Title:          Revenge
Author:         Lovesfox
E-mail:         Lovesfox@rogers.com  (Feed me, please)
Web site:       http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html
Rating:         NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong 
                language)
Category:       Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification: XRA
Spoilers:       Not really, but assume some of Season 7 has occurred
Archive:        As long as my name and everything stays attached
Summary:        An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge

Disclaimer:     Alas, not mine.  They belong to Chris Carter and 1013
                Productions.

Dedication:     To true friendship, through thick and thin. Thanks,T.

Warning:        This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape
                attempt, implied character death, references to 
                incest, and graphic sex.




Revenge Part 13 of 29 
by Lovesfox


Walter Reed Army Medical Center
ICU Department, Scully's Room
Time Unknown


Scully drifted in a sea of haze.  

Sometimes she was a child, chasing after Missy and Bill, the sounds 
of their laughter ringing in the air.  Other times she was a 
student at Quantico, so focused on her studies.  Still other times, 
she worked beside Mulder, challenging him, and being challenged by 
him. 

Faces flashed before her - Mom, Ahab, familiar, loving faces.  The 
faces changed, became frightening, sinister - Eugene Tooms, Luther 
Lee Boggs, Duane Barry, Donnie Pfaster.  More and more faces, each 
one bringing with them memories of fear and pain.

The next face frightened her most of all.  Elliot Andercott. She 
watched, as if from a distance, as the filmy figures of Elliot and 
herself struggled on the floor, saw his hands hitting and punching 
her, saw herself bleeding and in pain.  She tried to will the vision 
away, to lift her hand to push it away...

She felt an answering pressure on her hand.  Was someone squeezing 
her hand? 

Mulder, is that you? 

"Scully?" 

It was Mulder's voice.  Saying her name.  She strained to open her 
eyes, to see his face.  To see Mulder.  They were heavy, and it was 
an effort.  The effort was rewarded though, by the slightly blurry 
image of Mulder's grinning countenance.

She struggled to say his name, and could only manage to whisper the 
first syllable.  "Mul..."  

Her chest felt like a weight had been dropped on it, and she 
realized there was a tube down her throat, which ached and burned.  

Burned?  

With sudden clarity she remembered the fire, smelled again the smoke 
and gasoline.  Panicked, her heart rate increased, and she heard an 
alarm sound.

Noise.  Her ears caught footsteps and strange, disjointed voices.  
Mulder was gone, and in his place, a woman in white.  Nurse?  Was 
she in a hospital?  She felt hands, cool and soothing, on her 
forehead, stroking her arm.  Mulder, where are you?  Her eyes 
rolled frantically, trying to find him.

"Relax, Miss Scully," the woman's voice said.  "You're all right.  
Calm down."  

The voice was soothing, and Scully found herself obeying 
instinctively, although she wanted to see Mulder again.  She focused 
on the woman's face, close to hers, willing herself to relax, 
letting the tenseness leave her body.  She realized then that she 
could hear Mulder once more, calling her name agitatedly.  

Relief.  

He hadn't left.  "Mul...?" she tried again, but the sound was faint 
and garbled.

Somehow he heard her though, and answered.  "I'm here, Scully.  I'm 
right here."

She still couldn't see him, and tried to shift her head to look.  

The nurse's hand was on her chin, holding her still.  "Please don't 
move, Miss Scully.  We don't want you to pull on your tube."  The 
nurse moved aside, still speaking, "Here he is, Miss Scully.  He's 
right here."

Mulder's face reappeared above her, his hazel eyes worried, but the 
smile on his face was one of relief.  "Hey, Scully," he said 
softly.  "You caused quite a stir."  His hand came out to gently 
run through her hair.

She saw a flash of white on his slightly darker skin. Why was his 
hand bandaged?  Had he been hurt?  Frustration churned in her mind.  
She had so much she wanted to ask, and could not.

Mulder must have sensed her discomfort, for he said, "It's okay, 
Scully.  You're safe, and you're going to be okay."  He disappeared 
for the briefest of seconds, and she identified the sound that came 
next as that of a chair scraping on a floor.  He sat, his head only 
inches from hers, a smile on his face.  

Scully was aware of the nurse, still busy about the bed, could feel 
the bedclothes being shifted, and hands touching the leads on her 
chest, checking wires and tubes, but kept her attention on Mulder.  
He too kept focused on her.  She could not speak, and implored him 
with her eyes to talk to her.

Again he understood immediately what she could not say, and his low 
voice began filling her in.  "You're at Walter Reed Hospital, in the 
Intensive Care Unit."  At the widening of her eyes, slightly filled 
with alarm, he hastened to add, "You were having trouble breathing 
when you got here yesterday, so they put a breathing tube in.  We 
saw the doctor this morning, and he said it would probably come out 
later today."

We? She wondered.  His next sentence had her wondering nonsensically 
if they were speaking telepathically.  No, she told herself.  He 
just knows you that well.  

