HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!  :-)

Author's Note:  The following is a sequel to my story GOIN' NOWHERE and
its epilogue, both of which have been gathered into one tidy bundle on
Vincent's archive at Ohio State.  Reading this one without reading that
first is like having dessert before dinner -- still good, but somehow not
quite as satisfying.   ;-)   Heaps of thanks and appreciation should be
showered on all of you who took the time to write -- really, there's
absolutely *nothing* better than finding mail in my in-box about one of my
stories!  I'll be especially curious to know if this piece is a worthy
successor to the first...correspondence designed to placate or enrage the
anxious writer (me) can be addressed to [email protected].  Stop me -- I'm
babbling...

Spoiler Warning:  This story has taken on a life of its own;  in a
roundabout way it deals with the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months.
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy, "Anasazi", and the four related mythic episodes we've been
privileged to view so far this season.  Just a general warning to any
overseas readers... :-)

Disclaimer:  As always, my thanks and deepest appreciation to Chris
Carter, 1013 and Fox Inc. for allowing me to play in the wonderful world
they've created.  Special thanks should also go to David and Gillian
(Golden Globe nominees both, congrats!) for the depth, pathos and
emotional range they bring to Mulder and Scully week after week -- one
can't help but be creatively inspired by their performances.  Enough
said...
 
 

PASSING THROUGH (1/3)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 

The man flipped open his cellular phone and dialed a number, checking his
watch as he waited for the line to connect.  He leaned against the rental
car, listening as the call was picked up on the third ring.

 "Yes?"  The voice was clear, despite the distance.

 "Nebraska," said the man.  "Confirmed."

 A pause, then the voice responded.  "Begin appropriate measures?"

 "Immediately," the man ordered.  "And I want a constant report."

 The man hit the "end" button on the cellular and lowered the antenna,
placing the device in an inner pocket of his trench coat.  He took a final
drag from his ever-present cigarette and tossed it aside, moving away from
the car.  He headed across the field to where the helicopter stood, its
rotors already turning.

 It had been obvious, he thought as he walked, that the waitress knew more
than she was telling.  It was the man's job to discern unspoken truths,
and when necessary, to conceal them from further discovery.  It was the
man's job to contain situations that had gone awry, regardless of the
consequences.  It was the man's job to kill, if and when it was deemed
necessary.

 He was a man who was very good at his job.
 
 

He's going through the door hurry hurry if you really run you'll catch him
dammit it's locked how did he do that?  Down the hall then there must be
another entrance after all this is the center there's got to be another
way in and what is that noise feet pounding behind someone shouting at me
--

 < Scullystopdon'tfollowhimit'satrap > --

 He's grabbing me pulling on my arm  --

 < Letgoletgoletgohe'sgettingaway >

 < LethimgoScullywehavetogetout > --

 Push him shove him get him off me --

 < GetoffmeMulder > --

 Push him hard and now he's tripping falling how did I do that never mind
keep running you can't let the man get away there's another door and it's
open get inside and slam it shut quick what is this place? a lab? is this
the lab where they discovered it? but where did he go where is the doctor?
pounding on the door behind me --

 < Scullyopenthisdoordammit > --

 Just ignore it --

 < Youcan'tstopmeMuldernotnownotnow > --

 Check the walls there must be a hidden exit somewhere I know he's here
where could he have gone what is that sound --

  < Ohmygodohmygod > --

 So bright so bright so bright --

 < ithurtsithurtsithurts >

 Screaming deep in her throat Scully fought her way from sleep into
wakefulness, frantically tearing at the bedclothes.  Her subconscious mind
still whirling, trying to make sense of her surroundings, seeking order in
her disorientation.

 < WhereamIthisisn'tmybedwhyisitsodark >

 She was unaware that she had spoken aloud, her voice a low keening wail.
She was aware only of the oppressive blackness and her rapidly rising
panic.  She was falling, falling...Then she felt arms around her, strong
and powerful.  Encircling her, pulling her close.  Pushing away the
darkness.   She felt breath, warm against her cheek.  She became conscious
of his voice, solid and soothing, ceaseless whispers in her ear.

 "Shh, Scully, it's okay... I'm here... you're okay...everything's gonna
be fine..."

 After a few long moments, she was able to catch her breath.  Slowly, she
relaxed against his chest, allowing her head to fall on his shoulder,
feeling his fingers as they stroked her hair.

 There was silence then, a deep stillness that filled the room.

 When she felt she was able to trust her voice, Scully sat up and pulled
away from him, seeking the abandoned covers with her hands.  "Thanks," she
said quietly.

 "No problem," he answered.  A beat, then, "Sure you're okay?"

 "Yeah."  Scully slid back down under the covers, allowing Mulder to pull
the comforter up to her shoulders.  She listened to the rustling of the
sheets as he repositioned himself on his side of the bed, one hand resting
on her arm, a gentle reminder of his presence.

 Scully felt the wetness in her eyes and the ache in the back of her
throat.  When, she wondered, was she going to be able to sleep for more
than a couple hours at a stretch?  The nightmares hadn't stopped, as
Mulder had promised.  In fact, they almost seemed to be getting worse.
But it wasn't the dreams themselves that really terrified her.  It was the
waking up.

 Because in her nightmares, she could still see.
 
 

Mulder lay quietly, listening as sleep overtook her and smoothed her
ragged breaths.  Though his body began to relax, his mind remained acutely
aware, listening for any further signs of trouble.

 This was worse than ever, he thought, the words running numbly across his
brain.

 The nightmares had been a constant part of their journey and by now
Mulder was used to hearing her sobs jolt him into consciousness.   The
first time it had happened, he had been unable to coax her back to sleep
and instead had sat with her, holding her hand until her body overrode her
mind's command and allowed her to rest.  After that, he had taken to
sleeping beside her in each new, unfamiliar bed, taking small comfort in
the fact that his nearness seemed to calm her enough to provide a brief
respite from the terror.

