The "Eden" Series
Regaining Eden
Author: Char Chaffin
Category: Mulder/Scully Marriage, babies, M&S/Skinner friendship, Angst, some torture
Rating: NC-17, for sexual situations, language and disturbing imagery
Feedback: GOD, yes! I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please please)
Distribution: Sure, Just Ask!
Spoilers: All together now…"Spoilers? We Don't Need no Stinkin' Spoilers…"
Disclaimer: I want them, but I can't have them…
Summary: It's time to get it back, all of it… and Mulder and Scully are ready to kick ass…
With thanks to: So many people, it may take awhile! First, my "squadron" of betas: To Hillary (Foxsong), a very huge thanks for all her advice, scolding, praising and virtual food, sent to me to keep up my strength during the writing of the "Eden" series. She has been with me since "Eden" was just a wisp of an idea in my head… thank you, Beta-Goddess! Also, much deep thanks to Shoshana, Cat (Emania), Sister Moon and Hester Dougan (the four Beta-teers), who have given me overwhelming support and advice as I struggled through this series. And for everyone who read "Eden" from the beginning, and sent me great feedback and encouragement to continue: THANKS! Author's Note: This series started out as one solitary story… now, several months and 70 or so pages later, I have finally figured out how to end it! It has been fun, frustrating and oh, so rewarding… and I hope you enjoy the final installment as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is the final piece of a five-part series, so it will definitely make more sense to you if you've read the other four parts: "The Other Side of Eden", "Eden in the City", "Re-Inventing Eden", and "To Keep Eden Safe", all found on my web site http://char.chaffin.com WARNING: This story deals with subject matter that may be unsuitable for some readers; please proceed at your own risk…
The "Eden" Series
Part : Regaining Eden
** Prologue ** "Sir… there's a call for you, from Agent Lorenzo…" "Thanks, I'll take it - 2456, if you please…" AD Walter Skinner waited three or four seconds, then pushed a quick code onto the keypad. "Agent Lorenzo, what's the problem?" "Sir… I just received word from Agent Halliday… there's an emergency, at home, involving Jenny Halliday." "What sort of emergency, Agent?" "An accident, Sir… she was returning home from a doctor's appointment earlier today, and was hit head-on by what we suspect was a drunk driver, only three miles from home. She was wearing a seat-belt, but she was hit hard - the idiot must have been going at least 60 miles an hour. She's in the ER at St. James… doesn't look good." "Oh, shit… How's Halliday? Who's with him?" "He's pretty bad, Sir… Agent Norst is with him, gonna drive him to the airport. I'm keeping an eye on things here, so please don't worry. Sir… Mrs. Halliday is pregnant - that's why she was at the doctor's, for a pre-natal exam. Agent Halliday had just found out, just a few days ago… man, he was so excited… he was going to call you tonight and tell you all about it…" "Christ… what about the pregnancy… is she holding steady?" "So far, Sir, but it's not good, as I said before. I'm hoping Agent Halliday calls in, as soon as he makes it over to the hospital. I can give you the number there, and Mrs. Halliday's doctor is McBaird, I believe… any instructions for me?" "Just keep it together for me, Agent, that's all for now. I have to make a few calls. Keep in touch - I don't have to impress upon you the seriousness of your responsibility, do I?" "No Sir, not at all. You can count on me…" Agent Lorenzo hit the 'release' button, waited a few seconds, then punched another series of numbers into the cell phone. Pinching the bridge of his nose, where a headache was rapidly brewing, he waited patiently for the call to go through; for the usual round of clicks and beeps to complete, before a low, raspy voice came on the line, with an impatient, "Yes?" "It is done, Madam… Agent Halliday is on his way home. I will await your further instructions." The voice on the other end sent a satisfied "Hmmm" into his ear, and replied, "Excellent work, my dear… excellent. I have everything set at this end, as well - you may proceed as planned. I will await your delivery…" A gentle click in his ear; Agent Marcus Lorenzo folded his cell phone in half with a flick of his wrist, and made his way out of the secure room and into the empty elevator. As he rode it down eight levels, he deliberated on the best way to proceed, from this point… Maybe he'd just knock the old lady over the head, first. ** Chapter One ** "Scully." "Dana… honey… it's Mom…" "Mom, oh my God… is everything all right? Is Will safe… Mom?" "Will's just fine, Sweetheart… he's eating and sleeping and playing and messing in his diapers just like always… except he's grown some, of course. I just wanted to call you, and talk to you. This is a secure line, so don't worry… Is Fox there, honey?" "He's in the garage, why? Are you sure everything's alright?" "Yes, I promise, everything is fine! I just want to hear that boy's voice, that's all - can you get him to pick up on the extension… is the place clean…" "Yes, Langly swept about an hour ago, and we've been here all morning. Let me go get Mulder, okay? You sit tight…" Scully dropped the phone and ran out the back door and into the garage; Mulder had been fighting with an inoperative lawnmower all morning, and as she opened the side door, she could hear the clink of tools accompanied by an occasional "shit", or "fuck!" wafting in the air in frustrated MulderTone… she burst through the door and called, "Mulder! Drop the tools and come in the house; hurry!" Mulder's head popped up from behind the cumbersome lawnmower, hair sticking up on end and grease smeared across his chin; he took hurried note of her wide, excited eyes and demanded, "What's going on, Scully? Are you okay - what's happened?" Scully smiled brilliantly and reached out both arms to hug him, hard. "Nothing's wrong, Mulder… everything's great - Mom's on the phone, with Will…" He awoke with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and the sure knowledge that he was in some very serious danger. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness; a nether-state of numbing cold and the inability to warm himself in any way. Stiff and sore… arms tethered to the chair in which he sat, immovable - legs secured as well, from knee to ankle. His neck ached; he'd been slumped sideways for an undetermined amount of time. A trickle of something warm and wet, slipping down the side of his face and into his bearded cheek - blood, no doubt. Slowly he opened puffy eyes; tried to focus on his surroundings. It was black in the room; black and void of even a tiny smidgen of light. He strained to see anything at all, but he was utterly blind. He tried very hard not to panic, to not fear the worst, that he'd actually become blind. His memory was very fuzzy - he could recall the trip to the video store, with a side excursion to the A&P for some ice cream; could even recall the flavor (butter pecan; he'd deliberately chosen a flavor which only he would eat, just to be contrary); he could remember walking through the almost-deserted parking lot, arms full of videos and ice cream and assorted pogey-bait… could recall seeing his little car, sitting in the distance under a security lamp… but he couldn't see himself getting into the car; couldn't even see himself closing in on the car, there in the distance under the bluish glow of the lamp. Well… judging by his present situation, it was a very good bet he'd been ambushed - by whom, was anyone's guess. His analytical mind began processing possible scenarios leading up to his predicament, none of which made any sense. But, thinking of it did keep his mind off the pain… so he took deep, calming breaths, and turned all his energies to figuring out what had happened to him. He was so deeply into figuring, that he never heard the echo of a door opening; never spotted the sliver of light along the edge of the door… but he did hear the clicking heels upon the cement floor - and he heard the low, almost raspy voice of the one he assumed must be responsible for his current state of affairs, as she spoke to him, standing directly in front of him in that soupy black void: "John Byers… how nice to finally make your acquaintance…" ** Chapter Two ** "Scully… eat