- we both did."

     Rebecca nodded, but said nothing, which left the decision-making
up to him.   

     In the end, Elliot reached a conclusion that was really more of a
compromise.  "I'm going to follow Rick -- try and get a handle on what's
happening up there.  If it looks like things are out of control, then I'm
calling the police.  It's beyond Rick and Lisa now -- Coop could be in
danger, and I can't risk something happening to him."

     "Okay," Rebecca replied, "but I'm coming with you."   Elliot
opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a threat.  "I'm not
letting you go alone -- if you do, I'm calling the police right now."

     He could see that she meant what she said, and unwilling to argue
the matter with her further, Elliot conceded, taking her by the hand.
"Let's go."



Mulder stepped into the cavernous entrance to the mine, his eyes adjusting
to the dimness as he realized just how little light filtered in from
outside.  He turned on the lantern, thankful now that he had it.  The
light it provided was weak, and he suspected that it didn't have much
fuel, but it did a fair job of illuminating the area immediately around
him.    

     The mine had been hollowed directly into the rock, ancient wood
support beams still braced against the sides of the cave.   The ceiling as
defined by those beams was low, though the room itself was wide enough
that he couldn't see either end from where he stood, the edges fading out
into shadowy darkness.

     Remembering the gunshot that he had heard from outside, Mulder
forced himself to move with caution, his ears attuned to the slightest
sound.  Listening closely, he heard the rasp of labored uneven breathing. 
A bolt of fear coursed through him as he began to search for the source of
the noise.

     Holding the lantern in one hand and his gun in the other, Mulder
made his way along the walls.  There were a few rusted tools scattered on
the rugged, uneven ground, a couple of shovels and something that looked
like a pick.   There was a heap of old, fraying rope nearby that looked as
though it had been abandoned at the same time as the tools.  

     The noise was coming from somewhere further in, and he kept
walking.  Near the far wall, Mulder discovered some crudely built wooden
frames.  Back there, he thought, edging carefully closer.  They looked
like troughs of some sort, and when he raised the lantern to look inside,
he found them filled with a grainy, powdery dirt.   A stack of rusted
metal was piled beside them, and he realized upon closer inspection that
they were sieves of some kind, used to filter through the dirt in search
of whatever treasures the mine provided.  

     There was space between the wooden troughs and the rock wall, and
Mulder's eyes widened in horror when the lantern illuminated a young man
lying there, sprawled against the ground, unconscious.  Blood oozed from a
nasty gash on his forehead, and the erratic rise and fall of his chest
indicated the seriousness of the injury.  Mulder knew immediately who he
was.

     "Cooper?"  he called, but got no response.

     Setting the lantern down on the ground, Mulder pulled the man out
from behind the trough, settling him flat on his back.  "Cooper?   Cooper,
can you hear me?"  Checking Cooper's pulse, Mulder was relieved to find
that it was relatively steady.  

     Cooper's left arm was twisted at a strange angle and a quick
examination revealed that it was definitely broken.  Mulder found no
evidence that the young man had been shot, though the fact that he
remained unconscious was frightening.

     There was no sign of Scully anywhere.  He didn't want to leave
Cooper, but Mulder knew he had little choice.  Quickly stripping off his
windbreaker, he covered the young man with it.  Picking up the lantern, he
moved over to the tunnel that branched off from the cavern and stepped
inside, his gun once again cocked and ready.  



It was almost pitch black in the tunnel, and Christophe cursed himself for
not thinking to bring the flashlight from the car.  He had made his way
through to its end, and now he stood absolutely still, straining to see
what lay beyond.  

     As his eyes gradually adjusted, he was able to discern the lines
of a wooden bridge.  It began about ten feet from where he was standing,
and stretched across what looked like empty space to a tunnel on the other
side.   Looking more closely, he realized that it wasn't as much a bridge
as it was a catwalk, leading to a rectangular wooden platform that
extended in for a healthy distance on either side of the catwalk.  Without
light, Christophe was unable to see just what it was that kept the
platform suspended over the empty space beneath, but that was of no
concern to him, as he had just spotted the object to his quest.  

     The girl was standing on the rectangular platform, holding tight
to the wooden railing that ran along the catwalk and across the platform
to the opposite end.  Her head was cocked to the side, and Christophe had
no doubt that she had heard his approach, and was silently waiting for his
next move.

     A dark smile of satisfaction crossed his face.  "Dana Scully.  At
last we meet."

     Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice.  He couldn't see her
expression from where he stood, but he could smell her panic.  "Who are
you?"  she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

     "You can call me Christophe," he told her, savoring her fear.  "As
long as I can call you Dana."

     She didn't respond, but he saw her hands clench the railing more
firmly.

     His gun in hand, Christophe stepped out on to the wooden boards of
the catwalk, hearing them creak under his weight.  Moving carefully, he
made his way towards her.  

     The noise of his motion startled her, and Christophe saw her take
a few hesitant steps away, moving further back on the platform.  "Stay
away from me," she warned him, and her defiance made him laugh.

     "I don't think so," he replied, halfway to the platform.  "You've
led me a merry chase, Dana, but I'm afraid that's over now."

     "Keep away!"  

     He was close enough to see her now, close enough to see the
trembling of her body as she listened to his inexorable approach.  A
victorious thrill swept over him at the sight of her terror.  

     The sound of running footsteps reached his ears a second before
light flooded the mine.  "Get the hell away from her!"  a voice shouted,
and Christophe turned his head to see Mulder, standing at the tunnel
entrance.  He was holding a lantern in one hand, and a gun, pointed
directly at him, in the other.

     The thrill Christophe had been feeling faded to something
resembling irritation as he glared at his adversary.  He had had enough
presence of mind to leave his gun pointed at the girl, and that fact
imbued him with confidence, knowing that Mulder wouldn't dare use his own
weapon, fearing for her safety.

     "It's over, Mulder," Christophe explained.  "Drop the gun, or I'll
shoot."

     For a moment, Mulder hesitated and Christophe thought for a
fleeting instant that it would really turn out to be that simple, but then
Mulder shook his head.  "You won't shoot," he informed him.  "But I will."



Scully gripped the railing, listening intently to the verbal exchange. 
The powerful relief that had flooded over her at the sound of Mulder's
voice hadn't abated any of her terror.  She had no doubt about the fact
that Christophe's gun was pointed at her, and she knew that there was a
very real possibility that he would make good on his promise and kill her
with it.   

     "Try it if you want," Christophe offered.  "But I'm a lot closer
to her than you are to me, which means you don't have much of a chance of
stopping me in time."

     Scully knew that Mulder was considering what Christophe had said,
and she didn't want him to put down his gun and make himself vulnerable in
a vain attempt to protect her.  Her fear for Mulder suddenly made
everything else seem less important.  "We'll give you the disk," she
declared.  "As long as you leave us alone."
 
     "Unfortunately, Dana, the disk is only part of what I've come to
collect."  Christophe paused, his words ringing out clearly in the
cavernous mine.  "There are some people who aren't quite finished with
you.  People who need me to bring you back."

     "You bastard."  It was Mulder's voice, laced with fury.  "You told
me that she wasn't a part of this."

     "On the contrary," Christophe disagreed.  "I told you that *I*
didn't have any interest in the girl.  I don't -- my only interest is in
you, in the payback you owe me for having killed one of my most valued
employees back in New Orleans.   The fact that I promised to turn her over
to someone else isn't a factor."

     Scully barely heard the rest of Christophe's words, focused only
on the fact Mulder's life was in jeopardy.  He had killed that man to save
her, and she wasn't about to let him suffer for it.  Without hesitation,
she said, "I'll make you a deal."

     "Scully, no."  Mulder interrupted her, but she ignored him.

     "You want to bring me back?"  she asked.  "Fine, I'll let you --
I'll come with you willingly.  On one condition.  You let him go, and
forget about your goddamn payback."



"No way."  Mulder's voice was loud, but Christophe could see the gun
shaking in his grip.  "Do whatever you want with me, but you leave her
alone.  She's not going back to them."

     Christophe ignored the foolishly brave words, considering the
girl's offer.  He had no intention of holding to the bargain, but there
was nothing stopping him from killing Mulder later.  And the thought that
she would accompany him of her own accord would certainly make fulfilling
his commitment to the man that much easier.

     "You've got a deal, Dana," he told her.  "Your life for his."



Scully took a step towards Christophe.  It was a small, hesitant step, but
it chilled Mulder to the bone.  Christophe turned his head towards her,
watching with a smirk of satisfaction on his cold, hard face, and Mulder
knew that the time was now or never.

     Pressing his finger against the trigger of the gun, Mulder fired a
shot.  It was heinously loud in the relative silence of the mine, and
Scully screamed at the sound of its mighty echo, dropping to her knees on
the platform.

     The shot went wild, causing Christophe to spin back in his
direction and cock his own gun.  Mulder fired again without hesitation,
the bullet catching Christophe head on, making him shout in response.  
Christophe dropped the gun as his muscles went limp, his body toppling to
fall against the railing of the catwalk where he stood.   The ancient wood
cracked against his weight and the railing fell away, sending Christophe
plunging downwards amidst the debris of the fallen catwalk.  An inhuman
howl echoed through the mine as he fell down the shaft, fading with
distance until it suddenly cut off abruptly, leaving no doubt as to his
fate.

     His eyes on Christophe as he fell, Mulder heard Scully scream
again and whirled towards her, his jaw dropping in horror.   The platform
where she had been standing was gone, had vanished as though it had never
been there, leaving only a dark gaping maw behind.   In a heart-stopping
instant, Mulder realized that Christophe's collapse of the railing had
caused the entire platform to shift and fall away. 

