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 up to mid-S7
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 26 of 29
by Lovesfox


Zeus Warehousing
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
2:10 am


Mulder just knew somehow that he was not going to like Elliot's next 
words.  His Spooky sense was giving off weird signals, and he wished 
he were able to communicate telepathically with Scully, to tell her 
to get the hell out of Dodge.  The talking they often did with their 
eyes was not going to be enough this time.

"Now, Dana, we're going to show Mulder that I am not impotent.  Come 
here," Elliot said in that arrogantly smarmy voice that grated on 
Mulder's nerves.

It was one of the few times he wished he hadn't been right.

The implied meaning behind them sent new waves of revulsion through 
Mulder, and had his mind screaming in horror.  He was unable to 
control the physical reaction of his body.  He could feel the heat 
of his rage reddening his face, and his teeth were grinding 
painfully together in an effort to keep the scream inside, every 
muscle tight with tension.  

When he had stepped back at Elliot's command, Mulder had also moved 
slightly to put his body at an angle that allowed him to see both 
Elliot and Scully.  He now watched Scully pale at Elliot's demand, 
her skin as white as paper, and Elliot smile in gleeful pleasure.

That smile did it. There was no way this sick fuck was getting his 
hands on Scully.  He would take the chance that he could be hit by 
another bullet, just to stop her from getting in Elliot's clutches.  
He refused to think what might happen to her after, if he was indeed 
shot.  His voice was raspy and rough as he said, "Scully, get behind 
me."

Elliot had obviously learned fairly quickly that when one of them 
was threatened, the other one reacted very strongly.  He pointed the 
gun at him again and jeeringly told Scully he would shoot him if she 
didn't come over to him.

Mulder could see the distress in Scully's eyes as she looked from 
Elliot and the gun to him.  He knew she was going to go to Elliot, 
knew that she absolutely believed Elliot would try and shoot him 
again, and that she would try and stop the man by doing whatever he 
asked, for his sake.  

I'm not worth it, Scully, he wanted to tell her.  I am not worth 
the sacrifice this sicko wants you to make.   He tried imploring 
her with his eyes to make a run for it.

But she didn't.  Either she was not reading the message or was 
ignoring it for the same reason he would have ignored the same 
message from her.  When Elliot barked out 'now Dana' she flinched, 
and by the tenseness of her body Mulder could tell she was about to 
move forward.

"Scully, don't listen to him," he said frantically.

Mulder watched in dismay as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath 
as if girding herself for what she was about to do, and then opened 
her eyes again and started forward.  Her body language screamed her 
fear, but she kept on, avoiding his gaze.

He opened his mouth to beg her to stop, and was distracted by 
Elliot's evil laughter.  He looked at the sick bastard and it was 
immediately apparent that he seemed to be very distracted.  As much 
as the thought disgusted and horrified Mulder, it looked like Elliot 
was actually in a state of arousal, a somewhat blissful expression 
on his face, and his mouth hanging slightly open.  

He had also lowered the gun, most likely unknowingly.

Mulder knew this was his chance, maybe his only one.

He yelled out, "No!  Scully, get down!" and lunged forward in 
Elliot's direction, intending to push Scully aside and down to the 
ground, hopefully out of the way of any shots that Elliot might fire.

Except his voice alerted Elliot to the fact that he was making a 
move, and the man reacted by lifting the gun once more and firing.  

At the same time Scully somehow dodged his arm and plowed into him, 
as if she were trying to knock him down to safety.

Her upper body struck him full in the chest, her arms coming up to 
clutch at him, and he had a second to think that she had intended 
for her momentum to carry them both down to the ground and away, 
before he felt both bullets strike her, felt her body jerk with 
their force of impact.  She gave a surprised grunt at the first one, 
and only a puff of breath for the second one.  

A puff of breath that might have been his name.  

Her arms then flopped lifelessly down, over his, which had 
instinctively gone up to grab her around the waist.  He screamed her 
name, long and loud.

And then they were falling together.

Mulder managed to both halt their downward fall, staggering 
slightly, and twist his own body so that he cradled her in his 
arms.   But his precious burden was limp and awkward, so he first 
dropped to his knees, and then let his legs slide out so that he sat 
on his butt, Scully's upper body draped over his legs.  

"Scully?" he whispered shakily, looking at her pale, slack face.  A 
lock of her hair had fallen across her eyes, and he gently pulled 
one arm out from underneath her to push it aside.  

His fingers were wet with bright red blood, her blood, and he stared 
at them in horror.  

"Oh, Jesus, Scully, please open your eyes, baby.  You're okay, 
please open your eyes and tell me you're okay."  He hurriedly wiped 
his hand on his tee shirt and then brought his trembling hand to her 
face, carefully smoothing her hair behind her ear.  

Her eyes were closed, the pale blue tracery of veins clearly visible 
on her lids, and her lips were as bloodless as her face.