that; quit picking at it. God… I slave over a hot stove, making you a wonderful dinner, and this is how you repay my hard work? There are starving aliens on Pluto who would be happy to get that food…" Didn't even get a rise out of her; she was so focused inward he had to tug on her hand to get her to even notice him. At the touch of his hand on her arm, Scully jerked as if awakening from a deep sleep, and blinked in confusion. Her eyes met his quizzical gaze, and she gave him a vague half-smile and shook her head. "Sorry, Mulder, really - I like the meat loaf a lot; and I couldn't find a single lump in the potatoes… I am suitably impressed! How come you never cooked for me when we were partners?" She teased him gently, squeezing his hand, and waited for the little retort she could see simmering behind those bright hazel orbs. He didn't disappoint her. "How come you never screwed my brains out when we were partners, Scully?" "I wanted to, Mulder… doesn't that count?" "You may have wanted to, but you didn't do it… well, maybe I wanted to cook for you, but I didn't do it… so, does that count?" He tossed her words right back at her, still retaining hold of her hand. She pulled at him, and he slid off his chair and landed on his knees in front of her, close enough for her to wind her arms around his shoulders and press her upper body into him, feeling his sharp intake of breath and the little shiver he gave upon contact with her unfettered breasts. She nuzzled his jaw with parted lips, and spoke against his flushed skin. "Well, Mulder… you did cook for me, finally - and it was delicious, even if it was six years late, so… guess I could screw your brains out in return, just so we break even - is that an acceptable alternative?" Her roaming mouth found the corded vein in his neck and her little teeth bit down, forcing a groaning chuckle from his suddenly breathless lungs, as he tried to answer her before all the blood drained out of his big head and flooded his little one. "S'okay with me, Scully - just answer one question, if you would…" He pulled away, just enough to gaze into her glittering eyes. "Why were you so pensive, just a few minutes before this attack of 'horny beastess' syndrome?" She sighed and laid her cheek in the curve of his neck, pressing herself close. "Guess I was thinking about Mom, and little Will… I miss them, so much. It's been almost two months, Mulder… Mom says he's walking, and even running a little, now…" She sniffed, fighting to hold back the tears; Mulder gathered her closer, and rocked her a little, trying to keep himself from misting over as well. Scully wiped at her wet eyes with the back of her hand. "Talking with them today… it was almost too painful for me. It would almost have been better to not even hear their voices at all, you know? Our baby's going through all this incredible "first time" stuff, and we're not able to see any of it! And it's killing me, Mulder…" She gave up trying to hold back any more, and let the tears overwhelm them both. Mulder held her tightly, then suddenly rose to his feet, with Scully cradled in his arms, and carried her swiftly up the stairs to their bedroom, where he laid her gently upon the bed and pulled the window blinds closed. He returned to her side and lay next to her, pulling her once again into his embrace; she cried all over his sweater, little body shaking with it. He whispered nonsense comfort to her, running long fingers through her hair and kissing each tear away, fighting back his own frustration, his own grief at the loss they were forced to experience… all because of one madman left to run loose in the world. Well… madwoman. But at least, their cherished family was safe… and that made it all worthwhile, the loss and the missing out on these baby landmarks. He whispered those exact words to her, into the wispy tendrils of flame at her temple, and he felt her nod just a little against his lips, before she turned her head enough to catch his still-parted lips with hers, and kiss him deeply, so deeply it eased her sore heart somewhat as he sighed into her mouth and licked softly at her tongue, until she mimicked the movement and her hands began slipping over him, moving aside all his clothing to better reach his hot skin. And he removed her clothes just as easily, letting his mouth and hands tell her many secrets, things he'd kept buried inside, far inside for the last almost-seven years; his non-verbal words silently compelling, uttered in gasping murmurs into her shoulder, her soft breast… the curve of her hipbone and that small dip behind her left knee. He spoke all his secrets into these places on her body, little spots waiting to hear what he had to say and needed to feel, early in the damp evening with dim lamplight flickering off the white mini-blinds on their bedroom window. He spoke with his mouth, and she listened with her sore but rapidly healing heart; she swallowed each shaky affirmation with an answering sigh, and pulled at him until he lay sprawled over her, pressing her down into the thick comforter on their bed. He tried to ease up on his elbow, fearing he would crush her, but she growled in her throat and yanked on his hair, until he relented and pressed his full weight upon her, murmuring to her of his fear of crushing her. She grinned up into his face, and retorted, "Go ahead and crush all you want, Mulder - I need to really feel you right now, and the best way for me is having you on top…" She slid her feet along his sensitive calves and felt his answering moan and shudder, before he twisted both hands in her loose hair and pressed down hard, pushing himself into her with one fierce shove. She sucked in a shaky, sobbing breath, and arched her hips, taking him impossibly deep. They both cried out with it, there in the private silence of their room. Neither heard the phone ringing, and ringing… "No answer… Goddam it!" He slammed the phone down and paced with frustration. "We have to go over there… we need his help." Frohike stopped pacing long enough to regard his friend and cohort with tired resignation. He slumped into a nearby chair and rubbed his hands hard over his face. They were both exhausted, scared and worried out of their minds… and they needed Mulder's help more than they'd ever needed it before. And the danger that their need presented, to Mulder and Scully both, was overwhelming - but they didn't have a choice. Frohike stood up slowly, grabbed his jacket and nudged at Langly, sitting there on the floor next to his vacated chair. Langly looked up with red-rimmed, tired eyes, face pale with worry. "Come on, let's go - I'll drive." He started for the door. "Why do you always have to drive? I can drive; I'm more awake than you are and I'm also sober…" "Shut the hell up, Langly… I'm driving and that's final." Frohike wasn't in the mood for Langly's usual contrariness. Grabbing his cell phone, determined to try calling again on the drive over, he pushed his buddy out the door and into the elevator, leaning against the far wall as they descended… running through in his mind the last few hours of their lives, like some badly-put together video which should never have happened… In retrospect, it was a blessing they'd even followed Byers, in the first place. Every Friday night, one of them had the responsibility of choosing the videos and the snacks, for the one evening in the week the Gunmen just kicked back, shut off most of their equipment and relaxed, away from the conspiracies and otherwise nefarious machinations of the free world… After some of the near-misses they themselves had faced, either through association with the X-Files, or just by getting involved on their own - they'd long ago decided to make some time for themselves. Frohike had even gone out on a date… Well, not the greatest date in the world, of course… that one was already taken… but a date, just the same. And Langly was teaching a computer web site class, one night a week. Byers was attempting to get on with his life; a life away from Suzanne; it had been especially difficult for him, but he'd been doing well. They'd all been doing well… and their friendship was stronger than ever. They still bickered, and fought, and squabbled worse than toddlers fighting over the teeter-totter on a swing-set… but they remained the best of friends. So, when Byers announced he was headed to the video