From: msk1024 Date: 19 Apr 2004 03:52:01 -0700 Subject: [all-xf] NEW ~ Bone of Contention (8/15) by Kel and Michelle Kiefer Source: atxc Bone of Contention (8/15) Roger was late to work after his big breakfast with Agent Mulder. He hurried to Room Zero to check on Cindy. Cindy was always sick, but some days were worse than others. Roger walked to the back of the support module and climbed up the steps so he could see inside. Roger wasn't sure what the green stuff in the big tank was, but Doc said it made Cindy get well. Sometimes Roger thought Cindy would feel better if she could get out into the fresh air and sunshine instead of being cooped up in the lab. "How you feeling?" he asked. Of course Cindy didn't answer, but she turned toward the sound of his voice and she gave him the V-sign, like he'd taught her. Roger smiled proudly as he returned the salute. "Roger." Dr. Revere's voice startled him. The doc was sitting behind one of the computers, and Roger hadn't realized he was in the room. "Sorry I am late," Roger said. "I ate a big breakfast." The doc sighed. "I envy you, Roger. A simple man with simple dreams," he said. He sounded so sad. "Did you have a bad dream?" Roger asked sympathetically as he climbed down the steps. "Did you not sleep good?" "What happens to a dream deferred?" asked Dr. Revere. Roger looked at Dr. Revere in confusion. Sometimes the doc said weird things. "A dream that won't come true," Dr. Revere explained. "Oh." Roger nodded; he understood that just fine. "I going to feed Cindy," he said. "No." Dr. Revere shook his head. Roger could see that Cindy was weak and gasping, but he could always coax her to take a few swallows. "She'll eat for me," he promised. "It's all over. I'm sorry," Revere said. Roger knew a day would come when nothing anyone did would make a difference, but he didn't think today was that day. The doc was in a bad, bad mood, so everything looked bad to him. He thought of something that would cheer him up. "I almost forgot to tell you the good news," Roger said. "Agent Scully is a doctor! She can help us." "Agent Scully isn't the problem. It's the other one, Agent Mulder," Revere said bitterly. "He is who told me," Roger argued. "Cindy's been sick for a long time, Roger. You know what we do when an animal is so sick that it can't get better," Revere said. Roger thought back about that guessing game, where everything is animal, vegetable, or mineral. Outside of that, it seemed plain wrong to call Cindy an animal. Also, she'd been sick like this before and got better. Maybe Dr. Revere didn't remember. "Don't give up," he said. "We can't let Agent Mulder capture her. That's the main thing," Revere said. "Capture her? For what?" Roger asked. "We can't let him take her. It would be terrible." "I won't let him do terrible things," Roger said staunchly. He wished he was good with words so he could make the doc listen to him. "You won't be able to stop him," Revere said. Roger didn't know why Dr. Revere would say that. Mulder was easy to stop with the mask and the sleeping medicine. "What about last night?" Roger asked. "We stopped him good." "He'll just keep coming back," Revere answered angrily. "That's not Cindy's fault!" Roger said. "Damn it," Revere said in a voice that made Roger remember his pa. "I don't want this any more than you do, Roger, but it has to be done." "You said take care of her," Roger whispered. He hoped Doc wouldn't yell at him. He hoped if Doc yelled at him he wouldn't cry. "Roger," Doc began, seeming to calm down. "Killing Cindy would be the kindest thing we could do." "How could that be kind?" Roger asked, fighting tears. "There's something you deserve to know," he said. "Do you remember when Cindy was just a baby? Do you remember that question you asked?" Roger blushed. It was a hard question and a bad question, and worst of all, Dr. Revere had laughed at him, and even told it to Mr. Metzger, like it was a joke. "I'm a dummy," Roger said. "When you saw what Cindy was, you asked about her daddy," Revere said. "But you explained it to me, how science made her," Roger reminded him. "And Mr. Metzger called me a dumb bubba." "I lied to you, Roger. It wasn't science," Revere said. "It happened exactly the way you thought." Roger shook his head emphatically. "That's just stories," he said. "Somebody did a bad thing, Roger, exactly as you suspected," Revere said. "Now he wants to do the same bad thing to Cindy." "It's just stories," Roger repeated. Kids used to say that about Ronnie Favors, how his pa caught him at it early one morning, and said he'd clamp him just like a sheep if he ever did it again. "Why do *you* think Agent Mulder is so interested in Cindy?" Revere asked. It was ugly talk, and it was hard for Roger to think about it to figure out if it was true. His stomach felt funny when he thought how he'd had breakfast with Mulder. "Do you want that to happen to Cindy, sick as she is? Is that how you want it to end for her?" Revere asked. "I won't let him," Roger said. Revere stood up and came out from behind the long counter. "You've been a good, loyal friend," he said. He clapped Roger on the arm. Roger knew that people sometimes told you nice things before they asked you for a favor. He'd better explain that he didn't really mean it. "I don't kill people," Roger said, in case that's what the doc was thinking. It wasn't fair to kill Cindy when it was Mulder who wanted to do terrible things, but he knew that killing Mulder would only make more trouble. "For God's sake, I don't want you to kill him. Even if you did, they'd send other agents," Revere explained. He patted Roger's arm again. "I know how you feel about this sheep. Take a few minutes to say good-bye, and then do what you have to do." Doc walked away, and the heavy door locked shut behind him. If he really understood how Roger felt, he wouldn't have called her a sheep. Roger thought again about Agent Scully, the pretty doctor. Maybe if she knew that Agent Mulder wanted to do terrible things to Cindy, she could stop him. Maybe if Agent Mulder saw how sick Cindy was he would leave her alone. Or maybe if he knew she was a virgin. = = = Scully's phone rang as she started the car. Mulder needed a lift. It was just as well that Brian had cut their breakfast short. What was she thinking, trying to start a relationship while she was on a case? She knew better. But she was always on a case, and Brian had seemed so perfect. What fun it might have been to have a boyfriend like that, somebody smart and dashing who would fly in every couple of weeks and sweep her off her feet. An out-of-town relationship that wouldn't interfere with her work. A long-distance lover who wouldn't complain about Mulder. Mulder wasn't her boyfriend, but he filled her thoughts and took all her attention until nothing was left for anyone else. As if she was hemoglobin, and he was her carbon monoxide. The hemoglobin should be looking for some nice oxygen to carry through the bloodstream, but if it meets up with a carbon monoxide molecule, it grabs on and won't let go. Mulder probably had the same problem, but he didn't seem to care. He should have been on the prowl for one of those tall, leggy bitch-women that rang his stupid chimes, but instead he spent his days with a dowdy redhead and his nights with his video collection. She loved him, whatever love was. When Scully was a college junior, she'd spent a series of weekends with her roommate, Rachel Perlmutter's, family. She used to think it was funny to hear Rachel's grandmother talk about love. "You young people make things so complicated these days. It's simple. I cook the food, he eats the food," Grandma said. "He makes the money, I spend the money." It was something like that with her and Mulder, but the currency exchanged was vision and proof, peril and rescue. They hadn't chosen one another, but then again, neither had Rachel's grandparents. Mulder loved her too, at least when he was drugged. In Valium, veritas? Well, something good had come out of her breakfast date. The anonymous smoker had a name. She would have been more excited by the discovery if she wasn't so certain that it was an alias, and probably one of many. Mulder was waiting for her in a place called Amy Beth's Cafe. Scully would have been glad of another chance at breakfast, but Mulder had been sitting there an hour and the staff was starting to get curious. She helped herself to some breath mints on her way out. In the car, Mulder put on quite a display of adjusting his seat. She wondered if he was really that inept or if it was his way of griping about being stuck in the passenger seat. She decided to head for the gas station. Mulder could prove his manly worth by pumping gas, and she could pop into the mini-mart and grab a yogurt. "Terranova. Mean anything to you?" she asked as she pulled away from the curb. "There's a software company, I think. Also an after-hour's club in Arlington," said Mulder. "Cancer man is using the name," she told him. "Really?" His face split in a huge grin. "Go, Scully!" She was proud herself, but she hadn't known what to expect from Mulder. She should have told him before they got in the car. It would have earned her at least a high-five. "I'm sure it's not his only name," she said modestly. "It's the first one we've ever learned," Mulder said. "Is he definitely involved here?" "He flew in last night, spur of the moment," she said. "He flew in," Mulder repeated. "We're on to something, Scully. This is big--I can feel it." "If this is as big as you think, Mulder, they'll go to any lengths to protect it." "We've got to get back inside Weymouth." Her partner was practically glowing with intensity with the knowledge that their nemesis was in town. Mulder hadn't asked her how long she'd known about the cigarette man, and she was grateful for that. She couldn't predict how he'd react knowing that she had kept the information to herself until she could confirm it. He'd been so edgy about her relationship with Brian. Scully wondered if he was jealous, but then she chided herself. Most likely Mulder's concerns were entirely professional, and he'd share them when he was ready. Any other speculation would just set her up for a major disappointment. "We have to be careful," she said. "There is a hybrid sheep, Scully. I saw it, and Roger confirmed it," Mulder said. "We need a search warrant," Scully said. She waited for a response, finally turning in time to catch Mulder's tight-lipped exasperation. "Why don't you work on that," he suggested sharply. "Forget it," she said, acknowledging his unspoken objections. "Instead, we go back to Weymouth. You demand to see Revere and the brass. Argue with them, aggravate them, do anything to keep them occupied. That will give me a chance to make nice to little boy blue." "Roger's not a little boy, in case you haven't noticed," Mulder said. "Don't make the same mistake Revere made. Roger's not as dumb or passive as everyone thinks." "I told you that from the beginning," Scully reminded him. "Anyway, you'll do a better job than me of keeping Revere out of the way. You can trade laundry tips for brighter, whiter lab coats," Mulder said. = = = Scully went in to pay for the gas, and when she returned to the car she took the passenger seat. Mulder filled the tank, glad to see she'd relinquished the wheel. He was very disturbed when he realized she was eating a yogurt. Mulder knew she'd met with Brian Yates that morning, because the malodorous flyboy had to be the one who had ID'd the smoking man for her. Whatever they'd done, it hadn't included breakfast, or Scully wouldn't be scarfing down the Dannon's. Mulder decided to believe in the simplest explanation. Scully had met with Yates to show him a picture of the smoking man. Period. Any disturbing visions of Scully's stack-heeled shoes mingling with Yates's cowboy boots was Mulder's own damn problem and utterly unfair to Scully. The seat on the driver's side was all the way forward, and Mulder could barely get in to release the catch. He looked over to see if Scully was the least bit apologetic, but she seemed to be highly entertained by his suffering. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Would you rather I drove?" she asked. "Enjoy your yogurt. You can drive on the way back," he said. Then he could watch while she struggled to haul the seat far enough forward that she could reach the gas pedal. He finished adjusting the seat, but then had to open the door to unsnag the shoulder belt. Finally they were underway. "What do you plan to do while I'm discussing sodium hypochlorite with Dr. Revere?" Scully asked. "Roger has an emotional investment in his animals," Mulder said. "I'm going to use that to my advantage." "You're going to sing him the Whiffenpoof Song?" Scully asked. "Something like that. You just worry about Dr. Moreau," he said. Their arrival at Weymouth Scientific was greeted with open hostility. The guard at the gate kept them waiting while he called his superior for instructions, and when Dr. Revere appeared at last, his face was like granite. "You may never understand the damage you've caused. You've proved nothing, but the board of directors has chosen to bow before the pressure of your overgrown, overfunded bureaucracy," Revere said. Bureaucracy, the "B" in FBI, thought Mulder, but he resisted the urge to share his wit. "We're hardly to blame if your research couldn't withstand the critical scrutiny of your own organization," Scully said. No, Scully, don't piss him off, Mulder thought. She was supposed to settle people down--getting in their face was his job. "Come with me," Revere said. He conducted them to the elevator and up to the restricted level. Angry glares followed them at every step. Revere led them to the holding area for the malformed sheep. The bone fragment that had sparked their investigation was almost certainly from a sheep of this kind, but Mulder no longer found them interesting. "These harmless animals helped save human lives," Revere said. "Would you like to see them once more before they're destroyed?" "You can't destroy these sheep--" Scully said, but Revere interrupted her. "I know that. I can't do anything until and unless I'm instructed by our lawyers. Our lawyers are talking to your lawyers, and the writs are flying back and forth," he said. "But I have no doubt this will end with the sacrifice of these sheep, and the milk sheep as well. So congratulations! Science has been stopped in its tracks, and all because you couldn't give me a chance to explain." Pompous jack-ass, Mulder thought. "That was quite an outburst, doctor," Scully said. "Unfortunately you have yet to convince me that more animal study is needed in the now well-established field of inserting medical devices via the femoral artery. In fact, I'm quite baffled as to the significance of any study that relies on a creature that has no existence outside of your laboratory." Revere was speechless, and Mulder realized a bit belatedly that he was the good cop. "Destroyed? You mean killed?" he asked. "Even the lambs?" Scully gave a barely audible huff that Mulder read as a critique of his acting. Revere, he hoped, would interpret it as impatience with his sentimentality. "I know you showed us last night, but I wasn't able to take it all in," Mulder said. It didn't matter what he said, because clearly there was something Revere wanted them to see. "I'll still need those x-rays you promised," Scully said. Revere didn't deign to answer, but he opened the door to his personal freak show. Even by the light of day with his head clear, Mulder saw it as a demented nursery rhyme. Twelve lame sheep, see how they crawl, or something like that. Mulder's own skepticism about the scientific usefulness of such aberrant animals had been confirmed by Scully's rant. Revere had been careful to explain that the crippled sheep had resulted from a spontaneous mutation, but that didn't excuse whoever had propagated them and destined them to their regimented existence. Sprawl on the floor, hang from a hook, or march in place. No part of it was in the service of knowledge. It was all for show. "If you're ready, we can move on to the dairy sheep." Revere addressed himself to Mulder. "I don't believe you'll encounter any distressing procedures today." Distressing procedure was an adequate description, Mulder thought. Scully had tried to reassure him that it wasn't as bad as it looked. She'd even drawn him a picture. "See, Mulder, Roger wasn't actually 'smashing its nuts.' The clamp crushes the spermatic cord, interrupting the blood supply as well as the flow of sperm. The testes shrink and die from lack of nourishment and eventually just fall off." Mulder had thanked her for the clarification and announced how relieved he was, but only to shut her up. She'd wanted to explain and illustrate all the other methods of castration. The dairy sheep were a soothing sight after the deformed animals. They munched contentedly and paid their visitors no heed. Mulder looked over the lambs but couldn't pick out the one from last night. None of them were walking funny. "This is all too fascinating, but we're ready to see your crowning achievement," Scully said. Jeeze, Scully, turn it down, Mulder wanted to tell her. It's one thing to be assertive or even aggressive, but Scully was acting like a jerk. "There's nothing more to show," Revere said. "I'm aware that Agent Mulder believes he saw something else, but he himself admits he was not operating at full capacity." "Humor me. Show us the room at the end of the hall," Scully said. Revere shrugged. "Very well," he said. Now Mulder knew the real purpose of the tour. The hybrid sheep was gone and the room would look perfectly normal. Instead of a coffin-sized aquarium and banks of life-support machines, they would see desks and chairs and shelves. Revere had erased every trace of his forbidden accomplishment, and he wanted Mulder and Scully as witnesses. Mulder was sure that Scully had figured it out as well. She could look for signs of recent redecorating, and she wouldn't need his help to find them. "Excuse me, is there a bathroom?" Mulder asked. Scully probably wanted to strangle him, but her obvious displeasure worked in his favor. Revere took in the tableau and granted Mulder's request without suspicion. "In the data room, other end of the hall," he said. "Thanks. I'll catch up with you in a minute," Mulder said. Once he made it into the hall, Mulder weighed the possibilities. Revere had plenty of time to dispose of the evidence. The chances of finding even a trace of the sheep with hands or any of the equipment were just about nonexistent. Revere would have undoubtedly left the cleanup to Roger. Probably thought the big lug didn't have an independent thought in his head, but Roger was a lot stronger willed than Revere gave him credit for. Roger was the key. Mulder wondered if he was still in the facility and decided to check the parking lot for Roger's pride and joy--his beat up old van. Scanning the parking lot, adrenaline circulated through his veins. His breath caught as he spotted Roger's van pulling out onto Peyster Road. Breaking into a run, Mulder fished in his pocket for the car keys. Scully was going to kill him, he thought, as he slid into the front seat. She'd be furious when she realized he'd stranded her, but ultimately, she'd understand that he had to follow their only lead. = = = Bone of Contention (9/15) Even before Revere pushed open the heavy door to usher her into the room, Scully knew what she would find. Nothing. Mulder's absence only aggravated her frustration, because she had to pull a fast 180 and take on the "good cop" role that should have been his. "We use this room for clerical functions. As you can see, it's entirely unsuited to housing animals," Revere said. Scully saw the scrape marks on the floor and smelled the wet paint, probably disguising any animal odor from earlier. She couldn't quite force herself to apologize for thinking Revere might be trying to hide something. "Is Roger around? I'd like to thank him for his help yesterday," she said. "Roger?" Revere seemed surprised. "I'd be glad to convey your appreciation." "I want to thank him personally," she said. "Very kind of you," said Revere, "but really, it's best not to disrupt his normal routine." Scully could have pushed harder, but she didn't think she'd get anywhere. Furthermore, Mulder might have located Roger himself. If Mulder was bonding with the good shepherd, she didn't want to sabotage his efforts. There was another matter. She'd drawn blood last night to prove that Mulder had been drugged, and the Vacutainers were back at the hotel, floating around in a bucket of melted ice. If she didn't deal with them promptly, they'd be useless. "In that case, I believe my business here is complete," Scully said. Revere was only too happy to be rid of her. On their way out he asked one of the security officers to locate Agent Mulder, but the man explained that he had already left. "Poor guy said he had a problem with his colostomy bag, had to run out in a hurry," he said. Recently Mulder had been experimenting with the theory that the most personal and distasteful explanations were the best, because nobody wanted to question them. Ringworm, flatulence, seasonal hemorrhoids, genital warts--he'd had a good deal of success. She didn't miss a beat. "I hate when that happens," she said. "He's probably waiting for me in the car." He wasn't, of course. The car was gone and Scully was effectively stranded. For a second she thought about calling Brian Yates for a ride, and then she phoned her hotel and asked if they could send a car. = = = Animals were born to die. That was one of the lessons Roger learned growing up on a farm. Only Cindy wasn't an animal. Roger had been lambing since his youngest years. He'd seen lambs you had to turn to deliver them, and lambs born dead, and once even a lamb all wrong with its brains in a sac on top of its head. Things happen sometimes, sad things. But when Cindy was born, he knew he was looking at something that shouldn't be. Not like a lamb, but more like a lamb than like any other thing. Blue eyes. Hands. It was wrong, more wrong than locking the keys in the car or leaving the oven on all night. It was wrong like kicking over a gravestone or touching yourself in the shower. Roger had heard it could happen, but he thought it was only stories. Lies like people tell kids so they won't make their eyes cross or run with scissors. The doc was all proud, like the monster baby was something good. Roger wondered about the baby sheep-thing a long time before he figured out a way to ask, and even after he got an answer it didn't make sense to him. There had to be a father. Everybody has a father. Roger used to think the doc was the one who had done it, even if he wasn't the father, purely speaking. Now Doc had finally told him the truth and it was more awful than Roger could have ever imagined. It was wrong on top of wrong on top of wrong. Best would have been if she never was born, and many times she was fixing to die. It was all the work it took to keep her alive that made him end up so he loved her. All those nights of sitting up with her, all the nasty medicines he coaxed down her throat, and now she had to die to keep her safe from Agent Mulder. How could that be right? But Doc was smart in ways Roger couldn't understand. If he killed Cindy she'd go to heaven, where people don't have bodies and she would be a beautiful angel, but Roger couldn't do it. He wanted to take Cindy someplace safe where no one would find her. He thought and thought about what to do. How could he keep her warm and feed her? Roger wrapped her up in canvas like a big bundle and carried her out to his van. It was a pure miracle that no one stopped him. He couldn't take her home, 'cause the landlady didn't even allow cats. Pa sold the farm years ago. There was only one place he could think of, and it wasn't great. The woods. It was pretty there, like he'd told Agent Mulder, but he couldn't choose a pretty part. He had to go somewhere he could drive the van. It was too cold out for Cindy, and he'd have to leave her in his van, at least until he could build her a shelter. Some people used the woods for the town dump, and he drove along the tire tracks until they ended next to an ugly hill of mattresses and other household debris. He could use some of those things and build her a little hut. It wouldn't do for long, but maybe by then he could think of something better. He put the van into park and left the motor to run. "How are you, girl?" he asked. Cindy's thumb and forefinger formed an "O," as she gave him her sign for "okay." This wasn't the way Roger had pictured it. He thought Cindy would get weaker without her special chamber. He thought his job was to be her comfort in her final hours. Now she looked better than she had for days. Even her breathing was better--less phlemmy. Her eyes were clearer too, not as gummy as they'd been before. He should have been happy, but this created a whole new bunch of problems. Roger couldn't care for her and keep her away from Agent Mulder forever. It wasn't possible. Roger thought about what Mulder had done, and he grimaced in disgust. Back home when they said what little Ronnie did in the meadow, well Ronnie was short, and pimply, and scared of girls. Agent Mulder was a growed-up man from a city. He didn't have cause to do it even once, and here he was looking to do it again, even after he saw what had happened from the first time. Plus, this meant Agent Mulder was Cindy's pa and what he wanted to do was even more terrible. Evil. Stubborn. Tricky. Yesterday, when he was guarding Agent Mulder, Mr. Metzger said he should hit him on the head. He wished he had done it. Hit him as hard as he could, and Mulder would die, and it would be Mr. Metzger's fault. Killing Mulder was the right thing to do. Even if Roger could keep Cindy safe, what about the other sheep? Other sheep to make other babies like Cindy. Killing Mulder was the right thing to do, but it would only bring more trouble. Roger knew he was too selfish to do it. If only he knew where to find the pretty lady doctor, to stop Agent Mulder from what he was doing. But what if Dr. Revere was wrong? What if he was lying, and Agent Mulder hadn't done what he said. Or maybe he had done it, but he was sorry and he wasn't looking to do it again? Roger had got himself snarled up like a ball of yarn, and unless everything happened just right, he was never going to find the loose end. Sighing unhappily, he got out of the car to start a fire. He needed hot water