He didn't know what to do first.  He alternated between stroking her 
hair and her face, continually calling her name, pleading for her to 
wake up.  He was only vaguely aware of Elliot in the background, 
screaming at him to get up.  He knew he should be trying to find the 
entry points of the bullets and apply pressure to them, but he 
couldn't make himself let go of her.

"Scully, baby, please, come on, I don't know what to do here.  This 
is your job remember?  Come on, open those eyes for me."  He cajoled,
he whined, he begged.  Anything to get her to open her eyes, to let 
him see that beautiful blue again.

And behind him, Elliot continued to rage.  "GET UP, MULDER! FORGET 
ABOUT THE BITCH.  SHE'S PROBABLY DEAD."   Then a pause as he loudly 
gulped in air, only to choke it out in maniacal, wheezing laughter.  
"DEAD JUST LIKE ELIZABETH."  He paused again, still laughing, and 
then continued, "THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND ME NOW.  ELIZABETH IS DEAD, 
AAND DANAIS DEAD, WHICH IS HOW IT SHOULD BE."

Mulder ignored him, and finally realized he had not even checked 
Scully's pulse.  His hand shook even more as he brought it to her 
neck and tried to search for it with his suddenly nerveless 
fingers.  

There was nothing.  Terrified he brought his hand down to her 
breast, to her heart, and was surprised to feel something else 
beneath his fingers besides her clothing and soft flesh.

It took him a moment to recognize what he had felt.

It was a Kevlar vest.  

Scully had worn a vest.  Despite his terror, Mulder smiled inside.  
She had worn a vest, something he had not even considered in his 
rush to get to the warehouse, to confront Elliot.  She was hurt,
yes, the blood was evidence of that, but it probably wasn't as bad 
as he had thought, or so he desperately hoped.  

He flicked his eyes from her chest to her face, and saw a most 
welcome sight.  Scully's eyes were fluttering, trying to open.  He 
bent over her even more, and brought his face close to hers.  

"Scully," he whispered.  "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes opened fully, and he smiled in relief, even though the blue 
orbs were hazy and pain-filled.  He watched her struggle to focus on 
him, and continued to croon softly so Elliot could not hear.  

"That's it, baby. Keep your eyes open, look at me."

And she did.  Her mouth opened too, and she sucked in a noisy 
breath, which made her wince. She seemed to be trying to speak.

"Shhhh, Scully, it's okay, you don't have to talk," Mulder whispered.

He could almost swear she glared at him.

Her hands had been lying limply in her lap from when he had brought 
them to the floor, and he felt her straining to lift one of them.  
She opened her mouth again, and the faintest of sounds emerged.  It 
had sounded like, "Mulder...gun."

Mulder lifted his hand from her chest and stroked her hair once 
more.  "I know, baby, he had a gun.  He shot you, but you're going 
to be just fine.  You just relax."

Okay, that was definitely a glare.  He knew she was a lousy patient, 
but what did she want him to do?

Her arm finally lifted, and she grabbed at his hand, trying to pull 
it down with hers.  He said again, "Scully, relax.  It's okay."  Her 
hand tightened, and with a loud groan she yanked his arm down and 
forced his hand to her side.  "What Scully?  What's wrong?" he 
asked, and tried to pull his arm away.

Behind them Elliot was still raging, yelling obscenities and 
questioning Mulder's parentage.  Mulder ignored him, expecting at 
any moment to feel the barrel of the gun pressing into the back of 
his head, or to feel a bullet hit him just as the noise registered.  

Scully moaned, "Gun," again, and with obvious tremendous effort, 
brought up her other arm and used it to push his hand further behind 
her, while at the same time shifting her weight slightly so that she 
could lean towards him, lifting her back a little from the floor.

His fingers brushed cool metal, and he realized then what Scully had 
been trying to tell him.  She had a back-up gun shoved in the 
waistband of her pants.  His eyes widened as he stared into hers, 
and hers briefly flashed her thoughts.  

You idiot, they said.  I have a gun.  Take it and shoot the 
motherfucking bastard dead.

He improvised on that last one, using words he ascribed to Elliot.  
What Scully was really saying was more along the lines of 
'neutralize the threat' or some other such Bureau-trained ideology. 
She was right, of course, but his blood was pumping, and his rage
was overflowing, along with the need to avenge what the madman had 
done to Scully.  He couldn't stop the fierce grin from spreading on 
his face, and saw her wobbly answering smile.  

"I love you," he whispered.

Her reply was soundless, but he could read it easily in her eyes and 
on her lips.  Love you too.  Then she surprised him yet again by 
winking before her eyes slid shut once more.

"MULDER!  GET AWAY FROM HER NOW BEFORE I KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND," 
Elliot screamed.  "GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!"

I'll get up all right, Mulder thought.  He pulled the gun out from 
Scully's pants, adjusted his grip, finding the trigger and with one 
last look at Scully, rose and spun to face Elliot.