store, and then to the supermarket… and added that because Langly and Frohike had been so short with each other all damn day long, and had bickered even more than usual, they had no say in the type of snack or video to be chosen… the remaining Gunmen had been suitably miffed and had decided to follow Byers, just to mess with his head and to see if his powers of observation were any good. After all, a true Agent of the Truth had to have his wits about him… So, they'd given Byers a small head start, and then had jumped into Frohike's beat-up Volvo and had followed, at a discreet distance; had sneaked into the video store and caught him renting "Saturday Night Fever"… that was cruel, to be sure, but when they followed him into the A&P and saw him purchasing butter pecan ice cream… that was the last straw. John Byers was toast… they'd been on the verge of confronting him in the darkened parking lot, to tell him so, when a black Ford Taurus screeched to a halt, almost on top of him… and two darkly-dressed men jumped out of the back, and grabbed John… and tossed him into the back seat, jumped in after him, and took off. The entire episode had lasted maybe five seconds… too fast for the guys to react. By the time they'd truly understood what had happened, the car was roaring off into the distance… and they scrambled to get to their car, hearts pounding with fear; they'd followed that black Ford as best they could, and were able to at least track it into one of the more distasteful areas of Alexandria. The Ford had zipped down a narrow side alley, and had disappeared into a nondescript parking garage. They noted the street and tore back to their place before they could be discovered. Once safely locked inside, they'd immediately called Mulder… Who wouldn't answer the goddam phone. Frohike cursed again, and grabbed at the phone once more, just as it rang in his hand, startling the shit out of him so badly he dropped the phone on his foot. With a richly uttered, "Oh, FUCK!", he grabbed the receiver and barked out, "WHAT?" "Frohike, is that you?" AD Skinner, ah shit… Frohike swallowed audibly and held the receiver gingerly up to his ear as he weakly replied, "Yes, Sir…" "Frohike, I can't seem to get hold of Agent Mulder… do you know whether or not they're in town?" Frohike blinked, then blurted out, "I sure as hell hope so, Sir… we're on our way over there right now. Something's happened to Byers…" ** Chapter Three ** Scully lay propped against a small mountain of pillows, with Mulder curled all around her, head resting with trusting heaviness, against her breasts. He was deeply asleep, snoring very faintly; how long had it been since he'd slept this hard, she wondered. She couldn't remember the last time. She was always enervated after sex especially if she couldn't fall asleep immediately, and the more forceful Mulder was during sex, the more revved up she became. And Mulder had been quite forceful, this time… almost as forceful as she'd been. She ached faintly, all over; a pleasant ache which confirmed just how thoroughly she'd been loved by her husband. Scully slid feather-light fingers through Mulder's mussed up hair; he sighed in his sleep and his half-open mouth pressed sweetly against the side of her nipple. He'd been forceful for a reason, this she knew; trying to get her mind off Mom, and Will. It had worked, for a little while - but now, she couldn't help but dwell on it, again, and as if on cue her head started pounding… or was that somebody at the door, pounding? She lay very still and listened - somebody indeed, pounding on their front door. She shook Mulder hard, muttering into his ear, "Mulder, wake up, something's going on; somebody's pounding the shit out of our front door…" He sat up, eyes wide open, on full alert; she still wasn't used to seeing him wake up like that, in full FBI mode. He rubbed his face hard, and squinted at her in the darkness. "Stay here, Scully - let me check this out -" was as far as he got, before she interrupted with a firm, "No way, Mulder - let's go…" They hurriedly threw on the first clothes they could find and made their way silently down the stairs and into the foyer; Mulder checked the peep-hole, then turned to Scully with a blank look of confusion, before he unlocked the door and opened it, to reveal two disheveled, extremely upset and worried Gunmen - and standing right next to them… their boss. Mulder's and Scully's respective jaws dropped at exactly the same moment. "Mulder… we need your help… they've taken Byers…" The mini-van coasted to a silent stop about a block from the narrow alley, lights already off. Inside, five tense men sat absolutely still, watching for endless minutes, making sure they had been completely unobserved, so far. Mulder opened the driver's door noiselessly, and slid out; on the other side, Agent Simpson, seated in back, lifted out the vests and the headgear. Both men grimly silent, helping each other with straps and wires; Agent Grimes, Simpson's frequent partner in the field, also got suited up in kevlar and a wire. The fifth agent, Monroe, would stay behind with Skinner and monitor for them. Skinner wanted to go in, but knew they couldn't afford to have both Mulder, and him, in danger at the same time. But he'd argued anyway, until he was blue in the face, trying to convince Mulder to let him go in, as a protective measure - and Mulder wasn't willing to even consider it. "This is my fight, Sir - my fight, and my friend, in there. It has to be me…" Suited up and wires in place, Mulder, Simpson and Grimes moved away from the van and approached the warehouse entrance silently. Skinner sat next to Monroe and listened… And down the street from the van, in an equally dark Taurus sedan, Frohike, Langly and two back-up agents sat, headphones in place, listening as well. Frohike muttered, almost under his breath, "Man, I don't like this! There should be more than just three of them, going in there…" Behind him, Agent Farrell, Halliday's new partner, responded reassuringly, "AD Skinner knows what he's doing, Mr. Frohike - and so do Mulder and the other agents. They'll be fine - and they'll get your friend out, in one piece, without getting hurt themselves." Frohike nodded, and continued to stare out the window on the dark alley. "I sure hope you're right, Agent - 'cause Scully will cook Skinner's liver for a midnight snack and feed the rest of him to assorted carnivorous beasties, if he lets anything happen to Mulder…" Scully paced, and paced… stopped, and rubbed at her aching eyes, then paced some more. "Dammit! I should have gone with them… what the hell am I doing here at home, when I should have gone with them!" She turned in a sweeping fury, to confront the two young agents who had been ordered to stay with her and keep her from trying to tear off after Mulder and company. Agent Franklin knew Scully quite well, despite their dissimilar job responsibilities; he'd been assigned to the Dallas bombing almost two years ago. He was young, but very big, and very tough. He smiled in sympathy, but replied firmly, albeit gently, to her ranting. "I know you're worried, Agent Scully… but AD Skinner and his team will take good care of Agent Mulder, you know that. Even your friends the Gunmen can be of help; I've seen those guys in action, you know. They've come a long way since their old hacking days." Scully smiled a little at that, thinking back on the first time she'd ever met them… they'd indeed come a long way. She counted them among her very best and closest friends - and knew they'd lay down their lives for her, and for Mulder, if need be. She resumed pacing, still horribly worried, and voiced one of her strongest fears. "What about my mother… and the baby… are they safe? Is there any possible breach of security; any way at all this incident with Byers could be twisted to discover their whereabouts?" Agent Sorell shook his head; he was a little older than Franklin, and just as quietly capable. He'd worked with Mulder and Scully several times in the past, and had enormous respect, and not a little hero-worship, for both agents. "No, Agent Scully… not a chance. Only a few top Directors even know where this facility is located. It's so well-guarded that it is considered the most secure establishment the government has. And it cannot be spotted from above ground, nor sensed underground with modern tracking