     "Scully!"  Frightened, he shouted her name, desperate for a
response.  "SCULLY!"

     "Mulder!"  Her voice reached his ears, sounding faint and far
away.  "Mulder!!  HELP!!"

     Mulder could hear the panic in her words, and he fought down his
own in an effort to reassure her.  "I'm coming, Scully, I'm coming!"

     Moving as quickly as he dared, Mulder cautiously made his way
along the catwalk, acutely aware of the creaks in the ancient wooden
boards.  As he neared the T-joint that had supported the platform, Mulder
lowered himself into a crouch, holding tight to the iron bar as he leaned
over the edge.  His heart leapt into his throat at the sight that greeted
him.

     The collapsed platform had fallen midway down the mine shaft and
was balanced precariously against the side, caught between two jagged
outcroppings of rock at an alarming angle.  The higher end of the platform
was dangling easily thirty feet below the edge;  the lower end hung nearly
another fifteen feet beyond that, thanks to the length of the platform
itself.

     Scully was clinging to that lower edge, both hands gripping the
aged wood with white-knuckled intensity, her legs kicking uselessly at the
black void beneath her.  The dark rock absorbed most of the light from
above, throwing careless shadows across her small figure, making it
difficult to see her face.   But Mulder had no trouble hearing her
screams.

     "Mulder!!!   Mulder!!!    HELP!!!"

     "I'm here, Scully," he called out, his eyes gauging the distance
between them in vain.  "Just hang on, hang on --"

     "Mulder!!!"  Kicking her legs ferociously, Scully sought to better
her grasp on the platform.  The effort backfired, however, the motion of
her lower body serving only to jostle the platform further.   As Mulder
watched, bile rising in his stomach, the platform slid another ten feet
before catching once again to hang at an even sharper grade.

     Scully's screams trailed off into an incoherent, terrified wail,
the sound magnified by the cavernous echo of the shaft.  

     Forcing a calm he did not feel, Mulder shouted to her, fighting to
keep the words steady and strong.  "Scully!!  Don't move!!  That platform
isn't steady... you have to hold still, you have to hang on, just hang on
for a little longer --"

     No one around to turn to for help.   No time to find anyone,
either -- he doubted that she'd be able to hold on for too long.  

     Once again, they were on their own.  

     "Mulder, help me, please, PLEASE..."

     She was too far down the shaft.  The drop was too steep, the
handholds too precarious for him to try and climb down without some kind
of support.  With the dull ache of certainty, Mulder knew he had only one
choice.

     "Listen to me, Scully -- I can't get down to where you are without
a rope -- I need to go and get --"

     "NO!"  Another agonized scream.  "Don't leave me Mulder, don't
LEAVE me here, please, PLEASE --"

     Her words were like little needles against his heart, piercing him
with guilt and recrimination.  You did this, you did this to me, now make
it right.....

     His fear for her made him angry and Mulder poured the helpless
rage into his words.  "Dammit, Dana -- we don't have TIME for this -- now
you LISTEN to me!!   I am going to get some ROPE and I will be RIGHT back
and you WILL hang on until I get back do you HEAR me?!!"

     A sob escaped her in answer.

     "Dana??  Answer me...."

     "Don't leave me, PLEASE...."

     He was already backing away from the edge, grabbing the lantern in
one shaking hand.  "I have to -- just trust me, okay -- I'll be right back
I promise...."

     She didn't respond to that, but he could hear her crying.  The
sound of her sobs followed him as he turned on his heel and raced back
down the tunnel.



Scully hung suspended in air, her only grasp of reality the thin wood
beneath her hands.  It was frighteningly bizarre to have no other way to
define the space in which she existed, her only connection to life the
board to which she clung.

     It was dank and damp within the shaft;  the smell that assaulted
her nostrils left her no doubt as to the place where she lay dangling.  It
smelled of dirt and sulfur and a thousand other things that were too
frightening to name, her mind whirling in an attempt to make sense of what
was happening to her.  

     Alone, she was so alone....

     She listened as Mulder's footsteps faded into the distance, a
tight vise of panic clutching at her heart.  Despite her best intentions
her body refused to remain still, her feet pinwheeling beneath her,
desperately seeking a solid surface.  She heard the loud creaking groan as
the board to which she clung shifted further, carrying a cacophony of
sound to her ears.

     The incessant sound of rock, falling endlessly.... pinging against
the walls in a constant journey to a never ending bottom.

     <Nopleasenononodon'tletmefall>

     She took a deep, shuddering breath, willing the motion of her legs
to stop, feeling her body quiver with the effort.   A piece of falling
rock had grazed her forehead and now she could feel a trickle of warm
blood sliding down her cheek. 

     <pleasepleaseMulderhurryhurryhurryplease>

     Her arms were burning, her fingers tingling as they sought to
retain their grasp on the wood that seemed to be splintering beneath her
fragile hold.  Rivulets of sweat trickled down her neck beneath her shirt,
soiling her with the salty tang of fearful panic.

     <helpmepleaseohhelpmepleaseGodhelpmeplease>

     She could feel a cramp beginning in her left shoulder and she
shifted slightly in an attempt to relieve the ache, a cry escaping her
lips as she felt the board slide even further on its journey down the
shaft. 

     Afraid, she was so desperately afraid....

     <pleasepleasehelpmeohGodMulderpleaseplease>

     Forever.... she had been here forever, and then some.  The sound
of falling rock assaulted her ears, bruising the occasional silence.  It
was so musty here, below the surface of the earth.  Like a tomb.  Her
tomb.

     <ohpleasepleasepleasegetmeoutgetmeout>

     She felt the board move yet again and she screamed, a helpless cry
of defeat.



Here endeth part 12... parts 13-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-12                               X-12


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:49:46 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (13/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:49:46 GMT
--------
This is part thirteen of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (13/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Mulder reached the main cave in under a minute, his feet frantically
churning beneath him as he retraced his steps, heedless of any potential
danger to himself.   Hang on, hang on, hang on.... the words echoed in his
mind and he was tempted to shout them aloud.   

     He was relieved to see that his memory of the main cave had been
correct;  the mining equipment hadn't been a figment of his imagination. 
However, upon close examination, he discovered that it had been abandoned
for a reason.   The metal tools were rusted, their wood handles warped and
moldy.   It wasn't the tools that caught his attention, though, all of
them being far too short in length to do him any good.  The pile of rope
was nearby, and he crossed to it on shaky legs.  It consisted of several
different pieces in varying lengths, and Mulder grabbed each in turn.  
The first two were frayed beyond repair, the strands falling to pieces
almost at his touch.  The third seemed solid enough but Mulder could tell
instantly that it was too short for his purposes.   The fourth and fifth,
however, seemed to be ideal -- long enough to be of some use and still
taut and firm, with no apparent signs of rot.

     Grabbing the last two pieces firmly in hand, Mulder ran back down
the tunnel, hoping against hope that he'd been fast enough, that he wasn't
too late.  

     "Scully?  Dana??"  

     There was no response, and he felt the bile rise in his throat.

     "Dana???  ANSWER ME!!!"

     He was back out on the catwalk now, almost to the T-joint.  

     "DANA???  CAN YOU HEAR ME???"

     Leaning over, Mulder stared down into the darkness.  The platform
had shifted position again in his absence, falling at least another twenty
feet.  Thanks to the angle at which it hung, the lower edge was now
completely enveloped in darkness.   Despite the light from the lantern, he
could see nothing, nothing....

     "DANA???"

     At last he was rewarded by the sound of her voice, trembling with
the effort it took to produce three short words.

     "I'm here, Mulder..."

     "Good," he called back, relieved beyond all measure.  His hands
were shaking and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves.  "I'm back,
Dana, I've got some rope and I'm coming down to get you, okay??   You just
hang on for another minute and I'll be there.  Can you do that??"

     "Yes...."   The response was faint but determined and it gave him
hope.  

     Working as fast as he dared, Mulder tied the two lengths of rope
together, making a double-knot and pulling it tight.   He took one end and
laced it around the metal T-joint, making sure that he looped it around
several times before securely tying it off.  He took the other end and
wrapped it around his waist, cinching it as tight as possible, checking
and then double-checking the knot he'd made.  

     As he worked, he kept calling to her, little meaningless words of
encouragement that were designed to give both of them the confidence he
knew that they so desperately needed.   "It's not so bad, Dana, I'll be
right down, we'll be out of here in no time, I promise.  Just hang on a
little bit more...."

     She answered him with a weak series of moans mixed with faint
pleas that he couldn't quite hear.  He didn't want her to waste her
strength and he told her so.  "Don't try and answer, Dana -- just listen
to me.  Listen to my voice and hold on, just do that for me, okay?"

     Finally there was nothing left to check, nothing left to tie.  It
was now or never, and Mulder swallowed as he stood at the edge of the
collapsed catwalk, staring at the dark expanse beneath him.  He put the
lantern as close to the edge as he dared, hoping its faint light would be
enough when he got down below.  Resolute, he turned his back on the chasm
and, grasping the T-bar with both hands, he stepped off the edge.   

     The coil of safety line he'd fashioned out of the abandoned rope
spiralled out below his dangling legs and Mulder resisted the temptation
to let go and fall, allowing the rope to catch him.  He had no way of
knowing if the rope could take the strain -- if he did a free-fall and it
snapped, that would be the end for both he and Scully.   He had to be
pragmatic and use the rope for the safety measure that it was, and make
the climb on his own.