He did not think, he just aimed and fired.  

Over and over, until the clip was empty and all that could be heard 
was the click of the chamber.

Mulder watched unblinking and unfeeling, his gun arm still extended,
as Elliot's body jolted with each bullet, moving backwards with the 
impacts, jerking like a marionette in some macabre dance until he 
fell to the ground without a sound, limbs still twitching.

It seemed to take forever, but finally Elliot stopped moving.

Mulder's ears were ringing from the gunfire, and he stood stunned 
for a moment before dropping his arm with a harsh sigh.  The little 
32 fell from his hand to hit the floor with a small clatter.  The 
sound roused him from his stupor, and he ran over to the body.  
Elliot's hand was still clasping Scully's gun, and with a quick 
flick of his boot Mulder kicked it away into the darkness.

He then looked at the madman who had tried to extract a horrible and 
twisted revenge for the unfortunate death of his sister.  Elliot's 
eyes were open and staring unseeing at the ceiling, and a small 
trickle of blood ran from one corner of his mouth.  Mulder used the 
toe of his boot to prod at Elliot's leg, but there was no movement.

The bastard was dead.

Behind him Scully moaned, and he whirled around and ran back to her, 
falling to his knees to gently gather her in his arms again.  Her 
eyes were open and he met them, seeing awareness and comprehension 
there.  

"Is...he...dead?" she wheezed, and then coughed a little, closing 
her eyes tightly as she did.

When she opened them again, Mulder nodded and then said, "Scully, I 
need to see where you were shot.  I'm going to have to turn you a 
bit, okay?"  He had noticed a relatively large pool of blood 
spreading under her shoulder, and it scared him.  The Kevlar vest 
covered the chest and most of the back, and he didn't think the 
bullet could have penetrated the armor, but the blood was coming 
from somewhere.  He just had to find out where.

She took a shaky breath and blinked rapidly, croaking out, "Yes."

He reached out to grab her shoulder, intending to roll her towards 
him so he could check her back, and she moaned loudly.  He could 
feel blood beneath his hand, and realized he had found what was 
probably an exit wound.  

"Sorry, baby, I gotta do this," he gritted out through clenched 
teeth.  He did not want to cause her any more pain, and hated the 
fact that he had.  He felt quickly on the underside of her shoulder, 
almost her arm actually, and found another entry or exit wound.  
TThat was probably one bullet, but where had the other one hit?  He 
patted gently all along her back, and found a ragged hole in her 
leather jacket right between her shoulder blades.  He did not feel 
the wetness of blood, so he inserted his finger carefully and 
touched the metal end of the other bullet, lodged in her vest.  

There would be a hell of a bruise there in a couple days, and it 
had probably knocked the wind out of her, but she was not critically 
injured as he had been thinking.

He let out a harsh sigh of almost relief.  They weren't out of 
the woods yet.  He still had to get her out to his car and to a 
hospital, and she seemed to be bleeding quite heavily.  He lowered 
her back down to the ground, deciding he would use his tee shirt to 
try and staunch the flow.  He flicked his eyes to her face and saw 
that she was awake, if not exactly alert, and brought his hand to 
her cheek, rubbing it softly.  "You're going to be okay, Scully.  
I'm going to get you out of here right now."  

Her eyes smiled at him, and then drifted shut again.

There was an odd sound coming from outside the warehouse, and his 
head shot up and around to look at the door he and Scully had come 
through.  

It was empty, but all of a sudden a voice yelled out, "Mulder?"

It was Skinner.

The cavalry had arrived.

***

2:20 am

Scully lay shivering on the cold floor, and the feelings made her 
recall another time where she had lain waiting for Mulder to come 
back to her, in the hallway of his apartment building after she had 
been stung by a bee.  Only that time she had been barely conscious 
and had ended up missing for several days, with Mulder later finding 
her in the Antarctic in the bowels of a spaceship.  Or so he had 
told her, she seemed to be a little vague on the details.

This time she was merely wounded and listening to the sounds of one 
man possibly killing another.  Although she was hesitant to ascribe 
the word 'man' to Elliot Andercott.  Psychopath was more apt.   
Deranged lunatic worked as well.

She was afraid she was going into shock, and she wanted to remain 
conscious until Mulder had finished checking on Elliot, although it 
was a supreme struggle.  Her eyes were heavy, she felt dizzy and 
weak from the blood loss, and she was having trouble catching her 
breath.  She knew she had gotten the wind knocked out of her from 
the bullet to her upper back, and was pretty certain the other 
bullet was a through and through to her shoulder, right beside 
where the Kevlar ended.  Whatever the damage tally was, she was 
hurting.

She was also still reeling from the fact that Mulder had fired the 
entire clip at Elliot, despite what she had seen in his eyes as he 
looked at her after he had realized she had a back-up gun.  Still,
she had been unable to stop herself from flinching with each bang as 
the bullets left the gun, yet at the same time she had viciously and 
vindictively thought, 'Take that, you bastard!' as she imagined the 
bullets striking his body.