"Skinner and I talked to him in the Emergency Department, and then 
when we came up here, your mom told us he had spoken to her as 
well," Mulder said.  

She gave him another questioning look, and he smiled and then said, 
"Your mom stayed with you all night.  The doctor didn't think you 
would wake until later, so Skinner took her to your apartment to 
rest and get cleaned up."

She wanted to know more, so much more, but her eyes were getting 
heavy.  She was still so tired.  The pain in her chest and throat 
had receded slightly, and she had a sneaking suspicion the nurse had 
given her something through her IV.  

Mulder's face blurred before her, and she blinked rapidly to try and 
clear her vision.  It didn't help, and she slowly slid into sleep, 
with the feel of Mulder's hand stroking through her hair.

***

4:30 pm

Margaret Scully knocked softly on the hospital room door before 
pushing it open and walking inside.  She was not in the least 
surprised to see Fox there, the chair he was seated in pushed close 
to Dana's bed, and his tousled brown-haired head lying on the 
mattress at Dana's hip.  He was snoring softly.  

Mrs. Scully smiled tenderly, and placed the bag containing the 
Tupperware container of sandwiches and the thermos of iced tea onto 
the floor by the other chair.  She slipped off her coat and laid it 
on the back of the same chair before tiptoeing quietly to the 
bedside.  

Fox did not stir.  Poor man, she thought.  He must be exhausted.  
She was tempted to stroke her hand through his hair, as she would 
her own children's, but did not want to disturb him.

She lifted her gaze from Fox to look at Dana.  She too was sleeping, 
her lips softly parted.  Mrs. Scully started a little.  The 
breathing tube was gone.  That was what had been different about the 
room.  The sound of the ventilator was missing.  She smiled again 
knowing for sure now that Dana really was getting better.  She had 
believed the doctor, of course, but somehow it was more reassuring 
to see it for real.  Her eyes ran over Dana, but could make out 
nothing else different.  She would ask a nurse when one came for an 
update.  

She settled quietly into her chair and pulled a paperback book out 
of the bag, opening it to her bookmark.  She had only read perhaps 
one paragraph when Fox stirred.  She lay the book down on her lap 
and watched him as first his head popped up to stare at Dana, before 
it swung around to check the room.  She had to smile when his eyes 
widened comically at seeing her.

"Mrs. Scully!" he exclaimed, straightening up in his chair, and 
pushing it back from the bed a little.  One bandaged hand came up to 
smooth at his spiky hair.  "How long have you..." he started to ask.

Mrs. Scully interrupted with a low chuckle.  "Not even five 
minutes," she said.  "Have you eaten, Fox?" she asked next, leaning 
over to lift the Tupperware container out of the bag, already 
knowing his answer would be no.  There was no way he would leave 
Dana's side, even for the sake of his own body's needs.  He had 
probably been sitting in that same chair since she had left that 
morning.

She was correct.  He shook his head no, but she saw that his eyes 
were following her hands, watching her open the container.  "I 
brought you some sandwiches, Fox.  Here you go."  She handed the 
container over, and had to contain another smile as he managed not 
to snatch it from her hands.  She retrieved the Thermos next, 
saying, "Here's some iced tea, too, Fox."

"Thanks, Mrs. Scully," he said, taking the thermos as well. He 
balanced the container holding the sandwiches on his lap, and 
opening the thermos, took a large swallow.  He put it on the 
floor beside his chair and started in on his first sandwich.

While he ate, Mrs. Scully stood and moved to Dana's side, skirting 
Fox's knees.  She touched Dana's hand, noticing it was much warmer, 
and then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.  "Hi, honey, it's 
Mom.  You keep resting.  I'm just going to sit here with Fox."  

She smoothed a strand of Dana's hair off her forehead and studied 
her daughter's face for a few moments.  The bruises had yet to fade, 
but already there was some color in Dana's cheeks.  So much better 
than the pallid whiteness from when she had first seen Dana.

She turned from Dana to see Fox watching her, the second sandwich 
in one hand.  "She looks so much better," she said, smiling again.

He nodded, his own eyes drifting to Dana's face.  "She woke up a 
few hours ago for a couple minutes and I told her she was going to 
be okay.  They took her breathing tube out about an hour ago, and 
she woke up then for a few minutes too.  The doctor said she's 
doing far better than he had expected so soon."

The relief was visible in his eyes, and Mrs. Scully smoothed her 
hand through his hair like she had wanted to when she first saw him 
asleep on Dana's bed.  "Dana is strong, Fox, and she knows you're 
here with her.  You give her strength, Fox."

Fox nodded again, ducking his head down.  

Sensing he was uncomfortable, Mrs. Scully took her seat once more, 
and picked up her book.  A second later, he resumed eating his 
sandwich.  She read several pages before he was finally done, and 
then said, "Fox, why don't you stretch your legs a bit?  I'm here 
and Dana will be fine.  You know she wouldn't want you endangering 
your own health for her, and you were hurt too."