     With smooth cautious motions Mulder lifted his left hand off of
the T-bar and reached for the rock face, grasping its sharp surface with a
firm grip.   He swung his body so that his feet were braced against the
rock wall and then allowed his right hand to follow until he clung like a
spider to the wall of the shaft, the makeshift rope around his waist the
most tenuous of connections to the surface.

     "Mulder??"

     "Piece of cake," he called back, gritting his teeth.  "I'll be
right there."

     He sought to make good on his promise, edging his way slowly down
the rock wall.  The handholds were few and far between and he found
himself forced to stretch his arms to their full length to make it from
one stable section to another.  He tried to use his feet for support and
balance but little was forthcoming.   Twice he lost his grip and slid,
causing a torrent of rock fragments to plummet down the shaft, echoing as
they fell.   The second time he lost his balance completely, hanging on by
one hand and twisting for a dizzying minute as he searched for another
grip.   Before he could regain his footing he crashed into an outcropping
of rock, banging his head against its unyielding surface.   His vision
blurred and he could feel a warm damp trickle of blood on his forehead,
causing him to cry out in pain.

     "Mulder!!!  Are you okay??"

     "I'm fine," he reassured her, though the words couldn't be further
from the truth.  His head was throbbing, his arms were aching, his hands
were scraped raw, and more important, he was nearly out of rope.  And he'd
barely reached the upper end of the fallen platform.

     The good news, though, was that he could see her again.  Scully's
eyes were closed, her mouth parted as her lungs struggled to bring air
into her dangling body.   Her legs were hanging straight beneath her like
dead weight, indicating that she had finally managed to subdue her natural
inclination to try and climb out on her own.   He was so close to her now
that he could hear her breathing, so close to her now that he could smell
her sweat.

     Just not yet close enough to touch her.   Not yet close enough to
save her.

     Mulder edged carefully downward, inch by inch, flailing for each
tenuous foothold, until he was just a few feet from her.  

     Until there was no more rope to belay.  

     Clinging to the rock wall with both hands, the rope taut around
his waist, Mulder looked over his shoulder at Scully.   She was perhaps
three feet away from him, but another two feet below him.  So close, and
yet it seemed like an insurmountable distance.

     Mulder gave the rope a tug, hoping against hope that somehow it
would stretch, enabling him to get that much closer to her, but his
efforts were in vain.   Okay then, he thought.  We just have to do this
thing.   

     Aloud, he said, "I'm here now, Dana -- I'm here now, and I'm going
to get you back up, okay?"  

     "Yes...."

     Experimenting, Mulder braced both feet against the rock wall and
then grabbed the rope firmly with his left hand, figuring it would be
better to use his stronger arm to help her.   He extended his right arm
behind him, leaning down towards her as far as he could.   He couldn't
reach far enough to touch her where she hung, but he might be able to grab
her hand...

     "Okay, Dana, this is what we're gonna do.   I'm right here beside
you, and I'm ready to pull you up, but I need you to give me your hand."

     "Which... which hand?"  she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.

     "Your left," he replied without hesitation, wanting her to leave
her stronger hand on the wood.  "Keep holding on to the platform with your
right and stretch your left hand out in the direction of my voice, and
I'll grab it.  Okay?"

     Scully's eyes were open now and even in the dim light from the
lantern above Mulder could see that they were wet with tears.  "Okay," she
said.  "Now?"

     "Now," he confirmed.

     He could see her shoulders tense, could see the almost
imperceptible shift in the positioning of her body and then she was
moving, her left arm swinging towards him, her hand just brushing his own.

     And missing.



She was swinging in space and for a second, for a brief second, it was as
though she'd found solid ground, her hand touching his for just an
instant.

     And then he was gone, leaving her hand nothing to grasp but air.

     "MULDER!"  The scream forced its way out from behind her teeth,
clenched tightly together in fear, her balance completely lost.  
Desperate to retain her grip on the platform, Scully kicked wildly,
thrusting with her body as she stretched her left arm blindly upward.  Her
fingers scraped the battered wood and she fought for a handhold.   She
found it, just barely, her left hand clinging once again beside her right,
but the effort had cost her dearly, and she screamed again as the board
began to slide.

     The crashing echo of falling rock filled her ears....

     "DANA!!  HANG ON!!"  

     She could hear the terror in Mulder's voice and all she could
think was, Dear God it must be worse than I thought, it must be worse, I'm
going to die, I'm going to die now....

     Yet almost as soon as it began, the sliding stopped, the board
having balanced precariously against the rock wall once more.   In the
relative silence of the aftermath, Scully was still deafened by the
roaring in her ears, and it took a moment before she could focus on
Mulder's words.

     "Dana??  Dana, we've got to try this again, okay?  We don't -- we
don't have much time."

     He sounded so far away, farther than before, and Scully's heart
sank.  If it hadn't worked before, there was no way it possibly could now.
  "Mulder," she moaned, "I can't... I can't do it."

     "Yes you can, I know you can," he assured her.  "You just have to
reach out for me and --"

     "NO!"  The fear that had accosted her during those precarious
moments of dangling by one hand now threatened to paralyze her.  "I can't,
I can't let go again Mulder, if I do I'll fall, I'll fall, I can't do it
--"

     Mulder's voice floated back to her, calm and steady.  "You won't
fall, Dana, I promise I won't let you fall.  You can do this -- we can do
this together."

     "No, Mulder, no no no -- I can't --"

     "You have to trust me, Dana," he told her, his words a soothing
balm on her panic.  "You trust me, don't you?"

     He knew that she did;  he didn't have to ask, but Scully knew why
he was doing it.  He was trying to remind her that above all else, they
were partners, a team in the truest sense of the word.  She could trust
him with her life, and she could trust him with her fears.

     "I'm scared, Mulder..."

     "I am too."  He paused, then said, "But we can do this.  Reach
behind and up and I'll grab you.  On a count of three, you give me your
hand, okay?"

     "Okay," Scully replied, taking a deep breath as she waited for the
count.

     "One... two... three!"

     Galvanized by the energy in his words Scully shifted her weight to
her right arm once again and swung her left arm out behind her, stretching
it as far up as she could into the dark empty void of space that
surrounded her, hoping for contact.

     Scully felt Mulder's fingers brush her palm in the briefest, most
teasing of touches, and then vanish, her heart sinking to her toes with
the burning sting of failure.

     And then she felt his hand close around her wrist with a fearsome
pressure, yanking her body hard and causing her to lose her precarious
hold on the platform.  Her right hand slipped away from the splintery
surface and her body followed in a harrowing moment of free fall, only to
be stopped by the agonizing pressure on her left wrist.  It felt as though
her arm might be pulled right out of the socket.  Another small cry
escaped her as Scully realized that the only thing now keeping her from
plunging to the bottom of the shaft was Mulder's vice-like grip. 

     That was small comfort, however, as Scully felt her body
continuing to swing, her cry escalating to a scream of agony as she
crashed into the rock wall of the shaft.  She heard Mulder shout as well,
and felt his grip on her wrist tighten in response.   

     And then the sound enveloped her completely, a raucous crashing
and banging that rivalled anything that she had heard thus far, a
torturous medley of falling rock.  

     "HANG ON!" she heard Mulder yell.  Petrified, Scully did her best
to do just that.



Mulder watched with horrified eyes as the platform gave way completely,
splintering into myriad pieces that tumbled down the chasm with
astonishing speed.  The noise was deafening, echoing in the shaft with
Dolby stereo quality.

     Mulder was having a hell of a time just hanging on, his last-ditch
attempt to grab Scully having caused him to lose his footing and his grip
on the rock face.  His hands were raw from grabbing the rope, which had
become slick with his blood.  He found himself holding onto her
desperately with one hand and fighting the rope with the other.  Gravity
had them both twirling out into space and then back again to crash against
the side of the shaft;  they'd hit twice now and Mulder was suffering more
from Scully's screams than from the pain of impact. 
     
     "I've got you, Dana, I've got you,"  Mulder called to her,
straining to get the words out.  He had her, that much was true, but his
grip was awkward and the angle at which she hung had added more than a few
pounds to her petite frame.   

     Returning from their third swing into space, Mulder positioned his
body so that his arm holding the rope hit the wall directly, a throbbing
ache ricocheting through him as he shuddered to a stop.  With Scully still
dangling from his right arm, Mulder braced both of his feet against the
side of the shaft, thankful that he had finally found some leverage.

     He could hear Scully moaning, little jagged sobs of pain, and he
called out to her.  "Are you hurt?"

     "I'm okay..."

     "Dana, listen to me.  I'm going to pull us both up and out of
here, but first I need you to get a better grip."  Mulder took a deep
breath and forced himself to continue.  "I'm going to lift you, and I need
you to reach up with your free hand and get your arm around my neck, so I
can carry you."

     "Like piggyback," she answered in a small voice.

     "Exactly like that," he replied, relieved that she understood. 
"Ready?"

     "Yes."

     Mustering all of his strength, Mulder raised his right arm up as
high as he could in a perverse imitation of calisthenics, using the woman
he loved as a free weight.  He felt her hand fumbling along his waist and
his back before finding his shoulder and he fought to lift her higher, to
give her the opportunity she needed to loop her arm around his neck.   She
finally succeeded, grabbing his neck almost tight enough to choke him, and
he struggled to form words.  "Put your legs... around my waist..."



Scully struggled to do as she was told, climbing up the man she loved like
a piece of gym equipment.  She finally managed it, wrapping her legs
around his waist and crossing her ankles in front to help her balance. 
She felt him release his fierce grip on her left wrist and she brought
that arm up to join her right, loosening her hold on his neck and twining
her arms around his collarbone.

