Sanctuary12

Sunday

When I rolled over the sun was bright, the air inside the trailer was cold, the bed was warm, but it was also empty of its most important element, and for as much as my head was thick and my body wanted to sleep, I couldn't. She wasn't there. It was the thing that had kept me awake so long after I'd come to bed, what she'd said and the question it led to in my mind. Maybe I wasn't what she needed. She was what I needed; she'd been what I'd needed for longer than I could remember, since long before she ever walked into my office with her rookie brashness and her willingness to tell me my theories were full of shit.

But maybe, for as amazing as the last ten days had been, they'd been the product of circumstances, of her need for an anchor, a port in the storm that had risen around her and threatened to pull her under. Maybe when all this was resolved and we were back in D.C.--if we made it back to D.C.--she'd need her old life back more than she needed what we'd created here, and how willing was I to let go if that was what was best for her? Right back to Albert's question: was I willing to sacrifice myself to the truth? Or was I only hoping it would get me what I wanted?

"You know, Joe, I still don't even know what she's doing--where she's working."

Joe rolled to the far side of the bed, taking the sheets with him.

"Maybe she's not working. Maybe she just said that to get you off her back. She's a kid. They're ornery..."

"Exactly. She's just a kid."

Raylene reached behind her and tugged at the covers.

"Still, you'd think I woulda heard something around this town by now. I mean, what can the big secret be?"

"Go ask her..."

"Like she'd tell me any more than she did the last time. She doesn't talk to me, Joe." She rolled to look at him.

Joe just shrugged. "It's her life..."

"Well, she certainly don't know how to run it..."

"Ooh, ask the expert..."

Raylene stared a moment, took hold of his pillow and gave it a swift yank. Joe's head landed on the mattress. He turned and gave her a look.

"Now what the hell was that about?"

"You figure it out, Joe. It has something to do with being a parent. We have a responsibility to help these kids figure out their lives. She's up to something, I can feel it. I'm going to find out what it is, too." She gave another tug on the covers. "Mark my words."

Tracy leaned against the wall of the roof patio. There was blue sky--truly blue sky--a final reprieve, probably, before the haze of summer heat would set in for good. She looked out to where the tip of the Washington Monument jutted into the sky above the roof lines in the distance. The Mall was the first place she'd gone when she came here--wandering past all the new-familiar places, then breaking away from the clusters of tourists on their way to the Lincoln Memorial and settling on the stairs leading to a broad, quiet pond because there was something real there--nature--something not artificially constructed like buildings and busses and traffic-laden streets. Maybe that's what had drawn Alex's brother, too. He'd been so completely transparent there on the stairs, his wounds undisguised, searching inside for answers in a way she found so familiar, waiting for a connection to come to him, a hint or a sign, as if life were a jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces on the table if only you knew where to look for the one you needed.

She ran a finger along the dusty ledge. Two hours and she hadn't gone downstairs yet. What did you say?--I've seen what you're thinking--the way you saw me last night, up here when you were too surprised, too relieved to hold it back? The way your mind says 'kid', deliberately, to remind the rest of you to stay in line, stick to the business at hand, but the rest of you saw a woman? For as rumpled, as kid-like as she must have looked, it hadn't been what he'd seen, Alex who was so incredibly self-controlled, every instinct, every reaction reined in and monitored. He'd seen a woman. He'd even wanted that woman, though his mind was able to muscle the desire away for the most part, keep it bound and hidden in some dark corner because it wasn't what either of them needed. And he knew she knew; at least, he'd realized it by this morning, that she would've seen all of it inside him, as if he were no more than a television screen, helpless to keep her from noticing what was inside him. So what did you say? Did you bring it up and embarrass the both of you...or did you ignore it and let it fester, the way things had festered when they'd driven out of town, both of them terribly awkward and uncomfortable?

He'd seen enough brutality to know the signs--the look of women with wild eyes, or dead eyes. Somebody had made her pregnant, just as the hated old man had made his mother pregnant, and he'd noted the way she flinched that first night, nearly shaking when he'd called her over to the bed and made her sit down on the edge, intent on searching for signs of a scar at the base of her neck. Hunger roamed free in men's minds, sometimes hidden, sometimes not in their thoughts and actions. Occasionally violent and terrifying, especially to a young girl or a child who could see what they'd never suspect. Maybe it'd just been easier to turn away from the possibility, to believe he hadn't been affected by her. He meant her no harm, though, and he was determined not to scare or upset her.

So he'd held it all in, back in some dark chamber in his mind. He had the strength of will to do that, but it still didn't change the fact that she was there, a temptation, like a piece of cheese or a bit of walnut set in a mousetrap. Always there, the last thing she'd want to do to him, to be a tease or a taunt.

She put her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. Her stomach growled. There was the grocery down the street; she could go get something there but it would only put off the inevitable and what could possibly be said to smooth this over?

She sighed into the small space between her arm and the ledge and stiffened suddenly. He was coming. She looked up, around, glanced toward the shelter of the overhanging tree in the corner and forced herself to stay where she was. He was ready to face it head-on, like everything else he did. Running would only snub his efforts. It would be what she always did when trouble struck--take off and leave it behind, unresolved. She swallowed and gripped the ledge with both hands. He was at the top of the stairs now, catching his breath, hesitating.

"Alex, I'm sorry," she said, closing her eyes. Her fingers pressed the gritty ledge.

"For what?"

He was crossing the patio. He was behind her now.

"For seeing inside you, for making you..." She shook her head. "For everything." Her throat ached, stretched tight and full.

"Tracy..."

He stood close beside her.

"You are..." He breathed out and paused. "...the most...incredible person...I've ever met. Don't apologize for...who you are...or...what you do..."