to fix Cindy's meal. She didn't have the right teeth for regular feed. That's how it happened that he was outside the van, watching the flames, when the car pulled up. Roger remembered carrying Mulder last night and putting him in that same car, and doing it gently because he didn't know he was carrying a monster. Mulder got out of his car and looked Roger's way, but he went over to the van and tried to open the door. When he couldn't do that, he tried staring in the window, but that wouldn't let him see the back of the van. "You saved her," Mulder said, walking toward Roger. He sounded happy and friendly. "I'm making a fire," said Roger. He eyed Agent Mulder warily. "Dr. Revere ordered you to destroy her, but you wouldn't do it," Mulder said. His voice was gentle, as if he admired Roger for being smart and strong. Roger knew better than to believe him. Roger kicked at the ancient ash around the base of the fire. There had been other fires here before, lots of them. "You came for her," he said. Mulder didn't even try to lie. "Yeah. I have to get her out of here before Revere figures it out," he said. "You can't have her," Roger said, a catch in his voice. "Can I see her?" Mulder asked quietly. He sounded nice, but a nice man wouldn't keep coming after Cindy. "I'll show her to Agent Scully," Roger said. He looked right into Mulder's eyes, to show he could be stubborn too. "Roger, try to understand. If I call Agent Scully now, Dr. Revere will know where we are. He'll follow us here," Mulder said. "Then you go get her yourself," Roger said. "Me and Cindy will wait." Mulder shook his head, and he folded his arms across his chest. He didn't say anything for a while, but then he pushed his hair back from his forehead and he tried again to get his way. "Cindy. That's a pretty name. But we need to take her someplace where we can get some back-up," he said. "I'll tell Agent Scully where to meet us." Roger couldn't follow what Mulder was trying to say. He understood that they were sitting pretty much in the doc's backyard, and it would be easy for Doc to get Cindy back if he showed up with enough help. But where could they run to that would be any different? Yellowstone, maybe, where the rangers might help them? But it was just too far. Everything was too far, especially if Mulder thought he could ride in the back of the van with Cindy. It was true that Revere wanted her dead, but Mulder wanted something even worse. A big, snarled-up ball of yarn, and no way to get it untangled. Roger wondered if there was any way to make things okay again. He should have listened to Doc and sent Cindy to heaven when he had the chance. He should have listened to Mr. Metzger and sent Mulder to hell. He reminded himself that Mulder had a gun. He was small, but he had a gun. "Okey-dokey. We'll do it your way," Roger said. "Thank you," said Mulder. As they walked back to the van, Roger looked around for something to hit with, but he didn't see anything he liked much, and he probably wouldn't need it. Mulder reached the back of the van, then turned. Roger took out his key. The big set of keys was hanging in the ignition, but he had a key that opened the doors. Roger thought about the people who came early and had to wait for the Wal-mart to open. That's the way Mulder was looking at him, fidgety and impatient. Slowly Roger put the key in the lock. "She's up near the front. You'll have to climb inside to get a look," he said. "Thanks," said Mulder. If only Mulder was a little closer, Roger might be able to smack him in the face with the gate as he swung it up. Only he wasn't. "Stand back, so the gate don't hit you," Roger said, and he waited, refusing to open the van until Mulder took a step back. Even after he had the back open, he held his ground a second. "It's a big step. I'll help you up," he said. "I'm fine," Mulder said, and Roger moved aside just a little. He waited until Mulder had one foot up on the van. "I will help you," he said. He tried to make it look like an accident, muttering, "Sorry, clumsy," as he pushed Mulder's face against the floor. Mulder didn't seem to get it until Roger was sitting on top of him, and then he said, "Roger, cut it out." "Gimme the rope," he called to Cindy, and she tossed it to him. "Roger!" Mulder yelled. Mulder was smaller than a ram, and all in all he was easier to tie. Roger took away his gun and remembered to remove the bullets. He put both in his pocket, thinking he might return them to Agent Scully when it was all over. "Not gonna let you hurt her," Roger said, adjusting the rope around Mulder's wrists. He didn't want to cut off the blood. At least not there. "No sir. Not gonna let you do it." ======== Bone of Contention (10/15) "What the hell is the matter with you, Roger?" Mulder shouted as Roger belly-flopped him deeper into the van. His chin whacked against the gritty floor, jarring his teeth and causing an impressive set of fireworks behind his eyes. "Don't do no good yellin', Mr. Mulder. Nobody can hear you out here." With one last mighty heave on his belt, Roger shoved Mulder ahead a few feet until only his ankles remained outside the van. The floor was rough against his cheek, and his shin was going to have a lovely bruise from the doorway. Drawing a long breath of stale, musty air, Mulder forced himself to slow his frantic breathing. He had to keep his wits together. Roger might be dumb as mud but the man was incredibly determined about whatever he'd gotten into that thick skull. The van smelled of rust and something vaguely animal-like underlaid with a strange medicinal smell. Mulder could think of no good reason for that smell. Roger loosened the rope at Mulder's wrists, but unfortunately, only enough to ease the pins and needles sensation in his hands. "Roger, you need to untie me. I'm trying to help you!" "I know all about you. I know the bad things you did, and I won't let you do them anymore." He cast his mind back over the brief conversation he'd had with Roger before the big man had overpowered him. Mulder grimaced, hearing Scully's voice in his head. *Don't underestimate him, huh Mulder? Isn't that what you told me?* What bad things was Roger referring to, anyway? Mulder tried to think. His contact with the big guy had been extremely limited. What on earth could have set Roger off? How fucking humiliating, he thought. Trussed up like a prize pig--outsmarted by a man who had to read the instructions on a bottle of shampoo. Scully was going to have a field day with this one. That is, if she ever FUCKING GOT HERE TO RESCUE HIM! Damn, why the hell had he gone and stranded her at Weymouth? Oh sure, it sounded like a good idea at the time. Scully must have been furious when she got out to the parking lot and found he'd hared off after Roger. She'd probably rip him a new one if she were here. That is, after she stopped laughing at his predicament. He'd gladly face any comments by Scully--any humiliation at all--just to have her show up. He had a very bad feeling about this. "Damn it, Roger, that's enough. Let me go!" Mulder felt Roger's bulk shift over him as the man grabbed him by the shoulders and flipped him onto his back. One of his wrists was bent the wrong way, and it hurt like hell. Mulder let loose with every swear word he could remember. "Fuck, Roger--that hurts," he said, finally running out of epithets. "Don't talk like that," Roger said, darkly. "'Specially in front of a lady." Mulder's gaze ricocheted around the interior of the van, taking in the torn ceiling fabric, a ragged hole in one of the seat backs. The overhead light cast shadows in the corners, but Mulder could see two rows of bench seats and a large red and white plastic box. Over the scuffed vinyl seatback, a tangle of dirty white curls appeared. Mulder was riveted as a pair of blue eyes peered over the edge. Clearly, whatever it was, this creature was terrified. Mulder couldn't remember ever seeing such a tragic gaze. Delicate, human hands gripped the back of the seat, the finger nails smooth and gently curved. The face was odd, not quite sheep-like, not quite human. The wool on the face was sparse, showing pink skin beneath. The nose wasn't as long as the sheep Mulder had seen at Weymouth; the ears were folded more closely against the head. He couldn't see its mouth, but wheezing, frightened sounds echoed through the van. "It's okay, Cindy. He can't hurt you. I'm gonna fix it so he can't ever hurt anyone again." Roger's voice was soothing as he spoke gently to the creature. "Roger, don't do it!" Mulder pleaded. His only defense was his words, and Roger was a tough audience. "I'm a federal agent. Do you know what happens to people who kill a federal agent? The electric chair, Roger. They'll fry you in the fucking chair, and maybe Cindy too, for being your helper." "Dirty-mouth dummy," Roger said disdainfully, looking him right in the eye. Mulder tried to twist away as he felt Roger's hands on his belt buckle. "What the hell are you doing? Stop that!" he ordered, trying to sound commanding instead of terrified and helpless as Roger opened his trousers and jerked them roughly down to his knees. "Dirty-mouth dummy," Roger said again. = = = = = = "I'm glad you called. Sorry about being such a jerk," Brian said. His calm, friendly voice on the phone was a relief. Scully was hesitant about asking him for a favor, after their chilly parting that morning, but she needed a lift and the hotel car wouldn't be available for another hour. "Don't be glad yet. I'm going to ask you to do something for me," Scully warned him. "As long as it isn't illegal," Brian said. "I need a ride," she told him. "I'm over at Weymouth Scientific without a car." "So it's nothing personal. You're just using me again," he said cheerfully. "I'm afraid so," she answered, marveling that he could be so easy-going. "Favors are my specialty. At least you'll get used to having me around," he said. Scully hung up and tried Mulder's phone again. The wind had picked up and Scully shivered a bit as she waited outside the door. No matter how cold it was, she had no intention of going back inside. By the time Brian pulled into the parking lot, she had tried Mulder's line two more times, without success. "I was way out of line," Brian said when she got into his car. "I know you're working, and I'm in no position to put demands on your time or attention." "But you had a valid point," she said. "Let's put on the brakes, at least until this case is over." "Exactly. We'll just let things take their own course." He gave her a jaunty smile, and she thought how rarely she'd seen Mulder smile that way. They drove to her hotel, where Scully picked up the tubes with Mulder's blood. The ice had completely melted, but the water was still very cold when she shook the last droplets off the vials. "Now I have to find out about shipping," she said. "The Fed Ex office is all the way to Banner Falls. Maybe you could have the hotel take care of the arrangements," Brian suggested as she pulled the hotel room door shut behind her. "Fed Ex," she said decisively. "I can pick up a rental car at the Exxon." The service station, besides its mini mart, contained a branch of a car rental company. Accounting would freak out when they saw that she and Mulder had rented a second car. "I'll drive you to Fed Ex," he said. "Remember, I'm the favor-man." "I could never ask you to do that," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't ask. Let's go," he said. Brian's hand was at her back as they left the hotel. Scully drew in a sharp breath at the familiarity of the gesture. = = = Agent Mulder never took his eyes off Roger. He couldn't talk or holler anymore, but his eyes were enough to show he was scared. "You had no cause to raise such a racket. You're hardly gonna feel it," Roger said. "I'm not fixing to kill you." At first Mulder had tried to talk to him, stating all the reasons to let him go. But then, when Roger had his pants open and dragged down to his knees, Mulder had put up enough of a fuss that Cindy started to whimper. He wouldn't shut his mouth so Roger shut it for him, using the wide silk tape to do the job. "You're only gonna be better off for it. You won't be thinking wickedness all the time," Roger said. He tore off an extra length of the tape to hold Mulder's penis up against his stomach. Keep it out of the way. Mulder writhed like a fish on the hook as he tried to move away from Roger. Hoarse, muffled sounds came from behind the tape across Mulder's mouth. Roger was working as fast as he could, and Mulder's panic was getting him rattled. He took a vial from the medicine kit; it was the sleep medication he'd used the day before. "You shouldn't even need this," he said reproachfully as he pulled some up into a syringe. One of the reasons Roger didn't like working with horses was that they'd get into a panic and stare at you with their great big rolling eyes, and that's what Mulder was doing to him. "Settle down now," Roger said as he jabbed the needle into Mulder's thigh. "Go to sleep." Cindy's curiosity was starting to get the better of her shyness, and she crawled over to see what was going on. Roger was fixing to shoo her away, except it turned out she was helpful. She gave Mulder something else to look at with his big, scared eyes, instead of staring at Roger. Roger loaded a