Fox opened his mouth, to protest she was sure, before a sheepish 
expression took over his face.  "She'd kick my a..." he stopped 
in mid-sentence, and actually blushed.  

Mrs. Scully hid her smile and waited for him to continue. 

"No, she wouldn't," he said instead, and rose from his chair.  
"I won't be long."

"It's okay, Fox, take your time," she said, and was nearly 
overwhelmed by a wave of love when he swooped down to press a kiss 
on her cheek.  He then raised Dana's hand and kissed it slowly and 
tenderly, his thumb brushing her knuckles before replacing it 
carefully on the mattress and making his way out of the room.  

Mrs. Scully looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully, and 
whispered, "Oh, baby, he loves you so.  I just wish he'd tell you."  
With the tiniest shake of her head, she resumed her place in her
book.

***

Walter Skinner's Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Monday
5:30 pm


Skinner placed yet another report on top of the completed pile 
and reached for the next one from the pile of unfinished reports.  
He sighed as his eyes took that pile in; it did not seem to have 
shrunk at all in the few hours he had been hard at work on it.  

His eyes were starting to blur just slightly, a sure sign he would 
get a headache if he didn't take a break, so he relaxed into the 
leather of his chair, hearing it creak and give with the weight of 
his body, and leaned back.

He let his head roll onto the headrest, and shut his eyes.  Just 
for a few minutes, he told himself.  His mind immediately went 
through his day.  

He had been on the go since early that morning, stopping first at 
Walter Reed to check on both Mulder and Scully, and then to take 
Mrs. Scully to Scully's apartment.  He had introduced her to the 
agent who was to stay with her at all times, and left her with his 
cellular number to call if she had any difficulties.  He had then 
headed to the Bureau, where his first stop had been to the office 
of his superior, to report the events of the day before.  Two long, 
tedious hours later, he had checked in with ASAC Powell, still 
stationed in Leesburg, to learn that the Fire Investigations Team 
was going through the remains of the mental hospital where 
Andercott had taken Scully, and had nothing as yet to report.  
There had also been nothing on Andercott himself.  Finally, he had 
got to his office, to go through the mounds of paperwork that had 
accumulated with those he had left behind when he had gone to 
Leesburg.

Skinner wasn't sure how much time actually went by as he sat there 
with his eyes closed, before another sound disturbed him.  It came 
from his outer office.  His eyes popped open, a frown crossing his 
features, and sat up.  Kimberley had left at 5 o'clock, as had 
probably a majority of the agents who worked within the building.

Just as he was about to rise from his seat and check, there was 
a tentative knock at his partially open door, from when Kimberley 
had poked her head in to say goodnight.  "Yes?" he called, watching 
the door expectantly.

The door opened slowly, to reveal the last person he would have 
expected to be there.  It was Allison, the secretary who had been 
helping he and Mulder.  His mind drew a blank, for the life of him 
he could not remember her last name.  His eyes swept over her 
quickly. 

She was wearing a knee-length skirt that showed off the long legs 
he definitely recalled.  Her look had been shy when she stepped 
fully into his office, but now she looked a little uncomfortable.  

He cleared his throat and took the aggressive route.  "Can I help 
you?" he asked somewhat sternly.  Maybe she would think he was 
just busy, not that he had been staring at her legs.

Her pretty brown eyes widened, and she seemed to want to leave, 
her body actually turning back to the door, but then her shoulders 
straightened, and she took another step forward.  "Yes, sir," she 
replied.  "We...I...well, I heard that Agent Scully had been found, 
and was in the hospital.  I just wondered if you knew how she was 
doing.  And Agent Mulder, too."

"Yes, Agent Scully was found," he answered slowly, a little 
surprised to see the concern for two agents who were often 
disregarded or mocked about the Bureau.  "She was injured, but will 
be fine.  Agent Mulder helped to find her, and he is fine as 
well."  He didn't know what else to add, there were details that 
could not be discussed yet, although he was sure there were rumors 
already flying.

Allison looked uncomfortable again, and her hand had not yet 
released the doorknob.  "Um, well, thank-you for your time, sir," 
she said.  "I'm glad that they are okay."  She turned to leave, 
and called over her shoulder, "Good-night, sir."

Skinner opened his mouth to say good night, and then hesitated, 
wondering if he was misreading signals.  It had been such a very 
long time that he had played the game of catching someone's eye, 
of first interest.  

"Allison?" he called instead.  She stopped, and looked back 
at him.  "Would you like to go get a coffee?" he asked.  The agent 
watching Mrs. Scully had called an hour ago to report that he was 
taking her to the hospital to see Scully, and Skinner had planned on 
going himself at seven o'clock.  There was still plenty of time.

