Author's Notes: Okay, I've not written anything in over a week, something of writers block. Here is my attempt at ending it. :) I'm still trying to get around a dead spell, so here's another shot at it. This is the product of some time to kill and a late night, so let me know what you think, but be nice! :)

Disclaimer: Strike up the band, it's time for the disclaimer dance! Mulder, Scully and Skinner are property of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, and probably a bunch of other people. And I am nothing if not a poor college kid with tuition to pay, with no money for a court case so don't get any ideas all of you suit types.

The light shone harsh in his eyes, as he blinked in an attempt to bring the world into focus. Ever so slowly, his surroundings became clear and familiar. However, the source of the light was still a mystery, and there was a persistent noise that he couldn't place. His head felt groggy, and his limbs refused to follow the sluggish commands his confused mind was sending out.

After a moment of near panic he felt a hand on his shoulder, he had no idea how long it had been there. In the moment of clarity that followed, he began to decipher the noise that he now classified as someone speaking to him. As suddenly as it appeared, the light disappeared from his vision, leaving in its place a large green spot that continued to obscure his sight.

"Mulder?" The voice questioned through the haze. Scully, his mind told him. Slowly, the green blur dissipated and he was able to make out the features of his flame haired partner. He glanced around to assure himself that he was indeed in his apartment. Then his gaze again fell on his partner, who was leaning over him as he lay on his couch.

The depths of his hazel eyes betrayed his confusion. His mind, finally clearing, was whirring with questions to be asked. Why was Scully in his apartment? Why hadn't he heard her enter? Why did his head still feel so heavy? Why was she shining that light in his eyes?

When Scully saw his confusion, she comforted herself with the fact that coherent thought should follow. Softly, she sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. She reached out her left hand and brushed his hair off of his damp forehead. She tried not to flinch when he recoiled from her touch. Dropping her hand to her side, she did her best to wait patiently for the apprehensive confusion to pass.

A few minutes later, her patience was rewarded when Mulder finally spoke. "Scully?" His voice was quiet, a mere whisper, yet it echoed in the silence of the apartment. "What are you doing here?"

She blinked slowly, and asked a question she dreaded hearing the answer to. "Mulder, what's the last thing you remember?" She noticed the look in his eyes that meant he was looking inward, searching for an answer to a question he didn't completely understand.

"What?" His answer was hesitant at first, "Scully, I just saw you a few hours ago. We left work, you went to your apartment and I came home and watched television." As he spoke, his eyes searched the blue depths that were focusing intently on him. In those depths he first read the dismay that set him ill at ease.

"Mulder," she began tentatively, "that was three weeks ago."

*****

"Ah, come on Scully, you have to eat." He was whining, and he knew it. The lost little boy quality in his voice was driving her insane, he hadn't stopped talking for at least twenty minutes. They both knew he was whining just to get on her nerves. And they both knew he was loving every minute of it.

The one-sided banter continued unimpeded for another half hour before Mulder began to grow silent. When the clock finally read five, Scully began to collect her things, she was looking forward to a weekend away from the office. She had remained silent during Mulder's hour long near tantrum, as she approached the door to exit their basement office, she turned to look at Mulder, who was still sitting at his desk. His posture was slumped, he held his hands in his lap and there was a slightly defeated air about him.

At this sight she found her voice. "Mulder," she called. He looked up, unconsciously straightening his glasses, and met her gaze. "Time to go home, partner." As she spoke she motioned to the door. In retrospect, he was far too quiet as he gathered a few files and his jacket. He then escorted her in silence to her car, it was an overprotective gesture she had never bothered to comment on.

"See you Monday, Mulder," she said, unlocking her car door. She watched him shrug his shoulders and begin to walk to where his Taurus was parked some distance away.

"Sure, Scully," she heard him call across the busy parking lot.

Numerous times that night she had a strange feeling regarding Mulder. A couple of times she began to reach for the phone, so certain he was in his apartment dialing her number. Yet no call ever came. The feeling passed, however, and she spent the rest of the weekend enjoying the quiet time away from the office. She met with her mother for lunch and shopping and watched videos with an old friend from medical school who was in town on business.

When she entered the cramped office she and Mulder shared she gave little thought to his absence, both over the weekend and in the office. However, as more time passed after he should have been at work, she became increasingly concerned.