equipment. It's as if the place doesn't even exist. Your mother and son are just fine, Ma'am - please don't worry." Scully nodded wearily, and walked over to the window, leaning her head against the cold glass, despite Agent Franklin's soft command to stay away from the opened drapes. The reflection of the room behind her revealed an image so reassuring in its very normality that it was almost a joke… soft lamplight showcasing a tastefully and warmly decorated room, fireplace snapping flames of orange and yellow, fat pillows on the roomy, wide sofa and signs of life everywhere. So normal… so comforting. And her heart felt as cold as the glass her face pressed against, and her worry about the safety of those she loved reached such monumental proportions in her aching head; and she wanted to go there, to Mulder; wanted to go and stand beside him and rip through the bastards orchestrating this monstrous event; to rip at them and frighten them out of their tiny little minds, just as they'd done to her, and to Mulder. She wanted to mess them over in a permanent way, for what they'd done to her family… and she would, if she ever got the chance. She eyed the front door, gauging the distance from where she stood, versus where each agent sat, wondering if she could possibly make it to the car parked out in front… and her calculating eye caught the grimly amused gaze of Franklin, and she slumped in defeat at his soft, "Forget it, Agent Scully - you'd never make it. I will handcuff you to the chair, if I have to, you know… don't force me to use restraints, Ma'am…" Shit… ** Chapter Four ** The darkness was so all-encompassing that Mulder felt he was drowning in it. Not claustrophobic by nature, he nonetheless found himself almost overwhelmed by the tight blackness of his surroundings. He moved very slowly, feeling his way carefully; creeping down what appeared to be a hallway of some kind, judging by the narrowness of the walls on either side of him. Behind him, Simpson and Grimes moved just as silently, just as carefully. All three agents had their guns out, and ready. But, the utter blackness… Mulder took out a tiny penlight from his pocket, and clicked it on; the glow was very small but it afforded them enough to move without tripping over themselves. He shone it with caution, noting the smooth walls of the corridor, and the lack of any doors as they proceeded. At the very end of the hallway, a door; no light could be seen under it, and some instinct told him this was the room he was looking for. Silently he motioned to the agents behind him, holding out a hand to keep them apart from him; he whispered, almost inaudibly, "A trap, it has to be… keep just a little behind me… I'm going in hard…" With that, he reached out his free hand and grasped the doorknob; turned it carefully. It was unlocked - no surprise there, he thought with bitter amusement - he kept turning the knob, not hesitating; he had no choice in the matter. He was not in control, not at all - had never been in control. He hated it, the lack of control… and he'd make damn sure the responsible party paid for this particular little soiree… damn sure. He loosened the knob, just enough, then placed his booted foot against the metal, nodded to the other agents, and with all the adrenaline pumping through his body, right into his foot… kicked the door open; shouting, "FBI! DROP YOUR…" Oh, fuck… In the suddenly-illuminated room, brightly lit from all corners, where it had been black as ink, just prior to him kicking in the door… his all-encompassing perusal of the situation processed several horrific images, all at once: the sight of Byers strapped down to a chair; shirtless, bruised and barely conscious; thin ribbons of bleeding cuts all over his shoulders and chest - and for one awful moment it was as if he was watching the tapes of himself, all over again; the tapes which had been recorded during his and Scully's ordeal, with Pel the mad scientist… Mulder stepped fully into the room, Simpson and Grimes on either side of him; all three taking in with amazed shock the men who stood in a small semi-circle around the chair which held Byers' wounded body, each man holding a gun, all weapons trained steadily upon them…except for the lone figure, next to the chair, but standing partially turned away, dressed all in dark clothing, from head to foot, only an arm and hand visible. In that hand a wickedly-sharp knife, pointed with delicate accuracy at Byers' jugular; and as the agents looked on in growing horror - into the silence, a small coo, and a tiny giggle; Mulder blinked hard, and his face paled to a sickly white, as he fought with the unthinkable reality of that small noise; what it represented… what it meant, to him. He hung there in a state of frozen suspense, never taking his eyes from the black-draped figure, as it slowly turned fully to face him; to show him what had been hidden in the other arm, within those folds of black. A sturdy little boy, dressed in red pajamas, with little bunny slippers on his tiny feet… mussed, dark curls all over his head… sleepy blue eyes and a rosebud mouth, forming a perfect "O" of a yawn, nestled against the shoulder of a monster… he hadn't seen Mulder yet; was rubbing sleepily at his little eyes, Scully's blue eyes… "Oh, God, Jesus help me, God…" Mulder's whisper was swimming in the absolute horror and despair of his soul. "I'm afraid God isn't here, Agent Mulder… I don't think he'd fit in the room, crowded as it seems, right at the moment." Leonie Friedrictoph smiled sweetly at the three stunned men, still cradling Will Mulder in one arm, and holding Byers' life in the other. She motioned with a nod of her head, and the silent man behind her stepped forward and gently lifted the sleepy Will from her arm, and took up a position against the wall, rocking the baby slightly. Will, falling asleep fast, never stirred; hadn't noticed his father yet - a blessing in disguise, even though Mulder ached to have his son see him, and smile at him. Now was not the time. With both hands now free, Leonie reached behind her, on a low table next to the chair; picked up a pair of black gloves, and slipped them on. The light above picked up the glint of silver in the fingertips… Mulder's gasp was audible; those gloves - he remembered well those gloves, and the damage they'd done, to him; the same damage so visible on John Byers' chest and arms. The silent, armed men now surrounded them, out-numbering them; one of the men took their guns out of their hands, gently but firmly. Leonie watched with a slight smile, gloves in place on her hands, hovering over Byers almost lovingly, prepared to begin her bloody caresses once again. Desperate to keep his emotions in tight check, petrified she'd turn on his son any moment, and slice into him, or return to cutting Byers… Mulder forced himself to calm; to regard her with complete neutrality. When he spoke, his voice was raspy with unshed fury - but as calm as he could manage. "Leonie Friedrictoph, I presume… mind explaining to me how in hell you stole my son? And while you're at it, you may as well ask your next of kin to supply some zip lock bags - if you have any kin left, that is - because when I get my hands on you there won't be enough left over to take out of here in a standard-sized body bag." His hands clenching into fists at his side, Mulder gave up trying to keep his rage intact - his entire body vibrated with the overwhelming need to rip her apart with his bare hands. Apparently Simpson, standing closest to him, could feel the waves of hatred rolling off him, because he laid one strong, restraining hand on Mulder's tight forearm, and muttered, "Steady, Mulder - don't do anything stupid." "I would heed the advice of your agent friend, Fox Mulder - very wise advice. As you can see, I hold the winning hand, in this room - I am in charge in this little world. As for collecting your son - well, that was ridiculously easy, when you consider I had at least three of your agents in my pocket. My assistants are quite loyal to me - I pay them very well. Amazing, is it not, how easily corrupted even the most moralistic of men can become when faced with the chance of gaining unbridled wealth?" Leonie rested one gloved hand perilously close to Byers' exposed artery; Byers had lost consciousness and was blissfully ignorant of how close to death he really