second syringe with Xylocaine, and he took his smallest needle for the injection, but Mulder was bucking and thrashing from the moment Roger touched his sac, even before the shot. "That's it. That's the last it's gonna hurt," Roger said as he withdrew the needle. Xylocaine needs a few minutes to work. In the meantime, Roger got the rest of his stuff ready. Scalpel, couple of clamps, and some stitches. "You won't hardly bleed, either," he said. Hogs are hard. Sheep are easy. He figured Mulder would be somewhere in between. = = = Bone of Contention (11/15) "Quit looking at me like that," Roger said. "See, you won't even feel it." He gave a tap, to show he had everything all numbed up, but Mulder was still staring, all bug-eyed and crazy. "Serves you right," Roger said, but he couldn't work this way. He took out the vial of medicine that had knocked Mulder out just fine the day before. "I don't know why you won't go to sleep. You can have one more shot, and then I'm getting you done right no matter how hard you stare." Even all tied up, Mulder tried to get away from him. It made the needle go in funny, and Roger was annoyed. "See, you made it hurt more. Dummy," he said. Then they both heard it; a car approaching on the rutted, unpaved ground. Cindy heard it too. "Eh?" she asked. They heard a door creak open, and footsteps, and then Mulder really went wacko, thrashing, even banging his head on the floor to make noise. Roger couldn't remember if he'd locked the rear of the van. The handle turned. Roger held his breath. He was in trouble now for sure, whoever it was. He pushed Cindy up toward the front of the van and down between the seats, in case it was Doc Revere. Maybe he wouldn't see her. Maybe he'd just see Mulder, and let Roger finish his work. The gate swung open. The man outside was older than Mulder, older than the doc. His face was deeply creased, and his hair was gray. He was smoking a cigarette. "Well, Fox. You've gotten yourself in quite a fix, haven't you?" he asked. The man was nice and friendly, and the way Mulder looked at him, all hateful and mad, convinced Roger that he was a good man. "That's a mighty sharp knife you have there," the smoking man said to Roger. He took a long slow drag off his cigarette, nodding as he released the stream of smoke. "Got to be," Roger explained. "What's your name?" the man asked, and Roger told him. "Well, Roger, you've given me the best laugh I've had in a long time. Or don't you agree, Mr. Mulder?" Mulder moved his head like he was trying to say something. "He's stubborn," Roger commented. The smoker sat down on the tailgate. Roger hoped Cindy wouldn't get too cold with the back of the van open, but he didn't want to upset the friendly visitor. "He always has been. Perhaps he'll be less stubborn once you complete your operation," the man said. "That's how it goes," Roger agreed. "Makes 'em calm and happy." "Calm and happy. You'll like that, won't you, Fox? It will be a such a relief after a life so full of turmoil and unhappiness," the smoker said. If looks could kill, like Pa used to say. Mulder didn't look like a frightened horse any more; he looked like a crazy bull. "He don't believe it," Roger said, and the smoker laughed. "How odd. I've heard he'll believe almost anything," he said. The old man was having a lot of fun, but Roger didn't want to waste any more time. The air in the van was now thick and gray with smoke. Cindy coughed quietly, and Roger's heart started to pound, but luckily the smoker didn't hear her. "Okay if I cut him now?" Roger asked, and waited for an answer. "We'll let Mr. Mulder decide. Take the tape off his mouth," the smoker said at last. "He'll holler up a storm," Roger warned him. "We have to ask him if he wants this operation," the smoking man said. Roger didn't answer. He didn't see why Mulder had to agree to anything, since he was all tied up. Animals didn't know what was best for them. You had to do things they didn't want because you knew they needed it, and Mulder needed this. Roger thought maybe the smoking man was trying to rile him, just like he was trying to rile Agent Mulder. He shrugged, as if he really didn't care, and ripped the tape from Mulder's mouth. Mulder flinched and made a hissing noise. Roger was closer to him, but Mulder tried to pick up his head enough to talk to the smoking man. "Let me go, you bastard," he said. His voice sounded funny, as if he was drunk. Roger had never noticed that effect before because the other animals couldn't talk. "Very well," the smoking man said. "It's his choice." Roger was disappointed but not surprised. "We'll use the other agent for our plan," the smoker added. Roger was confused because the other agent was Agent Scully, and he couldn't do to her what he was doing to Mulder. Surgery like that you need a vet. It sounded like the man thought he and Roger had a plan, but Roger had never seen the smoker before. How could there be a plan? Roger was used to being confused when other people talked, but he wasn't confused about this. "What are you talking about?" Mulder rasped. "I thought you'd be more chivalrous, Mr. Mulder. After all, Agent Scully has already endured more than her fair share," the smoker said. "However, either one of you will serve our current purpose." "If you cut off my balls, you'll leave her alone? Why the hell should I believe you?" Mulder asked. "You can believe whatever you like," said the smoker. "Roger, find his phone, please." The phone was right in his jacket pocket. Roger held it up like a trophy. "Dial up his partner," the smoker instructed. "After he tells her how to get here, you can cut him loose." "What is her number?" Roger asked. "Push the number 'one,' and then 'send,'" the smoking man said. "Now hold it so he can talk to her." He had some trouble pushing the tiny buttons with his big finger, but he managed at last and brought the phone to Mulder's face. "Scully, I need you to get over here. I'm in the woods just south of Weymouth Scientific, about a quarter mile off the road," Mulder said. "And hurry." Roger folded the phone and reached to untie the cord around Mulder's ankles, but the smoking man stopped him. "So number one is her home phone," the smoker said. "Try it again, Roger, only this time press the number 'two.'" "I did what you said," Mulder protested. "Then do it again," said the smoker. "To her cell phone." "Fuck you," said Mulder. "Does that mean you've changed your mind?" the smoker asked. "I'll kill you," Mulder said angrily. "You've never been calm and happy before. Perhaps you'll thank me," the smoker said. The smoker was getting on Roger's nerves, not just because of the cigarettes, but because he talked as if everything was a joke that only he understood. Also, he was making it take too long. Cindy hadn't had her breakfast, and Mulder was going to need another shot soon. Cindy coughed again, and this time everyone heard it. The smoker gave Roger a harsh look and said, "Bring it out." "Huh?" Roger asked. "Bring the test animal out where I can see it." Roger knew he had to obey. As he climbed into the van, the smoker turned around and tossed a rag so that it fell over Mulder's face. "You've seen quite enough already, Mr. Mulder," he said. = = = = = The radio was set to "easy listening," and the bland music filled in the gaps in the conversation. Instead of driving to Banner Falls, seventy miles away, Brian was taking Scully to rent a car. "Separation anxiety," Brian pronounced after a long silence. "Uh-huh," Scully answered absently. "You needed a ride to the Fed Ex office, I offered you a ride, and now you won't go because you can't get your partner on the phone," he continued. She registered his irritation more than the specifics of his complaint, but her thoughts were elsewhere. He was driving her to the Exxon station where she'd get a car of her own, and that was all that mattered to her. "I'm his back-up," she explained. "My sister went through this, when her youngest started kindergarten," Brian informed her. "Justin was fine. It was Mommy who couldn't let go." "I'm sure he's fine," Scully answered. "You did want to get your evidence shipped out, remember? Or was that my imagination?" Brian asked. "I changed my mind," Scully said. "All because Agent Mulder won't pick up his phone," he said. "I have to be available," she said without expecting him to understand. Brian kept his thoughts to himself until his phone rang. Flipping it open, he took the call with no attempt to conceal the conversation. "It's okay, I wasn't doing anything anyway," he said into the phone. "A dog? Shouldn't be a problem, especially if it's riding in a carrier." "What was that about?" Scully asked when he closed his phone. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd given her the cold shoulder, but he turned to answer her. "Mr. Terranova's leaving town with his new companion," Brian laughed. "I never figured him for an animal-lover." "A large dog? Traveling in a closed carrier?" Scully asked. This time he didn't answer. "Brian? What time are you meeting him?" He adjusted his Stetson and turned up the volume on the radio, and when he spoke, his jaw was set. "About a mile more to the service station," he said. "Thanks. I was just wondering." She was trying to pose her questions in casual language, but his expression told her to give up. Brian thought she was playing games or using him, and maybe she was. In any case, she didn't have time to work at changing his mind. She wanted to try Mulder's number once more, but she forced herself to wait. No one spoke until Brian pulled into the Exxon station. "Thanks," Scully said as she got out of his car. He nodded slightly, and then he drove away. Scully had to stand by the service desk until the manager was free, because he was the only one who could access the computer for the rental company. He tried valiantly to sell her on an upgrade, but she held her ground and he backed down. Finally she had her car. With no clear destination, she decided to drive back to Weymouth and see if she could pick up Mulder's trail from there. Before she could turn the key, her phone rang and she flipped it open. "Mulder, where are you?" she snapped. Thanks to his tired old disappearing act, she'd pissed off the only normal man on earth who found her attractive. "Ah, you're wondering where Agent Mulder might be," said a familiar voice. Her gut clenched, but she held back her fear and let out her anger. "Where is he?" she barked. "I remember when Mulder was outstanding in his field," the voice said. "Now, I'm afraid, he's out lying in the woods." "What have you done to him?" she demanded. "When you find him, tell him he owes me one. Two, really." "I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing--" "Don't take too long. The nights are cold here, and Agent Mulder is somewhat less durable than the proverbial brass monkey." = = = = = Bone of Contention (12/15) It was a dream he'd had before. His besieged brain tried to wake him even as his leaden body urged him to sleep a little longer. These nightmares first appeared when Scully was missing. Usually it was Scully stripped and bound and helpless, but sometimes it was Mulder himself. He struggled to escape his troubled sleep, but his weariness was too great. When he finally awoke, the dread had ebbed and the feeling that screamed him to consciousness was pain. His arms! Crushed between his own weight and the rough, cold ground. He tried to pull them free, and he realized with a grunt that his wrists were tied. Finally he managed to lurch himself over onto his side, bringing fresh pain to his strained shoulders. He stilled himself to catch his breath and let the circulation return. He was exhausted. He wanted to go back to sleep almost as much as he wanted his arms free. As the pain in his arms subsided, the panic returned, a visceral horror that gripped his throat and soaked him with sweat even as he struggled to remember the cause of his fear. *Roger and the sheep hybrid and the cancer man and--oh, God!* They hadn't killed him, but maybe he'd be better off dead. He writhed frantically on the ground, ignoring the angry jolts of pain in his arms as he curled himself into a "C" to inspect the damage. No blood. No blood that he could see, anyway. A strip of white tape across his pelvis--what the fuck? Sick, dirty bastards, what had they done to him? Nothing hurt down there. Was that good? He needed his hands, but his hands were useless, trapped behind his back. If he could bring his legs up and squirm them through the loop formed by his conjoined arms, he'd be able to check himself for damage. It would have been a simple exercise in handcuffs, but the rope that tied his wrists gave him almost no slack, and his bruised arms and shoulders ached at the added abuse. Mulder ignored the pain in his arms and the pain in his face where it pressed against the pebbled ground. He wriggled his way through the maneuver, forcing the fear from his mind. His trousers and shorts were bunched down around his shins. The strip of white tape across his lower gut yanked at his penis. Better not to think about that. Think about something else. Something safe. *On the mound, Mike Torrez. Munson catching. Chambliss on first, Randolph on second, Dent at short, and Nettles on Third. In the outfield...