Scully mused that she should be more disturbed by the event than she 
actually was, and wondered if the blood loss was affecting her 
thought patterns.

She couldn't remember hearing any other gunshots than those fired by 
Mulder, but then again, she hadn't been completely alert at the time 
either, and it seemed like Mulder had been gone a very long time.   

Oh God, had Elliot actually gotten off a round and shot Mulder?   

Terror-stricken, she tried, in vain, to lift her head.  All she 
managed to do was to send waves of pain coursing through her body.  
She moaned, and seconds later heard Mulder scrambling back to her 
side.  She nearly sobbed to have her fear alleviated by his 
apparently unharmed presence.  Relatively unharmed, she corrected 
herself as she ran her eyes of his features and saw the dried blood 
from the bullet that had creased his head.

He maneuvered her upper body into his arms, biting his lip as he 
did so, as if the action hurt him as much as it hurt her.  Knowing 
Mulder, it probably did.  

Their eyes met, and she croaked out, "Is...he...dead?" with troubled 
breaths, already knowing the answer, but needing to have it 
confirmed.  Her back ached, along with her shoulder, and talking had 
brought a need to cough, which she did, squeezing her eyes shut on 
another wave of pain.  

When it passed, she re-opened her eyes to find Mulder watching her 
worriedly.  She wanted to sooth that worry from his brow, but her 
good arm was trapped against his body, and her injured arm seemed to 
have gone numb.  She was barely able to curl the fingers of that 
hand, and shook with the effort of trying to do so.  

Mulder nodded then, finally, in answer to her question, and then 
told her in those soothing, croon-like voices people automatically 
used when someone was hurt that he needed to turn her over.  She 
told him yes, and tried to prepare herself for more pain,
understanding his need to find the source of the bleeding, belatedly 
realizing she should have been more concerned about that.

Only Mulder grabbed her shoulder, right over the bullet's exit 
wound, and she was not prepared at all.  This time her moan was much 
louder, almost a scream, and her entire body stiffened in reaction.  
She could hear the remorse and pain in Mulder's voice as he said he 
was sorry, and that he had to do this.  She nodded, her breaths 
panting in and out, and was not even sure if Mulder had caught the 
slight movement of her head, the silent permission she was granting 
for him to continue the necessary torment.

As his fingers felt along the edges of the Kevlar vest, Scully bit 
her lip to hold in another moan, and blurrily wondered what had made 
her decide to wear the spare, tailor-made for her smaller size vest 
that she kept in her apartment, and to bring a back-up gun after she 
had decided to follow Mulder to the warehouse.  She was still not in 
the habit of always carrying the little 32, which had been a gift 
from Mulder the year before after a case where they had both had 
their weapons taken away from them, and usually only did so if he 
reminded her to.  

She remembered the odd little feeling she had gotten while in her 
closet searching for a pair of dark jeans, and how it had prompted 
her to grab the vest from the uppermost shelf, and then get the gun 
from one of her dresser drawers.

She was extremely thankful she had listened to that little feeling.  
As a doctor, she knew had she not been wearing the vest, the bullet 
in her back more than likely would have caused serious damage, if 
not killing her outright.  

She also knew if she had not jumped in front of Mulder and taken the 
bullets in his place he would definitely be dead, and she would be 
the one cradling his body in her arms, keening with her grief.

Her eyes, which she had scrunched tightly closed during Mulder's 
examination, slid heavily open as she heard his loud sigh, and 
Scully blinked a few times to clear her vision to see his face.  

As if he had sensed her looking at him, Mulder met her eyes, and 
then brought one hand up to caress her cheek.  

She could see the worry he was trying to hide, although there was no 
trace of it in his gentle voice when he spoke to reassure her.  Or 
maybe to reassure them both.

She didn't have enough energy to smile, and in fact thought she was 
close to passing out.  She was very cold, the dizziness had 
increased, and there was a strange buzzing in her head.  Definitely 
in shock, she thought to herself, and could not find the strength to 
tell Mulder.  She held his gaze for a moment longer, and then let 
her eyes close once more.

Over the sounds of Mulder's loud, and most likely panicked 
breathing, she thought she heard noises coming from the doorway.  

Was somebody coming to help them?  Had Mulder in fact actually 
called for back-up?  

When she heard a deep, male voice, sounding surprisingly like 
Skinner's call out Mulder's name, she decided he must have.

Above her, Mulder whispered, "Thank God," and then yelled out.  
"We're in here!  Scully's been shot."

If she hadn't been so close to oblivion, she would have asked him 
when he had found religion.  For some reason the thought struck her 
as being really funny, and she laughed, or at least tried to.  The 
sound that came out was more of a choked cough, which made her back 
and chest ache.  This in turn brought about the need to really 
cough, and she did so, raggedly and painfully, her upper body 
lifting from the floor with the force.