Allison's smile was slow, as was her nod.  "I'd love to," she said 
softly, and waited as he rose from his chair.  He walked over to the 
door, gesturing her though, before flicking the lights off and 
pulling the door closed behind him.  Her coat lay on the edge of 
Kimberley's desk, and he moved closer to help her into it, and then 
they walked out of the outer office.

***

Walter Reed Army Medical Center
ICU Department, Scully's Room
Monday
9:00 pm


Visiting hours were over, had been for some time, but Mulder 
remained stationed by Scully's bedside.  

No comment was made, however, all staff on the floor were aware of 
their patient's status.  The FBI Agent on guard outside her door 
and the stepped-up Security presence on the floor were visible 
reminders if any happened to forget.

Mulder hooked one ankle around the other chair's leg and pulled it 
closer, to prop his feet up on.  He probably would not sleep, but at 
least he could be comfortable.  A smiling nurse had brought him a 
pillow and blanket after Mrs. Scully had left with Skinner, and he 
arranged them into a nest of sorts, both chairs close beside the bed.

There was one light on, set low, and he was able to watch Scully 
with ease.  His eyes continually traced the features of her face, 
waiting for a sign that she would awaken.  

She had once earlier, for a few minutes, and had given a smile to 
her mother, who had almost cried in relief at finally seeing her 
daughter's eyes open.  She had not spoken though, the painful 
grimace on her face an obvious sign that her throat made talking 
difficult, but had managed to chew on a few ice chips to moisten 
her dry mouth.  The effort had exhausted her, and she had drifted 
off again.

Mulder's thoughts wandered.  Skinner and he had taken a walk while 
Mrs. Scully had sat with her daughter, and the AD had told him that 
there had still been no sign of Elliot Andercott.  They had 
discussed the very real possibility that the man had indeed perished 
in the fire he had started at the Leesburg Mental Hospital.  

Mulder had speculated that perhaps believing there was no way Scully 
could be rescued in time, Elliot had let himself burn to death to 
finally be with his sister again.  He had not been able to come up 
with a clear psychological profile on the man, and having no other 
incidents involving Elliot Andercott to base probable outcomes on, 
it was the only one that seemed to fit.

As well, the fact that Andercott had not tried to contact him in any 
way since that last phone call after he had started the fire could 
be another indication that the man was dead.  Even though the Fire 
Investigations Team was not through at the site yet, physical 
evidence of a body might never be found.

Skinner had also told him that after a very long meeting with his 
own superiors, there would be agents assigned to he and Scully for 
the next week.  At that point, the case and all facts would be 
reviewed, to determine if further protection was warranted.

Mulder scowled irritably to himself.  His gut instinct, or "Spooky" 
radar, whatever you wanted to call it, did not seem to be working.  
He really had no feelings as to whether Elliot Andercott was dead 
or alive.  

Part of him hoped with an almost stunning ferocity that the man 
had died horrendously in the fire, while another part of him wished 
for the chance to confront Elliot so he could have the pleasure of 
blowing the bastard away. 

The grinding of his own teeth stirred him from his violent 
imaginings, and he went back to thinking about Scully's protection.  
Regardless of what the Bureau decided, he was not leaving her side.  
He knew he was in for a battle once Scully learned of his plans to 
live in her back pocket, but that was one battle he was more than 
ready and willing to face.

Rustling sounds, those of movements beneath bedclothes, disturbed 
him next.  He realized it was a good disturbance when he looked at 
Scully and saw that she was coming around again.  His feet hit the 
floor with a thud and then he was up and out of his chair, the 
blanket that had covered him dropping unnoticed to the tiles.  

He leaned over her as her head moved restlessly on the pillow, her 
eyes blinking slowly. "Hey there," he said softly, reaching out to 
lightly stroke her cheek.

Medication-hazed blue eyes met his, and then a small smile curved 
her lips.  Her answering "Hey," was soundless, and he scrambled to 
pour her some water from the carafe the nurse had brought earlier.  

His hand was gentle as he slid it under her hair to the nape of her 
neck, lifting her head slightly so she could sip at the tepid 
water.  

She made a face, but drank it anyway.  He watched carefully, and 
when she pursed her lips closed, took the cup away, setting her head 
back down onto the pillow.  "Thanks," she rasped out.

Mulder returned the cup to the little night table with one 
outstretched arm, keeping his eyes on her.  "Welcome," he whispered 
back.  His hand continued its motions on her cheek all the while as 
he shifted his stance a little so that his elbows supported his 
weight on the mattress.  

Scully seemed much more alert this time, her eyes wandering the 
small room curiously.  "Mom?" she asked, wincing again, her eyes 
closing briefly.

"Sent her home," he replied, and then letting a grin take over his 
face, continued, "I wanted you all to myself."

The blue of her eyes deepened as she stared into his, her face 
serious for a moment, before she smiled back.  "Mulder."  

That was all she said, but Mulder heard a wealth of meanings in the 
way she said his name, and he was content.  A lock of hair had 
fallen on her face, and he moved his hand from her cheek to brush 
it back.  