"But..."

"Shhh..."

A hand settled on her shoulder. She felt the warmth penetrate.

"Hey, breathe..." he said quietly.

She let out the breath go.

"I wouldn't...I'd never...do anything...to hurt you..."

She nodded. "I know..."

"I just...want you to be safe, want you to..." He paused. "...have something I...never had, something I...never have had."

Security. Someone to count on.

She sucked in her lower lip and let out a sigh.

"I always run, Alex. I run from everything..."

"You didn't run."

"I wanted to."

" 'Wanted to' doesn't count." He paused. "You didn't."

She opened her eyes. "You always stay and face things, whatever they are. I've thought about that. I'm trying to learn..."

Two birds landed on a nearby wire. She watched them flutter until the wire settled.

She forced herself to smile. "Sometimes it's hard, you know?--being strong..."

"Yeah..."

She watched the traffic in the streets below but it blended into a week ago, being up here alone and empty in the dark of night. Cold, dark, bone-aching emptiness, as if you were the only one on the planet--the feeling was there still, though it was day and he was right beside her. She started to swallow, caught herself and made herself redirect.

"You didn't bring your chair, did you?"

He shook his head. " Decided it was time to walk up. Got to start sometime."

He was getting stronger; it was a good thing.

It was a good thing.

Her eyes squeezed shut. It was a good thing. It was.

She could feel her hands knotted together. Alone again, in that same vast darkness, the night sky peering down from overhead, hard and glittering.

Alex's hand was on her upper arm, turning her around, gathering her in.

She sighed into his shoulder and leaned against him. "I'm not even gone yet and I'm falling apart. How am I going to be strong?"

"You will when you need to be. When the time comes, you'll find a way. It's...something you figure out...If you want to live, you find a way."

She bit her lip and started to move back.

"I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to...I really shouldn't..."

"It's okay. Hold on all you need...I'll live."

She closed her eyes and held on. His cheek went against the side of her head.

Byers looked through the glass at the figure on the bed and turned to the dark-skinned man beside him.

"How is she?"

"Her fever is higher than before. She's been delirious for several hours now."

"What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure yet." Rani looked through the glass. "Sometimes just bringing the patient to the hospital causes symptoms to increase. You can point to the physiological, but I believe fear is a great factor, too--the negative power of the human mind. As for the delirium, I find it puzzling. Her current symptoms all point to pneumonia, but the extent of the delirium is very non-characteristic." He turned back to Byers. "We're running tests, of course. If this is as you say, it won't be what it appears, so I'm trying to cover all my bases, in a manner of speaking."

"Is she in any imminent danger?"

"Of dying? No, not at this point, though it depends on the severity of the disease and how many body systems become compromised. There could be permanent residuals. We just don't know yet. But as I say, we're running a number of tests. We'll let you know as soon as we've determined what it is." He paused. "And your other case?"

Byers sighed. "About the same as yesterday. We have someone with him now. We'll keep you posted."

"His youth and relative strength should be a help to him."

Byers nodded. Rani glanced at his clipboard and moved to go.

"I have patients to check on. I'll be in touch."

Byers took the hand he offered and shook it. He turned back to the window and stared through the glass at the pale figure in the bed. Scully would surely want to come.

Scully rounded the corner of the trailer and stepped up to the door. Her nose and cheeks were chilled from walking. Her hands were in the pockets of her jacket for warmth. She took one out now, reached for the door handle and opened it. Mulder was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands. He looked up when he saw her.

"Good morning," she said, stepping inside and closing the door. "You were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to wake you; I figured on a day you don't have to face Joe, you deserve a little extra. I walked up to the falls and came back by the house. You did a good job of putting everything back...Dale should have those tissue samples to Dr. Wykoff this morning. We could have done the Masson's staining ourselves, but I'm not sure I could have lasted another two hours. Anyway, I'll feel better knowing it was done in the lab." She paused. "Mulder, are you okay?"

He raised his eyebrows and breathed into cupped hands.

"Yeah, just..." He sucked in his lower lip and tried for a smile. "Just thinking, I guess..."

"So was I," she said, taking off her jacket and hanging it over the chair back. She sat down and unlaced her shoes.

"...About?"

"This...Us."

She took off her shoes and socks and set them aside. "Ooh, it's cold in here..."

She looked up at him. He blinked once.

"I was thinking...about what I was saying last night, and...if I were back home--if my life were normal..."--she smiled ruefully--"...such as it gets--and this were Sunday, what I'd be doing, what would...launch me out of bed, what I'd want to...do, or...get to--catch up on some research, go to a concert, or..." She pursed her lips.

"And..."

He was waiting, head tilted with the look birds gave you, seeing you from only one side.

"I realized that...for as much as I love the things I do--and I do...though...some of them are fillers, they...pad the empty places...sometimes...the busyness, the...constantly filled schedule..."

She moistened her lips. He rubbed his arms for warmth.

"Anyway, I realized that, given the choice..."

She stood and came up to him. His head went against her middle; her hands slipped into his hair.

"...I wouldn't want it as an 'instead'--instead of being with you--just...one or the other. I need those things--I need purpose and accomplishment, but..."

Her arms went around his head and cradled it. She sighed.

"I think I'm doing it again, Mulder..."

"What?"

"Making things complicated when they should be simple. I don't...I don't seize the day, I analyze it."

He looked up at her. She smoothed a hand back through his hair.

"Sometimes you've got to stop and think..."

She paused mid-move and considered him. "Did we just switch roles here, Mulder? Because if we did, that leaves me in charge of being the impulsive one and I'm not sure I..." She started to shake her head.