 He felt a sudden rush of protectiveness towards the woman next to him,
followed by an equally intense feeling of inadequacy.  He didn't know what
else he could do for her, how he could better help her through this.
Mulder didn't need his psychology degree to understand what was happening.
 Scully's fierce reluctance to talk about what had occurred, her
unwillingness to share her pain, her determination to keep the emotions
bottled up inside her -- he knew the formidable control she held over her
conscious mind.  And knew that it was only while sleeping that her firm
grasp weakened.

 Mulder had to admit that it was really her strength, not his, that had
gotten them at least this far.  That first, horrible night when she had
awakened in the stolen car and found herself suddenly sightless she had
emitted a terrified shriek and clutched his arm so violently that he had
nearly driven the car off the road.  They had both been frightened, then.
It had taken all of Mulder's self-control to keep from turning around and
heading back to the city, to a hospital.  But he had known even through
his panic that this was it -- the only chance they would have to get away.
 He had told her the plan, what there was of one anyway, as he held her
and waited for her sobs to subside.

 Then he had asked her what she wanted, in a firm, steady tone.  If she
had wanted to return, for any reason, he would have taken her back in a
heartbeat.

 But she, like him, had opted to roll the dice and take their chance,
betting that the dangers ahead could be no worse than the demons they were
leaving behind.

 And from that point onward, Scully hadn't cried, not once.  At least, not
in front of him. She had been strong, like a rock.  Solid as stone.  While
he had been fumbling and awkward, she had been precise and direct,
explaining to him just what she needed.  As though her blindness was just
another scientific problem to be solved and that by applying enough of the
laws of math and physics she could handle the equation.

 So far, Mulder thought with a twinge of anguish, she'd done a damn good
job.
 
 

 The next time he awoke, she was no longer in the bed beside him.  His
heart began to race before he noticed the sound of running water coming
from the bathroom.   Relieved, he sank back into the pillows to wait.

 Time passed, and she emerged, dressed in the jeans and black turtleneck
he had laid out for her before they slept.  She carried a brush in one
hand and held the other before her as she made her way slowly across the
room to the lone chair by the worn table.   Mulder said nothing, just
watched her steady progress, wondering how such grace could still be
evident in her steps.

 Scully sank into the chair and began to brush her damp hair.  The first
strokes were awkward and then she found the rhythm.  Turning her body so
she somewhat faced the bed she said, "Morning, Mulder."

 "Evening, actually," he answered automatically, checking his watch as he
did so.  "It's almost seven-thirty." A pause, then the question, "How did
you know I was awake?"

 "You breathe differently when you're sleeping," she replied.

 He watched her brush her hair a little more and then climbed out of the
bed.   As he passed her on his way to the bathroom he realized that it
wasn't just the light playing tricks on him;  the roots of her hair were
starting to show, shining a beautiful reddish-gold.   "Think that time's
come again -- gotta wash that red right out of your hair," he teased, but
his voice was soft.

 She frowned, putting down the brush and feeling for the part on her scalp
with both hands.  "Is it really that bad?  So soon?"

 "It's not that soon," he replied.  "It's been five weeks."  Mulder moved
closer, smoothing down the strands where she had mussed them.  "Next time
we stop."

 She gave a reluctant nod, picking up the brush again.  "If you say so.
But a different brand next time.  That last stuff smelled awful."
Scully's fingers danced across the surface of the table, searching for the
barrette she used to pull her hair back.  He could see it, just to the
left, and was tempted as always to pick it up and hand it to her.  But he
waited, and she managed to find it.

 "Get in the shower, Mulder," she said.  "I'm starving."

 Feeling guilty for watching her so closely, he ducked into the bathroom
and shut the door.
 
 

Scully held Mulder's arm tightly as they made their way down the street.
She could hear the sounds of other passersby and figured that the streets
were fairly crowded.  The ground was uneven beneath her feet;  there were
many cracks in the weathered pavement and she was cautious with her steps.
 She tried to emulate Mulder's measured pace, listening closely to the
directions he gave her from time to time.  The night was cool, and she
felt the breeze on her skin.  She was glad she had listened to him and put
on her jacket.

 "Rick," she asked, using his alias to be safe, "where are we again?"

 "Just outside of Cordell, Oklahoma," came his answer.

 "And?" she continued, "How is it?"

 She heard him chuckle.  "The same as all the rest."  She listened as he
described the town to her:  the ramshackle buildings with their aged
signs, mixed in with a few modern conveniences like the video store they
were passing.  "We're on one of the main streets right now," he said, "and
there's a grocery store coming up on the left, just across from a bar
called the Smokehouse."

 Scully nodded, picturing the town in her mind as his words portrayed it.
She felt him come to a stop and then heard the sound of a door being
pushed open.  "In here," he said, and she clutched his arm and followed
him inside.

 The grocery had the dusty smell of a corner store as opposed to the more
antiseptic smell of a  real supermarket, she thought, following Mulder
down the aisles.  He was very cautious with her, guiding her carefully
around the displays that spilled into the rows.  She still resisted the
idea of using a cane;  there was something about actually holding one in
her hand that made her condition seem all the worse.  And as she
continually reminded him, she wasn't going anywhere without him, at least
for now.

  She followed Mulder as he filled a small basket with the few items that
they needed, offering her opinions when he asked.  She deeply appreciated
the way he tried to include her in every decision he made, from the
highways that they traveled to the food that they ate.  He tried, in every
way he knew how, to make her feel as though she was still his equal, still
his partner.

 She silently blessed him for that.

 They rounded another corner, and she felt Mulder stop short, knowing
instinctively that he must be scanning the shelves.  A moment passed, and
then another, before she asked, "Rick?  What's wrong?"

 His voice sounded lost, confused.  "Well, I... you said different,
but..."

 "What?"

 "There are so many choices," he confessed.  "This hair dye thing -- last
time I just grabbed the first box I saw... but..."

 "What?" she repeated, curious.

 "Well..." he hesitated, then, "do you want ebony or ash brown?  Garnet or
oak?  That's not even counting the whole 'food' family -- there's cocoa,
espresso, nutmeg, rhubarb, hazelnut..." his voice trailed off and suddenly
she couldn't stand it anymore.