Mulder sucked in a noisy breath as he tried to hold her, and she 
knew he had felt the warm gush of blood from her shoulder when she 
had moved.  He yelled again, the panic obvious in his voice, just as 
she caught the sounds of footsteps running across the floor.  

"Skinner!  She needs help."

A second later Scully felt a heavy weight settle on her legs, and 
opened her eyes to see Skinner spreading a blanket over her.  His 
eyes, worried behind his glasses, met hers, and she saw the infamous 
jaw muscle twitch rapidly.  She let her lids flutter shut, feeling 
herself slide away.

Faintly through the swirls of black mist, she heard Skinner say, 
"Ambulance...on...way.  She'll...okay, Mulder."  Her last memory 
before she succumbed to the beckoning of nothingness was the feel of 
Mulder's arms tightening spasmodically around her as he rocked them 
both on the floor of the warehouse.

***

Skinner's car,
Enroute to Zeus Warehousing
Saturday
2:20 am

Skinner was glad that Agent Andrews had the sense to remain quiet as 
they drove through the darkened Washington streets, heading towards 
the docks, and the warehouse where they could possibly find Mulder 
and Scully.  

He had been silent since Skinner had first rounded him up outside 
Mrs. Scully's house and stated their destination, as he rode 
shotgun, staring out of the front windshield, the elbow he had 
propped on the door's edge acting as an effective wedge to hold him 
in place as Skinner often took the corners at speeds not 
recommended.  

It was as if the young agent had realized his superior's need to 
concentrate only on the drive, and not on small talk or other 
distractions.

Skinner ran his thoughts about his initial theory that Elliot 
Andercott had returned to Zeus Warehouse and somehow lured Mulder 
and Scully there over and over in his mind until it became the only 
possible situation.

That surety sent tension humming throughout his body, resulting in 
hands tightly clenched around the steering wheel, teeth grinding so 
hard he thought his teeth would shatter and fall out of his mouth 
if he opened it, and an even wilder and reckless handling of his 
car.

And for a brief moment he was back in Vietnam, sneaking through the 
jungle on a midnight patrol, heart thumping and nerves snapping as 
he and the other members of his team approached their target.

Beside him Andrews made a sound filled with alarm, a half-grunt, 
half-gasp, and Skinner wanted to apologize, to explain, but could 
not.  Instead he took the next corner a little less aggressively, 
and eased up slightly on the gas pedal as he drove down the street.

He realized sharply and suddenly that they were only seconds away 
from the warehouse, and yanked his foot completely off the one pedal 
so fast in reaction and automatically hit the brakes.  The car 
shuddered to a jerkingly abrupt halt, throwing them both forward 
against their seatbelts.  Skinner swore ripely and richly as his 
forehead nearly made contact with the steering wheel, and then shot 
a look at Andrews, the adrenaline rush making his voice harsh as he 
asked, "Are you all right?"

The other agent had both hands braced against the dashboard, and was 
panting slightly.  He turned his head slightly to look at Skinner 
and merely nodded before straightening and sitting back in his seat, 
one had readjusting the seatbelt until it was once more snug against 
his body.

With a slight shake of his head, Skinner did the same with his belt 
and then gently tapped the gas again, guiding the car slowly down 
the street.  

The moment he pulled into the parking lot of Zeus Warehouse, he 
shivered, remembering the day he and Mulder had arrived in the van 
with the SWAT team and found Kathy O'Neill hanging from the rafters 
in the main warehouse.  

Pushing the memory aside, he scanned the area carefully for anything 
remotely suspicious as they drew closer to the building, 
peripherally aware of Andrews rolling down his window and doing the 
same.

Just as he spotted the car parked close along one wall, he heard the 
faint sounds of two gunshots.  He was positive they had come from 
within the warehouse, and that his two agents were in deep trouble.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, and slammed the brakes on, deliberately this 
time, but at least they were both prepared.  Seatbelts snicked off 
almost in tandem after he turned the car off, and then both their 
doors were open and they were exiting the car.  "Wait!" he hissed to 
Andrews, and the other agent stopped at the front of the car, 
watching him with a tense yet curious expression.  Skinner pulled 
out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 and quickly stated his name and 
badge number, along with the warehouse address before requesting 
back-up and an ambulance.

After disconnecting the call, he tucked his phone back in his pocket 
and exchanged it for his gun.  Looking at Andrews, he saw the young 
agent also had his gun out, held at the ready.  Skinner nodded at 
Andrews, and they carefully approached the open door, a few meters 
from the car he had determined with a glance to be Mulder's.

Coming up flat against the wall to the left of the door, he heard 
Andrews thunk into place beside him, the agent hitting the wall 
rather hard.  Skinner held up three fingers of one hand, tucking his 
thumb and pinkie down, so that Andrews could see it, the signal that 
they would move on three.  He shot a glance over his shoulder and 
caught Andrew's affirming nod.  