By eleven she was on her way to his apartment. Having called several times to only be answered by his answering machine, her emotions were battling between concern for his well being and anger that he might have ditched her again.

She knocked on the door marked number 42, and when Mulder failed to answer she pulled out her spare key and cautiously unlocked the door. She slowly pushed the door open, and reached for the light switch. The sight before her left few questions in her mind. It hadn't been his idea to leave.

His apartment was in shambles. Nothing seemed to have been left untouched by the chaos that had occupied the living room at some point in the preceding forty-eight hours.

She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and quickly dialed the telephone number for AD Skinner's office. Scully spoke with Skinner for a few minutes. He ordered an investigative team to Mulder's apartment, and for Scully to stay where she was.

Skinner arrived at the suddenly crowded apartment just moments after the team of agents did. He pulled the subdued Scully out into the hallway. Looking down at the formidable agent before him, he questioned her quietly.

"What happened, Agent Scully?"

Instead of replying right away, she surprised Skinner by hesitating in her reply. "I'm not sure," she brought her eyes up to meet the gaze of her superior. "We hadn't spoken since Friday evening, he was, rather subdued at the time." As she spoke, her voice regained its professional tone. "He didn't answer when I called, so I drove over here and found his apartment like this," she gestured toward the open door behind him.

Time seemed to slow for Special Agent Dana Scully. No note had been found, nothing that could have helped to lead to finding Mulder. Over the next three weeks she continued to search, but with each passing day hope became harder to cling to.

Sleep had become restless at best, and the longer Mulder was missing, the less sleep she managed to get each night. Having finally dozed off, she cursed silently when her phone ringing forced her to wake up.

"Scully," she answered.

"Go to number 42, Dr. Scully. There you will find what you seek." The voice was hushed and its identity lost. The call was disconnected before she had a chance to speak.

She didn't stop to question the information. Within seconds she pulled on some clothes and raced out of her apartment. The message played again and again in her mind as she drove to Mulder's apartment. She hadn't been there since that first day, and she silently feared what she might find when she returned. She pushed the more appalling images out of her mind, instead focusing on the image of Mulder being alive and whole.

She didn't bother knocking when she reached the door to his apartment. She opted to just unlock the door and rush into the darkness that lie beyond. Bathed in light filtering through the window, was the form of her partner lying still on the couch. She hurried to his side, and began checking for signs that he was alive. She found a pulse quickly, and he was indeed breathing. His face looked bruised, and he needed a shave. Looking over the rest of his lean frame revealed what she worried were broken ribs, and additional bruising. Digging a penlight out of the desk drawer, she pulled open one of Mulder's eyelids to check for a concussion.

It was then that Mulder began to stir, or at least attempted to stir.

*****

Against Mulder's arguments to the contrary, she managed to get him to the ER to be checked out, just in case, she had said. She had been right when she had noticed the damaged ribs, two had been broken. However, judging by the amount of healing, it had happened around the time he had disappeared. He also had obtained a severe concussion.

When he was admitted for observation Mulder had protested loudly. In the end, however, he had lost this argument as well. Once he was settled in, Scully left to call Skinner. She had called him from Mulder's apartment to let him know of Mulder's return, and that she was taking him to the emergency room. During the conversation from the hospital, she filled him in on Mulder's status and that he was expected to be released the following day. Reluctantly she was forced to also tell him that Mulder remembered nothing of the time after he disappeared, nor of when he was abducted.

Scully had settled into a stiff, uncomfortable hospital chair quietly sitting by her partner's side. She was wary of leaving him again so soon. A couple of hours had passed when he began to thrash in his bed. She had hoped the pain killers would keep any nightmares at bay, but his luck was not that good. She jumped up, trying to soothe him into calming down. When his protests became greater, she managed to wake him up, although she had preferred not to.

His hazel eyes were full of panic, searching desperately around the room for signs of danger only he could see. He finally began to calm down, and Scully released her grip on his arms. She continued to stand beside him, waiting for him to speak. Eventually she gave up waiting, she wanted to know what had scared him so.

"Mulder?" She questioned softly. "Look at me, what were you dreaming about? Did you remember something?" She strained to keep her voice calm and smooth so as to not increase his anxiety further.

His eyes were pleading with hers, unshed tears betraying the pain and panic he was feeling. "Men. There were four men." His voice shook just a bit as he spoke, but determination kept him from stopping. "Someone knocked on my door and when I answered, they threw me inside. They tore up my place, but never said what they wanted."