 She began to laugh.  It started as a deep, low chuckle that quickly
became a full-fledged giggle.

 "Lisa?" he asked, "What is it?"

 She couldn't answer, couldn't stop laughing.

 The concern in his voice turned into something warmer.  "What... what's
so funny?"

 "It's just... the idea... that I'm trusting you --" she broke off and
fought for a bit of control before she continued.  "A man who can't even
pick out a proper *tie*, to choose the color of my *hair*..."

 She heard his answering laugh and felt his arms encircle her, drawing her
close in a hug.  She knew she was being silly, they both were, and that
was a luxury they couldn't afford.  But she didn't care.  It felt good to
laugh, if only for a moment.

 They managed to settle on a shade and then went up to the cashier, where
Mulder counted out the money for their purchases.  Scully sent another
silent thank you to the Lone Gunmen who had managed, with much
manipulation of complicated systems she had no desire to understand, to
wire a thousand dollars via Western Union to Mr. Rick Wilder with no
strings attached.

 Scully followed Mulder's lead out of the store, more anxious than ever to
grab some dinner.  It seemed as though delicious aromas were wafting out
of every shop they passed.  Halfway down the second block he paused and
she felt tension spring into his arm.  "Damn!" he exclaimed.  "I left the
other bag on the counter..."

 "Go get it," she said.  "I'll be fine."

 She could sense his hesitation, although he didn't voice his thoughts.
"Okay..." he answered finally, guiding her over to the wall of the nearest
building. "Stay right here.  I'll be back in two seconds."

 "I'll be fine... Rick," she said, pressing her back against the wall,
listening to his footsteps recede.

 The minute he was gone she felt the panic surge through her again, and
tried to calm the rising tide.  She felt as though everyone was looking at
her, watching her.  She felt naked and vulnerable, unsafe.   Are you not
capable, she asked herself, of waiting here alone for half a minute?  Not
really wanting to answer the question, she kept her unseeing eyes fixed on
the ground, unwilling to attract any undue attention.

 It felt as though a minute passed, and then two, and still Mulder had not
returned.  Then Scully heard voices approaching.  Two young men, she
guessed from the sound.  Much to her dismay, the voices drew nearer, and
then she heard a comment directed at her.

 "Hey, little lady,"  said the voice, "you lost?"

 She forced herself to speak. "I'm fine, thanks.  Really."

 The footsteps came closer and she tried to fold herself into the wall.

 "Don't look so fine," came a second voice. "Looks like you could use a
little company."

 Scully tried to disappear inside the building, shrinking as far away from
the strangers as she was able, hating the fact that she was suddenly so
afraid.  She could smell cigarettes and the sour odor of beer, and she
felt her hands clench into fists at her side.

 "Not tonight," she said, willing her voice to be strong.  "Just waiting
for a friend."

 "We're your friends," the first voice drawled.

 "Yeah.... it's a very friendly town," echoed the second.

 Scully felt the two bodies closing in on her and was about to strike out
in a panic when she heard Mulder's voice, dark and quiet.

 "The lady's with me," he said, and she felt the tension in the air.

 Then Mulder took her by the arm and walked her past the two men, past
their grumbles and lewd comments.

 "You okay?"  he asked, worry and fear now evident in his tone.  "I'm
sorry... I didn't think..."

 "Yeah..." she answered, trying to reassure him despite the fact that her
heart was still pounding. "I'm okay."

 She felt his arm close protectively across her shoulders as he guided her
down the street.
 
 

"Four-oh-five, five-five-five, eight-three-six-oh."  Mulder replaced the
receiver and turned to look at Scully.  She was leaning against the
plastic frame of the booth, one hand on the silver tray beneath the phone.
  The trembling in her fingers belied her apparent calm.

 Stupid, stupid, stupid, Mulder berated himself silently.

 Out loud, he said, "Sure you're alright?"

 "I'm fine," she repeated, and the slight irritation in her voice made him
regret asking the question.

 The silence between them was broken by the ringing of the phone.  Mulder
snatched it up.  "Hey."

 "We've only got three minutes this time."  Langley ignored the
pleasantries. "Is she with you?"

 "Yes."

 "Put her on."

 Mulder handed Scully the phone and she brought it to her ear.  "Hi," was
all she said.

 Mulder watched as she listened, a look of concern crossing her face.
"Yes, I'm sure."  A pause, then, "No.  I only saw them for a moment.  But
they were all labeled the same way."  She listened again, for longer this
time, then repeated her earlier assertion.  "I'm sure of it.  You have to
check again."

 Scully passed the receiver back to Mulder and moved away from him,
running a hand through her dark locks in a familiar gesture of
frustration.  Turning his mind back to the conversation, he asked, "What's
the status?"

 "Not good."  Byers this time.  His voice was tight, grim.  "They've
tracked you as far as Nebraska."

 "What?"  The shock in Mulder's voice caused Scully to reach out for him
and he grabbed the offered hand.  "How?"

 "Not sure," answered Frohike. "But it's definite.  They're circling the
wagons."

 Mulder sank back against the plastic frame.  He had thought they had been
so careful.... "Any ideas?"

 "Change of strategy," said Byers.  "Time to hide in plain sight."

 "Meaning...?"

 "Get out of the small towns.  Someplace crowded, lots of people," said
Langley.  "And lay low for a bit."

 Mulder nodded, agreeing with their logic.  "I'm taking any and all
suggestions."

 A moment, then Byers answered.  "I'd say, one over, one down."

 Mulder's eidetic memory easily called up a map of the states in his head
and made the appropriate calculations.  "Got it.  I'll check in again
soon."

 "Money okay?"  questioned Frohike.

 "We'll need more when we get there."

 "Count on it."

 Mulder hung up, disconnecting the line just as the minute hand on his
watch finished its third rotation.  "C'mon, Lisa," he said, taking her by
the arm.  "We're outta here."