     Her face was pressed against the back of his neck and Scully
thought she had never in her life smelled anything as good as his sweat. 
"Okay," she whispered.  "Am I hurting you?"

     "I'm fine," he replied, but the exhaustion in his voice belied his
words.  "Hang on, Dana, we're getting out of here."

     Scully felt his arms begin to move, the muscles in his shoulders
and back rippling as he sought to pull them out of the dank hole.  She had
no idea how far it was to the surface, and the sound of Mulder's tortured
gasps as he fought to move his body terrified her.   She clung to him
desperately, praying that he would find the strength to save them both.

     

Mulder struggled to put one hand over the other, edging his way slowly up
the rope.  He used his feet as leverage, moving crab-like along the wall
of the shaft, loosening pieces of rock every step of the way.   Scully's
breath was warm against his neck and he focused on its staccato, uneven
rhythm, each breath she took serving as a bit of courage to push him along
that much farther.

     "Almost there," he muttered, though he was greatly exaggerating
the truth.  They were only half as far as they needed to go, and secretly
Mulder was beginning to wonder if he would be able to make it.  His palms
were scraped and raw from rubbing against the rope, and the burning
sensation shot through his hands and up his arms, wracking his body with
pain.

     Scully didn't say anything, but he was reassured by the beating of
her heart, thudding in her chest and pounding against his back.  You can
do this, Mulder, he told himself.  A little bit more, just a little bit
more...



The sweat was pouring off of Mulder in buckets now.   It had drenched his
shirt and its damp wetness had begun to seep through her own.  "Mulder..."
she whispered his name, wanting to give him strength but unsure what to
say.  

     "Just a... little bit... more..." he moaned, and Scully fought to
hold on to him.  As tired as she was, she knew it had to be a thousand
times worse for him, and she voiced a silent prayer, begging God not to
let all of his effort be for nought.

     She thought that delirium had set in when she heard shouting,
voices echoing as though from a distance, but rather than dimming, the
voices grew louder.  "Mulder," she said, "I think someone's coming..."

     "Lisa??  Rick??  Are you in here??"

     Mulder groaned, and Scully instinctively knew that he didn't have
the strength to answer.  She swallowed to ease the parched, dry feeling in
her throat, and called back in the loudest voice she could muster.

     "HELP!!  WE'RE DOWN HERE!!  PLEASE, HELP!!"

     The shouts grew louder and Scully responded each time, relief
flooding over her as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

     "Oh my God!"  It was Rebecca's voice, raised nearly to a scream,
followed by Elliot's, louder and more commanding.  "Hang on, you guys,
hang on and we'll pull you out."

     The voices distorted, then, Elliot's mixing with Lisa's and then
Cooper's in excited babble, and then Elliot called out again.

     "Rick, we're going to pull from up here, okay?  On a count of
three and then we'll go."

     Mulder tried to answer in the affirmative, but Scully doubted that
they could hear the croak that emerged from up above.  "Okay," she called
out in his stead.  "We're ready."

     "One, two, three!"

     Scully felt them move upwards in a sudden heaving jerk, causing
her to sway a little and she tightened her grip on Mulder's shoulders in
response.  She could feel his body moving beneath her, his legs kicking at
the shaft as his arms climbed relentlessly, aided by the upward motion of
the rope.  They were moving faster now, and Scully held her breath, hoping
that her prayers had at last been answered.  

     Several tugs later and Scully felt hands on her shoulders,
slipping beneath her arms and lifting her away from Mulder.  "I've got
you, Lisa, I've got you, come on...."  It was Elliot's voice, soothing,
encouraging, and Scully relaxed in his grip, allowing him to pull her up. 
 The next moment Scully felt the shocking solidity of ground beneath her,
and she collapsed to her knees, supported only by the arms that held her.

     Gasping for breath, Scully crouched on the ground.  Soothing words
reached her ears and a dim part of her mind realized it was now Rebecca
who was holding her.  "It's okay, Lisa, you're okay..."

     Behind her, Scully could hear Elliot and Cooper as they grunted
and wheezed, calling Mulder by his alias as they hauled him to the
surface.  It felt so good, so very good, to be on solid ground, to have
Rebecca's arms around her, but they weren't the arms she longed for, and
Scully knew that until she was certain that Mulder was okay she could
never feel truly safe.



     Rebecca held onto Lisa as tightly as she was able, watching as
Elliot and Cooper dragged Rick out of the shaft.  Cooper's left arm hung
limply against his side, and she could see him gritting his teeth against
the pain as he used his right to help Elliot, pulling with all his might. 


     They got him out and Rick fell to his knees, gasping for breath,
Elliot reaching forward to untie the rope that was knotted around his
waist.   Elliot had barely finished when Rick moved him aside, reaching
out to Lisa with arms that were trembling with fatigue.   Rebecca
relinquished her grip on Lisa and Rick folded her into his embrace,
holding her tightly against him.  

     A loud sob escaped Lisa as she buried her head against Rick's
chest, wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him close.  He tucked
his face against the crook of her neck and rocked her against him,
murmuring to her softly.  His words were barely audible, but Rebecca was
fairly certain that the name he was mumbling wasn't 'Lisa', though it
sounded awfully similar.

     Watching them together, Rebecca was almost uncomfortable.  It was
as though they were in a world of their own, completely separate from
anything and anyone else, and she was profoundly struck by the depth of
their connection to one another.  As though he was aware of how she was
feeling, Elliot slipped his hand in hers, and she squeezed it gratefully. 


     It was Cooper's agonized sigh that brought her back to reality,
forcing her to tear her eyes away from the newly reunited couple. 
"Elliot," she whispered, "we need to get Coop to a doctor."

     "I'm okay," Cooper muttered, having overheard her statement, but
Elliot waved him off.  

     "Beck's right," he said.  He leaned over and tapped Rick on the
shoulder.  "Rick, let's get out of here."

     Rebecca saw Rick nod in response.  Brushing Lisa's hair away from
her face with a raw, bloodied palm, Rick whispered into her ear and then
helped her to her feet.  Copying his example, Rebecca took Cooper by his
good arm and followed Elliot as he led the way out of the mine.



Here endeth part 13... parts 14-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 

 
X-13                                    
               X-13


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:51:33 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (14/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:51:33 GMT
--------
This is part fourteen of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (14/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Finished with his shower, Mulder walked into the kitchen, where he found
Rebecca in the process of making a salad.  

     "Hey," he said by way of greeting.

     "How are you doing?" she asked, pausing in her slicing of a
cucumber to look up at him.

     "Fine," Mulder replied.  "Better, now that I've cleaned up a bit."
 And it was true -- he felt more like himself than he had in awhile,
washed and shaved and dressed in clean clothes.  He could hear the sound
of running water coming from the other bathroom and the sound buoyed his
spirit, knowing that it was his precious Scully who was making the noise.

     "Good," Rebecca responded, shooting a glance at his hands. 
Unconsciously, Mulder pressed his palms together.  Despite his best
attempts to clean them up in the shower, they were still red and raw and
painful.   

     "Well," he amended, "maybe not fine.  My hands are still a little
sore."

     Rebecca nodded in comprehension, and then set down the knife that
she'd been using to cut up the vegetables.  "Hang on a second," she told
him.  "Maybe I can help you out."

     She vanished back into the main part of the house and Mulder sank
down in a chair, resting his elbows on the kitchen table.  A glance at the
clock assured him that Elliot and Cooper would be returning shortly; 
Elliot had taken his roommate to the hospital to deal with the broken arm
Cooper had incurred during his encounter with Christophe.

     Christophe.... Mulder drew in a deep breath, relieved that the man
no longer posed any threat to him.  Nor did any of his henchmen;  after
they had returned to the house and settled in, Mulder had made a quick
trip back up to the mine to retrieve the hidden disk, and had disposed of
Larry's body by dumping him down the shaft after Christophe.   A small
part of his mind still harbored regret that things had turned out as they
had, but Mulder knew he hadn't had any other choice.   There was nothing
that he wouldn't do to protect Scully, or the people who had helped her in
his absence.  Nothing.

     Rebecca walked back into the kitchen carrying a slightly battered
first aid kit.  "It's old," she told him, "but I think there's some stuff
in here we can use."

     Opening the kit, Rebecca extracted some ointment and a roll of
bandages.  Reaching for his left hand, she squeezed a bit of the paste out
of the tube and rubbed it gently into his palm, wrapping a bandage tightly
around it.  "Feel better?"  she asked.

     Mulder nodded in response, watching her as she worked.  She was a
lovely girl, he thought, strong and smart and extremely capable. 
"Elliot's lucky to have you around," he said, putting words to his
thoughts.

     "Think so?"  She smiled at him, and it held for a moment, and then
slipped away.  "Rick?  Is it -- is it over?  Do you think they're coming
back?"

     "Don't worry," he assured her.  "They won't be coming back."

     Mulder spoke the words in a firm, loud voice, certain that at
least for now, he was telling the truth, and he saw the relief that
flooded her face.  He wished that he could feel the same relief, that he
too could be certain that the danger was behind them.   

     Having heard Christophe's words concerning Scully, however, Mulder
feared that he might never feel that certain.  

     The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor caused him to look up
and Mulder smiled as he saw Scully enter the kitchen.  She was dressed in
a flannel shirt and jeans, her dark hair still wet from the shower. 
"Hey," she said. "What's going on in here?"

     "Nothing," Mulder replied, waiting for Rebecca to finish wrapping
the last bandage before he rose from his chair.  He crossed the distance
to her in a few quick steps and took her in his arms.  "Just waiting for
you to get out of the shower."