* Finally, success. Hands still bound, but now where he could use them. His balls felt solid, sweaty, and warm. Pretty much as he remembered them. "Thank you, God!" he whispered out loud. Now with the overwhelming pain in his shoulders eased, other sensations were becoming apparent. Small stones dug into his bare butt. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the tape pull at the skin of his groin. His fingers found the edge of the tape. With one quick motion, he ripped it off. "Fuck!" It was a hell of a bikini wax, and he'd probably removed some skin along with the hair. It was a small price to pay. His fear washed away in waves of relief, and as the tension abated, the lethargy returned. Drugged, he realized, remembering the needles. He could probably free himself with enough effort, but he was so damned tired. He lay on the ground, curled protectively around his treasures. Your balls or your life. Easy choice, because you'd be better off dead. Cancer Man played for high stakes, and Mulder did too. Death was always on the table. But not this. Not what they threatened today. I would have killed him, Mulder thought. He'd been close before, but this time he would have pulled the trigger. Three times. Twice for Cancer Man, and once for himself. He wouldn't bother leaving a note. It wouldn't be needed. There was a trick that female agents sometimes used. He'd seen Scully do it, and he'd even heard her explain it to a young rookie: "For a recalcitrant subject, try pointing the gun at his groin instead of his chest. It helps him focus." "That really works?" the rookie had asked, her voice full of skepticism. "A shot in the chest can kill you." "Men aren't always rational," Scully had answered. Unlike Scully, who was always rational. She talked about her body as if it was something separate from herself. "I have cancer"--she'd only said that once, the day she told him about the tumor. After that, it was "the cancer that invaded my body." It was almost as if she'd willed it to be something apart from her after that first day. It was one huge difference between them, because Mulder knew he *was* his body. Balls were courage. Under "man" in the dictionary, it said, "see balls." It wasn't just a metaphor. He really should try to get himself untied. At the very least, he should find a way to pull up his pants. Again he brought his hands down between his legs, fingering himself carefully. All there. He was still himself. He brought his hands up before his face, studying the coarse rope around his wrists. Hemp, not nylon, and the knots were fast. He could probably find a way to grind through, or even chew his way free, but it wouldn't be easy. His trousers were slightly more cooperative. Gradually he squirmed and tugged his way back into his clothes. It was worth the considerable effort needed to zip his fly and buckle his belt. He was on the ground with his hands tied, but he didn't feel so utterly vulnerable. He should kill that bastard, for what he could have done, even if he didn't do it. He should kill that smoking bastard for knowing how frightened Mulder really was. The sounds of an approaching car cut through his rage and turned it to terror. They were coming back. They had taken Cindy someplace safe and now they were coming back to finish the job. = = = = = "Where the hell are you, Mulder?" Her words echoed through the car as she turned it off the main road onto the rutted path that cut through the trees. This had to be the right place, she thought. Ahead of the car, several sets of ridges looked fresh in the high beam's brightness. The car bumped and bounced over the uneven terrain. The accountants were going to complain loud enough about the second rental car without having to pay for a wheel alignment or damaged axle. Scully replayed Cancer Man's cryptic words, wondering what condition she'd find her partner in this time. A body could only take so much abuse and Mulder had already exceeded his quota of unconsciousness on this case. She rounded a slight curve in the path, spotting a dark form sprawled in the headlight's shine. Scully stopped the car, realizing the dark form was Mulder. "Are you injured?" she called out as she ran from the car. Mulder lay on his back, blinking in the bright light. He seemed dazed and terrified, the fear gradually morphing into relief at the sound of her voice. "Scully?" "Oh my God, Mulder. What happened to you?" He winced as she grabbed his upper arms to help him into a sitting position. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "Oh, the usual," he said wearily, holding up his bound wrists. "Do you have anything handy to cut these ropes?" "I'll be right back." She ran back to the car, wishing she'd brought her medical bag. The rental company had included a small emergency kit in the back of the car. She hauled it out and carried it over to Mulder. "I don't see anything here...wait...maybe I can do something with the end of this screwdriver. Oh good, they have a solar blanket," she said, shaking out the silver foil fabric and draping it over Mulder's shoulders. The screwdriver was useless on the coil of rope around Mulder's wrists, but she finally managed to loosen the bindings enough to free him. His wrists were rubbed raw and looked extremely painful. Mulder's hands must have ached with pins and needles as he hissed out a breath and tucked them under his armpits, rocking back and forth. Suddenly, his hands flew to his ankles, scrambling over the fabric of his slacks. He shook his head. "My legs were tied before. They must have untied them before they left. How did...how did you know where to find me?" he asked. Something about Mulder just didn't feel right. He seemed distracted and fuzzy. His clothing was rumpled, but no more than she would have expected after being tied up and left in the woods. Mulder brought his hands down to rest over his lap. Scully dragged her gaze away, trying not to think about why Mulder seemed to be cupping his privates. "Cancer Man called me. He said you 'owe him one.' Mulder, are you all right?" "I'm just a little woozy." He didn't seem able to meet her eye. "I saw her, Scully, the hybrid sheep. Roger got her away from Weymouth. We've got to look for them." "Brian got a call earlier, from the Smoking Man. He wanted to be flown out and he said he was bringing a large dog in a crate." "You were with Brian," Mulder said, flatly. Why did she feel defensive? It was his fault she had to call Brian in the first place. "Well, you stranded me out at Weymouth, and the hotel didn't have a car available to pick me up for an hour. You're lucky Brian could drive me to pick up another rental car or you'd still be lying there tied up." He looked at her for a moment, nodding and then closing his eyes as if the motion had made him dizzy. "We've got to catch up with them, Scully," Mulder said, struggling to his feet. One hand flew to his head as he swayed and reached out to grab her arm for balance. "Mulder, you should be checked out." She slid an arm around his middle. "No time. Got to get to the airport." There was really no point in arguing, so she helped him to the car. He didn't appear to be in immediate danger, though her instincts were telling her something wasn't right. "Okay, we'll head out to the airport," she agreed, reluctantly, helping him into the passenger seat of the car. The path was too narrow to turn around, and Scully wasn't sure she could maneuver the car in reverse all the way out to the road. She drove forward until she came to a slight clearing on the left and turned into it, narrowly missing Mulder's rental. "Avis will be happy to know their car is intact. Scully, I don't have my weapon," Mulder said, patting his clothing down. He opened the car door, staggering a bit as he stood up. Her partner's eyes darted around the clearing, his hands shaking slightly. The car's headlights illuminated the clearing well enough to show nothing was there except rocks, leaves, and dirt. Mulder walked a few paces into the clearing and then froze in the beam of light. Gently touching his arm, Scully moved past him. She opened the abandoned rental's door, searching under the seats before popping the glove box. "Bingo," she called out. Mulder signed with relief when she produced his weapon, ID, and cell phone. This seemed to release him from his stasis and he walked over to her. "Thank God," he said. "Skinner would rip my head off and insert it where the sun don't shine if I lost another gun." He holstered his weapon, shoving his phone and ID in his jacket pocket. Crossing to Scully's car, he pulled the door open and slid inside. "Let's get the hell out of here." Scully backed out and pointed the car down the path and out to the road. Mulder was silent for the rest of the trip out to the airport. Scully snuck glances in his direction, noting that his gaze never left the passenger window and his hands never left his lap. They arrived at the airport, driving directly to the airfield where they'd landed a few days before. A man crossed the field, a clipboard in his hand. "We're looking for Brian Yates," Scully shouted as they crossed to meet the man. She pulled out her badge, flipping it open so the man could see it. "You're about an hour too late," the man said, looking up at the night sky. "Brian took off with an older man--one of his regular fares. Is Brian in some trouble?" "No, he's not in any trouble. You mentioned the older man. Did anyone else take off with Brian?" Scully asked. "Now that's a funny thing. One of those big luxury SUVs pulls up, and the old man gets out along with this big guy. I've never seen that old guy without a cigarette in his mouth, and this was no exception." "So he was smoking a cigarette," Mulder prompted, gesturing impatiently for the man to continue. "Yeah, the old man wanted Brian and the big guy to load this crate on the plane. Some kind of animal was in the crate. The old man said it was a dog, but it didn't sound much like one." "What makes you say that?" Scully asked. "Something was wheezing in that crate, coughing like. Just wasn't making dog sounds. So, the big guy said the animal was sick and cigarette smoke bothered it. You know, the big guy seemed kind of dumb, but he was stubborn. Said he wouldn't let the old man take it if he didn't stop smoking. Then Brian says he isn't carrying a sick animal on his plane. They argued and the old man got on the plane alone." "What happened to the big man?" "He drove off with whatever was in the crate." = = = = Bone of Contention (13/15) "Drive me to my car. I'll haul ass and see if I can catch them before they make the interstate. You head over to Roger's place. I don't think he'd bring Cindy there, but it's possible," Mulder said. Time was not on their side, and he squirmed impatiently, sitting in the passenger seat as Scully looked him over, frowning slightly. "I'm taking you back to the hotel," she said at last. Mulder shook his head. "If you find him, call me. I don't want you trying to apprehend him by yourself." Scully flipped her phone open. "Sheriff Morris, this is Special Agent Dana Scully. I need you to put out an APB." Mulder glowered as she described the subject and his vehicle, and when he heard the phrase "assault on a federal agent," he had his hand to his balls before he could suppress the gesture. "You shouldn't have done that," Mulder said when Scully closed her phone. "Roger has an hour's head start," she reminded him. "We can't catch him by ourselves." "The sheriff won't help us," Mulder said. He couldn't voice his real concern--what Roger would tell the sheriff if he was caught. A full description of Mulder hog-tied, helpless, and wild with terror as Roger prepared to relieve him of his wickedness. "He's sending a deputy to Roger's home and he's alerted the highway patrol to look for the Explorer," Scully countered. "He's doing his job." Finally she started the engine. "Just drop me off by my car so I can do mine," he said brusquely. "You've been drugged, Mulder, for the second time in two days." Her voice was gentle, calm, and measured. She was irritating the shit out of him. "You may not be aware of it, but your speech, your movement, your thinking--they're impaired." "At least I didn't say I love you," he snapped. She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him. "You're the victim, Mulder. Your injuries are evidence," she said. "I don't have any injuries," he said quickly. "Your wrists are abraded. And we'll get you to a doctor for a thorough check." "Drop it, Scully. I told you I'm not injured." There were a dozen ways she could have overruled his refusal. Probably it was the practical difficulties that made her relent. "Blood work," she said. "You can draw blood," he agreed. That appeased her, and they rode in silence. If there was one person in five billion who could never understand, it was Scully. "A knife invaded my body and removed its testicles." That would be Scully-ese for what they tried to do to him. "I'll read your statement before you submit it," Scully said. "Thanks. I'll use the spell-check," Mulder said stonily. "Mulder, please. You can't expect yourself to be an objective investigator when you're also the victim." Victim. Anybody could be a victim. Hell, most people were, eventually, one way or another. But the words felt heavy with shame. "I'm