He half-smiled. "Need some help?"

"Yes, I think..." She shivered. "It's awfully cold this morning."

"It's warm in there," he said quietly, nodding behind him.

"Was that an invitation?"

"It's your bed."

"Yes, it is. Mulder, would you...join me? I'd be...honored...happy--not lonely--whatever...if you'd join me." She paused and flushed. "Come to bed with me, Mulder. I need you there."

The corners of his mouth came up; he raised one eyebrow. "You've got a way with words, Scully. Juliet never would've been quite so...eloquent."

"Maybe I'm not Juliet."

She half-suppressed a smile and turned away. She took off her clothes and laid them over the chair back. When she turned around he was between the sheets, holding them open for her. She climbed in and was enveloped in the warmth of blankets. His arms and legs went around her.

"Now I know what a fly feels like when it's caught by a spider," she said, wriggling into a more comfortable position.

"What, you don't want to be caught?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." She flushed, buried her head against his chest and felt her breath fill the small, warm space in front of her. "I've got to stop doing this, Mulder, worrying about losing this instead of enjoying it, appreciating it..."

There was no reply. She looked up at him.

He shrugged. "Still, sometimes you have to stop and think..."

She pushed up on one elbow.

"Is it...? Do you think it's you? That you're not...enough somehow, that you don't...deserve this...?"

He looked up, out the window over the bed. "It's a...random thought that's occurred to me, yeah, over a...series of less-than-picture-perfect relationships..." He sighed and looked down at her. "No, it's not that, Scully. I'm not lying here basking in self-pity. It's just...Do you know what it's like to see yourself...really clearly sometimes, in the...blinding light of...truth, of reality, and...and what you see just makes you want to turn away...?"

"...Yes, I think so..."

He pulled her close and settled his chin against the top of her head. "Thanks for putting up with me, Scully."

"Thanks for putting up with me."

He half-laughed. "You know, a psychologist would have a field day with us..."

"...as our Sunday trickles slowly away..." She slipped an arm around his middle. "You know, this isn't like you, Mulder. I'm supposed to be the...solemn one. You're supposed to be, well...exuberant." She pushed back and cupped his face with both hands. "Mulder, you aren't actually one of those shape-shifting aliens in disguise, are you? Because I refuse to make love to anyone who's not from this planet..."

"A lot of Reticulans out there are going to be really disappointed, Scully." There was the hint of a smile and life, finally, in his eyes.

"Well, they'll just have to find someone else...unless you're sharing..."

"Not me."

She was enveloped, held close.

"...Not sharing."

Sandy stood in front of the mirror. She'd told him she was going running first; it gave her a good excuse not to be wearing a dress, or a skirt. No point in giving him any ideas. Ryan didn't need the encouragement, though hopefully he'd have the decency to give a widow a little space. She'd been married to his friend and had a kid, after all.

Roddy's teddy bear on the corner of the dresser caught her eye. She swallowed and blinked back the sudden burning in her eyes. It was why she was doing this in the first place. It was the only reason she was doing it.

She tilted her head to one side and brushed through her long hair. It was funny now, that remark Ben had made yesterday--about working for the FBI. Not that she'd ever in a million years qualify for anything like that. But it's what she was doing in a way, going out looking for information. Somebody had to do it; nobody else was going to. This must be how Rita felt.

Sandy set the brush aside. She went to the phone in the living room and dialed Rita's number. It had been days and anything she found out was bound to help Rita, too. As much as anyone could help the mother of a dead son. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and waited. On the other end, it rang and rang.

Will coughed himself awake and opened his stinging eyes. His mouth and throat were parched and hot; he reached for the bottle of water on the night stand and took a few swallows. Thin wetness covered his tongue. Mouth tasted terrible. He lay back against the pillow and looked out. Day--morning. The sky was blue, perfect weather for being outside, for jogging or taking Ralph for a walk if only he'd had the energy. He shivered and hugged his arms to himself. His stomach was weak and empty, a function of the food he hadn't been able to keep down.

He glanced across the room. His mother was sitting in the chair. She'd fallen asleep. He must have been sleeping when she came; he didn't remember talking to her, this was the first...Wait a minute, what day was it? It'd been a long time since...She must have taken the bus here, that was it. She never did like those long trips, the monotony of the ride from state to state with that back-of-the-bus stale air that made her stomach weak and jittery.

"Hey, Mama..."

She slept on.

"Mom?"

Nothing.

"Mama..."

He pushed up on one elbow, then pulled himself carefully up to a sitting position. No movement in the chair. He blinked; it was all shadows. He stared hard at the spot and then rested his head in his hands. A tickle in his lungs and he was at it again, coughing and coughing, ribs aching, head echoing the pain.

"Will..."

He brought his head up carefully. It was Rita.

"Mother J..." He looked past her into the shadowed corner. The chair was empty. "Hey, where'd she go?"

"Who, Will?"

"Mama. She was just there. I saw her sleeping, just..."

He looked at the place again, chair empty in the shadows. "She was just..."

Rita had an eye on him, drilling him with one of those x-ray looks.

He looked back at her and swallowed suddenly.

As always, anything we can do to help, we will gladly.
                                                                                                                                            -JFB

Krycek opened his eyes. A shaft of sunlight lay across the corner of the bed. Midday. He glanced over at the recliner; she was asleep on her side, head burrowed into the cushioned chair back. The walk up and down the stairs had been a good thing. It was a way to get some exercise, regain some strength; he'd told himself that as he confronted each stair. Still, it was too confining--the room, the patio, the stairs and then more of the same. Maybe it was the call of the mountains, or the fact that she'd come from somewhere out there and seemed to need them as well. But risk was always the deciding factor. Take a chance on getting away, someplace anonymous, a couple of hours out, a couple back, time to do some walking or just let her have some freedom...versus the risk of the old man calling, or dropping by and finding him gone and asking questions, either directly or just tossing them around in his own mind, speculating, which could be just as bad in the end. Could be deadly.