 "Rick?" she asked, "What's happened?"

 He sighed, unwilling to burden her yet unable to lie.  "They're onto us.
Nebraska," he said.  "We'll have to lay low for awhile."  She said
nothing, but he felt her grip tighten.

 She walked silently beside him down the street towards the cafe at the
end of the block.  When she finally spoke, her voice was so low he had to
bend over to catch the words.  "They haven't found anything," she said.
"It's as though it never existed."

 He spoke slowly, unsure how to answer.  "But it did -- you saw it
yourself."

 Mulder saw the doubt in her face.  "I know... but it was only for a
moment.  What if I *did* misread the labels..." the words trailed off.

 What if... he echoed silently, not liking the answer his mind provided.

 They reached the cafe, then, and Mulder focused his energies on guiding
her inside.
 
 

Here endeth part 1... parts 2 and 3 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there's a problem -- [email protected].  Thanks for reading!
 

===========================================================================

From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW *SEQUEL* by Nicole Perry - PASSING THROUGH 2/3
Date: 6 Jan 1996 15:30:12 -0500
 

This is part two of a three-part post;  a sequel to my story GOIN'
NOWHERE.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at
the beginning of part 1.   If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

PASSING THROUGH (2/3)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 
 

Tyler fingered the little gold star absently as he finished his breakfast.
 It felt good beneath his fingertips, made him feel daring and proud.
Even though he wouldn't actually begin working until the following week,
he already felt like he was a part of something great.  He spent all his
time lately at the station, just soaking up the atmosphere.  After all, he
didn't want to seem like a greenhorn his first day on the job.

 "Tyler?" his mother's voice called to him from the next room.  "You goin'
into town?"

 "If need be," he answered, feeling a rush of anticipation.  A trip into
town would give him another excuse to stop by.

 "We could use a little more detergent 'round here," came the response.

 "No problem, Ma," he said, picking up his bowl and carrying it to the
sink where he abandoned it on the sideboard.  He grabbed the keys to the
truck from the post by the door, pausing for a moment to pull a baseball
cap over his dark hair, and headed outside.

 His sister Emily was jumping rope in the driveway, her face flushed and
sweaty with the effort.  Only nine, she was fifteen years his junior, and
he often found it hard to believe that he'd ever been that young himself.
 "Whatcha doin', Em?" he asked as he threw open the door to the pickup.

 "Practicin'," she replied, her ponytail swaying in counterbalance to the
twirling rope.

 "I see," said Tyler, giving her effort the serious consideration it
deserved.  "Looks good."

 "Thanks," she wheezed as he put the truck into gear and backed down the
drive.
 
 

Scully shifted restlessly in her seat and felt for the crank in the side
of the door that operated the window.  Finding it, she rolled it down a
few more inches, enjoying the rush of air on her face.

 "Too windy for you?" she asked.

 "Not at all," he replied, and she could hear the fatigue in his voice.

 They had been on the road for hours, leaving immediately after a quick
bite at the cafe.  Scully had dozed off several times over the course of
the night, but Mulder had driven straight through.  They had stopped for
coffee and donuts at dawn, then continued their relentless pace.  Straight
through Oklahoma, a bit of Arkansas, down into Louisiana.   Miles of
highway that passed for Scully as nothing more than wind and the sound of
tires on asphalt, punctuated by an occasional car horn.  She was nervous,
and tired, and bored.  And worried about Mulder.

 "Mulder..." she paused, then, "shouldn't we stop for awhile?"

 "No," was his only answer.

 Scully said nothing further, not wanting to press the issue, but wishing
for the thousandth time that she could offer to take the wheel.

 He seemed to regret his quick response and elaborated in a reassuring
tone.  "I just want to get there before sundown.  Give us time to find a
place to stay."

 "How much further?" she wondered.  "It seems as though we should be there
by now."

 "We would be, if we could afford to take the interstate."

 Scully nodded, hoping he was looking.  Leaning forward, she found the
radio dial and switched it on.  She twirled the knob, searching for
something more interesting than talk shows and country music, but the '74
Plymouth Valiant was only equipped with an am receiver and the choices
were limited.  "Next time we buy a car," she sighed, "let's get something
with a CD player."

 "Deal," he said softly, and she thought she could hear a faint smile in
his voice.
 
 

"Monday mornin', first thing," Tyler proudly announced.  He leaned against
the back of the pickup, displaying his gold badge.

 "Amazin'."  Louis stared at the shiny piece of metal.  "Can't b'lieve you
actually did it.  Can't  b'lieve they let you in."

 "Hey," Tyler protested, though he knew his friend was teasing.  "I
*earned* this.  Ain't no one tellin' you to spend all your damn time
workin' on ole rusty car engines."

 "My friend," said Louis, "you have no idea what you're missin'."  That
said, Louis picked up a pair of pliers and resumed his cautious inspection
of the car he was repairing.

 Tyler glanced around the service station.  It was fairly small, just two
pumps, a mini-mart, and the garage in which he now stood.  It made no
sense to Tyler why his best friend from birth would consign himself to
this kind of job, when there were so many better, more noble things he
could pursue.

 Then again, if Louis was happy, who was he to argue.  "Hey," he said,
"how 'bout a brew?"

 "Now?" asked Louis, intent on his work.  "What time's it?"

 "Just past noon," Tyler replied.  "C'mon.  Celebrate my last days of
freedom with me."

 "Well...okay.  Just lemme finish this, here."

 Tyler grinned at the response.  It never took much with Louis.  "Back in
a flash."  He headed for the market, already anticipating the drink.

 Inside, he made his way to the cooler at the back, reviewing the
available selection.  Figuring since the beers would be on the house he
might as well splurge, he grabbed two bottles of the fancy imported stuff
and walked back towards the counter.

 A man stood there, waiting.  He turned as Tyler approached and asked,
"You work here?"

 "Nah,"  Tyler replied.  "But whatcha need?"

 "Trying to fill up the tank," he answered.

 "No problem," Tyler said, moving behind the counter to flip the switch
that activated the pump.  "Pay when you're done."