was. Mulder's attention snapped from a quick, concerned impression of Byers, to focusing in again on the madwoman facing him with such quiet assurance. "What do you want, Miss Friedrictoph? Aside from a quick and easy funeral, that is?" "What do you think I want, Agent Mulder? You are, after all, the most intuitive of men; this I discovered, early on… what would you want, if you were in my shoes?" "I'd want to release all the unimportant players in this little game of yours, and focus all my energies on playing the main event; I'd let Byers go, and I'd let Will Mulder go… and I'd keep Fox Mulder all to myself, for a little one on one… that about right?" Mulder held her gaze, steady and sure. She smiled with genuine delight, and saluted him with glittering, lethal fingers. "Bravo, Agent Mulder! You are exactly correct! That is precisely what I want. I desire a chance to match wits, and knowledge, with one of the most dedicated, and incorruptible, agents in the history of the FBI… right up there with your famous Elliot Ness, are you not? Yes, I read American history… I have seen American movies. He was called one of "The Untouchables", was he not? So much like you… so much. Untouched by the baser impulses of the nether world of crime… morals to die for… literally. I am intrigued by you, Agent - I really am. You, and the lovely Agent Scully - so unconquerable, so strong. I was very impressed by your ability to overcome the serum's long-term effects, not to mention your survivability on that nasty little island. My father's brilliant idea… he never dreamed you'd actually live. Had he known, perhaps he would have come up with something a bit more… traditional. I want to understand that strength, which you possess - I want to know why the serum was ultimately unsuccessful, on you and your little wife. I would like the pleasure of your company, Agent Mulder - for as long as it takes for me to finish my experiments - my father's life work. "In return for your cooperation, I will release your friend Byers, and let your stalwart agents take your son home to his mama. I do like children, Mr. Mulder - I would never hurt a child. It was not my intention to do anything more to your son than use him as a sweet and tiny bargaining chip. He was a very good baby - never cried, ate all his pureed broccoli… quite, quite precious." Leonie smiled tenderly at the brief memory of holding the delightful child; then her gaze swung back to Mulder, and she slowly removed her gloves and stepped away from Byers. She held his regard even as she motioned one of her men to unstrap the restraints; she spoke softly in her raspy, low voice, as her man made short work of freeing Byers, who slumped sideways in the chair, still unconscious. "Your agents may take him, now - and I will release your son. They are free to go - and you will please send along with them a little note, explaining your pressing need to stay… I am sure you will know just how to word it?" She held a pen and paper in her hands; Mulder took it, nodding slightly. He knew how to word it - but before he did, he wanted one more assurance from her. "Do you intend to keep my wife out of this little arrangement, Miss Friedrictoph?" "Oh, please… call me Leonie, won't you? I so despise the clumsiness of my surname. And yes, of course I would not dream of involving your child's mother in any of this, although it was my initial intention to have the amazing Dana Scully an active participant… but that was before I met your enchanting son, and realized the vital importance of a child having its mother in its life. So… you have my assurance, no? Dana Scully will not be harmed, nor your son." Her eyes never left Mulder's during this affirmation; he nodded, inexplicably satisfied with the validity of her answer. ** Chapter Five ** AD Skinner sat up sharply, and gawked, at the sight before his eyes: Simpson and Grimes, weaponless, leading an odd procession comprised of John Byers, being carried in the arms of a hulking lump of a man, while two other men had the guns in their hands trained steadily on the van, and its occupants… and a third carried in his hugely muscled arms a small, wrapped bundle. Skinner got out, very slowly, and faced the men, unarmed; waiting. Behind him, Monroe got out just as slowly, and opened the side door, and stood to the side. The man carrying Byers laid him gently on the seat, and turned to face Skinner; reached out a beefy hand and gave him a piece of folded paper. Skinner accepted the note, already knowing, with a sinking heart, what it said. The hulk spoke in a surprisingly mellow, soft voice, to both agents. "Take him to a hospital; he has lost a lot of blood from his wounds. Agent Mulder will be staying with us. The note explains." All three men then turned to leave, confident they would not be detained, in any way. Skinner looked at the note; unfolded it, noting the handwriting as Mulder's; behind him, Simpson had been handed the wrapped bundle; looking into Will Mulder's sweet, sleeping countenance, he sent a quick prayer of thanks into the heavens for watching over this precious child. Skinner read the note silently, his expression growing more and more ominous, until with a sharp, "Son of a BITCH!", he jumped into the van and gunned the engine, barking onto the headphones, "Agents! Stay here and keep an eye on the warehouse, but do not approach, you got that? Do not approach. Frohike, Langly… get over here, now! I've got Byers, and we have to get him to a hospital, fast!" In the car, having been on the receiving end of most of the nights' horrific revelations, Langly turned to Frohike, shock and bewilderment on his pale face, and whispered, "Jesus, Frohike… how in hell are we gonna tell Scully…?" Scully was dozing in an armchair by the fire when the call came. Her exhausted body had given out on her still-active mind, and although she'd tossed and turned a lot in that chair, she'd finally fallen asleep, albeit fitfully. Agent Franklin sat on the sofa across from her, reading through a magazine; one hand on his gun and the other turning pages. Agent Sorell sat in front of the television, channel-surfing patiently. The house was very quiet… which made the ringing of Scully's cell phone all the more louder by comparison. Scully jumped about a foot, coming awake instantly, and grabbed at the phone, flipping it open and barking into it, "Scully!" "Agent Scully…" Skinner, oh no… she fought to keep the panic down, way down inside where it couldn't escape; managed to steady herself and to hear his words above the buzzing in her ears. "Agent… I have news. We're on our way to St. James Hospital… please have Agents Sorell and Franklin take you there immediately. We've gotten Byers out, but he's badly wounded and has lost a lot of blood…" Skinner paused, and Scully jumped in, suddenly very cold, inside and out. "Sir… is Mulder with you?" She closed her eyes and prayed very hard, PleaseGodlethimbeallrightpleaseI'llneveraskanythingelsepleasepleaseplease… And on the other end she heard Skinner give a great, heavy sigh, and her heart sank down to her toes, as she grabbed blindly for the chair behind her, almost missing it completely, falling halfway on the seat, and halfway off. "Dana… Mulder stayed behind… he's still there. We couldn't take him, couldn't get him out - there were extenuating circumstances…" his voice trailed off, in the sudden and explosive blast of her fury. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, COULDN'T GET HIM OUT? YOU LEFT HIM?!!" She was screaming; Agent Franklin had moved hurriedly to her side, trying to calm her down, trying to get the phone from her; she hauled back with her free hand and let it fly, hitting him square in the face and almost breaking his nose; he reeled back in surprise, just gaping at her, blood everywhere. Agent Sorell moved to restrain her, but Franklin, catching the look of utter despair in Scully's eyes, motioned him back. Scully clutched at the phone in both hands now, as if she'd liked nothing better than to have them around Skinner's thick neck, and continued to scream at him, "Tell me EVERYTHING, Sir, right now or so help me I will make you wish you'd never been born… How could you LEAVE him there? What on earth were you thinking? I don't give a rat's ass what Mulder wanted of you… How could you? ANSWER ME, GODDAMMIT!" She had jumped to her feet again, pacing while she ranted into the phone, right on the fine edge of sanity… and Skinner's responding shouts had her abruptly silent, as he finally got a word in through her tirade. "Damn it, Scully… LISTEN TO ME! I said there are circumstances beyond our control, working here… we were outnumbered and outsmarted, at the onset. And there was something we didn't bargain for, when we went in there, Dana… something which changed everything; all our plans. "Dana… Leonie Friedrictoph had Will… she was holding Will, in her arms, surrounded by about ten men, all with guns trained on us, and on Byers… she had Will…" his voice broke, as he said her baby's name that final time… and Scully was spiraling outwards, out of her body, there on the phone, half in and half out of her chair; she slid in a numbed heap, out and onto the floor; slid from the chair as slickly as hot butter over popcorn, right onto the floor, where her breathing became too painful and her mind ran a film clip of horrors, such a scary movie… Will lying on a metal table, strapped down, little face screwed up and crying, for her… and she couldn't reach him, too much plastic in the way, couldn't get to his side, she clawed her way through plastic but as soon as she'd made a hole it knitted over with more plastic, good as new, couldn't even make any headway at all and the needle was turning away from her and moving towards his little arm as if it had baby radar and she tried to call out his name to reassure him but no words would come out, she couldn't remember how to form the words, she only knew he was in such danger don't eat that fruit Mulder remember it's not good it made us feel not good and we were sick for days Mulder gotta get all of it out of there we picked so much of it don't eat it where did he go he was so tall and he pressed me down into the hot sand and put himself in me and gave me good and I need the good back I miss the good… She fainted. "Sir… it's Agent Sorell… what hospital? Agent Scully fainted, and we're very worried about her; we think she may have had another flashback… we need to get her to you, right away…" Maggie Scully tried opening her eyes, but the migraine was too powerful, and it kept her down, head buried in the pillow; so much pressure - wonder what had brought it on, this time? It had been so long since she'd had one; months in fact, right after Agent Halliday had brought chocolate ice cream for her and Will… Will… Oh, sweet Jesus, Will… She sat up so fast her head spun, the knot on the back of her head throbbing painfully, and she moaned, low in her throat; the female agent sitting in the chair next to the bed jumped up and moved to her side, pressing her back down into the mattress. "Shh, Mrs. Scully, take it easy… just lie down, okay? Your grandson is fine, he's safe, Mrs. Scully - do you hear me, do you understand? Safe." Maggie registered the words through a haze of monumental panic, and grabbed at the agent's hands, squeezing them painfully. Agent Shelly Benson winced at the pain, but didn't let go, and smiled reassuringly at the frightened woman. "Shelly, oh God… where's my baby, where's Will?" it was impossible for her not to panic… in her minds' eye she felt again the agonizing slam to her head, administered to her as she'd sat on the floor across from Will, playing pat a cake with him, such a silly game, but one they loved playing… Will had been giggling, so sweetly… then the pain, and she slid forward in a heap, landing on her side, staring with frozen eyes beginning to glaze over with the flames bursting inside her head, as young Will held up his arms, cooing trustingly; held them up to the tall dark man who bent over, and picked him up, and turned to exit the room, but not before he looked down into her shocked face with a sad, apologetic smile, and whispered to her, "So sorry, Mrs. Scully… so sorry." Maggie remembered now, in a haze of bewilderment and betrayal… Marcus. Marcus Lorenzo, one of the agents trusted to safeguard her little Will… Oh, God… she had spoken the words aloud, and Shelly turned amazed eyes her way and stammered, "Marcus Lorenzo took Will? Oh, hell…" she reached into a pocket for her cell phone, flipped it open and rapidly punched numbers, then listened for a moment, before speaking. "Sir, it's Benson… yeah, I'm with her, she's fine, just a little shaky and in some pain, but fine. "Listen, Sir… it was Agent Lorenzo… Mrs. Scully has identified him. Do you want me to… yes, I will, right away. I'll keep in touch…" She closed her phone and grasped Maggie's icy hand. "When you're feeling better, I'm going to arrange to have you flown to St. James Hospital, okay? Your daughter's on her way there, and AD Skinner is already there, with your grandson… you can all have a wonderful reunion, Mrs. Scully… please don't worry…" Maggie nodded, and let the tears come in a flood of relief and residual pain. Shelly slid an arm around her and held her close, letting her release it all on her strong young shoulder. Maggie cried until nothing much was left, then remembered something else she'd wanted to ask. "Agent Benson… is my son-in-law with my daughter? You didn't mention Fox, dear… where is he?" ** Chapter Six ** They sat in chairs facing each other, the tall, stocky woman dressed in black - and the equally tall, dark-haired FBI agent. Quite the 'Odd Couple', Leonie Friedrictoph thought to herself, as she studied her guest with objective intensity. Handsome, to be sure - wonderfully expressive eyes, an unusual shade of hazel; the long, noble length of nose and the full, lush lips. White, even teeth… satiny skin over taut, hard muscles. Oh, yes, she'd taken due note of that skin of his, all those months ago in another room similar to this one; had gazed upon the wide shoulders and the strong biceps, as she'd ripped his shirt off; remembered well the way he'd never made eye contact with anyone except that partner of his. She'd felt a jealous flare then, just as she felt again, now - found herself in that same stew of resentment at the thought that this woman had something which she would never experience: the genuine regard of a man who thought she walked on water. Even though all those months ago it was obvious that Agents Mulder and Scully were nothing more than friends and partners, she could decipher the strength of the commitment between them. I will never have that for myself, she'd railed to herself, even as she had donned her leather gloves and had flexed her fingers, preparing for the next level of interrogation… Now, facing this man again, Leonie could only marvel at his control, his strength… it would be such a thrill to break this man, really break him. She had decided not to restrain him; he sat on a hard metal chair, sprawled as casually as if at home on his favorite sofa. Several of her assistants, all armed, stood quietly along the perimeter of the room, assuring that her guest would not be leaving this little party too soon. Her gloves lay on a small table next to her chair, but she resisted the desire to put them on; preferring to render him defenseless without the razors, at least in the beginning. But if he was a very bad boy, well then… she'd just have to do a little disciplining, wouldn't she? Mulder sat as comfortably as possible, considering he sat on a hard, metal chair in a cold metal room with a certifiable psychotic as his charming hostess... At least his arms and legs were not strapped down this time, although he didn't know whether to be flattered by her trust in his promise not to try escaping, or insulted that she though him harmless enough to allow some freedom. He knew they were not alone in that room; her goons were everywhere. And yet, for goons… they were surprisingly polite and well-behaved. Go figure… maybe she'd fed them an extra helping of raw meat that morning. His eyes never left those of his adversary; realizing with some wonder that he'd only had to face down a woman adversary maybe twice in his life. It was strange… felt strange. He would not, however, be so stupid as to underestimate this woman just because of her gender. He had seen first-hand just how deadly Leonie Friedrictoph could be. The image of his sleepy child cradled in her arms… being held with the same hand which had inflicted so much poisonous damage upon Byers' body… it was almost too much to bear. He felt a wild moan of pain bubbling up through his