The gesture caught her attention, and her eyes widened.  "You...
hurt?" she got out, her voice gravelly.

The bandage on his hand.  He looked at it for a minute and then met 
her gaze again.  "It's nothing," he replied, shaking his head.

Her eyes narrowed and this time he got the distinct impression she 
was trying to growl his name.  

"Honest Injun, Scully," he said, giving her his most innocent 
expression.  The one with the wounded puppy eyes.  "It's not 
serious.  Just some cuts."

"How?" she managed.  She was watching him with some suspicion.

He knew she was sure he was hiding something from her, which he was, 
but he was not going to go into it now.  He didn't want to get her 
all worked up, and maybe have a relapse.  "It's not important, 
Scully," he said.  "I'll tell you when you're feeling better."  
He stroked one finger down her cheek, and then with more daring, 
across her lips.  "I promise."

Her lips curved into another smile beneath his finger, as her eyes 
told him she would hold him to that promise, and he smiled again.  
He would keep that promise, and the one he had made to himself to 
tell her his true feelings, but not here in the hospital, while she 
was still in serious condition.  He pulled away from her to pull 
his chair back over to the bed and sat down again, reaching out his 
hand to grasp one of hers.  Their fingers entwined, and he let his 
thumb rub slowly back and forth across her knuckles.  

Scully watched the motion of his thumb for the longest time, and 
then her eyes slid shut.  Her breaths deepened and a tiny sigh of 
contentment left Mulder's lips as he watched her sleep.

***

Walter Reed Army Medical Center
General Floor, Scully's Room
Wednesday
11:30 am


Scully shifted restlessly on the hospital bed, wincing slightly as 
the motion pulled at the IV in her arm.  She gave it a resentful 
glare; she was more than ready for it to be removed.  She had 
thought the doctor would have removed it today, she had been moved 
from the ICU to a regular bed earlier that morning.  

In fact, she had been hoping to hear that she would be released 
from the hospital entirely.  The doctor had shaken his head and told 
her he wanted to keep her under observation for a few more days.  
Her vigorous protestations that she was fine, albeit spoken in a 
croak due to her still tender throat, had been ignored.

Scully sighed.  Everyone was treating her like glass, Mulder most 
especially. He still had not told her what had happened to his 
hands, despite her continued questioning.  He also had not yet told 
her how she had gotten away from Elliot Andercott.  When she had 
asked him the night before while they sat quietly together after 
her mother had left with Skinner, his eyes had gotten wide.  Then 
his panic face had made an appearance.  In a low voice, he had told 
her they would talk about it later.

Scully shifted again, a little more carefully this time.  She made a 
decision.  It was later.  Now she just had to wait for Mulder to 
make an appearance.  She didn't have a watch, but had asked the 
nurse the time on her last rounds, and it had surprised her.  

Mulder had been there when she woke up in the ICU, but had been 
asked to leave while they transferred her to a regular room.  He had 
kissed her on the cheek and told her he would be back, and had yet 
to return.  She wondered what was keeping him.

She yawned, widely, and it made her cheek hurt.  She lifted one hand 
to probe at her face, wincing again as her fingers traced what she 
knew must be bruises.   She sat up, determined to make a thorough 
investigation of her body.  She hadn't really given too much thought 
about what had happened to her since first coming to in the ICU, 
where Mulder had told her about the breathing tube the doctor had 
put in.

She tried to think clinically as her fingers moved over her face 
again, feeling pain in both cheeks, one more than the other.  Her 
nose was a little sore, and her lip felt puffy.  Obviously Elliot 
had managed to land some good blows.  Next, she felt her neck, 
moving along the gauze taped there.  Rope burns, she told herself.  

A picture flashed in her mind, of Elliot pulling the rope tightly 
around her neck, and she blinked it away.  Her fingers felt all 
along her neck, and she began to breathe a little heavier.  Where 
was her necklace and cross?  She made a mental note to ask Mulder or 
one of the nurses where it was, thinking they had probably removed 
it when she was brought in to the emergency room, standard 
procedure.  

That calmed her a little, and she continued on with her inspection, 
holding her arms out in front of her.  There was a slightly swollen 
area on one upper arm, from the repeated injections, and the odd 
bruise here and there.  Both wrists were also wrapped in gauze.  
Her hands were rough and red, and two fingers of her right hand had 
small bandages on them.  Her fingernails had ripped off, she 
remembered, from working at the rope that had bound her.

She took a second look at her hands and arms, and patted her face 
again.  There didn't seem to be any burns.  She had apparently been 
overcome with smoke, if a breathing tube had been necessary, but had 
managed to escape being burnt.  She had believed without a doubt 
that Elliot Andercott wanted her to die in that fire. How the hell 
had she gotten out?  

Or, more importantly, who had gotten her out?