 The man nodded.  "Thanks," he said, and walked back out to his car.

 Tyler brought the two beers into the garage and popped the tops with his
Swiss army knife, placing one on the ground near Louis.  He took a long
drink of the other, savoring the taste.

 "Thanks, bro," said Louis, but Tyler didn't answer.  He moved to the edge
of the garage to get a better look at the man pumping the gas.

 There was something familiar about the man, something that Tyler couldn't
quite put his finger on.  He didn't look like anyone special, just another
road-weary traveler with red-rimmed eyes.  Maybe a bit on the skinny side,
but that wasn't what bothered Tyler.

 Then he saw her, and it all became crystal clear.

 There was a woman in the car, a little thing with dark hair pulled back
in a ponytail.  She leaned her head out the window to say something to the
man, then disappeared back inside.  But it was enough for Tyler to put two
and two together, to remember the pictures that had been passed around at
the station and the accompanying artists' renderings of potential
disguises.

 Tyler recovered just in time to avoid dropping his beer.  "Louis!"  he
hissed, causing his friend to jerk upwards and hit his head on the car
hood.

 "Damn, Tyler.... what?"

 "Get inside," Tyler ordered, in a newly authoritative tone.  "When that
guy comes in to pay, stall him.  *Don't* let him leave."

 "Why not?"  Louis sounded confused and Tyler realized then why his friend
would never have a career in law enforcement.

 "Because they're *fugitives*, is why."  Tyler felt a rush of smug
satisfaction.  To hell with the other deputies that thought he was too
young, too inexperienced.  He was going to bring down two federal
fugitives before he even served a day on the force.   "Now get in there,
and *do* it, you hear me?"

 Looking a bit stunned, but captivated by his friend's enthusiasm, Louis
put down his tools and headed towards the mini-mart.

 Tyler watched him go, satisfied, then sauntered casually across the
station to the pay phone at the far end, one hand wrapped tightly around
the badge in his pocket.
 
 

Mulder ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a twinge of impatience.
How long, he wondered, does it take to get change?  The kid in mechanics
overalls had disappeared into the back office of the mini-mart with his
$50 and still hadn't returned.

 Mulder took another glance out the window.  He could just see Scully,
sitting in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window frame.
He frowned when he noticed that the young man on the pay phone was still
staring at her.  Mulder hated it when people stared at her, as though she
was a curiosity or a carnival oddity.  Even though he knew she couldn't
see them, it made him furious.  This guy was worse than most -- in fact,
he seemed downright fascinated...

 The mechanic's return drew his attention back to the counter.  "Sorry
about that, mister," he drawled, fingers picking at the patch on his
overalls that identified him as 'Louis'.  "So -- we got two sodas, bag of
pretzels, and a fill-up -- say, how much was the fill?  Dial back here's
broken."

 "Fourteen even," answered Mulder, eyeing him carefully.  Louis really was
just a kid -- Mulder estimated he was perhaps five years past his teens.
His round face was slightly flushed, and as Mulder watched, a bead of
sweat escaped his hairline and made its way down his neck.

 "Right, right," said Louis.  "Lemme just add it all up and I'll give you
change."

 Mulder barely heard him, his mind suddenly kicking into overdrive.
Something didn't feel right.  He took another glance outside.  The guy was
still on the phone, still staring at Scully.  He had something in his
hand, something shiny that reflected the sunlight and obscured its
outline.  Then the guy moved his hand and the object was revealed and
Mulder was seized by a rush of panic-induced adrenalin.

 "Keep the change," he shouted, ignoring the items on the counter.  He
threw open the door and was across the station and back at the car in five
quick steps.

 "Rick??"  Mulder heard the fear in Scully's voice as he turned on the
ignition and slammed the car into gear.  "What's happening?"

 "Local law," he answered, peeling away from the pumps and out of the
station.  He noted with a grim satisfaction that the guy on the phone, the
kid with the deputy's star, was incensed by their sudden departure,
screaming into the receiver and gesticulating wildly.

 His satisfaction was short-lived, however.  As he swung the car back out
onto the highway, Mulder could just make out two police vehicles on fast
approach.  He took a quick look at Scully, checking to make sure her seat
belt was fastened.  She was breathing rapidly, and her hand was clenching
the armrest.  "Hang on," he said, and pressed the accelerator all the way
to the floor.
 
 

The temporary operations room was a bustling center of activity, yet the
man heard the ring of the phone and knew instantly that the call was for
him.  He stood where he was, surveying the map over the shoulders of the
investigative team.  They were good agents, staunch supporters of the
government they had pledged their lives to serve.  A case like this, he
knew, was hard for them -- they hated to think that there were those who
would break rank and succumb to the forces of evil they had sworn to
fight.  They hated to be asked to bring fellow agents down.

 It was good, the man thought as he lit another cigarette, that these
agents, smart as they were, didn't look beyond the simple explanation but
instead merely accepted what they were told at face value.  Foot soldiers
in a war that they weren't even aware was being fought.  Their allegiance
manipulated not by the government they recognized, but by a larger, global
force, ruled by its own interests...

 As he had expected, the man was approached by one of the younger field
agents.  "Sir," the young man said, "we have a confirmed sighting."

 "How far?"  The man exhaled, a cloud of smoke rising around him.

 "Twenty minutes by air," the agent reported.  "The chopper is being
prepped as we speak."

 "Good," the man replied, savoring the simple word.  Perhaps now it would
finally be finished, this ridiculous chase.  He had never expected it to
go on this long.

 He stubbed the butt of his smoke in a nearby ashtray and exited the
building, squinting his eyes at the bright midday sun.
 
 

Tyler sat in the backseat of the patrol car, his face pressed against the
metal grating that separated the front of the car from the back.  Ellis
was driving and he was glad about that;  Ellis had enough respect for him
to pick him up and bring him along, which was only fair.  After all, he
was the one that made the i.d.  He was the one who had spotted the
fugitives who had eluded capture for nearly six weeks.