raw throat, and he ruthlessly shoved it back down again; show no vulnerability, no weakness. She can smell weakness… she can taste weakness. He made himself perform a thorough examination of her face, especially the eyes; the window to the soul… except this woman couldn't possibly possess one of those. Despite the revelations found in the leather notebook which had been confiscated from the original, burned-out lab, he knew so little, about her… and he found himself slipping into profiler mode without even realizing it. That she hated, feared and yet desired men, was very apparent in her overall manner and demeanor. Mulder had always wondered, in the months following their original ordeal, before deciphering the contents of the notebook - just what her relationship had been with her father. He'd figured out she hadn't been raised around a mother. Actually, he had suspected the father may have had something to do with the possible demise of the mother. Just a hunch, really; the same hunch which had made him decide she'd been an abused child, maybe most of her life. Now, Mulder wondered how deeply he would need to dig, in order to get under that rhinoceros skin of hers; how much time he had, to pierce through the forest of thorns which he knew had to protect her heart. He had a feeling he was about to find out - for it was the key to finding the way out of this nightmare, of this he was very sure. Now was as good a time as any to begin - before her hands got cold, and she needed her gloves… "So, Miss Freidrictoph… Leonie. I can't help but wonder… exactly how old were you when your father first abused you?" "MAmmmmaaMAA!" Scully's head jerked up, wet eyes darting everywhere, at the sweet sound of that little, childish voice, high and filled with baby longing, for her - for his mama. God, her baby boy… where? She jumped out her seat, next to Agent Franklin, who'd seen Will before she spotted him, and touched her arm, pointing down the long hallway of Intensive Care. She turned, still crying - and there he was, in red pajamas, clutching a Paddington Bear, tiny bunny slippers on his feet; running full-tilt down that slippery floor, the rubbery soles of the slippers all that kept him from falling flat on his well-padded bottom. Giggling and screeching with happiness, every step of the way; Scully's vision of him was blurring, badly; her baby, her precious Will… walking! No, running… In two months, running. When he'd left, Will was just beginning to pull himself up, and attempt steps… and now, running. She fell to her knees, in the middle of the waiting room, and held out her arms… and Will fell into them, and she gathered him up, bear and all, and wound him tightly into her arms, sobbing into his soft baby curls, breathing in his talcum powder fragrance, the unique baby skin smell that all babies possess, combined with his own special Mulderscent… and his little hands came up to frame her face, and he laughed into her wet, smiling face, cooing to her as she covered his chubby cheeks with kisses. He pulled away, suddenly impatient for her to see his new bear; Scully duly exclaimed and fussed over the toy, holding her son very close, refusing to stop touching him, to reassure both of them that this moment was real. Skinner, who'd followed the baby on his wild run down the 'Mommy' hallway, paused a few feet from them, fighting a huge lump in his throat. Watching Scully holding and kissing her son, reacquainting herself with him… Skinner wondered how in hell he'd ever get through telling her that Mulder was still in such danger… how on earth he'd ever forgive himself if anything happened to Mulder, after all his agents had been through. How to tell her they'd lost contact with Mulder, roughly two hours after he'd locked himself in with that bitch…. How he'd deliberately shut the wire down. Skinner dropped into the chair that Scully had vacated, and nodded to Agent Franklin, reaching out a hand to shake his, and mutter, "Mrs. Scully… is she on the way?" Franklin nodded, and checked his watch. "Any time now, Sir… they should have landed about thirty minutes ago. Agent Scully will sure be glad to see her… but what about Agent Mulder? Any news?" Skinner shook his head, sighing heavily, rubbing at his aching eyes. "Ah, shit, Bob… he unplugged the goddam wire. I couldn't believe it… just shut it down. I suppose he had his reasons; I suppose they might be good ones. But, I swear to you… when I get my hands on that moron, I am gonna fry his balls in butter and shove them down his throat… after I get down on my knees and thank God for his safe return…" ** Chapter Seven ** "You haven't answered my question, Agent Mulder." She leaned over his chair, face to face, almost nose to nose; eyes boring into his. Leonie realized she wasn't intimidating him… an unusual state of affairs for her, since she intimidated most men; well, most except for her father. This was a strong man; she'd known that already; strong beyond anything she'd experienced. His sense of purpose was tightly focused; he was incorruptible, as she'd remarked earlier; all that he was, possessed, made him quite fascinating to her. He had tried to unbalance her, by asking probing questions about her father's treatment of her, as a little girl; Leonie had refused to be baited and Mulder had desisted amiably enough, with an almost-smile on his lips. He'd simply clammed up on her, and had in turn refused to answer a single question she'd slammed his way. Leonie was becoming quite fed up. She had such a need, to destroy him; to dissect that which made him 'tick', so to speak… what made him Mulder. She wanted to accomplish this without the serum, just to say she'd done it, all by herself. She supposed in some small way, she needed to prove yet one more thing to her father; that she was as dangerous, as ruthless, and as perfect, as he'd been, in his lifetime. She had cleared the room of her assistants, but had kept one of the guns; it rested on the table next to her glove. Her men waited outside the door, but she didn't want their help - she wanted to destroy this man in her own unique way. Leonie stared him down, and he returned her stare with one as equally intense; calm waters in his eyes, no warmth but no coldness; no life but no death either - just a flat stare which told her nothing, gave her nothing. She hummed, deep in her throat, and regarded him again, sitting calmly, watching her. "Agent Mulder, let me re-phrase the question, shall I? The Consortium… I wish to know more about it, about its formation, and purpose; its leaders. Over the last year or so, I have heard things… rumors, if you will, concerning these men. My sources have been able to provide me with bits and pieces, enough for me to deduce a small scope of the power which must be contained, within this organization. Tempting, tantalizing pieces… and I wish to know much more. I wish you to fill in the missing links, Agent. I would think after all I have done for you, and all I can and will do to you and your little family… the desire to assist me would be uppermost in your mind…" She paused, in mid-sentence, at the sound of his sudden laughter; narrowed eyes taking in the head thrown back, laughter pealing from his throat. He stopped then, as suddenly as he'd started, and held her gaze, as he spoke for the first time in more than three hours. "All you have done for me… and what, exactly, would that have been, I wonder? Assisting your insane father in the relentless interrogation of Scully, and myself… beating her, breaking her nose, and slicing up my skin until I almost bled to death… injecting us with a serum which tore our minds to shreds and then dumping us on an island to die… but we didn't die, Miss Friedrictoph; we didn't perish in that little paradise you dropped us into. We survived, and thrived together; we made it. And then, knowing we'd triumphed over your plan to kill us, you decided to "do" some more for us, and so you sent my wife and me these sweet little love notes… and caused us to squirrel away our son, and Scully's mother, to keep them safe… infiltrated an organization based on honesty, integrity and an oath to uphold the law and maintain order in this sorry world… then, I suppose to impress us further with your "caring" for us… you kidnapped and tortured one of our best friends - and held my baby son in those same arms which delivered such