His strength was gone by the time they'd come down, legs getting shaky, just needing to sit, to lie down. She'd slipped into the recliner while he'd checked his mail and had fallen asleep. Maybe she'd been awake half the night, or maybe it was just the baby taking his toll, or the fact that she was emotionally wrung-out, struggling to find the strength she'd need when she left; it was coming and she knew it. Odd thought, parenthood--working to train a child, prepare them, worrying about whether they'd make it, make the right move, avoid the pitfalls. She was intuitive and that'd help her, but she was just a kid, pliant and unhardened, like the tender green seedlings transplanted out into the muddy vegetable fields in the gulag. Some made it, some didn't. It was a percentage thing.

But the main thing was to be able to get her out of here in one piece. When the time came. Yesterday had been like getting pushed off a wall. What would she have done if things had gone differently, if Buzz hadn't given out? It was a stroke of luck, a reprieve as the axe was about to come down.

And would she help--his mother? She was the unknown factor. Was it better to wait until the last minute, depend on the element of shock, of surprise, and hope for the best? What would she do if he tried to contact her earlier, to prepare her? He'd told her, leaning there against her kitchen sink, not to trust him. But then she'd left him that sandwich, and not just a sandwich. And she hadn't just left it on the plate to dry out. It was a safe move, though, not so much risk. She could stay behind her locked door and watch him from the safety of her comfortable life.

He picked up the bean bag from beside him, squeezed it and let his hand drop onto the mattress.

"Alex?"

She stood beside the bed. She ran her fingers back through her hair to smooth it and sat carefully on the edge.

"You don't really know her, do you?"

He shook his head. "I was in her house once. She wasn't there. I looked around, looked at pictures--you know, whatever was around." His lips pressed together. "And then I went back that once...after Kentucky..." She knew. "I guess I was pretty..."

"I know," she said, looking down.

"So...I talked to her for a few minutes...Hadn't slept for over a day, hadn't eaten...She let me sleep in the garage." He turned and looked out the window. "I got up and she'd left me a sandwich...on this glass plate..."

"You left her a note..."

He nodded and watched the leaves outside the window. He could see it again, the garage and the greens in the yard. The smell of something sweet blooming.

"Daphne," she said.

"What?"

"What you smelled. I can see it. In a pot--in the shade by the garage path. It's a hard one to grow, Alex, to take care of. She must've been careful with it..."

But what did it tell them? Did it tell them anything? And there was Skinner's mail; the old man was hard at work.

"What will you do, Alex? Will you do anything?"

"About...?"

"Scully's mother. He wants to find her. He knows it would make Mulder crazy."

"I know..."

Krycek closed his eyes. He wondered if Buzz'd made up that story about the dog.

Mulder watched her stir and then wake.

Scully rolled toward him and settled with her head on his chest in a patch of sunlight. Her eyes closed against the brightness.

" 'Morning again," he said, smoothing the hair from her face, toying with a strand of it.

"Mmm..."

The air was warm now. A padded quiet filled the trailer. He glanced at the wall clock, a relic from another era, gold metal in a sunray design. 12:33.

"I should get moving," he said into her hair.

"I'll walk you down the trail to Sandy's," she said. "You can catch the road from there."

Silence. She didn't move.

"When?"

"In a few minutes, Mulder. I just..."

Nothing more.

"What?"

"It's too comfortable to get up...The warmth--finally. The quiet. You..."

He smoothed a thumb across her shoulder and looked toward the front of the trailer. Desk with the laptop, the picture of her family, the one of Emily tucked down into a corner of the frame. Her copy of Moby Dick. Coffee mugs in the drainer beside the sink in the kitchen. It was her spot now, her place. Temporarily, anyway.

"What would you be doing today, Scully...? If you could do anything...you know, be anywhere..."

A hand traveled down his side and came to rest against his waist.

"I'm doing it, Mulder." A smile started at the corner of her mouth.

"Right now? Here?"

"Right now. Right here."

Rita clipped the leash to Ralph's collar and opened the front door. Ralph went out eagerly and sat wagging his tail in the hallway. He was happy to be out, wiggly, and the day was beautiful, the sky bright blue. Rita locked the door and put the key in her pocket.

Will was asleep now after a little over an hour of being awake; it was the best possible time to get away, if there was a best time. Most likely she'd just carry him with her, though, the way she'd carried Bob those last four months, never knowing how things might change before she returned, not knowing if she'd come back to find him still alive. Just the memory of it had made watching Andy a torture, though his symptoms hadn't had a chance to progress to what his father had experienced. And then he was just gone, a phone call from the sheriff and it was all over so unexpectedly. No telling whether it was better or worse than going through all those months of stress and pain.

And now Will, and no knowing yet what he'd been afflicted with, whether he'd recover in the end--if Rani was the medical detective John Byers hoped he was and could get to the bottom of this--or whether the illness would take him slowly, or take him in a way they could never foresee.

Rita looked up. They were in the entry now; she didn't remember coming down the stairs. She opened the front door and let Ralph lead. The trees were bright in their late spring greens, everything about the plantings and about Ralph himself proclaiming vivid, breathing life, though somehow she felt sealed away from it all. Despair--it was the bane of the sick, and certainly the bane of their caretakers.

