Goin' Nowhere 4 - Down The Tracks (2/2)

This is part seven of a ten-part post. 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].

DOWN THE TRACKS (7/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96

Afterwards, they lay quietly together, their breathing the only sound in
the room besides the rumble of the train. Mulder held Scully tightly
against him, relishing the way the naked skin of her back felt against his
chest, the way her butt fit perfectly into the curve of his lap. She
shivered slightly and he pulled the sheets up a little more before
returning his hands to the rounded softness of her belly.

"I don't think I'm gonna let you wear clothes anymore, Scully," he
whispered, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. "This feels too good."

"Mmmm....." Scully murmured, resting her hands on his forearms as she
snuggled further into his embrace. "I'll be awfully cold."

"I'm sure we can work something out." Mulder moved one of his hands up
to sweep her hair away from the nape of her neck. He ran his finger
lightly along the delicate bones there, reflecting on the long ago time
when he had first touched her in that spot, on the feelings that he had
had for her, even then. She sighed, and he smiled, repeating the motion
with his lips. "Feel good?"

"Yes.... I'm just wondering what it would feel like without the beard."

Mulder groaned. "Leave it to you to spoil the mood."

Scully laughed and twisted in his arms, favoring him with a smile. She
brought a hand to his face and caressed his cheek. "I didn't say I didn't
like it, Mulder... just wondering, that's all."

He tried to think of a witty comeback, but looking at her made his entire
vocabulary vanish from his brain. She was so incredibly lovely... and
somehow, she was his. She had chosen to give herself to him. The very
thought made his heart ache.

Mulder pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly and Scully felt a
pleasurable tingle rush down her spine. The way he touched her, the way
he held her, the way he spoke to her... it made her feel special, as
though she was something to be treasured. Laying in his arms, it was
almost as though the accident hadn't happened. For the first time since
the explosion, she didn't feel flawed, didn't feel incomplete. He had
restored to her a part of herself that she had thought was forever lost,
and the fact that he had the power to do so amazed her.

Scully found his lips with her own and kissed him, attempting to convey
the gratitude that she felt, to show her appreciation for the fact that he
had never treated her as anything less than whole. Mulder kissed her
back, and then she pulled away, tucking her head beneath his chin. She
could feel sleep fast approaching, her limbs heavy and tired, and when she
spoke her words were hushed.

"Mulder... I meant what I said. I love you."

"Oh, Dana..." His breath was warm against her ear. "I love you too. So
very, very much."

Reassured by the truth that she heard in his voice, that she felt in his
arms wrapped so tightly around her, Scully allowed herself to drift off to
sleep.

It was his kiss that woke her, a kiss that tasted vaguely cool and minty.
Mulder's lips caressed hers gently as he called to her in a soft whisper.

"Hey sleepy.... wake up...."

Scully stretched lazily, her eyes still closed, hoping that somehow when
she opened them she would be able to see him standing there. She returned
the kiss, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers, and raised her arms
in search of him. He leaned down to embrace her and she reacted with
surprise to find the flannel of his shirt instead of the bareness of his
skin.

"Mulder?" Her voice was heavy with sleep. "What are you doing? You're
already dressed?"

He sat down on the bed and laid his head down next to hers on the pillow,
and his hair was damp against her cheek. "Showered and dressed. We'll be
in El Paso in ten minutes."

"Mmmmmm...." She nuzzled her face against his, savoring his clean smell.
"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked so peaceful, sleeping there." Mulder placed a gentle kiss on
her cheek. "Besides, El Paso's just a short stop -- only forty-five
minutes. It'll be faster if I go on my own."

She frowned slightly at his words, but it didn't mar her beauty in the
slightest. "Are you ditching me, Mulder?"

"Never," he answered, sitting up beside her to take a better look at her.
She was absolutely bewitching, a naked, dark-haired siren swathed in
white cotton sheets, and Mulder felt a stirring in his groin that made him
rue the fact he had errands to run. "I'm obsessed with you, Dana
Katherine Scully."

Her lips turned up in a hint of a smile. "Really?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "Now.... forever.... always...." As he
had done the previous evening, he punctuated the words with kisses for
emphasis.

Scully's smile widened, one eyebrow raising in a signature gesture that
suddenly seemed to have a wicked connotation. She found his chest with
her hands and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, if that's the
case, perhaps you should come back to bed."