Her mind flashed to an image of Mulder.  Saw again his red-rimmed 
eyes, and the bandages on his hands.  Could Mulder have somehow 
gotten to Elliot?  Knowing Elliot's glee in tormenting Mulder with 
phone calls, maybe he had called Mulder somewhere, and Mulder had 
been hurt apprehending him.  She knew Mulder's rage upon 
encountering Elliot would be incredible, and she could picture him 
attacking Elliot with his bare hands.  

That could explain the bandages.  Maybe.  She frowned, it didn't 
sound right.  She would have to wait until Mulder got there, 
and force him to tell her everything.

The door opened then, and Scully looked up, hoping to see Mulder.  

A woman, dressed casually, but with a hospital ID badge pinned on 
her sweater and holding a chart, stood there.  She smiled and came 
in, moving over to stand beside the bed.  "Hello, I'm Hannah 
Martin.  I'm a psychologist with the hospital, and I was wondering 
if we could talk about what has happened to you."

Scully stared for a moment, wondering why a psychologist wanted to 
speak with her, before remembering her manners.  She held out her 
hand, saying, "Dana Scully.  Nice to meet you, Miss Martin."  The 
words came out gravelly, and it still hurt to talk.

"You can call me Hannah," the woman said.  "Do you mind if I call 
you Dana?"  Her voice was warm and low, and her eyes were kind.

"I don't mind," Scully replied.  "Hannah."  She flicked her eyes 
from Hannah's face to the chart Hannah had tucked under one arm.  

She coughed, which made her chest ache and her eyes water, before 
saying, "You said you're with the hospital, right?  I can understand 
the FBI or the police wanting to speak to me, but why the hospital? 
And why a psychologist?  I can assure you I am not traumatized by 
what happened.  I feel fine, in fact, and would love to go home."   
She knew her cheeks were probably red with the effort of speaking, 
and she was breathing a little heavily.

Hannah looked a little alarmed.  "Let me get you some water," she 
said, and turned to pour some into a cup.  She handed it to Scully, 
and watched her take several small sips.

Hannah seemed relieved when Scully relaxed back into the pillows and 
continued on as if there conversation had not been interrupted, "I 
can imagine you would want to go home.  I don't like staying in 
hospitals myself, but you know they'll only release you when they 
feel you are ready."  She smiled then, saying, "Excuse me," and 
reached over to pull the chair against the wall over to the bed.  
She sat, crossing her legs, and laid the chart on her lap.

Scully nodded, sighing again.  "I know.  Doctor's make the worst 
patients, and I have certainly had my fill of hospitals."  She took 
another sip of the water.  It's coolness felt wonderful sliding down 
her throat.

Hannah had opened the chart and was perusing the top page.  "Oh, 
that's right, you're a medical doctor as well as an FBI agent.  That 
must be quite a challenging career."

"It has its moments," Scully replied, smiling slightly.  More than 
a few, actually, but she wasn't quite ready to share them with this 
woman.  She was still very curious as to why Hannah was here, and 
had noticed how smoothly the psychologist had avoided answering her 
question.  She had been injured in the line of duty many times 
before, but could not recall having to speak to any psychologist 
other than the FBI appointed one for a required evaluation.  Oh 
well, she had played aggressor before.  "You never answered my 
question.  Why are you here?"

Hannah blinked rapidly, clearly startled, before her features 
smoothed out.  "To talk to you, of course, Dana," she answered.

"Talk about what?" Scully demanded.  "Look, I don't mean to be rude 
here, Hannah, but could we please just cut to the chase?"

Hannah looked down at her lap for a moment.  The woman's own cheeks 
were red, and she seemed to be debating with herself.  She took a 
deep breath and then replied.  "Certainly, Dana."  Her gaze became 
sympathetic.  "Your partner, Agent Mulder, told us you had been 
raped."

"I was raped," Scully repeated, a little stunned, just as Mulder 
walked in the door.

***

11:40 am

Mulder stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to 
Scully's new hospital room, a helium balloon emblazoned with 
Garfield the Cat in one hand and a small bouquet of pink roses in 
the other.  His meeting with Skinner had been thankfully short, 
giving him lots of time to peruse the gift shop downstairs.    

Nothing new had been learned in the last two days.  There had still 
been no sign of Elliot Andercott, and while the Fire Investigations 
Team had forwarded their initial findings from the Leesburg Mental 
Hospital, no trace of a body had been found.

Mulder shook his head; he didn't want to think about that madman 
right now.  He glanced at the balloon bobbing in the air beside him, 
and hoped Scully wouldn't think it was too silly.  Yet her eyes had 
lit up when the gift basket had arrived from the FBI yesterday, and 
it had had a small balloon on a stick poking up from amongst the 
goodies.

Agent Lee Cormier was sitting on the chair outside Scully's room, 
cradling a cup of coffee in his hands.  The agent's head came up at 
the sound of Mulder's footsteps, eyes narrowed.  He visibly relaxed 
as he recognized Mulder, and nodded hello.