 Tyler felt another flush of pride cross his cheeks and tried to get
Ellis' attention over the bark of the police radio.  "Where you think
they're headed?"

 It was Ellis' partner Deverell who answered, his voice heavy with
sarcasm.  "Well, Tyler, seein' as how they're tryin' to outrun the law,
figure they probably don't care just where they're headed."  Deverell was
nearly twice Tyler's age, with a gut that spoke of more than twenty years
of donut patrol.

 Tyler didn't dignify the comment with a response, focusing instead on the
car in the distance.  For an old Plymouth, it was doing pretty well.
Tyler figured the man must be pushing the car to the limit; after all, the
needle on their own speedometer was well over eighty and the patrol
vehicle was in fairly good shape.

 Never taking his dark eyes from the road ahead, Ellis offered his theory.
 "Iffen I was him, I'd get off the main drag quick as I could.  Best shot
he's got is to head into the Kisatchie."

 Tyler nodded, a silent acknowledgement of Ellis' wisdom.  The Kisatchie
National Forest stretched from as far north as Saline and as far south as
Glenmora, a considerable distance full of many unmarked roads.  It was an
easy spin from where they were now, just outside of Cloutierville, into
the heart of the forest itself.  "Well then," Tyler replied, "guess we'd
better head 'em off before they get there."

 Ellis said nothing, but he gave Tyler a smile in the rearview mirror.
There was something glistening in his eyes that Tyler couldn't quite
place, something that made him feel vaguely uneasy.  He'd known Ellis for
years -- even played football with him now and then -- but he'd never seen
this kind of intensity in him before.  As though it was the hunt that
inspired him, the thrill of the chase.

 Fighting a sudden queasiness, Tyler locked eyes with Ellis in the mirror
and smiled back.
 
 

Mulder struggled to keep the car on the road as it shot around another
curve.  The road was becoming increasingly steep and he knew he was
pushing the traction of the tires to the limit.   The patrol cars behind
him were slowly gaining, the noise of their sirens louder in his ears with
each passing second.

 He chanced another look at Scully. She was scrunched down in the seat,
her teeth clenched around her bottom lip.  "You okay?" he asked, turning
his eyes back to the road.

 "Yes."  The word came out as a short gasp.  "They're gaining on us,
aren't they?"

 He nodded before he realized what he was doing, then searched for some
words. "Yes... but it's not over yet."

 Just then, a third car joined the race, and the sight of this car struck
fear into Mulder's heart.  Unlike the patrol cars, this one was completely
nondescript.  Black, with slightly tinted windows.  As he watched, one of
the windows came down and he shouted at Scully.

 "Get down!" he yelled just as a spray of bullets hit the car, shattering
the back windshield in a shower of glass.  She screamed, and scooted down
even further in the seat, her head now level with the dashboard.

 A quick glance to make sure she wasn't hurt, and then Mulder twisted the
wheel, taking the car off the asphalt and onto an older side road.  It
wasn't wide enough for heavy traffic, some kind of tourist trail, he
supposed, but it would have to do.

 Without looking back, he knew the three cars had followed his dangerous
maneuver.  He could hear the screech of their wheels as they made the
tight turn, and he said a silent prayer as he sped up the steep incline
ahead.
 
 

"Where the hell's he goin'?"  Deverell's voice was equal parts anger and
confusion.

 "Like I said," Ellis drawled, "he's hopin' to use the forest."

 Tyler felt his heart pound faster as the patrol car followed the Valiant
up the incline.  He knew where they were, knew these roads.  Every local
kid did -- there were some great moonlight makeout spots around here.  But
he had never on his wildest, most drunken nights taken these roads at
these speeds.  No one in his right mind would try.

 Their car was the lead car of the three pursuit vehicles;  even the black
sedan trailed them now, which was a relief to Tyler.  When the sedan's
passenger had opened fire on the Plymouth, blood had rushed to his face.
For some reason Tyler hadn't expected that there would be shooting, at
least not like this.

 The Valiant reached the top of the incline and began its descent down the
other side of the hill, where gravity began working in favor of the
pursuing vehicles.  They were gaining on the old car thanks to better
engines and power steering;  they were so close now that Tyler could
actually see the two people inside.  The man was crouched over the
steering wheel, as though by sheer force of will he could make the car go
faster.  The woman was low in her seat, so that all Tyler was able to see
was the top of her head.

 They flew around another curve, Ellis twisting the wheel violently to
keep the car on the road.  And then it happened.

 Tyler watched, his eyes growing wide with horror, as the old Plymouth
went into a skid, a sharp one, tires squealing against the surface of the
road.  Around in a jagged whip-smart semicircle to crash through the
rusted metal barrier beyond.

 Some distant part of Tyler's brain heard the screech of their own tires
as Ellis brought the car to a sudden stop. The rest of him was entirely
focused on watching the lead car with its two passengers as it shot off
the road and over the cliff into the forest below.  Seconds later, the
crushing sound of rock against metal vibrated through his ears and he felt
the bile rush to his throat.

 Suddenly, Tyler wasn't so certain he wanted to be a deputy anymore.
 
 

Here endeth part 2... Don't worry, I'm not *that* mean -- part 3 posted
simultaneously.   Let me know if there's a problem -- [email protected].
Thanks for reading!
 

===========================================================================

From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW * SEQUEL* by Nicole Perry - PASSING THROUGH  3/3
Date: 6 Jan 1996 15:30:12 -0500
 

This is part three of a three-part post;  a sequel to my story GOIN'
NOWHERE.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at
the beginning of part 1.   If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

PASSING THROUGH (3/3)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 
 

The stillness was deafening.

 Scully ran her tongue over her dry lips and tried to sit up.  Everything
hurt; she felt as though she'd been pummeled by a starting linebacker, but
at least all the parts seemed to work.  She fought for clarity against the
pounding in her head, and after a moment, it all came back to her.

 The chase.

 The crash.

 Mulder...