Message understood.

He lowered his fingers back against his palm, arm still bent at the 
elbow and raised, and took a deep breath to ready himself.  He would 
have felt better if there was a large number of agents slowly 
surrounding the building and preparing to sweep in en masse, but 
there was no time to wait for the police or other agents to arrive.  
For all he knew, those two gunshots he heard could have been the 
deaths of his two favorite agents.  He could admit that now, that 
Mulder and Scully were his favorite agents, after all they had been 
through.

His index finger came up.  

One.  

Skinner could sense Andrews gathering himself behind him, just as he 
was, his body tense, his muscles coiled into tight springs waiting 
to be sprung.  To leap into action.

His middle finger was next.

Two.

Before he could lift his ring finger, they heard yelling from inside 
the warehouse. 

"MULDER!  GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER NOW BEFORE I KILL YOU WHERE YOU 
STAND.  GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!"

Skinner had never heard Elliot Andercott's voice.  The calls had 
always been to Mulder, and they had never had a chance to record any 
of them.  But he knew without a doubt it was he.  The words sent a 
chill through him.

As did the next sound, which had him dropping to a crouch in 
reaction, Andrews mirroring the action.

Rapid gunfire that seemed to come from only one gun.

Followed immediately by dead silence.

Skinner rose to his feet as quietly as possible, flinching when 
his shoe scraped noisily against the pavement, and risked a peek 
inside.  

Faint moonlight streaming through windows high up barely illuminated 
the interior of the warehouse, but it was enough to show him huge 
double doors leading into another room, the room where they had 
found Kathy O'Neill.

There was no reaction to the noise he had made, or his quick look 
inside, and the silence continued.  Skinner took a chance and called 
out, "Mulder?"

A moment later he heard, "We're in here!  Scully's been shot."

Relief set in, and immediately on its heels, worry.  He ran back to 
the car, jabbing the trunk key into the lock.  He snapped his head 
back to avoid being hit by the trunk as it sprung open, and then 
reached inside to pull out a wool blanket he kept there.  He slammed 
the trunk back down and headed back to the entrance.  

He quickly told Andrews to wait for the police, and ran inside the 
warehouse, just as Mulder yelled, "Skinner!  She needs help."

Skinner followed the sound of Mulder's voice, barely able to make 
out the dim outline of two huddled shapes, and found Mulder cradling 
Scully's upper body in his lap.  He knelt beside them, unfolded the 
blanket and spread it across Scully's legs, smoothing it at her 
waist.  

She opened her eyes briefly before they fluttered shut.  

Skinner looked at Mulder and saw the panic and worry on the agent's 
face.  He reached out and squeezed Mulder's shoulder.  "Ambulance is
on its way, Mulder.  She's going to be okay."

He didn't know how badly she was hurt, and hoped like hell she was 
going to be okay.  After everything that had happened to these two, 
it could not end on the dirty floor of an abandoned warehouse.

Mulder nodded, never removing his eyes from Scully's face and 
quietly said, "Andercott's dead.  I shot him."  He lifted his head 
briefly and jutted his chin to show him the direction of where the 
body lay.

Skinner squeezed Mulder's shoulder once more and then got to his 
feet to go check on the body.  He found Elliot Andercott lying on 
his back roughly twenty feet from where Mulder and Scully were, 
staring sightlessly at the ceiling.  He bent down on one knee, and 
reached one hand out to search for a pulse, to double-check.  Not 
that there was really any doubt, he thought to himself, eyes spying 
the bloodied bullet holes spread over the man's chest.  

With a twitch of his jaw muscle, Skinner rose to his feet, just as 
the sounds of approaching sirens filled the air.

***

Walter Reed Army Medical Center
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
3:45 am


He hated hospitals.

The smell of each one, subtle differences in all, but somehow still 
the same.  The white antiseptic look of them no matter what city or 
state he was in.  The brusqueness and almost coldness of the medical 
staff who bustled about dealing with their patients, sometimes 
having no time for the worried family member who had accompanied 
said patient.   

Or him, waiting anxiously for news on Scully.

He had always hated them.  As a child who feared the unknown and 
mysteriousness of that place where Mommy had gone with her belly as 
big as a house, or so he had thought then, and later came home with 
a squalling, red-faced bundle named Samantha, and where he had been 
taken to have his broken bones or deep cuts fixed, where white-
coated men and soft-soled women swished in and out of doors.  And 
more particularly as an adult, due to the frequency of his injuries 
and illnesses, and the times spent there for Scully.  

It was worse when he was there for Scully.  A hundred times, a 
thousand times, it was beyond imaginable how much worse it was when 
he was there for Scully.

As he once again was.

Mulder sat on the edge of the hard plastic chair, thankfully along a 
hallway off from the emergency area and not in the very open waiting 
room, his elbows on his widespread knees, hands dangling into 
space.  