Her touch aroused him even more, and Mulder found himself sorely tempted.
Just then, the train's whistle blew, and the sound brought him back to
earth. "There's nothing I want to do more," he reassured her. "But at
some point, we're going to want some food -- and if I don't go get this
money, we'll end up doing dishes to pay for it."

"You have a point," Scully sighed, tugging on his shirt to bring him
close for one more kiss. "Just hurry back."

"Will do," he promised, returning the kiss and wondering how he was going
to make it through the next forty-odd minutes without her. "And don't
open the door for anyone except me."

Scully nodded and lay back down against the pillow with a yawn. Mulder
gently caressed her cheek and then got up from the bed, rebuttoning his
shirt. He took his gun from the table and tucked it into the back of his
jeans, then threw on his windbreaker. His hand on the door, he asked, "Do
you need anything from town?"

"No..."

"Okay then. I'll be back soon." Mulder stole one more glance at her and
then closed the door behind him.

Elliot pulled the door to his compartment shut behind him and yawned so
widely it brought tears to his eyes. God, he hated morning. His brain
consumed only by thoughts of coffee, he began to stumble down the hallway.

"Morning, Elliot." It was Rick, walking down the corridor towards him, a
friendly smile on his face.

"Morning," Elliot replied, slowing his pace to allow Rick to catch up.
"Sleep well?"

Rick's smile widened. "Sure did. You?"

"Mmmmmm," Elliot yawned again. "Yes... but I stayed up pretty late
working. I think coffee is the order of the day. You going to the dining
car?"

"No." Rick shook his head. "Got to go into town and take care of a
couple things."

"Okay then." Elliot stopped at the intersection that led towards the
dining car. "See you later."

Rick nodded. "Later." A pause, then, "Oh, and Elliot?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the book." Rick continued down the corridor past him, his
smile now more of a rakish grin. Elliot watched him walk away, puzzled,
then ran a hand through his tousled hair and headed for the dining car.

Retrieving the Federal Express package from the Gunmen went even more
easily than Mulder had expected. It was waiting for him at the counter
inside the Amtrak station under the name of Rick Stewart, and his train
ticket had been enough proof of identification for him to pick it up.

Good thing, he thought, as he exited the station, tearing open the
package as he did so. Inside, as promised, were two new drivers licenses,
issued to Rick and Lisa Stewart. The photos were duplicates of the ones
that they had taken at a photo shop in Ohio, nearly two months earlier,
after they had first escaped from Washington. These particular licenses
claimed that the Stewarts were residents of Orlando, Florida, and Mulder
grinned. He hated Florida. But he had to commend the Gunmen -- however
they managed to do it, they did a fantastic job. The lamination was
impeccable, and Mulder had no doubt that the licenses would pass even a
detailed examination.

Mulder took the old Rick Wilder license out of his wallet and replaced it
with the new one. After a few tries, he managed to snap the Wilder
license into four separate pieces, planning to drop them in four different
trash bins as he made his way along the street. He took Scully's new ID
and put it in his pocket, making a mental note to destroy her old one as
soon as he got back to the train.

That task accomplished, Mulder checked the address that the conductor had
given him for the Western Union office against the nearest street sign,
getting his bearings before continuing on his way.

Scully took a deep breath, trying to force herself to be patient. You
know it's here, she reminded herself. Just take your time.

Running her hands more slowly across the table, she finally found the
hairbrush she was seeking and began to pull it through her damp hair,
wincing when she hit a snarl. Although she had been sorely tempted to
wait in the bed for Mulder's return, she had to admit that the shower had
felt quite good. Scully wondered idly how much time had passed since he
had departed and wished, not for the first time, that she had a watch she
could read. She smiled at the memory of Mulder's attempt to remove the
crystal from the watch she'd brought from D.C so that she could tell time
by touching the hands on the face. He'd managed to shatter not only the
crystal, but the workings of the watch itself, and they hadn't wasted
money to buy another.

Now that she had dressed and finished with her hair, Scully began the
tedious process of searching the room for her shoes, wishing that she'd
had the foresight to put them someplace specific. She found them not too
far from the chairs in the corner, alongside the heap of clothes that they
had discarded the night before. Ignoring the shoes for the moment, she
searched through the tumble of clothes until she ran across Mulder's
sweater. She raised it to her face and inhaled the scent of him, savoring
the memory of the previous evening.