 A sudden rush of awareness shot through her and she struggled to form
words.  "Rick?" Her voice sounded small, weak.  "Rick?... Mulder?"

 The lack of response frightened her and she fumbled for her seatbelt.
Releasing the clasp, she scooted across the seat of the car, the slight
motion causing the vehicle to rock alarmingly.  Stretching out her hands,
she reached out until she found him, feeling his flannel shirt beneath her
fingers.  She shook him gently, calling his name.  "Mulder... Mulder..."

 Her fingers traced their way up his body to his face.  His mouth was
slightly open, and she was briefly reassured by the feel of his breath on
her palms.  His eyes were closed, his lashes feathery wisps beneath her
fingers.  She tensed when she felt the warm wetness across his forehead.
Bringing her hand to her mouth, she tasted the bitter tang of his blood.

 "Oh no....no no no no..." Her words trailed off into a panicked chant.
"Mulder... please... wake up...wake up..."

 There was no response, and she felt the fear sweeping over her,
threatening to consume her.  It was the smell that arrested the panic --
the smell of gasoline, and the sound of it, loud drips falling somewhere
beneath the car.

 Scully didn't know a tremendous amount about cars, but she knew a great
deal about spontaneous combustion and the conditions under which that kind
of explosion could occur.  Judging by the smell of the gas and the sound
that it was making, they had anywhere from minutes to seconds until the
car went up in flames.  She had to get Mulder out.  Now.

 The thought galvanized her into action and she scrambled back to her side
of the car.  The car tilted again at her motion, and she tried to gauge
the situation.  They were definitely tilted at an angle, with Mulder's
side near the bottom.  But were they on solid ground?  Scully had no way
of knowing.

 She found the door latch with her fingers and pushed it open, throwing
her weight against the metal to fight gravity and keep it open.  She
turned herself on her stomach and edged her way towards the doorframe feet
first.  Holding onto the seat with both hands, she sought ground beneath
her, but found nothing.  What, she thought for one frightened second, do I
do if there *isn't* anything beneath me but air?  Unwilling to answer the
question, she screwed up her courage and let herself fall.

 Scully hit the ground relieved to find it there, careful not to roll too
far away from the car.  She stood up awkwardly, her muscles unbelievably
stiff.  Placing both hands on the cool metal frame, she slowly edged her
way around the car, feeling her way past the taillights and the trunk to
the doors on the other side.

 Reaching the driver's door at last, she tried to pull it open, but it
wouldn't budge. *Locked*, she thought, exasperated.  For a brief moment
she thought about going back around to her side to unlock it but the smell
of gasoline was growing stronger and she knew there was little time.

 Pulling the sleeve of her turtleneck down around her fist she punched
through the window, hoping as she did so that Mulder would not be cut by
any stray pieces of glass.  Reaching in, she fumbled to unlock the door,
then found the handle again and threw it open.

 Without the door to support him, Mulder's body lolled halfway through the
frame, held in only by his seatbelt.  She found the catch and released it,
and he tumbled to the ground, landing near her feet.  Hoping that the fall
might have revived him, she crouched down over him, finding his face with
her hands.  She listened, but his breathing remained steady, the same
measured unconscious rate she associated with his sleeping.  She placed
two fingers on his neck, feeling for his pulse.  It was rapid but
constant, and she thanked God for that.

 Unbidden tears began to roll down her cheeks and Scully swiped them away
with the back of her hand, struggling to formulate some kind of plan.  Get
away from the car, get away, get away, her mind screamed.  Stepping around
Mulder, she positioned herself so that she could grab him, threading her
arms under his shoulders.  She struggled to a standing position, his body
trailing behind her, the weight heavy though she had yet to take a single
step.

 She was about to start when a thought struck her.  Without any way to
tell where she was going, she ran the horrible risk of making a circle,
bringing them right back to where they had begun.  Scully searched her
brain through the fear for an answer.  It was the sunshine itself that
gave her the idea.  She could feel the sun on her face, most intensely
warm on her right cheek.  Given that it was midafternoon, that meant she
was facing vaguely south.  As long as she could feel the sun in the same
place on her face, she would be headed in somewhat of a straight line.

 Imbued by the confidence of this discovery, Scully started out, pulling
Mulder behind her.  Her progress was agonizingly slow.  She felt the
ground before her with a cautious foot each time before actually taking a
step, always conscious of the position of the sun on her skin.  She had
barely gone ten steps before Mulder's weight threatened to bring her down,
but she clenched her jaw and continued forward.

 She had no idea how far she had come when the explosion tore through the
air, a riot of heat and sound.

 Scully fell to the ground, unable to hear herself scream, waiting for it
to end.

 After a few long moments, relative silence returned, but she could still
hear the crackling flames and smell the acrid smoke.  She stood up,
adjusted her hold on Mulder, and continued.  More often than not, she
stumbled, but found her footing somehow and kept moving.

 Just when she felt she could go no further, the sun went out.

 That was her initial reaction, but as she felt around her with tentative
hands outstretched, she realized it was just that the trees were thicker
here, blocking out the sun.  Exhausted, her only source of direction
extinguished, Scully decided to stop.

 She collapsed in a heap, finding the nearest tree and resting her back
against it.  She found Mulder with her hands and pulled his head into her
lap, running her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid the area of
his scalp that was damp with his blood.  Saying a silent prayer to anyone
who would listen, she began to croon his name, hoping he would wake up,
afraid of what would happen if he did not.
 
 

Tyler stood with the other deputies at the edge of the cliff, along with
the two men from the unmarked vehicle.  No one said much of anything, just
watched the smoke and fire rising from the valley below.  Nearby trees had
already begun to burn, threatening to develop into a full-scale blaze.
The car itself was barely visible, having crashed beyond a group of rocks
that obscured it from this angle.

 In all his years, Tyler had never seen anything quite so horrifying.  His
voice sounded strange to his own ears as he asked, "Think there's any way
they survived?"

 Ellis, his hero and mentor, turned to him, his expression grave. "Ain't
no way," was all he said. "Ain't no way."