not going to worry about testifying against Roger until they catch him." The car was warm, and if only Scully would quit bothering him, he could probably take a nap. "It's not just about Roger. It's about you, and your ordeal." Bile rose in his throat as little details came back to him: Roger unbuckling his belt, the feel of another man's hands on his genitals, the smell of his own fear-sweat as he struggled against his restraints. If she didn't stop talking about his "ordeal," he might just have to jump from the car. "Shut up, Scully," he hissed. It was the closest he could come to a polite reply. She gave a little nod and pursed her lips. "I won't mention it again," she said. "But whenever you're ready--" "Goddamn it!" Mulder exploded. "Spare me, okay? Spare me this bullshit. Spare me your hypocrisy." She didn't answer. She didn't seem angry. Her demeanor was gentle and controlled, solicitous and tolerant. "You make me sick," Mulder said bitterly. He saw a spark of pain in her eyes, but somehow that made him feel better. "You let them blow up your body, and stuff it with monsters, and steal your eggs, and then you tell me I have to talk about what happened to me when nothing happened!" "You bastard." She sounded as if she was choking. Good. Choking on her hypocrisy. "They took your eggs, Scully. And now--now I don't even know who you are." Her face was deadly white, a mask of pain that he had caused. An enemy attack would have been gentle by comparision, he thought. It takes a real friend to wound a person this deeply. His satisfaction evaporated, leaving only horror in its wake. "Oh, God, Scully, I'm sorry. I know you didn't let them," he said. "After everything, after all this time, you don't know who I am?" she whispered. "I was drugged," he said stupidly. "Because I can't have children, you don't know who I am?" she asked. "That's not what I meant." "Isn't that what you said?" "No. But eggs...hormones...sex...and you don't date." She gripped the wheel. "No point in dating if you can't make babies. Is that what you're suggesting?" she asked angrily. "Hormones," he said lamely. "And feelings, and biology. Scully, I don't know what they did to you. Do you? I just didn't know if everything worked the way it should. Or if I should just forget it." Mulder knew that with every word he made everything worse, but he was afraid if he stopped now, they would never speak again. "'Cause if you don't, that would be okay. I do love you, Scully, even though you make me feel like an ass whenever I say it." Her knuckles were white. Her lips were trembling. "I love you," he said. "I am an ass, but I love you." If only she would talk. If only she would yell at him. "Scully, you never told me about your date." "I have no intention of discussing my date with you." Thank God. She was talking to him. "Did you have a good time?" he asked conversationally. "Why? Don't believe a barren woman can have fun?" If it wasn't about sex, it wouldn't be so goddamn complicated. Those bastards had "hyperovulated" her, but nobody knew what that meant. He couldn't find a doctor who had ever even heard of such a procedure. If Scully had been returned with a leg injury, they could talk about it. He could ask her, "Do you want to take a walk?" And she could answer, "No, I no longer want to walk." Or, "I want to walk but I can't." Or, "I want to walk, but not with you." "Please tell me about your date," he pressed. "Typical date--for a woman without ova," Scully said. "Scully, don't--" "Dinner. French food--very good. You know, many cancer patients lose their sense of taste, but I've been fortunate." Mulder winced. "Then we took a drive in the country, to look at the stars." That son of a bitch, Mulder thought. "Then I rescued you from the mad scientists, and Roger used that clamp-thing on the little lamb..." That clamp-thing. He'd forgotten about that. "...You passed out, and we went back to the hotel..." That huge, curved pair of pliers that could geld a ram without a cut, without spilling a drop of blood. Roger said it didn't even hurt for very long. "Like I said, just a typical date." Her voice traveled up and down the scale, as if she couldn't control the pitch. Hell, with a little Novacaine and maybe some knock-out drops, the damn sheep wouldn't even know it had been castrated. "Anything else you want to know, Mulder?" Maybe the stupid sheep would be standing in the shower one morning and its balls would just drop off. "I can tell you about my breakfast with Brian, if you're curious." Mulder didn't feel any pain, but that proved nothing. It might even be a bad sign. = = = = = It explained a lot. Scully kicked off her shoes and sat against her bed's headboard, wishing she had a cigarette and a stiff drink. Oh yes, Mulder's revelation explained a whole raft of previously baffling events. No wonder he'd gently put her off after her cancer had gone into remission. He obviously cared about her; she had no doubt of that. But when she had tried to advance them into a new direction during their little detour from the partnership seminar in Florida, he'd neatly sidestepped the issue, leaving her holding the wine and cheese. At the time, she'd assumed he was still reeling from almost losing her. Or maybe she just wasn't his type--not tall enough, leggy enough, sexy enough. It was finally clear, though, that he'd been repulsed. Oh, he'd been too kind to actually say it. Unless he was drugged, Mulder would never come out and admit he saw her as a neuter, a freak show exhibit. Her face burned with humiliation. After they'd gotten back to the motel, she'd insisted on bringing her medical bag to Mulder's room to draw more blood samples. He'd wanted to come to her room, but she couldn't risk being unable to evict a remorseful Mulder trying to explain away his words. It had taken every ounce of strength not to cry in front of him. She'd avoided his eye, concentrating instead on the task at hand. When she'd rolled back his sleeve, she winced again at the sight of his raw wrists. She'd escaped back to her room as soon as she'd filled the last vial of blood and packed her equipment. Mulder had been in mid "Scully, wait," when she'd closed the door behind her. Scully knew it was a matter of time before Mulder found an excuse to come over. She hoped the drugs in his system kicked in and Mulder went to bed. She didn't think she could handle another confrontation tonight. The knock on her door was distinctly unwelcome. "Scully? Can I come in?" "Not right now," she called. "It's kind of important." "I'm not feeling well," she said in a mammoth understatement. "I really need you." Scully had promised herself she'd be brave and strong, and although she wasn't yet ready to test herself, she opened the door a few inches. "What's wrong?" she asked him through the gap. "I need you to check something," he said. "Check what?" she asked him brusquely, hoping her tone would discourage him. "Can I come in?" he asked again. "What for?" she asked impatiently. "Scully, you don't even have to look. I just need you to check and see that, umm...everything's the way it should be." His fear and urgency finally penetrated the haze of her own misery, and she opened the door and let him in. "What's wrong, Mulder?" "Nothing. Probably," he said. "Then what do you want me to check?" Her exasperation was pushing her closer to tears, and if he made her cry she would have to kill him. His face twitched in a dozen stupid ways and he gestured awkwardly at his belt buckle as he answered. "Down there." "Oh, Mulder!" This was too much. *He* was too much. She'd squinted at his retinas through her ophthalmoscope. She'd cleaned and sutured the occasional laceration. She'd put him on antibiotics for bronchitis when he swore it was just a cold. But "down there"? Did he understand that her usual method of examination was to slice off a chunk and send it to histology? "Goddamn it, I need you! You're the only doctor within a thousand miles who doesn't work for Weymouth Scientific." She wouldn't refuse him. She might want to, but they both knew she wouldn't. Something had happened to him out in the woods, though he clearly wasn't ready to tell her about it. She'd noticed the way Mulder's hands had gravitated over and over to his "boys." She had wondered what had been wrong, and had been poised to tackle the subject when he'd struck out at her. Maybe that had been the point. "All right. Sit down." She observed him as he walked across the room and sat on the bed, noting that his movements appeared normal and comfortable. "You're staring at my crotch," Mulder complained. It was years since Scully had conducted this type of exam, and what she remembered most from her very limited experience was the incredible awkwardness. She joined him by the bed, reminding herself that she was a professional and he was a patient in need of her care. "Do you have any swelling, lumps, or tenderness in the scrotum?" she asked. "No." "Do you have any swelling, lumps, or tenderness on the penis?" "Damn it, Scully, I didn't ask you to humiliate me! I just want you to make sure there's nothing wrong," he pleaded. She interpreted his answer as a "no." "Are you aware of any painless lumps on the testicles?" she asked. "I don't believe this!" Mulder complained. Another "no." "Have you had any unprotected intercourse?" she asked stonily. "In my life?" he shot back. "Recently," she clarified. "Like you have to ask me that," he said bitterly. "Like you wouldn't know." "Do you have any discharge or pain with urination?" she asked. "No," he answered. Despite Mulder's impatience, Scully knew the history was as important as the physical assessment. But she was out of questions, and it was time to snap on the latex and do what she had to do. If she and Mulder both survived the exam, there would be concrete proof that no one ever died of embarrassment. "Okay. Take off your pants." She studied the ceiling as she pulled on her gloves, and when she looked down, Mulder was still in his boxers. Apparently he expected her to peek through the slit. Their eyes met, and, sighing with resignation, he stood up and shucked off his shorts. "L-lie down," she stammered. Now Mulder studied the ceiling as she studied his scrotum. It was cool in the room, which wasn't going to make this any easier. "You know, it would help a lot if you'd tell me what the problem was," she said. "Just get it over with," Mulder said with manifest misery. "Let me know if anything hurts," she instructed him. Her first touch nearly launched him off the bed. "Sorry," he gulped. "Your hands are freezing." "Gloves," she corrected him as he settled back onto the bed. "Well?" Mulder asked a few minutes into the examination. "I'm not finding anything remarkable," Scully said. "Is there something in particular you're concerned about?" "Um," he said. It was terribly unprofessional of her, but she wondered if a twist or two wouldn't encourage him to speak up. "Um, how are those ol' spermatic cords of mine?" he asked. She located the cords once again, palpating gently between thumb and index finger. "Palpable, nontender. I find no evidence of injury or pathology, but a Doppler study would be more conclusive," she said. "Nothing's crushed down there?" he asked. More than ever she wanted to squeeze the truth out of him. "Tell me what happened back in those woods!" she commanded. He heaved an immense sigh of relief. "Apparently nothing." It would take threats and pressure to force him to talk, and she couldn't make herself apply either with Mulder at such a disadvantage. Damn him for using his vulnerability against her. "Do you think you could find somebody else on this planet to check your prostate?" she asked. "No problem." "Get dressed." = = = Bone of Contention (14/15) He awoke the next morning with the firm conviction that something was right. Ancient memories swam through his brain as he sought the source of his happiness. Snow day? New puppy? No. Better. Scully was okay. She'd always been okay. The things he'd imagined and feared... well, maybe he really was paranoid. Hell, if there had been a way for them to turn Scully into someone who couldn't love him, they would have done it. But they couldn't, which meant she could. That date with Brian, that was a good thing. It proved she was okay. It wouldn't be a good thing if Mulder believed for a minute that Brian had a chance in hell with Scully, but for the first time in a while, Mulder was optimistic. All he needed to do was show Scully he was interested in her "that way." Easy. And Mulder was okay too. Original equipment intact. The memory of the near miss clouded his joy, but he pushed it aside. He'd think about it later. Or, more practically, he'd add a clause to his living will, and then never think about it again. He forced his mind back to happier thoughts. Planning Scully's dream date. Not dinner-and-a-movie. Not football, not basketball. Something different, something classy--the Symphony. He pulled out his phone. The Mulder magic almost failed him. Ticketmaster offered him separate seats in the second tier. Danny Vallejo said he'd ask around. ("Symphony? What's up with that, Mulder?") Langly wanted to know if he was smoking crack. Finally he called the box office and found success. With his mojo working, not to mention his Gold Card, it was time to