Mulder nodded back and putting the roses carefully under the arm 
that held the balloon, reached out to open the door.  He turned the 
handle and pushed, walking in just in time to hear Scully say, 
"I was raped."

A rushing sound filled his ears and the words echoed in his brain.  
He felt weak-kneed, and actually staggered back a step into the 
doorjamb.  

The balloon string slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, and 
it rose up to the ceiling, where it bounced there for a moment, 
the string swaying slightly.

Even though he had already known Andercott had raped her, it was 
so much worse to hear it from her lips, spoken so baldly, so 
plainly.  Guilt crashed through him in waves, pounding into his 
soul.  Oh, Jesus, how much more did she have to suffer because of 
him?

He hadn't seen the woman sitting with Scully, until she rose, 
walking over to him in concern.  "Agent Mulder, I presume?  I'm 
Hannah Martin, the hospital psychologist.  I understand you were 
the one that recommended I come speak to your partner?"

He nodded his head jerkily, forcing himself to straighten from the 
doorway.  "Yes, I'm Agent Mulder," he replied hoarsely, 
automatically sticking his hand out. They shook hands briefly, 
and Mulder watched as Hannah Martin turned back to Scully.

He shifted his gaze to his partner, to see her staring at him, an 
odd look on her face.  

Scully spoke then, and her voice was strangled.  "Hannah, could you 
give me a few minutes with my partner?"  Although the words were 
spoken to Hannah, Scully did not shift her eyes from his face.

"Certainly, Dana," he heard Hannah say.  The psychologist retrieved 
a chart from her chair and left the room after a brief nod at 
Mulder.  

He nodded back reflexively, eyes entirely focused on Scully, and 
then stumbled forward a few steps after the door swooshed shut.

"Mulder..." Scully started to say, and then grimaced.  She coughed 
and then swallowed thickly.  

Mulder forced himself into action, moving over beside her bed to 
pick up the water carafe off the table.  "Do you need some more 
water?" he asked, holding it up and gesturing at the cup she held in 
her hands.  

She nodded and thrust the cup towards him.  

He managed to fill it up without spilling any water, and returned 
the jug to the table.  He realized then that the roses were still 
tucked under his arm.  He grabbed them and placed them on the table 
beside the jug.

Scully had obviously taken a few sips while he was occupied, for she 
now held the cup resting on her blanket-covered lap.  "Mulder...
Mulder, he didn't rape me," she said.  Her blue eyes stared at him 
earnestly, their whiteness only slightly marred by the occasional 
red streak left over from the smoke.

Those were the last words he had expected her to say.  Oh, God, was 
she in denial?  Had it been so traumatic that she had pushed it out 
of her head?  

"Scully," he whispered sadly, shaking his head.  He found it hard to 
look in her eyes, and shuffled awkwardly beside the bed.

"Mulder, look at me," she said, reaching a hand out to snag one of 
his.  Once he had lifted his head and met her eyes, she spoke 
again.  "Mulder, Elliot Andercott did not rape me."  She enunciated 
each word slowly and carefully.

He wanted so much to believe that, but could still hear Elliot's 
words in his head as the man tormented him with what he had done.

Her eyes searched his, and she repeated it yet again.  "Mulder, he 
didn't rape me.  He couldn't...he couldn't do it.  He couldn't 
maintain an erection."

"But, he told me..." Mulder said hoarsely.  Her hand squeezed his 
as he blinked back moisture in his eyes.  "Scully, he phoned me and 
told me what he had done to you."

"Mulder, whatever he told you, it didn't happen," she said softly.  
Her next words unknowingly echoed his thoughts.  "Mulder, I'm not 
in denial.  I was not traumatized so badly that I have pushed the 
memory away."  She broke their eye contact, looking down at her 
lap.  "I'm not saying he didn't try, or that he didn't hurt me, 
but Mulder, I swear to you, he did not rape me."

Her words rang so true, and relief flooded through his entire body.  
His shoulders, which had been taut, relaxed suddenly, and the 
tension flowed out of him.  "Oh, Scully," he whispered.  

Her head was still bent, and he saw that her shoulders were shaking 
slightly.  A sniffling sound reached him, and he slipped his hand 
from hers to reach out and push through her hair, which had fallen 
forward to hide her face, to touch her chin.  He nudged upwards and 
her face lifted, revealing tears tracking down her cheeks.  She 
sniffled again, and then her face screwed up as she tried to hold 
back her sobs.  

He was on the bed beside her in seconds, pulling her into his 
embrace.  One hand held her to his body, and the other stroked 
through her hair.  "It's okay, Scully," he whispered.  "I've got 
you.  It's okay."  He rocked her gently in his arms, and let her 
cry.  

She was tiny and warm against him, and it felt so good to hold her 
this way.  They still had so much more to talk about, but for now, 
this was enough.