She made herself focus on the dog and his steady trot along the sidewalk toward a small park. Flowers bloomed on bushes and in garden beds and birds drifted casually from tree to tree. At the park there were children's toys but the playground was empty. Andy'd been a mother's terror when he was young, climbing onto the spring horses and standing in the saddle, rocking wildly, defying gravity. Most of the time he'd succeeded. He'd also succeeded in breaking both arms by the time he was fourteen.

She swallowed and pulled a tissue from her pocket.

At the edge of the playground an old yellow tennis ball lay half-buried in the sand. Rita made herself go closer and pick it up.

"Want to play, Ralph boy?"

She tossed it and watched the dog take off running.

Who'd do this after Bob and Andy, go back through it all again, a glutton for punishment? Had the pain dulled so much already that she could charge in again, blissfully unaware of what awaited her? But it wasn't just a one-way thing, it was this boy's life at stake and how could she just leave and protect herself, knowing he'd be struggling through this alone?

To: TinMan@zipmail.com
From: topaz@rift.net|
I have no specifics; whatever it is won't be obvious.

Sandy ran up the dirt road unseeing. She glanced behind her, legs pounding all the while, feet putting distance between her and the parking lot by the closed-down Saver's Mart where she'd bailed from Ryan Norton's limo. The shoes pinched her toes--her feet had spread, just like her mother'd told her, running barefoot--and there was a stinging in her calves and pressure in her throat, but she didn't stop. She wouldn't. She went on and on, one leg in front of the other, one arm and then the other, as if she could pull herself through the air, lungs aching, mind ready to burst.

There was someone up ahead, walking; she moved to the far side of the road, put her head down and kept on. Last thing she needed was gossip all over town about how she'd been running down the road crying like a baby--Sandy the young widow--too-young mother--who'd dropped out of school to have the baby she was carrying, a baby later killed by his very own father and on and on and on.

"Sandy..."

She focused ahead, on the ditch that ran alongside the road, refusing to look toward the voice. Lungs aching, heart beating--bam, bam, bam--fists tight, as if she could run right through that pig Ryan Norton and leave a silhouetted hole through the middle of him, like in a cartoon.

The voice came again, closer; she turned her head sharply away and ran on, legs flying, heart aching, feet throbbing...

Caught.

"Just get the hell away from..."

"Sandy..."

She wriggled against the arms around her. No use. She looked at the ground, breathing hard, breathing fire.

"Hey..."

One arm retreated and there was a touch against her chin, fingers lifting. She tried to turn away but she'd seen him now.

Lord, what a fool.

She went slack and let her eyes close. She sagged against him momentarily, then stood up; he let her go.

She headed for the ditch at the edge of the road.

"Geez..." She gulped air. "I mean..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Damn..."

She sucked in her lower lip and bit it. She looked like a crazy fool for sure now. One hundred percent crazy--certified. All fool, too. She could feel herself redden beyond the coloring from her body's heat.

"Oh, man..." She walked a small circle and finally looked up into Ben's worried face.

"What happened to you?" he said quietly.

He had that calming look vets used with scared animals. She must've looked like one.

"You don't wanna know..." Probably he did.

"I think I do..." He nodded at her legs. "You're bleeding, you know...What happened?"

She looked down at her scratched legs. Little trails of blood came from small wounds on them.

"It was those damn bushes..."

"What bushes?"

She breathed out heavily and swallowed. She could feel her mouth quiver. "The bushes in the parking lot. Over by the Saver's Mart."

"They just...jump out and attack you?"

His voice was quiet; he wasn't making it into a joke, or a way to show her for a fool.

She shook her head and looked down.

"Was somebody chasing you? Looked like you were in a pretty big hurry..."

"I don't know. I wasn't sticking around to find out."

"How about if I walk you home? You need to get cleaned up."

She nodded and didn't look at him. Her feet ached. Her legs stung now, worse than ever. She started to walk--steady, even steps, just one foot in front of the other. He kept pace, leaving her space, turning every once in a while to look behind them.

"Sorry..." she said. One foot, two, tightened muscles crying out.

"For what?"

"For the way I acted. I didn't know it was you. I..."

She wiped below one eye with the back of a hand and went on. He didn't press her to talk.

"...Yeah." He kept his voice low and glanced down the trailer hallway. "She said she ran through some bushes but whatever made her do it...She's not opening up. I get the feeling you might get a lot farther with her than I can. Anyway, you could look at her legs..." He leaned against the dining table. "...I don't know. Some kind of bushes with thorns on them. Pretty good size ones, too, from the look of it; they got her pretty good...Can you...Can you borrow a truck from David?...Yeah...Let me know right away if you can't..."

Mulder hung up, paused, looked down the hallway and set the phone back on the coffee table. There was no sound at the far end of the trailer; she was holed up there, nursing her wounds, waiting. Hopefully Scully'd be on her way soon.

He turned and looked around the room. A bookshelf on the opposite wall held family pictures and a red fire truck. He went closer. Roddy as a baby, sitting in a baby seat, his parents behind him, Sandy beaming, Cy--a big, bearded guy--with his arm around her. Cy with a deer he'd obviously shot, holding onto the rack of antlers, Roddy in diapers on the other side, mirroring his dad. Roddy in the yard, a casual shot, face smeared with dirt but beaming, pointing to his fire truck.

Mulder set the picture back and reached for the red truck on the shelf below. It had been carefully washed and polished. He ran his fingers lightly over the shiny surface and closed his eyes.