strut his stuff. First a shower, reconfirming that his equipment remained intact. Usually his mind wandered as he washed up automatically. Today he was aware of everything, and intensely grateful that nothing but water circled down the drain. Clean, dry, and dressed, he knocked on Scully's door and prepared to sweep her off her feet. She answered, mumbling a greeting around her toothbrush. He caught a fleeting glimpse of damp hair as she turned and retreated to the bathroom. "So, Scully. How do you feel about Telemann?" he asked, enjoying the sight of her round little ass. God, he loved the way that skirt clung in all the right places. "What?" she called from the bathroom over the sound of running water. "Do you like Telemann?" "The composer?" she asked, obviously confused. She moved to the dresser, putting her watch on. Her voice was quiet and controlled when she spoke again. "What's going on, Mulder?" She turned to face him then, and he realized how tired she looked, how pale and fragile. The skin around her eyes seemed bruised. She looked like she'd spent more time crying than sleeping the night before. Guilt twisted in his gut as he remembered the conversation that had preceded his impromptu physical. "Scully..." He stalled, unable to broach the subject of dating in the face of such pain. "Are you all right?" At first he thought she was going to cry, but then her expression twisted into anger. "Why wouldn't I be? What's that saying about the empty vessel? That it makes the loudest sound." "Scully, I was crazy last night. I was scared and confused." "I'm barren, Mulder. Sterile. Not a woman, just some left-over parts that used to be a woman." "I'm so sorry, Scully. You have to believe that. I wasn't in my right mind. You said it yourself--it was the second time I'd been drugged in two days. You can't take anything I said seriously." She shook her head, a bitter little smile playing over her lips. "You want me to believe you love me when the only time you say it you're in a barbiturate stupor. You can't have it both ways, Mulder." He took her by the shoulders and shoved her to the bed. "Sit down," he ordered her. "You've got to listen to me." He saw her jaw tighten with outrage, but she sat. Even if he found the right words, he didn't know if she would hear them. "Scully, do you remember when you said that it wasn't always about me? Well, this is. This is all about me." "About you? I'm the only one whose sexual function is in question. You're all man, Mulder, as we proved last night with that exercise in physical assessment." "When I think about what happened to you, I think how I wasn't there for you. And I tried to get you back, but I was too late, and then I didn't even know where to look. And in all this time, I've never even been able to get them for what they did to you. And that does make me less of a man, Scully, just as much as if Cancer Man had turned me into a capon." Scully's eyes widened as Mulder realized his slip. He had just revealed the darkest shame of his captivity. "Oh, Mulder." Her sympathy troubled him more than her anger, but he decided to make use of it. "You see. It is about me," he said. "You're fine, Mulder, I promise you." She rose from the bed, facing him squarely. "You weren't talking about capons yesterday, you were talking about eggs and hormones. You were wondering what I was. Those are the things you said yesterday." "But it was still about me. About whether you could love me." She shook her head slightly, and then turned away. He watched her as she walked to the window, shoulders high, back straight. He didn't know what more he could say. The awkward silence was interrupted by Scully's ringing cell phone. She gave Mulder an almost painfully resigned look as she flipped her phone open. "Good morning, Sheriff Morris," she greeted the caller, then fell silent as she listened. "We'll be right there," she told Morris before closing the phone. "Where are we going?" he asked. "A Lincoln Navigator leased by Weymouth Scientific was found burning in the woods off Peyster Road." They were going to continue this conversation if he had anything to do with it. Scully had to let him in, had to listen to him. But right now, she was heading out the door and all he could do was follow. He hurried after her, getting to the driver's side first. Things were going to be hard enough as it was. At least driving the car would take some concentration and keep him from going crazy. They found the burning SUV without much difficulty. It wasn't far from where Mulder's car had been left in the clearing. Sheriff Morris was standing talking to another officer a few feet from the smoldering truck. He turned and watched them approach. "Damndest thing, it's like that SUV was roasted from the inside out. The paint's barely blistered and the gas tank didn't blow, but the passenger compartment's practically vaporized," he told them before going back to his squad car. He leaned in through the open door and reached for the radio speaker. "We need a forensics team," Scully said. "Victim identification will be extremely difficult." Morris nodded. "The state's sending some crime scene techs, but they won't be here till tomorrow." He caught Scully's scowl. "Car's still too hot to process anyway. And the victims aren't going anywhere--if there were any." Scully stepped back from the stinking truck and turned to Mulder. "Do you think Roger was in the car?" she asked, studying him carefully. He shrugged, watching smoke drift from the big Lincoln. Even after the horror of his near castration, Mulder felt no triumph at Roger's fiery end. Too many questions remained. Whoever set Roger on his mission of mutilation hadn't used threats or payment; the slow-thinking giant really believed the world would be a better place if Mulder sang soprano. Was Revere that clever? How had he done it, and why? "They're getting rid of the evidence, Scully. If Cancer Man couldn't take Cindy with him, he had to make sure no trace of her remained." "I think you're right, Mulder. We have to get back to Weymouth." She was efficient and focused. Mulder sighed with pity, for her and himself. Scully could charge around issuing orders about a case they'd already blown, but she couldn't avoid it forever. Very soon they would have to have the conversation that would transform the hardboiled FBI agent back into the angry, red-eyed woman only barely containing her tears. "Hurry," Scully said. She opened the car door, eyeing him quizzically as he stood, leaning against the hood. "Mulder, Revere's in danger. So is anyone else who knows." Shit. She was right. Galvanized, he opened the door. "Hold on." Sheriff Morris approached them, cutting a wide path around the smoking Lincoln and turning his face to avoid the odor. "It just came over my radio. Weymouth's off limits. Some sort of chemical spill." Mulder squared his shoulders and looked the other man in the eye. "We're federal officers, Sheriff, investigating a series of federal infractions. You don't have the authority to stop us." "Stop you? I just thought you'd want to know." Morris shook his head and shrugged. "Knock yourselves out." Once they made it back to the open road, Mulder was able to pour on the speed. The only signs that Scully was less than comfortable were her feet planted against the floorboard and one white-knuckled hand gripping the dashboard. They were a half mile from Weymouth when they heard the helicopters. Mulder craned his neck to follow two Blackhawks swooping ahead of the car. The car lurched to a halt as they approached Weymouth. Firetrucks, rescue vehicles, state police cars, all crowded the normally deserted Peyster Road in a surreal landscape. Mulder pulled onto the shoulder of the road, hopping out of the car and jogging past the vehicles. He was vaguely aware of Scully calling his name as she hurried after him. "Sir, you need to get back in your car!" A large man in military fatigues approached Mulder, pointing in the direction of the road. "This area is restricted." "I'm a federal agent," Mulder said, flipping open his ID. "I don't care if you're Eliot Ness, turn around and leave. This facility is a class five biohazard." "Which is why Colonel Ostelhoff called for my assistance," Mulder explained patiently. The soldier wasn't impressed. "I never heard of any Colonel Ostelhoff. But Colonel Jackson gave the order to clear out all civilians." Mulder gave a look that was meant to convey sullen defeat and got back in the car. "Revere isn't answering his phone," Scully informed him. "Mulder, what's going on?" The line of vehicles heading toward Weymouth was bumper to bumper, but Mulder nosed into the traffic and forced a gap, waiting for the truck ahead to move enough so he could complete the turn. "We're leaving?" Scully sounded surprised. "Just driving away?" How times had changed. Instead of fighting with him to keep out of trouble and do what they were told, she was questioning why he would give up so easily. "Wait," he said. He drove another hundred feet and then stopped, blocking the lane. "They're evacuating the area. This is the only road they can use," he explained. When a car pulled up behind him, he was ready. ID in hand, jacket open to reveal his weapon, he approached the driver. "How ya doin' there, sir. Colonel Jackson wanted to clear up a few details before we let you go on your way," he said. Scully appeared at his side. Her ID was in evidence, but not her gun. "Oh, man!" The driver got out, kicking at the dirt, looking back at the Weymouth building and then to Mulder. "I work in the mail room! I don't know anything, least of all how I'm gonna make my next mortgage payment." "I understand, sir. We just need to go over a few questions," Mulder said. The driver nodded. "What happened when you reported for work?" Scully asked. "I was late--with half the parking lot roped off, I had to park way out back," the driver said. "Didn't matter, because they were shutting the place down on account of that spill." "Has that ever happened before?" Mulder asked. "Hell, no. Nobody even knew they were using poisons and radiation." "And you left the plant immediately?" Scully asked. "I wish. I had to stay behind and run the shredder." "What do you know about the nature of the spill?" Mulder asked. "Just what they told us. Nothing dangerous, just a precaution." "Thank you, sir. You may go," Scully said. "I wasn't finished," Mulder complained mildly after the driver had gone, his car groaning and shuddering as he bounced on the rough shoulder to avoid the Avis rental. "He's a little fish. Let's see who else shows up," Scully said. "Revere? You really think so?" he asked. That would be one whopper of a coincidence. "No, Mulder, I don't. But I don't know where else to look, either." It was ten minutes before the next fish swam along, and he was another guppy. They had to pull off the road for a large green army truck--Mulder wasn't foolhardy enough to try his "Colonel Jackson" line on actual soldiers. "Army trucks, fire trucks, ambulances--not a bad response time for a hazardous spill in the middle of nowhere," Mulder said. "All they need is landscapers and builders," Scully said. "Then they can cover it over and put up a playground." The road had cleared, and the only traffic moving was by air. Two more Blackhawks arrived, and one took off and returned, unless that was a different one. Mulder drove the car back onto the road. "We'll cast our line once more, then call it a day," he said. Mulder passed the time with his binoculars, although nothing he saw added to his knowledge. Scully was back on the phone, trying to find Revere. "What are you doing, calling every listed number in Rock Creek Crossing?" Mulder asked, yawning. "I finished Rock Creek Crossing. Now I'm calling every listed number in Old Drummond." "Then you can try New Drummond." "There is no New Drummond, Mulder. Just Drummond, East Drummond, and Drummond Centre. You need to do your homework." After years on the road to places only slightly more cosmopolitan than Rock Creek Crossing and the Drummonds, Mulder felt he could picture them all. Drummond Centre probably had a trailer park and maybe a gas station. Scully's phone rang, and she reached for it eagerly. Her face fell as she listened. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she mumbled, and then she hung up. "I don't suppose that was Dr. Revere," Mulder observed. "Skinner. We did great," she sighed. "Saved the world from Weymouth Scientific with all its chemical-nuclear-biological threats. Time to come home." "Oh, well. Want to see who else comes by? Strictly out of curiosity, of course." "I'll give it ten minutes," Scully agreed. No one had driven past since the army truck, but soon a vehicle came hurtling down the road. Mulder watched it bear down on them, ready to stomp on the gas if it didn't stop. It did, with a squeal of the brakes. Scully got out first, her hand on her gun as she approached the Mercedes. Mulder followed, equally wary. "It's him," Scully said. The door of the luxury car flung open, and Sage Revere lurched out. His face was rigid as he took in the vehicle and the armed agents who blocked his path. Then he turned from them, looking back at the research facility he commanded. "Dr. Revere, I'd like you to come with us," Scully called. Revere turned to face them. "What happens to a dream deferred?" he asked woodenly. "Get into the car," Mulder said. He motioned from his gun to his car, using the gesture to make the suggestion more persuasive. "That company was my dream. I accomplished things I didn't think possible," Revere said. "That's what we want to talk about," said Scully. "Please come with us." Revere shook his head. He looked gray and ragged, as if he'd slept in his thousand-dollar suit. "You can't hurt me. You've already done your worst," he said. He paced away a few yards, then stood staring back at the large Weymouth building. "Dr. Revere, we believe you may be in danger," Scully called. Revere was walking back to his car, his gait robotic. It occurred to Mulder that they might all be in danger, this close to the Mercedes. "Scully, get in the car," he said. "Please, doctor, let us take you into protective custody," Scully called. Mulder noticed a new wave of activity at the Weymouth building. The Blackhawks took to the air, and the hazmat teams were returning to their vehicles. The trucks closest to the building began pulling back, forming new lines closer to the periphery. "Scully, let's go," he called. "Now." Revere gripped the door handle. "Protective custody," he sneered. "What's the point?" "The people you work for don't leave loose ends, doctor. You're a loose end," Mulder called raggedly. Scully caught his eye as they both hurried back to the car. They couldn't protect Revere if he wouldn't cooperate. They probably couldn't protect him even if he did. Revere was one hell of a loose end, and not only for the consortium. Mulder had a lot of questions about Roger and his clip-scheme, and Revere held the answers. "Maybe it just sags like a heavy load," Revere intoned. "Mulder, run," said Scully, her voice totally calm. "Or does it explode?" Revere threw open the door to the Mercedes. Nothing happened. Mulder threw himself into the car, a split second behind his partner. He floored it before he had the door closed. "You gotta love a rich white guy who quotes Langston Hughes," he commented. Scully turned around in her seat as Mulder continued to gain distance from the Mercedes. "He's going the wrong way," she said. "Back to Weymouth?" "But everyone else--they're pulling out." The explosion slammed them down and then forward, scraping the undercarriage against the road. The steering wheel shuddered in Mulder's hands but he held tight and never took his foot off the accelerator. "My God," said Scully. "We can't help him. I'm not going back," Mulder said. He was driving too fast to risk a glance in the rearview mirror. The shock of the explosion was huge, as if they'd used an A-bomb to destroy one vehicle. "That wasn't Revere. That was Weymouth," Scully said. Bone of Contention (15/15) 285 miles to Bozeman. If Scully did the math, dividing the miles on the highway sign by their rate of speed, factoring in a long wait at the Bozeman airport, flight time, layover time, and traffic from Dulles to Georgetown, it would be 1.75 days before she hit her front door. Rock Creek's little airport was pandemonium with EPA officials arriving and unloading equipment. It was probably just as well that they couldn't make a connection there; Scully wasn't eager to face Brian Yates today. She wasn't eager to face a lot of things right now. She and Mulder had to talk. It couldn't be put off forever, but she was feeling too bruised to handle it here and now. Maybe when they were back home, when she felt safer, more in control. Mulder stole glances her way, looking as if he had something to say and no way to say it. Scully toyed with the idea of feigning sleep to avoid his eye, but decided that would be cowardly. Not that she was willing to let herself be ripped into pieces again, but fakery just seemed wrong. She watched the trees pass by in a blur, keeping her gaze away from her partner. "I fucked up." His words jolted her, and she turned to face him. He looked miserable. "I realize the case didn't wrap up neatly, but even with the loose ends, Skinner was pleased." "That's not what I meant by 'fucked up'," Mulder said, shaking his head. "Weymouth won't be doing any more unethical testing," she said, studying her folded hands as they rested in her lap. "Weymouth blew up. Three cheers for the FBI." "I suppose we should be used to it by now--having proof only to have it snatched out of our hands. I know you're frustrated, Mulder." "Frustrated," he echoed hollowly. "You could say that." They traveled in silence, listening to wheels passing over pavement. It had been miles since the last car shot by in the opposite direction. "We have to talk, Scully." Mulder's voice was quiet and tense. "We've been talking," she offered weakly, praying he'd sense her need for time and distance. He didn't comment, but the muscle in his jaw twitched, her own personal barometer of Mulder anger. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel until with a sudden jerk, he pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. "Mulder?" Without answering, he yanked the key out of the ignition, released his seatbelt, and pushed the door open. Mulder was out of the car and ten feet away before she got her seatbelt off. "Mulder," she called, slamming the car door and hurrying after him. He didn't stop walking until she caught him by the arm. "Okay," she said. "We'll talk." He nodded, hands in his pockets against the cold. For a man who'd wanted to talk, Mulder remained silent, staring down the empty road. "I can't stand it," Mulder said at last. "After everything we've been through, everything *you've* been through, what's breaking us apart is something I said. I can't take it back, Scully. I would if I could." "That's a bit melodramatic, wouldn't you say?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her. "Is it, Scully? Are you going to be able to get past this?" "You have to give me some time, Mulder." "Time for you to pretend it never happened?" he asked darkly. "What the hell do you want, Mulder? You called me a neuter. I can't just 'shake it off' in a matter of hours." "Is that what you heard, Scully? Because that isn't what I meant, not ever." She sighed, wanting desperately to be doing anything but having this discussion. "Apology accepted. Let's get out of here." She gestured toward the car, but he didn't budge. "Like a brain injury. It can change your personality, how you move, how you speak. You're a doctor, Scully. You know it's true." "This wasn't a brain injury." "Hormones, Scully. Body chemistry. I was afraid. I just didn't know." "Mulder, even with a brain injury, even if someone can't talk, or can't move, you don't wonder who they are. That hasn't changed." "I guess I just forgot how strong you are." She almost laughed. Strong. She felt as if she'd been trampled. "I don't feel strong," she said, wrapping her arms around her middle. "You'll always be you, Scully. You never waver, no matter what happens." What did he see when he looked at her? Apparently, not the doubts and fears that threatened to overtake her. She wanted to laugh, or cry, but that would only interrupt him. "I saw that yesterday," he said. His voice shook a little, but he went on. "When Roger... when Roger was... what Roger was threatening... I couldn't have lived with the results." "You're stronger than that," she said, taking his hand and squeezing hard, as if to will him away from his dark thoughts. "I couldn't have gone on from that. Even if I had found a way, I wouldn't have been me." "We don't need to talk about something that didn't happen." "They used to think the heart was the seat of your emotions, but that's wrong. A man with a heart transplant is still the same man. But your brain, your nuts--you gotta have those." "Mulder, we aren't our bodies. Testicles don't make a man any more than ovaries make a woman. We're made up of bone and muscle and skin, but those things aren't *us.*" "Spoken like a true pathologist," he said wryly. "Exactly," she agreed. "When I perform an autopsy, I'm working on a body, not a person. What made that person who he or she was is gone." She brought his hand up between them, cradling it between hers. "Mulder, you'd be the same man. Trust me on this." "I wouldn't be. I don't have your ability to lock things up in separate compartments and keep going as if nothing happened," he said. "That's what makes you stronger than I am." "It's not as if nothing happened, Mulder. I'm not convinced it's a 'strength' at all." "I'm finally starting to understand," he said. "It used to drive me crazy, but now I realize it's how you were able to survive. And I'm grateful that you have that ability to keep yourself separate from all the terrible things that happened to you." She nodded, convinced of his sincerity, if not the truth of his words. "Scully, you may not believe me, but I do love you. Nothing would ever make me stop loving you. No matter what happened to you or how it changed you, I'd love you." She looked at him, blinking back tears. Everything about him, his voice, his eyes, told her he meant what he said. "But Scully, it terrified me to think they'd taken so much from you...that if you weren't whole, you might not be able to love me the way I love you." Silence stretched between them as they stood on the side of road, wind tearing at their hair and stinging their eyes. Scully tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Finally, she found her voice. "Then I guess that proves I'm whole." Scully shivered either from raging emotions or the cold wind cutting through her coat. As her words sunk in, astonishment bloomed on Mulder's face. "Say that again," he said. "I think you heard me the first time," she answered, smiling gently. He stepped closer, gathering her into his arms. He was beaming, and she'd never seen his amazing face so alight with joy. "I think we need to mark this moment," he said huskily. He bent to kiss her, his lips soft and pliant against hers. His arms tightened around her as her hands came up to encircle his neck. As he deepened the kiss, she felt her knees wobble. The wind whipped at her suit and she began to shiver. "Cold?" Mulder asked. "Let's get back in the car." He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close as they walked back to the car. Scully slid her arm around his waist, drawing close to Mulder's warmth. "You never did answer my question," he said, leaning down to open the door for her. "What do you think of Telemann?" = = = = = = = "Come on, girl, just a little further." Cindy gripped Roger's arm as he led her into the cafe, shuffling awkwardly in her new canvas shoes. "It's gonna be fine now. Don't you worry," he assured her. He hoped he was telling the truth. The place was dim and empty. Cindy had on his big old coat, and his Christmas-present scarf over her head. She looked like a foreign lady. A short little foreign lady who had been in an accident, maybe. "There you go. You can sit down right here." He supported her as she dropped into her seat, smiling his encouragement. Cindy trusted him when he told her they were going to be all right. They weren't looking to bother anybody, and there was no reason for anyone to bother them. Roger was good at lots of stuff. Anything with lifting and fixing. Especially anything with animals. Mr. Terranova had given him his fancy big truck for a present, but that wasn't Roger's way. He just used it to drive back for his own van, bought and paid for, with the help of the credit union. No more credit union. No more job, either. "It's gonna be fine," Roger said again. "Mm-hm," Cindy agreed. She patted his arm. The waitress who approached their table was heavy with a great big bosom. Not like Pamela Anderson Lee, more like a grandma. "How're you doing tonight? You know what you want?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am, cheeseburger with fries. And a bowl of oatmeal for...her." Roger hadn't figured out what to tell people about Cindy. His friend? His sister? "Sorry, no hot cereal after eleven," the waitress said. "You don't understand--" Cindy needed something soft and easy to swallow. Maybe she could eat noodles or mashed potatoes, but that wasn't what she was used to. Roger had tried to think of all the things that could go wrong, but this hadn't occurred to him. "Hey, it's all right. I'll get them to cook up a bowl of oatmeal for your wife." Roger sighed with gratitude and the waitress nodded sympathetically. "Poor thing," she asked. "What was it that happened to her?" Roger didn't want to lie, but he really couldn't tell the truth to the waitress. He wished he had someone smart like the Doc to tell him what to say. He felt his face getting red. "It's okay," the waitress said, patting Roger on the shoulder. "It must be real hard to talk about." "It is," Roger said, relief pouring over him. He looked at Cindy, her calm blue eyes shining at him. Things were going to be scary until they found someplace to settle, but he'd do anything to keep Cindy safe. Cindy gave him the "okay" sign, her slender fingers curved to make an "O." Roger nodded emphatically. "Everything's gonna be just fine," he said. The End. = = = = = = "I like fusing ideas into one vision. I like seeing that vision come to life with other people who know exactly what it takes to get there." Amy Tan, The Opposite of Fate.