He paused, taking a drink of water, and then continued. "They roughed me up, and I guess they knocked me out, 'cause I don't remember being moved. I just remember being in an empty gray cell alone. A voice without a body kept asking me questions. About the X-Files, about things we had seen, about you . . ."

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember more of what had happened to him. "I was pacing, trying to ignore the questions, I had the feeling that they were just trying to rattle me. That's when I heard what sounded like the noise when you deflate a balloon. I don't know what they released into the room, because the next thing I can remember I was tied down on a table." His eyes showed the terror he must have felt at losing the little control over his life he had retained.

Scully noticed that his knuckles were turning white from grasping the sheets so tightly, and she placed her hand on top of his own to assure him that she was there with him. He grew quiet for a few moments and she began to grow concerned that he might not continue when he cleared his throat and started to speak again.

"A man in a mask gave me a shot. It burned like hell, felt like it was searing through my skin. I think they were wanting to see my reaction to whatever it was. Oh God." His eyes widened, complete fear raging within the hazel orbs. "I felt it, Scully. I felt it crawling under my skin, just like before."

Looking at the terrified state that Mulder had worked himself into, her confusion was overridden by her concern for him. As she tried to calm him, her mind raced trying to understand what he was talking about. What was crawling? And when had it happened before? Eventually Mulder's body stopped shaking, and Scully felt like she needed to ask him what he was talking about.

"Mulder? You said it was crawling under your skin. What was, and how? Has this happened before?" Her voice stayed neutral, but inside her heart was in turmoil. She needed to know what had frightened him so badly.

He found her eyes with his own, and forced himself to tell her the truth of what had happened to him while he had been in Russia. She initially resented that he had never told her of the horror he had endured, but the resentment passed and in its place something akin to sorrow took its place. Scully sat motionless as he related his experiences so long ago. She could only wonder at why he was forced to endure it again.

"In that room, it was exactly like when I had been pinned down by the chicken wire before. I could feel the black cancer slithering its way inside my body, I'm not sure how they were able to inject it, but they did. Then the man left. I was left alone, and I still don't know for how long."

Mulder's complection was ashen, his voice trembling, but he forced himself to go on. He needed to remember, for himself, for Scully and for the truth itself. "I remember thinking it didn't feel exactly the same as before. It didn't last as long somehow, the slithering that is. I even managed to doze off at some point. I woke up to the unpleasant experience of the masked man drawing what felt like twenty gallons of blood."

Scully smiled at his weak attempt at a joke. Finding her voice, she asked, "and then what?" She had remained quiet while he had related what he had experience, but she felt the need to reach out. The mere act of telling her what had happened, now that he remembered it, was draining him she could tell.

"They did that several times, drew blood I mean. Before long I wasn't feeling any of the symptoms like I did in Russia, maybe they were testing a vaccine or something. Anyway, I was straining constantly to remove the bonds that held me secured to the bed. I guess they grew tired of my thrashing, 'cause once again I heard the gas noise. Only that time, when I awoke, it was to your face instead." A faint smile played on his lips as he looked at the sight of his partner who was once again sitting beside him in a hospital.

Scully's breath caught in her throat at his last words. "What did they want, Mulder?"

"I don't know, exactly. Maybe they just needed a test subject with previous experience and I was the best they could find." His eyes looked down at the blanket on his lap, they told of a hell endured for three weeks, of being alone, injured, exposed to who knows what and constantly harassed. His caretakers had done very little to ensure the continued health of their subject, he had shed several pounds from an already thin frame. He took her hand and whispered, "I knew you would find me, Scully."

Tears welled up in her eyes, she hadn't found him, he'd been left for her to stumble onto. "I wish I had searched harder, Mulder," she admitted faintly. "I don't even know why whoever called me did."

His eyes grew serious as he spoke again. "They probably knew they needed both of us to keep playing their game. Whatever game this is."

"I'm just glad you're safe, Mulder. By the end, it was hard just to function without you, not knowing . . . My God, Mulder, how did you manage while I was missing for three months? I barely survived three weeks of the questions and doubts."

He smiled, his eyes softening, and raised his hand to brush an errant tear from her cheek and whispered, "Faith manages. For me and for you."

fin

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