Skinner switched off the engine and leaned back against the headrest. He looked out toward the second-story window and pressed his lips hard together. Krycek's message was confirmation--as much as they were going to get--that Scully's mother and Wilkins had been deliberately infected, and Wilkins deserved the truth, no matter how unpleasant it would be to convey it. Wilkins had stuck by Mulder and Scully--stuck by him--far beyond the call of duty, when he had no personal stake in it, nothing to gain. It was the least--and the worst, seemingly--that he could do now. Or maybe the hardest part wasn't in the telling, but rather in looking at it straight-on, facing where he'd gotten the information and how. A leash was a leash, no matter how long and loose it looked at the moment.

Skinner got out of the car, locked it and strode toward the apartment building's entry. He hadn't even called since he'd dropped Rita here the other night; anything could have happened in that amount of time. The corner of his mouth twisted; he took the stairs, when he came to them, two at a time. At the top he stopped in front of Wilkins' door and pushed the buzzer.

He waited, looking down the long, vacant hallway, listening for footsteps inside. Nothing. He rang again and pursed his lips, counting the seconds without thinking. He took a step back and turned to go. The door handle turned and Wilkins' weary face appeared in the crack where the door had opened.

"Chief?"

"How are you doing, Agent?"

Wilkins shook his head gingerly and winced.

"I'm still here, though sometimes I feel like I'm down on the mat, waiting for the count..." He opened the door wider and gestured for Skinner to come in. "Sorry, sir. Standing around's not my forte these days..."

He turned and made his way carefully to the couch, eased himself down and lay back against the cushions. He shivered and started to cough, limbs drawing up slightly as if to shelter him from the inner battering.

"Where's Rita?" Skinner said when Wilkins had finally stopped.

"I..." His head tilted slightly toward the door. "I don't know, sir. She was here the last time I was awake." His eyes roved to the left and right slowly, seeking clues. "...Don't know."

"I, uh..." Skinner's lips pressed into a thin line. "I sent a message to Krycek this morning, telling him about this. I figured he might know something, that he might offer something if having the Smoking Man find Mulder and Scully doesn't mesh with his own agenda..."

Wilkins said nothing. He waited, eyes asking, his breathing shallow.

"I got a reply an hour ago. It's as much verification as we're going to get. He said he had no specifics but whatever it was wouldn't be obvious..."

After a moment Wilkins gave a weak smile.

"So now I know for sure I've bitten the poisoned apple. Cool..." He grimaced.

Skinner looked at his shoes.

"Maybe it'll help your doctor find out what's been done to you..."

Wilkins sighed. "I hope so..." He squinted toward the window and the brightness outside. "I surely do, 'cause this is getting old. You know what I'd give to be able to walk out there today, sir?" He nodded slightly toward the window. "Maybe a lot more than you realize..." He paused and tried for a smile. "Hey, but thanks for the tip. I don't...I don't mean to make light of the information. After all, I did get myself into this..."

"No, I think your concern for a fellow agent got you into this. The Cancer Man--he got you into this."

Wilkins shrugged.

There was the sound of a key entering the door lock. Both men sat up straighter. The door opened; Ralph came bounding in, followed by Rita.

"Walter?" She looked relieved.

"Just checking in." He stood and looked back at Wilkins. "Be sure to pass on the information...though I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention where you got it."

"Will do, sir."

Skinner turned to Rita. "You keeping this guy out of trouble?"

"The best I can..."

"Good. Any word on Maggie Scully?"

"She's in the hospital, Walter. They figured she'd be safer where they could watch her."

"How's she doing?"

Rita sighed and looked down slightly. "She's holding on. She's doing her best..."

Skinner frowned.

"Hey, Chief..."

Skinner turned toward the couch.

"You know what I'm still wondering?"

"What?"

"What Kyrcek's interest is here. Why he doesn't want them found...Mulder and Scully..." He moved slightly, easing his head against the cushion. "I think...if we crack that one, we may be onto something."

Sandy squeezed her eyes shut. Ben and Annie were out in the living room talking quietly. They'd be coming and here she was just sitting on the edge of the bathtub like a statue. Footsteps in the hallway now. Hold it together, girl.

"Sandy..."

It was Annie's voice, soft and soothing. She turned and looked, trying for a smile.

"Got myself in a pile of trouble, looks like," she said.

"What kind of trouble?"

Annie came in and sat on the edge of the tub beside her.

"The Ryan Norton kind." She looked away, at the wall. Her legs stung. Roddy's bath toys were still stacked on the little built-in shelves.

"Did he try...to hurt you?"

"If you mean did he have anything in mind, the answer is sure he did. I shoulda figured. But I wanted to find out..."

She looked down, at the trails of blood.

"Find out what?"

"Find out whatever it was he was doing...you know, with those deliveries he makes into Lexington. I figured it might be something that would help you and Ben, that maybe we'd..." She pressed her lips together; the corner of her mouth quivered. "You know, that it might lead to something that..." She sighed. "...about Cy and Roddy."

"So...did he...ask you to go with him...when he went to Lexington?"

"Uh-huh. He saw me at Walmart yesterday and he asked me if I wanted to try a ride in his limo, he was going to make one of his 'deliveries' today. And I figured what the heck, it'd just be an hour and a half or so and I might find something out. I figured what could happen...?"

"What did happen?"

"Well, we just drove there mostly. We went to the airport and dropped off his boxes at a little private plane hangar and turned around and come back. But he kept trying to get me to sit closer to him and there was no way, just no way in hell I was gonna..." Her hands curled against the tub edge. "I mean, you know where that's going. The script's always the same, you know? I don't know why they don't figure that out--guys. They all think they're the first ones to ever give you a line." She looked up. "You know what I mean?"

Annie nodded slowly.

"Did he try to...make you sit closer?"

"Nope. He just kept talking it up, you know? And by the time we got back into town I guess he was pretty boiled at me, and..." She shrugged. She ached inside, sudden fierce pressure.