***
 
12:20 pm

Margaret Scully saw the two agents outside Dana's room, and knew Fox 
was with her daughter.  The agent assigned to guard her walked 
silently beside her, toting the small carry-on bag she had filled 
with personal items and toiletries from Dana's apartment.

She smiled at them when she reached the door, and both smiled back.  
One even tipped his head down and said, "Ma'am," in a slightly 
southern drawl.  Agent Phillips joined them, handing her the 
carry-on bag, and she turned to the door, hesitating a moment before 
pushing it open.

The first thing she saw when she entered was Fox perched 
precariously on the edge of Dana's bed, his arms wrapped around her 
daughter, Dana's hand clutching one of his to her chest.  Dana 
appeared to be asleep, as did Fox, but his eyes popped open when 
she advanced into the room.  

A look of apology mixed with embarrassed shame filled his face, and 
she quickly held up one hand.  "It's okay, Fox," she said gently, 
putting the carry-on bag down beside the gift basket from the FBI 
and the flowers Bill and Tara had sent on the ledge across from the 
bed.  "Is she asleep?" she asked quietly, turning back to face them.

Fox had extricated himself from Dana and risen from the bed, and 
nodded his head.  "She dozed off about ten minutes ago," he replied, 
just as softly.  His feet shuffled nervously, his gaze moving 
everywhere about the room except on her.

Margaret hid a smile.  Fox was obviously very uncomfortable at being 
caught on Dana's bed by her mother.  If he only knew how many times 
she had wished to see them together like that.  Of course it would 
be far more ideal if it occurred somewhere other than a hospital 
room.  

"I see you're not wearing your bandages any more," she said, to 
change the topic.

Fox glanced down at his hands and replied, "They bugged me."  Seeing 
the look she gave him, he quickly added, "They're okay, really.  
Hardly hurt at all."

A scratchy voice interrupted them.  "Let me see."  

Dana was awake.  

Fox looked guilty, and actually backed up a step.  "Look, Scully, 
your mom's here.  Why don't I leave you two alone?"

It was an obvious escape tactic.  One that would not fool her 
daughter, Margaret knew.

"Mulder," Dana said, and Margaret had to hide yet another smile as 
Fox immediately went to the bedside and held his hands out for 
inspection.  

She watched as Dana tenderly held first one hand and then the other, 
fingers gently tracing each mark.  When she got to the big blister 
on his left palm, her breath hissed in noisily.  "Mulder, this looks 
like a burn!  How...what...what happened?"  Dana exclaimed.

When Fox did not reply, Margaret stepped forward to stand next to 
him, and softly said, "Dana, Fox went in that burning building and 
pulled you out."

Dana's eyes went incredibly wide as she stared at Fox.  "Mulder?" 
she asked.  Her eyes filled up then, and a tear rolled down her 
cheek.  "Oh, God, Mulder," she whispered, and brought the blistered 
hand up to her lips, placing a gentle kiss on his fingers.  She 
repeated the gesture on his other hand, and then sniffled.  "Oh, 
God," she said again.

"Scully," Fox whispered back.  "It's okay.  I was okay.  Little 
smoke, few cuts, that's all."

"But Mulder," she said, now pressing her cheek to the hand she 
still held.  "You went into...into fire for me?  My God...Mulder, 
you saved my life."

"And I'd do it again, Scully," he whispered.  He bent, and Margaret 
felt tears form in her own eyes as their foreheads touched.  Dana's 
eyes were closed, but a few more tears had joined the first one to 
roll down her cheeks.  

Margaret was just starting to back away to leave the room to give 
them some privacy, when a noise at the door startled everyone.  

Dana and Fox broke apart, and they all looked up to see a nurse at 
the door, holding a tray that had to be Dana's lunch.  The nurse, 
who didn't look old enough to have finished nursing school in 
Margaret's opinion, smiled nervously.  

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said.  "I've brought Agent Scully's 
lunch."  She hurried over to the little sliding table and put 
the tray down.  "Do you need anything else?" she asked.

Dana shook her head, wiping her cheeks with one hand.  Margaret 
busied herself with getting Dana's tray ready, although she could 
still see the two of them.  

Fox leaned down and pressed a kiss on the top of Dana's head.  
"I'll be back in a little while, okay?" he said softly.  
He straightened, but his hand lingered for a moment, playing 
with Dana's fingers.  Finally he pulled away and headed to the 
door, hesitating on the threshold to stare at Dana for a moment 
before striding out.

Dana had composed herself by the time Margaret slid the table in 
front of her, the lid of the tray removed to reveal a bowl of 
broth and a bowl of green jello.  "Thanks, Mom," she whispered.  
Her voice was still a little thick, and she hadn't looked up yet.

"You're welcome, sweetie," Margaret replied.  "I'll go get some 
more ice water for you, okay?" she said, to give Dana a little 
more time.  She was intensely curious about what had transpired, 
but knew her questions would have to wait.  "I'll be right back."  

With that, she picked up the carafe from the night table and left 
the room.

***

Part 13 of 29