     "Are you implying that I'm slow?"  Scully teased, and he chuckled
in response.

     "No," he told her.  "I'm implying that I was anxious for you to be
done."

     

Mulder's words made her smile, and Scully allowed him to escort her to a
chair.  She sank down into it, incredibly relieved to be back at the
house, and to have Mulder here with her, safe and alive.  "Are the boys
back yet?" she asked.

     "No," Rebecca replied.  "But they should be, any minute.  Elliot
called while you were in the shower -- they're bringing a pizza."

     "Sounds great," Mulder remarked, and Scully had to agree.  She
felt Mulder take her hand in his and she twined her fingers in his,
feeling once again like a lovesick teenager but too happy to be
embarrassed about it.  

     Scully heard Rebecca's footsteps fade as she walked out of the
kitchen, leaving them alone.  Leaning in Mulder's general direction, she
lowered her voice and asked, ""What are we going to do now?"

     "I think we should get out of here," he answered.  "We've put them
through more than enough already."

     "You're probably right," Scully replied, but part of her was loath
to leave so quickly.  She was exhausted, and at the moment nothing sounded
better than a good night's sleep.  But considering all that had happened,
she knew that Mulder's suggestion was best -- it would be better to leave
right away than to risk putting Elliot and his roommates at any additional
risk.

     From a distance, Scully heard the unmistakable sound of Tucker's
barks, and seconds later she heard the patter of his feet against the
wooden floor as he ran past them.  "I guess the boys are back," she said,
and her words were proved true as the kitchen door opened with a loud
squeak.

     "We're back, and we come bearing gifts!"  It was Elliot's voice,
and Scully smiled, rising to her feet, her hand still clasped in Mulder's.

     "Hey, guys," she said with a smile.  "Cooper?  How are you
feeling?"

     "Fine," came the response, and a moment later, Scully felt
Cooper's hand on her shoulder.  "You know, if you break your arm, they
give you really good drugs.  I highly recommend it."



"You would," said Rebecca as she walked into the kitchen and relieved
Elliot of the pizza box he was carrying, placing a kiss on his cheek.  

          Cooper ignored her sarcasm, his attention focused on Lisa,
standing beside him.  There was a bright smile on her face, and somehow it
didn't matter that her vacant eyes were looking just past him.  "How are
*you*?"   he asked, noticing that Rick held her hand tightly in his own.

     "Good," she replied.  "But I was worried about you, Coop."

     "Oh, it takes more than a broken arm to keep me down," he
answered, though his arm was throbbing beneath the plaster.   For some
reason, he was acutely aware of how closely Rick was watching them.  To
hell with it, Cooper thought, and he leaned forward and embraced Lisa with
his good arm.  

     She slipped her hand from Rick's and brought both of her arms
around his waist, holding him tight, and for that brief moment, Cooper was
the happiest man in the world.

     "Thanks, Coop," Lisa whispered, her head pressed against his
shoulder.  "Thank you for everything."

     "Anytime," Cooper answered as he pulled away, committing her sweet
face to memory and filing it away.  Turning to where Rebecca and Elliot
stood by the counter, he announced, "I think it's time to eat."



It was late, and Cooper had gone to bed, after taking some more of the
painkillers that he had been given at the hospital.  Dinner was long since
finished, the pizza having been completely devoured, and Mulder couldn't
remember when he had last felt so content.  Beside him, he saw Scully
raise a delicate hand to her face to stifle a yawn, and it brought a smile
to his own. 

     Elliot had noticed as well, and remarked, "I think it's wise that
you guys agreed to head out in the morning instead of tonight."

     "I could use a good night's sleep," Scully admitted, just before
another yawn overtook her.

     "Me too," Mulder concurred.  "Shall we?"

     Scully nodded in response and Mulder rose from his chair.  "Can I
help clean up?"

     Elliot shook his head.  "Don't worry about it," he told him. 
"We'll take care of it."

     Indeed, Rebecca had already begun gathering up the plates.  As she
piled them into a neat stack, she suggested, "Why don't you guys take the
loft in the studio.  Elliot lit the stove before dinner, so it should be
warm enough, and it's a little more private."   Mulder caught the hint of
a blush in her cheeks as she added, "I put fresh linens on the bed when we
got back."

     The idea of a little privacy was incredibly appealing and Mulder
accepted the offer.  "Nothing like a little southwestern hospitality," he
said by way of thanks.

     He helped Scully up from her seat as they said their goodnights,
and then led the way into the kitchen, where they both pulled on their
coats before heading out the door.  The night air was cold and brisk and
Mulder pulled Scully close to him as they crossed the yard.  He pulled
open the barn door, flipping on the light switch and illuminating the
cluttered space.   They stepped inside and Mulder was again struck by the
haunting beauty of the artfully framed photographs, black-and-whites mixed
with color in a dazzling array.  

     Beside him, Scully remarked, "Beck was right -- it's plenty warm
in here."

     "It is," Mulder agreed.  "I just want to make sure it stays that
way."

     He stepped away from Scully long enough to check the wood in the
pot-bellied stove, throwing an extra pile of kindling inside for good
measure, and then returned to take her by the hand.   They walked over to
the stairs arm in arm and then he said, "We need to be careful going up
these stairs.  Stick close to me, okay?"

     "Always," she answered, a sudden shyness in her voice, and he gave
her arm a little squeeze.  They mounted the stairs together, taking them
slowly, one step at a time, until they reached the top.  Mulder guided
Scully away from the edge, towards the bed.  As he helped her off with her
coat, Mulder noticed with a certain wry satisfaction that the bed was
nearly twice the size of the one they had shared on the train.  A sense of
anticipation flooded him and he took her hand in his.  He kissed her palm
gently, and it brought a smile to her face.  

     Mulder removed his jacket as well and then hung them both in the
armoire, taking an appreciative look around as he did so.  "You said that
Cooper built this?"

     "Yes."

     "He did quite a job,"  Mulder admitted, crossing back to where he
had left her.  "Except the railing on this platform isn't very solid, so I
don't want you walking around up here without me."

     "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder," Scully replied, wrapping her arm
around his waist.

     He turned so that he was facing her and slipped his own arms
around her slender frame, holding her close.  "I hope not," he whispered,
and then he leaned down and kissed her.

      It was a gentle kiss at first, their lips barely touching time
and again.  A tender kiss, that spoke of reunion and renewal.  A sweet
kiss, that spoke of a shared past and a united future.  A delicious kiss,
that spoke of promise and hope.

     Slowly the kiss deepened into a more complete exploration, their
lips parting, their tongues searching and tasting, relishing the
closeness.  Mulder allowed one of his hands to skim up the curve of her
back and along the bend of her neck until his fingers were twined in her
hair, tugging her head gently to give him better access to her mouth.  A
small moan escaped her and it only increased his hunger for her.  He was
tantalized by her nearness, by the fact that she was here and real and in
his arms.  It was almost more than he could bear.

     He guided her back towards the bed without breaking off their
kiss, keeping her body safe within the cradle of his arms, and Scully
accompanied him willingly.  When her knees hit the edge of the bed she
sank down upon it, pulling him with her until he was kneeling before her,
his legs folded beneath him on the wood floor.   

     Drawing back from her gently, Mulder gazed at her, her face now
just above the level of his own.  Her sightless eyes were closed, perfect
lashes resting against her flushed cheeks.  Her lips were slightly parted,
moist and reddened from their kisses.  Though he still wasn't quite
accustomed to her darker, longer hair, he loved the silky feel of it in
his hands, and he ran his fingers through it now, sweeping it gently over
her shoulders.  Her pale skin was marred with tiny cuts and bruises she
had suffered during the incident in the mine, but it made no difference to
Mulder.  She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she was his.  

     "Dana," he breathed.  "God, I missed you."

     "I missed you," Scully whispered in answer, looping her arms
around his neck and capturing his lips with her own once more.  He brought
his hands up and rested his palms against her cheeks, resenting the
bandages that kept him from fully enjoying the sensation of his skin
against hers.  Her legs were parted and he knelt between them, her thighs
pressing against his waist as she pulled him ever closer to her.

     When the kiss ended, Mulder realized that his face was wet, and he
looked up at her, surprised to find that she was crying.  He raised his
right hand slightly to sweep a wayward lock of dark hair away from her
brow.  "Are you okay?"

     She nodded, a gesture that would have been imperceptible save for
the fact that he still held her face in his grasp.

     "But you're crying," he told her.  "Is something wrong?"

     Scully slowly moved her own hands up to cover his, twining her
fingers in his.  "The way you touch me, Mulder," she breathed.  "The way
you hold me.  You... you chase away the darkness."

     Her tender words brought tears to his own eyes.  "Oh, Dana," he
murmured.  "I want to.  I love you."

     And he did, oh God he did.  He loved her with every fiber of his
being.  With his mind, with his heart, with his very soul.  

     "I love you," he repeated, brushing his lips gently against hers.

     "I love you too," she echoed, her voice as hushed as his.

     "Dana..."  He allowed his voice to trail off as he searched for
the words that he needed.  "If anything had happened to you..."

     She stopped him in his tracks, moving their joined hands down to
her lap and holding him close.  "It didn't, Mulder.  Nothing happened --
I'm here, and I'm fine."  Her eyes were open now, fixed on a point just
beyond his ear.  She gently squeezed his hand for emphasis as she added,
"And so are you."

     Watching her, Mulder felt a lump forming in his throat and he had
to force his words past it.  "Do you have any idea," he asked her, "how
proud I am of you?  How much I love you?  You are so brave... so
strong..."