"Then what happened?"

"He said he'd take me home, and I didn't want him anywhere near here, so I said just let me off by the old Saver's Mart, and he turned into the parking lot and the second he stopped I hot-footed it out of there in a big old hurry."

"And..."

She shrugged again. "I think he just thought it was some kind of a joke, some fun he was havin' with me, like poking at a bug, but he started to come after me...with the car...chasing me..." Her jaw trembled; she made it stop.

"And that's when you ran through the bushes?"

"Uh-huh. To get away. I wasn't taking no chances, believe me; I've seen enough freaky stuff lately...And I guess I just panicked and I fell; it was stupid, I was just bein' clumsy...I got up right away and I took off, but I could hear him laughing...And I just ran, you know? I just ran and ran..."

She set her jaw and stared at the out-of-focus reds and blues of Roddy's little toys.

"Sandy, you should let me look at your legs now. I can help you get cleaned up. Is that okay?"

She nodded.

She could feel her eyes filling, her jaw going. She clenched her teeth together more tightly. Then careful, sure arms were around her, holding her, and her head was against Annie's shoulder. She closed her eyes and gulped in air. She wasn't going to cry. She would not. Would not.

Would not.

Mulder stared out the window into the dirt yard. What would his mother think--if she could see what he could see now, the unconscionable pain of a nineteen-year-old widow caused by this secret son of hers? And Krycek--what the hell had he been thinking?

Most likely he hadn't been thinking at all; it would have been all reaction, the same reaction they'd been taught at the Academy. And how much difference was there, really, between the fact that Krycek had fired instinctively and killed a kid and the fact that he, once, as a green member of the VCU, had hesitated to fire and in consequence had killed a little boy's life--a boy's future--by failing to take the shot that could have saved his father's life?

He ran a finger along the window ledge. The scene in the yard slipped gradually out of focus.

Three times.

Three times in the last month.

Not that it was saving, exactly. Nothing Krycek did was 'saving'--how did it qualify to set a fire and then let the victim escape? Krycek hadn't cut his father any slack, right there in his own bathroom. He hadn't cut the tram operator any slack. Maybe he expected a gold star now.

Why would he?

Mulder looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Voices came from the hallway--Scully's, calm and soothing, and Sandy's now-easier conversation mixed with pain and the occasional tear-choked laugh.

She was strong and bull-headed the way Samantha had become bull-headed. No, not so much the same. Samantha was just a little kid, trying herself out, stretching her limits; she hadn't had this kind of tragedy to face. But what would she have become? How would her experiences, whatever they'd been, have shaped her, hardened or steeled her? Would she have fought her captors? Would he even recognize her if they were put in the same room together?

How much would be left of the little girl he'd known?

A key turned in the lock. Krycek rolled to the left and watched the door. Her face appeared in the opening.

"I've got to go out somewhere," she said. She wore a partially-concealed smile. "Do you need anything, Alex?"

He looked around the room and paused.

"Not that I can think of."

"I'll be back in a while."

"What's the big deal?"

"Big deal?"

"You. Just..." He shrugged. "Nothing. Just the way you look."

"It's a surprise, Alex. Don't make me give it away."

He turned back to his computer. The door closed and he glanced back toward it. He raised an eyebrow. A surprise.

"What do you think about it, Mother J?"

She watched him take another sip of the orange juice, a very small sip. He set the glass down on the cushion beside him. It was as far as he had the strength to reach.

"About what, Will?"

"There's something about what this Krycek's doing that's sticking in my mind. He...puts a video recorder in Mulder's apartment and he's scared to death...of letting his boss find out he's done it. He's not in any hurry to have the old guy find Mulder and Scully...But Mulder's got no love for the guy; he killed Mulder's father. So what's the missing piece here? Does he need them for something?...You know they aren't going to do anything for him...not of their own accord...not knowingly. There's something we're missing here, some...piece of the puzzle..." He lay his head against the cushion to the side and slowly closed his eyes. "Mother J, I'm so tired..."

"I know, Will. Just don't give up. You keep that mind working. You may have saved Mulder and Scully already, just by alerting them to this thing."

"If they're still safe out there somewhere..."

"They're safe, Will."

A pause and he opened one eye. He looked at her.

"You aren't the type to spill the beans, are you, Mother J? I didn't just hear you say something revealing, did I?"

She shook her head. "Not me, Will. You know I wouldn't." Her lips pressed together but the corners of her mouth squirmed.

"That's good to hear," he said. He closed his eyes and smiled. "Real good."

Rita watched his face, the dimple in his left cheek, the broad expanse of his smile. She watched it fade slowly, like sky colors at sunset. After a moment his face began to slacken; he was beginning to drift already. Rita got up quietly from her chair.

"Mother J..."

She turned back. His eyes remained closed.

"Yes?"

"Will you send a mail to the Gunmen for me? Tell them we've got confirmation that Maggie and I were deliberately infected..."

"Mission accomplished," Scully said quietly, coming up behind him. She rested a hand on his arm.

Mulder turned around.

"Mostly she had cuts and scratches, but I pulled three thorns out of her knees." She held up a baggie.

Mulder winced. "They're like darts."

"Short darts, thankfully. We should have Dr. Wykoff send them to the lab to make sure they aren't anything that could affect her. There are many poisonous plants, including some of the most common."

"They wouldn't use them in parking lots, would they? I mean, crooks climb security fences and try to sue for damages from razor wire."

"Probably not. But I'd rather be on the safe side. I'd like to keep an eye on her, too." She paused. "I think I'll stay here tonight. She's taken something for the pain and I'd like to make sure she just stays quiet...and doesn't have to worry about a return visit from Mr. Wonderful."