a multitude of criminal atrocities - yes, I'd say you've done quite enough… and I have no intention of telling you anything, Lady - nothing, nada, bupkis. "So, if you need some words, ideas, to chew on, and consider and examine… why don't you chew on this: your father Pel Friedrictoph was an inhuman monster who repeatedly raped and most likely sodomized his young daughter; victimized her in the most horrifying way, for almost all of her life… never let her play with other children; never let her have a pet, of any kind… never showed her a modicum of caring, much less love. "Your father did this to you for so long and in ways which had you convinced that his relationship with you was the norm and everything else was odd and wrong - from the time you were barely old enough to take a bath by yourself… up until the day he died, I'd bet - except toward the end of his life, I'd also bet you were quite willing to snap on the handcuffs yourself… nice little set of wrist scars you got going there, by the way." He smiled into her rounded eyes, gone almost black with shock and denial that he should know so much, about her… how…? Then she remembered; the notebook - the brown leather notebook; all her notes, neatly written in German - formulas and experiment results; snippets of observations made during the few early trial runs of the serum… and twenty yeas of ramblings, concerning her father, their relationship… her shame and humiliation at discovering her father lusted after another woman, even as he continued to pound himself into her, from the rear; just as it had always been, since her mother's funeral at age six. Her skin paled, and her eyes, huge with shock, fastened onto his as he whispered, very low, "Oh, don't be so surprised, Leonie… I have a few sources who read and translate German… it was only a matter of time. I know all about Pel's little thing for young girls who're related to him… and I also know about your mother; the way she died, and who killed her… and who got to take the blame. He'd been grooming you for quite some time, huh? Training you, so to speak; molding you in an image acceptable to him; twisting your mind, your need for him, for a mother you'd lost too soon. It's all about control, isn't it? Pel Friedrictoph felt like a big man when he was terrorizing his little girl… and now the little girl is all grown up and doing a little terrorizing of her own." Her face, chalky white; head shaking violently in denial, as she'd listened to his softly spoken words; all the strength in her body, and in her mind, the backbone which had been her father's influence disintegrating, with each word she'd tried not to hear, but couldn't escape; she pressed against the only door in the room, and her head shook and shook with negative force, so hard her glasses had flown off her face and her dark hair had come undone from its tight bun and flew about her shoulders, whipping at her eyes; red-burned eyes, full of sudden and endless hatred for the man who had stripped away the only memories she had left, to cling to. The need to please her father; that which had kept her going, for over one long year of agonizing loneliness; the inability to relate on any level with another man, except in an intimidating and controlling manner; the pain of what her body had become, of what it took for her to achieve any sort of gratification, either by her own hand or with a partner… She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, holding back a hysterical scream… just as Fox Mulder, with one soft sentence, nailed the coffin of her non-existent sanity closed… "I don't suppose I could talk you into telling me about that botched abortion, Leonie… you know, the one your father performed on you after discovering you were pregnant with his granddaughter, and his daughter, all combined in one neat package… three months after the first night he decided he just had to try screwing you face to face…" The unholy screams which suddenly burst from her aching throat stopped him before he could say any more… and she whipped around at him, eyes wild with animal pain, and fury… and she grabbed the first thing she could find, there on the table behind her, and her hand flew up in the air, high up into the air with the weapon in hand, and he steeled himself, prepared to experience anew the serum, or perhaps something as equally deadly… ** Chapter Eight ** Will spotted her first, and the excited wriggling of his sturdy little body had him slipping from Scully's loosened grip, there on the floor of the waiting room, squeals of glee erupting from his gap-toothed grin as he made a mad dash down the slippery hallway toward his Grandma. Maggie Scully dropped her purse, her coat and the bag of diapers and spare clothes she'd insisted upon packing for Will, and flung her arms wide, catching him in full leap, much the way his mama had done, just a scant hour ago. Tears streaming down her face, Maggie held her grandson tightly, not speaking, not able to… her head was still throbbing but she didn't care, and now Scully was running to where her mother kneeled on the floor, and fell down beside her, wrapping her strong little arms around Maggie and Will, both women crying and gasping incoherently to one another, as Will chattered in baby dialect between them. Agent Shelly Benson wiped the tears away and reached Agent Franklin, opened her mouth to speak… and found herself enveloped into a bear-hug of massive proportions, and then kissed to within an inch of her life. After one stunned second of panic, at the idea of showing this side of their relationship to the FBI and the world, in general… Shelly gave up resisting, and kissed him back. In the chair, directly behind her, she registered a pained, "Ah, shit - not again," emanating from the mouth of none other than their long-suffering AD; she flushed beet red and pushed away from Franklin in a panic, stuttering, "Sir, I… we… I can explain…" Skinner waved her excuses away with a tired hand, and smiled at her in wry resignation. "Save it, Agent - I've heard it all before, y'know. Just maintain some modicum of decorum while on duty, and I'll pretend, once again, that I'm not seeing this." In the darkened room, Byers opened his eyes very slowly, very cautiously; he ached over every inch of his arms and his chest, and it felt as though a million needles were piercing his skin. He tried to focus, but his vision was so blurry… he turned his head on the pillow, registering a presence slumped in a chair next to his bed; odd - the figure appeared to have two heads. Byers shook his head in pained confusion, almost crossing his eyes in an attempt to force them to clear - and found himself looking at Langly and Frohike, plopped together in one chair, sound asleep. Byers would have doubled over laughing, if he'd not been in so much damned pain; he could just about guess why they'd ended up in the same chair. He weakly cleared his sore throat, and found enough voice to inquire in a rough croak, "Let me guess - you played "Onesies" for the chair, and you both won…" His buddies jerked awake at the sound of that croak, and Langly, off-balance in the chair to begin with, fell off the edge and landed on the floor; Frohike reached out a shaky hand and grasped Byers' hand, not able to say a word… just squeezing tightly. Byers squeezed back, as hard as he could, at about the same strength level as a gnat suffering from influenza. Langly bounded off the floor and grabbed Byers' other hand, equally at a loss for words - and the three Gunmen stayed in that position, connected, smiling the most inane smiles at one another. Byers wanted to ask about Mulder, and Scully… and at the same was almost afraid to shatter the peace of this one oddly soothing moment, between his friends, and himself. And as if reading his mind, Langly harumphed a little, and kept tight hold of Byers' hand, as he said, almost apologetically, "He's still in that warehouse, John… Jesus… it's been so long, and nobody knows what's going on, Mulder pulled his wire. We've been waiting, for you to come out of it, and for some word…" his voice petered out, and the three friends, by mutual consent, kept a quiet vigil, there in the silent room. ** Chapter Nine ** Fighting to hang onto what was left of his sanity, Mulder was doing his best to keep his eyes steadily upon Leonie's, while using his peripheral vision to t