     "I had the strength of your beliefs," Scully answered, and the
familiar words made him smile. "I believe in you, Mulder.  I believe in
us.  That was all I needed -- that's what gave me strength."

     Her words encompassed what he was feeling better than any he could
choose on his own.  Bereft of speech, Mulder sought to explain his
feelings by kissing her again, using his lips to say what his voice could
not.
     


He kissed her, a slow, long, deep, wet kiss, and Scully sighed with
pleasure.  As he pulled away, Mulder murmured, "You give *me* strength. 
You always have."   He paused, and when he spoke again, she could hear the
naked honesty in his words.

     "I'm so sorry, Dana.  I'm sorry that I left you alone -- I'm sorry
that I let this happen."

     "Mulder!"  He was starting it again, that familiar litany of
self-recrimination, and Scully wasn't about to let him continue.  "Don't
be ridiculous," she told him.  "There was no way that you could have known
what was going to happen.  I'm not going to let you take the blame for
this.  I'm not," she finished, bringing one of her hands up to touch his
face again.

     He didn't reply for a long moment and Scully wished that she could
see his face and read his thoughts.   Finally, in a low voice, he said, "I
don't deserve you."

     The comment brought an unexpected smile to her face.  Only Mulder
could make her feel this way.   Despite everything that had happened, he
still thought she was something to be cherished and treasured.  

     "Well," she replied, "you've got me, so I guess you'll have to
make the best of it."

     Her hand still rested against his cheek and she felt the smile as
it bloomed across his face.  "Oh," Mulder promised, "I will."

     He began to kiss her again in earnest and Scully lost herself in
the sensation as his lips moved across her face, down her cheek and along
the slope of her jaw.   She arched her head back as his mouth found her
neck, nibbling at her skin with hungry little bites.   Her hands slid down
to rest on his shoulders as his hands moved away from her face, his arms
coming down to support her back.  The intensity of his kisses increased as
Mulder rose up from where he had been crouching between her legs, the
motion of his body forcing her to lean further and further back until she
came to rest against the bed, the comforter soft and cool against the bare
skin of her neck.  

     Now that she was flat on her back, she no longer needed to hold
his shoulders for balance and Scully ran them up along his neck until they
were tangled in the soft strands of his hair.  Her legs still dangled off
the edge of the bed, bent at the knees, and Mulder stood between them,
leaning over her, his hands roaming their way down her body as his lips
caressed her collarbone.

     "Dana, Dana, Dana...." he murmured her name between his kisses,
and Scully was aroused by the way his deep voice washed over her, bathing
her in the sanctity of its warmth.  There was more talking to be done, she
knew that;  they both had too much to say, too much to share.  But this
wasn't the time, or the moment.  All that mattered now was having him
close to her, feeling him touch her.  A sigh escaped her as she
surrendered to the physical joy of his presence, knowing that at least for
this moment, they had all the time in the world.  

     He closed his mouth upon hers once more, and Scully felt his hands
dance along her throat, coming to rest on her jaw as he broke off the
kiss.  Using the fingers of one hand, he traced his way up along her cheek
to her hairline, then back again across her forehead, down her nose to
rest on her lips.  She moaned as he slowly traced the shape of her lips,
two strong fingers running gently back and forth in a tender and
incredibly sensual caress.

     "You're teasing me, Mulder," she admonished him, but the words
carried little weight, aroused as she was by the feel of his hand against
her skin.   He was watching her, she realized, silently staring, and the
knowledge ignited a fire deep inside her that caused her to shift
restlessly against the bed. "Don't tease," she helplessly pleaded.

     "Sorry," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.  "I got
carried away.  You're just so beautiful..."  She heard the conviction
behind his hushed words and decided to believe him.  

     He brought his lips back to hers and Scully groaned as he kissed
her once more, plunging his tongue deep into her throat.  His fingers were
at her neck now, pulling at the lapels to her flannel shirt, fumbling with
the buttons one by one.  His hands were warm but she shivered as the shirt
fell open, exposing her bare skin to the air.

     "Are you cold?"  Mulder whispered, and she nodded, closing her
eyes as he placed a kiss in the valley between her breasts, his teeth
nipping at the edge of her brassiere.

     "A little," she moaned, "but I don't want you to stop."

     A small chuckle escaped him.  "Don't worry.  We can have it both
ways."

     With that, he pulled the lapels of her shirt gently closed. 
Scully released her grasp of him as he moved away, her hands falling to
rest on the bed beside her.   She heard the floorboards creak beneath his
weight as he crouched between her legs and pulled off her shoes one by
one, tossing them to the floor, followed by her socks.   His hands moved
up to the waistband of her jeans and he undid each of the rivets with
lightning speed, placing a kiss on her belly above the edge of her panties
before pulling the jeans off of her body.  

     "Come on," he whispered, taking her by the hand, and Scully
followed him, scooting up to the head of the bed.  Mulder pulled back the
comforter and she slipped beneath the sheets, still wearing her flannel
shirt over her underwear.  She was surprised to discover that the sheets
were flannel as well, exquisitely soft and warm, and a satisfied sigh
slipped past her lips.  

     "Feel good?"  Mulder asked, and she nodded happily, her
contentment increased tenfold as he placed a tender kiss on her lips.  

     "I'll feel better if you hurry up and join me," she told him, and
was rewarded by the rich full sound of his laugh.



Here endeth part 14... parts 15-16 posted simultaneously.  IMPORTANT:  the
next section is rated NC-17 -- if you're underage, or don't like that sort
of thing, skip directly to part 16 -- I *promise* you won't miss anything
important to the story as a whole!!!  

Let me know if there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com.  


X-14                               X-14


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:53:48 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (15/16) *NC-17*
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:53:48 GMT
--------
This is part fifteen of a sixteen-part post.  IMPORTANT:  This section is
rated NC-17 -- if you're not old enough to be reading this, or are just
plain uninterested, skip directly to part 16 -- I *promise* you won't miss
anything important to the story!!!

NOTE:  For those of you who wrote after "Down The Tracks" worried about
Mulder and Scully's safe sex practices, I refer to the section entitled
'Sex' in the truly hilarious book, "Everything You Always Wanted To Know
About Life Inside A Movie".  It states that 'characters in a movie can
have sex at any time and in any place without giving thought to any of the
normal concerns (pregnancy etc.), unless said concerns are part of the
plot of the movie itself'.  And they aren't, not in this story -- the last
thing these two need is a baby, at least at the moment.  So there you have
it, let's get on with it, shall we?? <bg>

Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the
beginning of part 1.  If there are problems with the posting (or comments
on the story!) I'm at nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (15/16)   *NC-17*
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



With Scully safely tucked under the covers, Mulder hurriedly stripped off
his clothing, tossing it into a random pile on the floor by the bed.  His
boxers were the last to go and then he slipped in beside her.  She rolled
towards him instinctively, slipping her flannel covered arms around his
back and tucking her face against his bare chest.   She placed little
kisses everywhere her lips could reach, her hands slipping around him to
caress his back. 

     "Mmmmm," she moaned.  "You feel so good."

     "I want to be able to say the same," he replied, and Scully
laughed, a tinkling bell-like sound that warmed his heart.  Taking that as
his cue, Mulder slipped the shirt off of her shoulders, pulling it down
and off of her arms and then tossing it out of the bed.   He took her in
his arms and rolled her onto her back, leaning on his side to trail his
hand down the length of her body, a small murmur escaping her as he ran
his fingers along the smooth curve of her breasts.  The brassiere was in
his way and he slipped his hand beneath her to unfasten the clasp.  The
cotton fabric fell loosely against her skin and he gently slid the straps
off of her shoulders, removing it completely and tossing it aside.  

     Mulder pulled her close again, so that they were lying on their
sides, her beautiful face just inches from his.  "Now," he said, placing a
gentle kiss on her forehead, "I can definitely say the same."   Her skin
was smooth as silk, rubbing against his body in a way that was
unbelievably arousing.   He caressed her back with his hands and Scully
pressed further up against him in response, her arms clasped around his
waist, her firm round breasts crushed against his chest.

     He didn't think he would ever get enough of just holding her like
this, and he told her so, murmuring the words to her in between his
kisses.

     Scully moved one of her small hands from where it rested against
his back and raised it to his face, running it along his cheek.  "I love
this," she told him softly.  "I love being able to touch you this way, to
feel the lines of your jaw between my fingers."  She kissed him tenderly,
and when she finished, there was a smile on her face.  "I'm never letting
you grow back that beard."

     "Then what," he asked her, "am I going to do for a disguise?"

     "I don't know," she answered, kissing him again.  "And right now,
I don't really care."

     She proved it to him by sliding her mouth across his face,
adorning him with tiny kisses along every single inch, and Mulder groaned
aloud with the sheer pleasure of it.  



Scully could feel her arousal growing, sweeping over her with a deepening
intensity and she sighed, relinquishing herself to the sensation.  Her
panties were damp now against her skin and she brought a hand to her waist
to push them away.

     "Let me help you with that," Mulder whispered, and she nodded,
finding his mouth again with hers as his hands moved to her waist.  She
curled her legs up against him as he slid the panties down, allowing him
to pull them off and away.  He brought his hands back up to her butt and
squeezed, gently at first and then hard enough to make her moan.

     "Oh, Mulder..."  He murmured something in response that she
couldn't quite hear and then one of his hands slipped between their
bodies, grazing the damp hair at the juncture of her legs.  He slid two
fingers inside her and Scully squirmed with pleasure.  In response,
Mulder's arm tightened around her waist, pinning her more tightly against
him, one hand still cupping her butt.  She could feel the bandage that was
wrapped around his hand, its texture smooth and cool in comparison to the
warm dampness of his palm.  