 At that moment, another car came screeching up and Tyler turned his head
to look.  Four men emerged from the vehicle, but there was only one who
caught Tyler's attention.  He was tall, imposing in a dark and frightening
way.  Apparently unconcerned about the spreading fire, the man carried a
cigarette between his fingers, puffing deliberately as he approached.

 The man marched straight up to Ellis, intensity in his step.  "What
happened?" was all that he said.

 Ellis paused a moment before answering and Tyler could see his upper lip
trembling beneath his moustache. "Chased 'em up here and the car went off
the road.  Guy musta been crazy, thinkin' he could negotiate these curves
in an old car like that.  No way they could've survived that fall."

 Perhaps because Tyler himself was so sure that Ellis spoke the truth, the
strange man's words came as a complete surprise.  "I want a full search
team down there immediately.  Your orders are to shoot to kill if they are
spotted."

 "But sir..." Ellis' words mirrored Tyler's own confusion.  "Ain't no way
there's anyone down there alive."

 "Full search." The man's words were as cold as ice.  "Now."

 Ellis nodded and motioned to his men to begin executing the request.
 
 

Mulder shifted restlessly.  His whole body ached and his head was a
throbbing, painful mass.  He longed for the comfort of sleep, but there
was something nagging him, something insistent --

 <MulderMulderMulderplease>

 -- something that he knew he should be doing.  He shifted again, trying
to bring consciousness more quickly to his tired mind and body, trying to
focus on that urgent cry --

 <pleasepleasewakeupIneedyou>

 -- one more shift and a shake of his head and his eyes opened.  Above him
he saw nothing but green trees.  Below him, he felt the painful solidity
of dirt, with a few pebbles and twigs mixed in for good measure.  Then he
heard the words, really heard them this time.

 "Mulder... Mulder... please wake up...."

 "Scully?"  His voice sounded rusty to his ears.

 "Mulder -- Mulder??"  Her words were quick, panicked, matching the
flutter of her hands across his face, his chest.

 He struggled to sit up, grabbing at her hands to avoid being hit in the
face.  "Shhh.. Scully... I'm here," he said.

 "Oh -- Mulder!" was all she said, but the fierce grip of her arms around
his neck spoke volumes.

 He allowed the embrace to continue, feeling the warm flush of her face
against his, though his head was pounding and his mind was whirling with a
thousand questions.  When he felt the tremors in her body begin to
subside, he pulled away and tilted her chin with one hand so that she
faced him.

 "Scully?" He voiced a soft question.  "What happened?"

 He could feel the shudder pass through her and waited as she regained
some of her composure, her breath coming in short, labored gasps.  Slowly
she began to tell him what had happened, what she remembered, what she had
done.

 As she spoke, he watched her.  Her vacant eyes were reddened and watery.
Her face was dirty, streaked with sweat and tears, and a nasty gash ran
down one cheek from her ear nearly to her chin.  Her hair was a tangled
mess, the barrette she had worn having come loose from its moorings and
hanging by a few remaining strands.  He plucked the offending piece of
tortoiseshell plastic from her hair with his fingers and clenched it in
his palm as he listened.

 When she had finished, he looked around him, overwhelmed.  He could smell
the acrid smoke from the explosion, yet it was far enough away that he
didn't feel immediate danger from the fire.

 He gazed back at her, unable to form words to express the emotions he
felt coursing through him at that moment. "Scully, you --" he began,
trying to find a way to say what he meant.

 "Mulder --" she cut him off, her tone serious and intense. "Don't even
say it. I could *never* have left you."

 A strange uncomfortable lump was collecting at the back of his throat as
he gathered her into his arms again, feeling her body sag against his,
seeking reassurance from his presence.  They sat that way for a long
moment and he offered silent thanks to whatever good fortune had kept them
safe.

 Then, in the far distance, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
She heard them too -- he could tell by the look that crossed her face.

 Taking her hand, he rose to a standing position on unsteady legs.  His
head sang with pain and a wave of dizziness almost knocked him down but he
grimly fought it off.  "C'mon Scully," he said, pulling her up to join
him.  "Let's go."

 She nodded, and the determination in her face warmed him, made him feel
stronger somehow.

 With her hand in his, he began leading the way through the trees.
 
 

The man stood, and smoked, watching as the search team tore through the
woods below.  Thus far they had come up empty handed, and a small part of
the man wanted to believe that the couple he sought had indeed died in the
fiery crash.

 But he knew these two people, knew them better in some ways than he knew
himself.  He had studied them, knew at least a little about what drove
them.  He had to admit that he admired them for their perseverance, if
nothing more.  It was his awareness of that perseverance that caused him
to continue the search.

 The man noticed the kid standing by the edge of the cliff, his eyes also
locked on the drama below.  He knew this was the boy who had summoned the
authorities to begin with, and he was curious at this juncture to see if
there was anything else to be gleaned.

 He waved to the young man, idly noticing the look of anxiety that passed
across his face at the summons.  The kid walked over to him, his hands
clenching a small gold star. "Sir?  Can I help you?"

 "I need to know," the man whispered, "if there's anything else you can
tell me.  Anything else you might have seen."

 "Well..." the young man's voice was hesitant; his eyes, shadowed.  "I'm
not positive, but..."

 "What?"  A command, not a request.

 "The woman, sir.  I was watching her, at the gas station."  The young man
shifted nervously before continuing. "I think -- I think she might be
blind."

 "Thank you."  The man dismissed the boy without a further glance.  This
was very interesting information.... and tied in nicely with some of the
other reports he had been able to piece together.

 Dana Scully... blind.  The man smiled inwardly, his outer facade giving
no indication of the pleasure he felt at the news.  He could not have
asked for more favorable cards to have been placed in his deck.

 Lighting another cigarette, he moved away from the cliff, allowing the
search to continue in his absence.
 
 

And that's all she wrote...   ;-)   Thanks a lot for sticking with me -- I
would love to know what you thought -- comments, criticism and compliments
are all happily accepted at [email protected].  Thanks for reading!