His gaze moved up, from the ugly linoleum floor he had been studying 
for an unknown length of time while his mind wandered, to his 
fingers, and he gave a start as his eyes focused on the blood that 
had dried there and caked beneath his nails.

Scully's blood.

His mind, and sometimes he cursed his perfect memory, that allowed 
him to recall each and every detail clearly and concisely, flashed 
back to that moment in the warehouse, when he had felt the bullets 
impact into Scully's body as if they had hit his own.  Sitting 
there, he fervently wished it had been his own body that had taken 
those bullets, instead of only a minor wound to his head.  The 
replay continued on, to the next moment when they had fallen to the 
floor together and he had lifted his hand to find it covered in her 
blood.

Mulder lifted that hand and its twin now and brought them closer to 
his face, looking at how the blood was cracking and flaking off, how 
the lines on his palms and the whorls and arches of his fingerprints 
stood out against the faded brownish color.  Staring at the evidence 
of her life staining his skin, knowing how easily it could have been 
drained completely from her body if she had not worn that vest.

This time the picture in his head was not from memory, but from a 
mixture of imagination and memory.  Memories of the layout of her 
room, the placement of her clothing in her drawers and closet.  He 
imagined her, he saw her, rising swiftly from the bed after he had 
left to get dressed, having maybe been awakened by Elliot's call on 
the cellular or even drowsing when he had thought her deeply asleep,
and striding into her closet, picking out the dark jeans she had 
worn.  Saw her hesitate and then reach for the Kevlar vest guided by 
some impulse or feeling, one of dread or danger, and then exit the 
closet to get dressed.  Clad in dark, loose clothing that concealed 
both the vest and the gun she had also grabbed on that same 
impulse/feeling.  Moving through the darkness of her apartment with 
ease and the comfort borne of familiarity to pull on boots, jacket 
and cap, all also dark colored, and out the door.  Here he slipped 
into further projection, not really knowledgeable with the layout of 
her apartment building and its back alleyway, and imagined her 
leaving through some fire exit, jogging through the alley onto 
another street all to avoid the Lone Gunmen stationed out front.  
She wouldn't have been able to get to her car, so she had probably 
taken a taxi.

<<Mulder? >>

A voice, a deep, male voice, pulled him from his mental 
visualization, and his eyes snapped open, hoping to see the doctor 
who had seen Scully on admittance, when he had been forced out of 
the examining room by a large, robust nurse with a tight, pinched 
face.  

But it was not the doctor.  It was only Skinner standing over him, 
watching him with lines of worry etched on his face.  

Mulder blinked heavy, tired eyes at his boss, and waited for the 
inevitable words.  The words that asked how Scully was, for Skinner 
had stayed behind when the ambulance had arrived, to deal with the
police, and he supposed the removal of Elliot Andercott's body.  And 
the questions that body had probably raised.

Skinner surprised him though, and instead said, "Why don't you get 
cleaned up, Mulder?" as he gestured at Mulder's front.  "Mrs. Scully 
is on her way, and I know you don't want her to see that."

Mulder looked down again, taking in his sweatshirt, just now 
noticing that it too was covered in dry blood.  Somehow it had 
gotten on him, either from when she had been shot and fallen into 
his arms, or when he had cradled her against him on the warehouse 
floor.

"Here," came Skinner's voice again, and Mulder raised his head to 
see Skinner was thrusting something, it looked like it could be a 
cotton tee shirt, in his direction.  He lifted his hand, grimacing 
at the blood again, saw peripherally Skinner grimacing as well, and 
took the offering.  

Rising from his perch on the plastic chair, he swayed a little, 
closing his eyes tightly at the feeling of dizziness the action had 
brought about, and felt Skinner's strong hands grip him by the upper 
arms.  

"Easy, Mulder," the AD said, and did not release him until Mulder 
had reopened his eyes and nodded that he was okay.

Mulder had nearly dropped the item Skinner had given him, and it had 
unfolded to hang loosely from his hand.  He brought his arm up a bit 
to look at it.  It was a tee shirt, a white one that looked large 
enough to cover the AD's far broader shoulders.  

Skinner saw his glance at the tee shirt and said, "I keep a change 
of clothes in my trunk."

"Thank-you," Mulder returned, and after a deep breath to test the 
waters of his stability, walked slowly and carefully towards the 
sign dangling from the ceiling that said 'Washrooms'.  He pushed 
the heavy door leading into the Men's open, and seeing that it was 
empty, stripped off his leather jacket and laid it and the borrowed 
tee shirt across the one chair that was pushed up against a wall.  
The soiled sweatshirt was next, and without hesitation he threw it 
into the large plastic garbage can next to the two sinks.  There was 
no way in hell he was going to keep it, for even if the stains came 
out, it would forever be tainted by the memory of Scully being shot 
and by her blood that had marked it.