     The exhaustion that she had been feeling melted away as his
fingers probed and searched and squeezed her innermost core, making her
tremble, making her weak in a way that had nothing to do with physical
weariness and everything to do with emotional surrender.  Desire flooded
her as he continued to stroke her and she moaned aloud.  It was happening
so fast and she fought the sensation, wanting to savor the feelings that
he evoked in her, wanting to share them with him.  Despite her best
efforts to hang on, she could feel her body betraying her, racing towards
the edge in search of satisfaction.



Scully wriggled in his arms, her skin damp with sweat, and Mulder fought
to hold her, wanting to keep her close to him.   She was panting now, her
breaths coming in little frantic gasps, her head twisting against the
pillow, her hair tickling the underside of his chin.  

     "Mulder..."   His name on her lips was a vague helpless plea for
release, and he continued to stroke her, anxious to give her what she
wanted.   Beneath the sheets her legs were tangled up in his, her thighs
rubbing against his erection, creating a dizzying friction that threatened
to shatter the walls of his control.

     Scully's arms were around his neck, her fingers twined in his
hair, but as he continued to caress her, Mulder felt one of her small
hands edge its way down his neck, sliding down his back, coming to rest on
his butt.  She squeezed him in a gentle imitation of the way that he still
held her, and then slipped her hand around to cup his balls.

     "Ahh..."  A cry escaped him at her touch and he almost lost it
then and there.  "Dana, no, not yet..."

     She ignored him, moving her hand again until her fingers were
wrapped around his shaft, gripping him tightly for a moment and then
sliding gently up and down.   Mulder closed his eyes, biting down on his
lip in a last, feeble attempt to hold on.

     "Mulder..."   She whimpered his name as she held him, pulling him
towards her.  He knew what she wanted, and he was powerless to resist,
unable to deny her.  Gently withdrawing his fingers from inside her, he
lifted her top leg and draped it around his waist, opening her to him more
fully.   He opened his eyes then, needing to see her as he slipped inside
her.

     Scully's lips parted on a sigh as he pushed his way inside, her
head rocking back as she gave herself over to him.  Raising her arms to
encircle his neck, she slid her leg further across his body to give him
better access.   He took advantage of the offer, cupping her butt again
with both of his hands, pulling her as close to him as he possibly could. 
 Lying beside her, with their bodies joined and her lovely face just
inches from his, was almost more than Mulder could take.  Unable to stop
himself, he began to move inside her as he leaned in to steal another
kiss. 



He kissed her, plunging his tongue deep within the cavern of her mouth,
the sensation mirroring that of his shaft, buried deep inside her.  Scully
bucked and moaned, thrashing her body against his, drowning in the ecstasy
of the dual penetration, wishing that time would stop and leave her
suspended in this magical place.  She was completely consumed by her need
and her desire for him, and she wanted nothing more than to satisfy
herself by satisfying him.

     He was moving deep within her, sliding in and out of her body with
ever increasing intensity, and she rocked her body against his, both of
her legs twined around his waist now, the soft flannel sheets tangled
around her, trapping her against him.

     Mulder's mouth slipped away from hers, his lips trailing wetly
across her cheek and Scully responded in kind, finding his ear with her
mouth and suckling upon it, tracing the outline of his ear with her
tongue.  She could hear him moaning, deep low incoherent groans that
ignited a fire in her belly, urging her to rock harder against him,
pushing them both ever closer to the ultimate peak of satisfaction.

     Scully felt Mulder moving their joined bodies, still holding her
tight, until she realized that she was laying atop him, his back now flat
against the bed.  The reason for the shift in position became abundantly
clear as she felt his arms slip from around her back, his hands cupping
her breasts, squeezing them hungrily.   She cried out at the sensation,
rising up to press herself more firmly into his grasp.  The flannel sheets
resting along her shoulders slid down her back as she sat up, finding
Mulder's shoulders with her hands and gripping them tight, pressing her
hips against his groin with all her strength.  

     "Dana..."  She heard her name on his lips and the sound made her
whimper, her throat no longer able to form words.  He clutched her tighter
and she whimpered again, losing control, wanting nothing more than to push
them both over that abyss together, to fall into ecstasy with him by her
side.



"Dana..." He couldn't stop murmuring her name, it was the only thing that
his consciousness was still wrapped around, much as her body was still
wrapped around his.   Mulder raised his hips, plunging into her with ever
increasing intensity, wanting to please her as much as he wanted to please
himself.  "Oh, Dana...."

     He slid his mouth down her neck and took one of her breasts in his
mouth, caressing the other with his hand as he bit and sucked at her
nipple, savoring her cries as they reached his ears.  One of her hands
rose up and tangled in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder fiercely
as she rode him hard.

     Mulder felt her thighs tighten around his waist as the
contractions began, her innermost core swallowing him whole, devouring
him.  He accompanied her willingly, his body arching against hers as he
succumbed to the force of her release.  The feel of her body closing in on
his drew him over the edge, coaxing his essence from him, draining him as
easily as water rushes through a sieve, the sheer pleasure of loving her
driving him to distraction, making him crazy, forcing him to give her
everything he had, everything he was.  

     Another loud cry escaped her lips and then Scully collapsed
against him, her head buried against his chest beneath the curtain of her
hair.  Completely spent, Mulder cradled her tightly in his arms, summoning
the last reserves of his strength to roll onto his side once more, their
bodies still joined beneath the flannel sheets.  Her head slid back to lay
against the pillow, revealing her mouth to him, open and empty and gasping
for air.  He kissed her, filling her with oxygen from his own lungs,
giving her back the heavenly life she had granted him by sharing her body
with him so openly, so trustingly.



He held her close and she never wanted him to release her, savoring each
beat of his heart as it pulsed against her cheek.  Scully felt one of his
hands glide up along her back, raising goosebumps in its wake.  He took
her head in his hand, twining his fingers in the damp length of her hair,
and she heard his voice slice through the darkness left behind in the wake
of their climax.

     "I love you, Dana," he murmured, each of the words loud in the
stillness.  "Now, forever, always."

     As he had done before, he kissed her after each word in the way
that she had come to treasure, and she smiled, tucking her head against
his chest.  Mulder tightened his arms across her back, and then gently,
slowly, he slipped out of her.  Though she missed the intimate contact,
she took solace in the strength of his embrace, nestling closer to him,
allowing the exhaustion that she had held at bay to slowly overtake her. 



She was dreaming, dreaming of a soft, sandy beach, where huge rolling
waves crashed against the shore.  The sky was blue and smell of salt was
in the air and Mulder's arms were around her, strong and solid and real,
his face clearly visible before her own, his hazel eyes sparkling as he
gazed down at her.   His lips were ripe and rich and deliciously tender as
he kissed her, his hands holding her close, his bare skin pressed against
her own.  A wave crashed over them, drenching them, leaving them icy cold
in its wake...

     It was the cold that woke her, and Scully shifted uncomfortably
against the mattress, her hand extended in search of the covers.  The
vague sense of alarm she felt at Mulder's absence from her side vanished
at the sound of his sleep-drenched breaths, and she rolled over, edging
closer to him.  

     Finding the wayward flannel sheet, she grasped it and pulled, her
lack of success in retrieving it causing her to realize that Mulder must
be tangled up in it.  Scully tugged again, harder, the motion causing a
ripple of pain to shoot up her arm.



Mulder heard her low moan and it awakened him immediately.  "Dana?  Are
you okay?"  he asked, the words tumbling from his tired mouth. 

     "Fine, Mulder," she told him, her face buried in the pillow. 
"Just cold."

     Rolling onto his side, Mulder realized that he had stolen more
than his share of the blankets, leaving Scully's naked back exposed to the
air.  "Sorry," he apologized, pulling the flannel coverings back up and
over her shoulders.

     "S'okay," she murmured sleepily, but as she snuggled up against
him he heard her moan again.

     "What is it?"  He was concerned now, drawing a hand down the
smooth length of her back.

     "Nothing...a little sore, that's all."

     Soreness was a feeling that Mulder could empathize with;  his own
shoulders and back were throbbing from his exertions in the mine.  But as
always, she was his primary concern, and he increased the pressure of his
hand against her back.  "Feel better?"  he asked, and she responded with
an affirmative murmur.

     "Better..."

     The word inspired him and Mulder shifted his position beneath the
sheets until he was straddling her small frame, bracing his knees on
either side of her waist.   He rose up on his elbows, the sheets draped
over his shoulders covering them both, and then he moved so that the
majority of his weight was resting on his legs, freeing his hands and
arms.  

     With slow, circular motions, he began to massage her back, working
gently outward from her neck with a firm pressure.  Wayward strands of
dark hair were strewn across her shoulders and he pushed them aside, and a
little sigh escaped her in response.  

     "Feel good?"  he asked, and Scully nodded against the pillow.  

     Mulder continued the massage, stroking her slowly, kneading her
tired muscles with her hands.  His fingers found a particularly hard knot
and he rubbed it until he felt it disappear beneath his touch, a small
sigh slipping from her lips.

     "Oh," she whimpered, "so good..."

     Unexpectedly, Mulder felt his groin harden in response to her
hushed words, the feel of her skin beneath his hands arousing him despite
his own exhaustion.  He leaned forward, pressing more closely against her,
stimulated by the increased contact.  



Scully slid her hands beneath the pillow on which her head rested,
resisting the impulse to turn over and grab Mulder and pull him close. 
The massage felt too good, and she didn't want to do anything that might
tempt him to stop.  