"What happened?"

"Beeson's driver invited her for a ride in his limo--to make one of his on-the-side deliveries--and evidently he had more on his mind than she did." She looked out the window. "He didn't try anything, but when she got out in town he chased her across the parking lot with the car." She looked up intently. "Mulder, she did it because she wanted to get the information for us, because she hopes..." She sighed.

"...that something she finds will lead to justice for her family," he said quietly. He sucked in his lower lip.

"Yes." She paused. "Mulder, I understand what she feels. I know that...anger, that frustration...and I don't want to see her get hurt"--she smiled ruefully--"anymore than she is already. But...she did get some information that might be useful. Just try to convince her not to..."

"...taking the kind of chances I would?" He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "No problem."

"I think she's ready to tell you. She just feels a little..."

Sandy emerged from the hallway in her bathrobe, looking down slightly. She made her way to the couch and lay down on the cushions.

"You doing okay?" Scully asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'll make it." She looked up at Mulder. "I know where he goes now. If it does you any good..."

Mulder sat down in an old, overstuffed chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

"You know, when I made that remark yesterday about working for the FBI, I didn't mean you should go out and put your life on the line," he said quietly. A smile crossed his face. "That's my department--doing something half-assed and crazy. Then usually she's got to come pull me out of it." He nodded toward Scully who blushed and turned away. He looked back at Sandy and paused. "So what kind of deliveries was he making?"

"Boxes. He had 'em in the trunk. Maybe five or six. Didn't seem like much to me."

"What kind of boxes?"

"Just regular old cardboard boxes." She thought. "They were new ones, though, real clean. New boxes with no writing on 'em."

"Nothing at all?"

She shook her head.

He pursed his lips.

"I came across some unmarked boxes in a basement locker I was cleaning out on Friday. How big were they?"

"Like...this size..." She shaped an invisible box with her hands.

Mulder looked toward Scully. "Sounds like the same kind I found. My guess is they won't be there when I get back tomorrow."

"I wonder what's in them," Scully said.

"Ryan didn't say nothing. He was just all proud of the fact that he made extra by just delivering them to the airport--you know, just getting to drive the limo, no real work or nothing."

"Do you know exactly where you went? Could you show someone...?"

"Ben..." Scully gave him a look.

"I made a map," Sandy said. "I drew it while Ryan was out unloading the boxes so I wouldn't forget."

She pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her robe.

"Joe?"

"That you, Raylene?"

"Of course it's me. Who did you think it was gonna be?"
There was only a grunt on the other end of the line. Raylene cupped her hand around the receiver.

"You're not gonna believe what I saw, Joe."

"Where are you, Raylene?"

"At the pay phone outside Daily's."

"What the hell are you doing at a pay phone?"

"Trying to tell you something if you'd just listen."

"Okay, what?"

"I was driving up toward Sandy's..."

"You mean you were spying on her?"

"Not spying. I'm her mother, for godsake. Anyway...I was coming up the road--you know, right around that bend before the mailbox, when I see this guy coming down her front stairs--no car--and he starts walking into town."

"Yeah?"

"So I drive on by, not to look like I'm watching him..."

"Which you were..."

"Well, of course I was...So like I say, I drove on by, and I go up the road a little ways and turn around and wait, and then I come back down slowly and I keep behind him--you know, far enough that he doesn't hear me in the car..."

"That could be pretty far back..."

"Shut up, Joe. You know what I mean."

A chuckle came from the the phone.

"Anyway, I park along the side of the street, every time until I just about lose him in the distance and then I go further...Joe? What are you doing? Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Raylene, I'm listening. I'm just watching this movie..."

"Well, maybe this'll make you sit up and take notice. I followed this guy all the way in, no problem and he never saw me, never turned around--not so's he could see me, anyway. And you know where he went, Joe?"

"Where?"

"Dale Lanier's."

"What'd he look like?"

"About six feet, I think. Short brown hair. Maybe mid-thirties. Baseball cap, flannel shirt. Jeans. Cute."

"Cute?"

"Joe, shut up. Why you asking?"

"Because my latest broom-pusher is Lanier's nephew."

"You're kidding. Your new guy?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Well, what in the heavens was he doing at Sandy's house? How would he even know that girl? She's up to something, Joe, I tell you."

"Or maybe he is. Maybe he's just quick on the draw."

"Joe, you're a pig." She paused. "But I'm going to get to the bottom of this. You know I will...Joe?...Joe!"

Raylene sighed and dropped the phone onto the receiver.

Dearest Mulder,
If I had the laptop with me I would no doubt be writing this to you in a mail...or at least, I imagine that I would. Sandy has gone to sleep but I find it impossible to do the same. She gave me her son's room to sleep in and I think the tie-ins are just too great, remembering the boy's face, making the connection to who he actually was in life, and of course the parallel questions that suggest themselves about Emily--who was she really? what did she like? what made her smile? I had so few days of her and what did I really understand of who she was? I can't make myself stop asking these unanswerable questions and I refuse, finally, to be ashamed of the fact that they remain with me. A counselor would undoubtedly worry, but you, above all others, surely understand that urge--that need--to know, even if it will forever be beyond fulfillment.

I'd thought until recently that her past would be enough for me, if only I knew what it was, but my interaction with Sandy has shown me otherwise. Attempting to comfort this strong woman/child I find myself asking what Emily would have become as a young woman, when she might have turned to me for advice, or comfort. Perhaps I only grieve for myself, that I will never know that opportunity, but I find consolation in the knowledge that I do have someone I can share these feelings with, a place of understanding and comfort. That in itself means more than I will ever be able to express.
                                                                                                                                        -Your Lark