Looking at himself in the large rectangular mirror that ran most of 
the length of the wall over the sinks, he saw with distaste that 
some of the blood had soaked right through the fleece of the 
sweatshirt and dried on his upper stomach.  

He closed his eyes and immediately regretted doing so as his mind 
cheerfully and disgustingly supplied him with another picture - 
that of the pale skin of Scully's stomach instead stained with 
blood.  One he had seen in his head over and over again as he had 
raced to another hospital, in New York this time, after learning 
Scully had been shot by Agent Ritter.

Lurching forward with the resultant surge of nausea, Mulder turned 
the cold water of one of the taps on and first splashed it on his 
face, not carrying as it dripped off his chin, and then grabbed a 
handful of paper towels, soaking them thoroughly before scrubbing 
roughly at his skin.  Tiny rivulets of cold, brownish water ran down 
towards the waistband of his jeans, making him suck in his stomach 
in reaction.  He quickly discarded the one handful of paper towels, 
and grabbed another one to swipe at the water.

Finished with that, Mulder looked into the mirror again, turning 
his head slightly to one side to study the bandage that covered the 
crease from the bullet Elliot had fired at him, now slightly damp 
from his face washing.  

Once the ambulance attendants had gotten Scully's stretcher settled 
into their unit, and she was relatively stable, the one riding in 
the back had turned to Mulder and taken care of his head wound.  
The woman, who had introduced herself as Mary Anne, had cleaned it 
professionally but gently with an antiseptic before applying the 
bandage, while keeping up a steady stream of soothing chatter.

He had barely heard her though, or felt her ministrations; his whole 
being focused entirely on the pale figure of his partner, his best 
friend, his lover, lying strapped to the portable stretcher in yet 
another ambulance.  He had sat as close to her as he could be, 
without getting in the way of Mary Anne, who continued to monitor 
Scully's vital signs and periodically check on the IV they had 
started in the warehouse.

Mulder grimaced at his reflection as he remembered wanting badly 
to hold one of Scully's hands, but being unable to do so with them 
strapped down at her sides beneath the bright orange blanket with 
the blue cross emblazoned on its front.  So he had contented himself
with stroking the strands of her hair that were not flattened under 
her head on the small pillow.

He realized he had been in there for too long, the doctor might have 
already come out to talk to him, so he quickly squirted a large 
puddle from the liquid soap dispenser into one hand and vigorously 
rubbed his hands together.  He worked at his fingernails, but knew 
without a scrub brush of some sort, he wouldn't be able to get all 
the blood out from underneath them.  After rinsing them thoroughly, 
he splashed water all around the sink in order to flush the 
splatters of blood down the drain.

He dried his hands and face and scrambled into the tee shirt, which
was definitely a size or two too big, before re-donning his jacket 
and exiting the bathroom.  Looking down the hall towards the row of 
chairs where he had been sitting, he saw Skinner had taken one of 
them, sitting in much the same position as he had, only the AD's 
hands were not dangling but propping up his chin.

Skinner looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and Mulder asked, 
"Did the doctor come out?"  

His boss shook his head negatively, and Mulder sighed harshly, his 
nerves jangling again.  Despite what Mary Anne had told him when she 
and her partner, whose name he could not remember, had first 
examined Scully in the warehouse, that the gun shot to her arm 
looked to be a clean through and through wound, he was still 
worried.  

He could not forget the enormous pool of blood on the floor after 
they had lifted her onto the stretcher.  And the doctor had been in 
there for a very long time.

Unable to relax, he chose to pace up and down the hallway instead of 
sitting again.  On each pass when he reached the end farthest from 
where the doctor would likely emerge, his steps would speed up until 
he was closer to that door, and then they would slow again, almost 
lingering there.

It was at one of those passes when he was almost at the far end that 
Mrs. Scully arrived, accompanied by a far kinder nurse than the one 
Mulder had dealt with, who pointed her in Mulder's direction.  His 
steps lagged this time, reluctant to bring himself to her, now 
beside Skinner, who had risen at her arrival.

Before Elliot Andercott had made his unwelcome presence known to 
them, Mulder had not seen Mrs. Scully socially in quite a few weeks, 
and that last time had been an accidental encounter as she had 
lunched with her daughter in a small Georgetown coffeehouse.  She 
had graciously welcomed him to join them, and he had done so, and 
ended up spending a pleasurable hour with the two Scullys.   

Now he had seen her several times over the past week and a half, and 
most of those meetings had been in the hospital either by Scully's 
bedside, or waiting for news of her condition.  He knew she had to 
hold him responsible for these visits, and dreaded the day when she
no longer greeted him with kindness and love.

However, this was not one of those times.  As he drew nearer, Mulder 
saw her eyes light upon him with compassion and understanding, 
shared worry and fear, and yet still her love.  

She held out her arms, and he rushed into them with gratitude, 
sighing and fighting the urge to cry as he felt those same arms wrap 
around him and squeeze him tight.

***

end Part 26 of 29