     Though it didn't seem as though he planned on doing so anytime
soon;  on the contrary, though his hands had moved away from her
shoulders, they now seemed perfectly content to stroke her back, running
up and down her spine with a practiced ease.  Much to her surprise, Scully
felt Mulder's lips on her neck, placing tender kisses along her nape.  She
sighed and turned her head to the side in a silent signal that he
responded to by nibbling his way along her cheek. 

     She felt his body falling across hers, enveloping her completely,
and Scully surrendered to the sensation, reveling in the feel of his warm
nakedness.  She could feel his erection rubbing against her back and she
moaned in response, his body shifting against hers, his hands stopping
their gentle motion and slipping beneath her. 

     His hands cupped her breasts, holding them tenderly as he slowly
rocked against her.  "Dana..."  His deep voice caressed her name, singing
it like a benediction, and she answered him with a cry of her own.

     "Mulder, oh...."

     One of his hands slid away from its grasp of her chest, moving
lower, pressing against her belly before finding its way to the most
sensitive part of her anatomy, stroking her briefly and then moving away.



His fingers slick with the proof of her arousal, Mulder took his rock-hard
shaft in his hand, guiding it under the curve of her butt, sliding it
beneath her and then inside her, an rush of air escaping him as he filled
her once more.

     It was more than he had dared to dream, the idea of possessing her
yet again, but his body responded as it had been designed to, filling her
completely, his body rocking against her as he found the way that he fit
inside her best.

     Scully whimpered again, a tiny cry that echoed in his ears and he
slid further inside her, feeling her butt rise up against his groin in
response.  He tightened his hold on her, his fingers toying with her
nipples, cupping the weight of her breasts in his hands as his legs
tangled with hers.  He was incredibly relaxed, her warm soft body trapped
beneath the hard length of his, her hot tight wetness drawing him deeper
inside with each twist of her hips.   Mulder felt his body readying once
again and he thrust against her, kissing her shoulders, her neck, her
ears.  She turned her face towards him, her lips hungrily seeking his own,
and he indulged her, leaning forward to meet her in a kiss, carried away
on a raging wave of pure need.



He thrust against her several times in quick succession and Scully arched
her back, feeling his grasp of her breasts tighten as she allowed him
additional leverage.  Her own hands were still trapped beneath the pillow,
and her inability to reach for him heightened her own desire.  She wanted
him more than she had ever wanted anything, and she moaned with sheer
pleasure at his domination of her body.  He shoved himself further inside
her, burying himself as deep inside as she would allow, and she spread her
legs beneath him, rising up against him, giving him as much access as she
possibly could, wanting him to have all of her.  Needing him to have it
with a ferocity that made her dizzy with desire.

     Drowning beneath the force of his need, Scully felt her body
completely relax, melting into a puddle of nerves that were stimulated
only by his hands, his motions, his touch.   She felt her mouth connect
with his once more and she gave herself over to him, her lips parting
under his own as he thrust into her one last time, pushing them both over
the edge with tremendous force.  She felt the orgasms ripple through her
one after another, each successive one chasing the one that preceded it,
leaving her paralyzed in their wake.

     At long last, the tremors having finally subsided, Scully felt
Mulder's arms shift beneath her, pulling her towards him once again, and
she went willingly, not bothered when he slid from inside her, comforted
by the feel of his arms encircling her chest.  Satiated beyond her wildest
imaginings, she collapsed against him, conscious of nothing save his
breath against her neck as she tumbled once again towards sleep.  



Here endeth part 15... part 16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at nvrgrim@aol.com. 


X-15                               X-15


From nvrgrim@aol.com Tue Feb 25 12:55:05 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (16/16)
From: nvrgrim@aol.com (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:55:05 GMT
--------
This is part sixteen of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
nvrgrim@aol.com.



A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (16/16)
by Nicole Perry
nvrgrim@aol.com
1/10/97



Mulder awakened in the quiet hours of early morning, still cradling Scully
against his chest.  The bit of sunlight filtering in through the barn
windows alerted him to the fact that the time had come to leave, though
there was nothing he wanted more than to remain in this safe haven
forever.

     Rocking her gently in his arms, Mulder used his mouth to wake her,
dropping little kisses along her face until he felt her stir against him. 
"Good morning," he whispered, punctuating the words with another kiss.  

     Scully raised her head, finding his lips with hers and kissing him
in response.  "It *is* good, isn't it," she murmured with a smile as she
pulled away.

     "I love you," he told her, wanting to say the words again though
he'd just spent the better part of the night proving it to her.

     "I love you too," she softly replied.  "Now, forever --"

     "Always," he finished, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. 
"Always."

     Scully was quiet for a time, her fingers wandering idly against
his chest.  When she spoke, he heard the resignation in her voice, giving
words to his darkest fears.  "They want me back."

     "They'll never get you back," Mulder declared, tightening his hold
on her.  "Never.  Not so long as I'm alive."

     "But that's what I'm afraid of," she admitted.  "I'm afraid
they'll kill you, to get what they want."  She fell silent for a moment,
then continued.  "Maybe I should just turn myself in."

     "Stop it," he admonished her.  "Stop talking like that.  Nothing
is going to happen to you, or to me."



Scully knew that he was dreaming, and she told him so, still haunted by
the words Christophe had uttered in the tunnel.  "Mulder, they've found us
before, and they'll find us again.  We can't keep on like this forever. 
Not now that we know what it is that they're after."

     She felt his hand on her chin, shifting the position of her head
slightly.  "Listen to me, Dana.  We are not giving up on this.  We are not
giving up on us.  If we do that, we let them win."

     His words were so strong, so brave, and despite her best
intentions, Scully found herself wanting to believe him.  "But how can we
beat them?"  she asked.  "We've got nothing.  No leverage, no allies, no
support."

     "We've got us," he told her, and then she felt his lips brush
against hers.  Scully allowed her mouth to part against the gentle
pressure of his and sought solace once again in his kiss.  When they
finally came up for air, Mulder finished his thought.  "Together, Dana,
we're unbeatable.  You have to remember that."

     "I'm trying," she answered.  Lying in his arms, she felt safe
enough to admit the truth.  "But I'm afraid, Mulder.  I'm afraid that our
luck is going to run out."

     To her surprise, she heard him chuckle.  "Don't you know?  The
good guys always win."

     His words made her laugh as well, and she snuggled closer to him,
a warm feeling of contentment enveloping her.   Nothing could frighten her
when they were together like this, she realized.  Nothing.  

     "It's time to go," he said finally, and Scully could hear the
reluctance in his voice.  

     "I know," she replied, but they both lay still for a while longer,
in a vain attempt to postpone the inevitable.



They took Rebecca's Jeep into Albuquerque, the five of them crammed into
the small vehicle.  Despite the music on the radio, it was a fairly somber
journey, no one certain exactly what to say to break the silence.

     When they reached the bus station, Elliot parked the car, and
climbed out to stand beside Rebecca, Coop and Lisa while Rick went in to
purchase two tickets to Los Angeles.  Elliot had given him the money,
though Rick had been loath to accept it.

     "Consider it a loan," Elliot had told him, and Rick had finally
relented.

     "I'll pay you back," Rick had promised. "As soon as we get where
we're going."

     "Whenever," he had replied, glad to be able to help.  

     All too soon, Rick returned with the tickets, and they said their
goodbyes.  Elliot gave Lisa a warm hug and shook Rick's hand, watching as
his roommates made similar parting gestures.  

     Elliot felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Lisa standing
beside him, a wistful smile on her face.  "I'll miss you, Elliot," she
said.  "I'm glad we met."

     "Me too," he replied, pulling her close in another quick hug,
surprised to realize that his words were true.  He would miss her, despite
the danger that she represented, danger that had touched his own life in a
way that he had never thought possible.  There was something about her,
something undefinable, that made Elliot glad that they had crossed paths.

     The bus arrived and Rick helped Lisa up the stairs, carrying their
duffel bag over his shoulder.  Elliot stood beside Cooper, with his arm
around Rebecca, and the three of them watched as the bus pulled away,
headed west.



Finally settled in their seats, Scully leaned her head against Mulder's
shoulder and sighed.  "You okay?" he asked, and she nodded.

     "I'm fine," she replied, and meant it.  Having Mulder by her side
was all she really needed to make her feel that everything was right with
the world.

     "Long trip," he remarked.  "We won't be into Los Angeles until
tomorrow."

     A thought hit her, and she asked, "Is it safe for us to take this
bus all the way there?"

     "I think so," Mulder replied.  "I think we're safe for now."

     Hoping that he was correct, Scully snuggled closer to him, feeling
his arm tighten around her shoulders in response.  A yawn escaped her and
he wondered, "You tired already?"

     "A little," she told him.  "We didn't get much sleep."

     "No," he admitted, "but it was worth it."

     "Definitely," she grinned, and he brushed her lips with a quick
kiss.

     "Get some sleep if you want," said Mulder.  "I'll be here when you
wake up."

     "I'm counting on it," Scully replied, and closing her eyes, she
did just that.  



"...if our troubles should vanish 
Like rain at the midday
I've no doubt there'll be more
We can't run and we can't cheat
Because when we meet
What we're afraid of
We find out what we're made of

So if you lose your faith, you can have mine
If when I'm lost, you're right behind
And if it's dark, there's a light I'll shine
We walk the same line..."

- everything but the girl



And that's all she wrote... we've come to the end of the Road, at least
for now. <g>  I hope that this turned out to be worth the wait -- at this
point, I'd love *nothing* more than a little bit of feedback, even if it's
just to tell me that you made it all the way to the end!!   Drop me a line
at nvrgrim@aol.com -- and thanks again for reading!!   :-)