The thought ran through her mind that she was acting like a lovesick
teenager, and Scully could feel herself blush. She put the sweater aside
and laced up her tennis shoes, then gathered up the clothes in her arms
and moved over to the bed. She dumped the clothes on its surface and
then began to fold them up, pleased to discover how smoothly she handled
the task.

Her hands found Mulder's jeans and as she tried to fold them, Scully felt
something firm in the back pocket that prevented her from doing so.
Reaching inside, she was surprised to find the disk. Good thing we
didn't put these in the laundry, she thought, taking the small circular
piece of metal and tucking it into her own pocket. Finally finished
folding the clothes, Scully made her way back over to one of the chairs
and sank down into the cushions to wait.

Pam cast another glance at Marty, sitting in the passenger seat beside
her, and frowned. "I don't know what you mean by that," she argued. "It
isn't as though you didn't have every opportunity to make things right
with her."

"Listen," Marty countered, "she's a lunatic. A certifiable, stark-raving
mad, A-number-one psycho. Glenn Close in that movie? The character was
based on Julie. No doubt about it."

Pam spun the wheel to the left, turning the car around yet another
corner. Why do you even try, she mused, running a hand through her short
brown hair. "You're a caveman, Marty." She sighed, wondering why she
felt the need to reason with him, to put in her two cents and defend a
fellow woman, one whom she only barely knew. "All you want is somebody
who's gonna be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, bringing you beers
while you watch Monday night football."

"Hey!" Marty's voice rose with indignation. "That is so not true." A
pause, as he took another sip of coffee, then teased, "I'm not even home
on Monday nights. I'm working -- with you."

"Nice," she commented wryly. "Maybe that means that Julie's the lucky
one."

"Bitch."

The traffic light turned red and as they came to a stop, Pam caught his
eye. "Bastard," she teased him back, and then they both started laughing.
For all of his exceedingly arrogant masculinity, she had to admit that
Marty could be a lot of fun. And considering how much time they had to
spend together, she knew things could be a lot worse. People called them
the Bobbsey Twins because they looked enough alike to be brother and
sister, and they treated each other as such. Beneath their casual banter
lurked a deep and abiding friendship, and Pam was thankful for that.

"Look Pam," Marty reasoned, "just because you can't keep a man isn't any
reason to give me grief."

"Oooooh....." Pam threw as much menace into her voice as she possibly
could. "You don't want to go down that road, you just don't."

Marty grinned at her. "Okay, okay. Let's call a truce. You ready for
some more coffee?"

Pam checked the cup she had placed in the dashboard holder and noticed
that it was near empty. "As long as you're buying."

At Marty's nod, Pam turned another corner and pulled up alongside the
curb. They exited the car in tandem and headed up the street towards the
convenience store, Marty dumping both of their styrofoam cups into the
trash. As they walked, Marty kept up his normal non-stop patter of
conversation which Pam tuned out with a practiced ear, thinking about the
comment he had so casually tossed off in the car.

There was some truth to it, she had to admit. It had been almost a year
since she'd broken up with Steve, and although she knew that her lifestyle
wasn't exactly tailor-made for a solid relationship, Pam found it hard to
believe that so few fish had been biting. While Marty, on the other hand,
seemed to change girlfriends as often as he changed underwear. The
thought made her grin, and Pam had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

A man exited through the glass door of a store across the street, and Pam
gave him what she now thought of as the Cursory Glance, in capital
letters. Tall, with brown hair and a beard. Cut a good figure in jeans.
Engrossed in the contents of an envelope that he held in his hands. Not
bad, she mused, as they continued on.

"So anyway, I told her that I'd call her, but now I'm not so sure."
Marty's babble was still ringing in her ears, but Pam wasn't paying much
attention. There was something about that guy, something familiar....

Suddenly she remembered the bulletin that had been circulated through the
office the day before. Remembered the picture, and the text beneath.
Pam grabbed Marty's arm to shut him up as she pulled her weapon from its
holster and spun on her heel.

"Police!! Freeze!!"

The words reached Mulder's ears and he actually did stop, for a fraction
of a second, paralyzed by the meaning behind them. It was as though time
stopped as he looked up, feeling as though he was moving in slow-motion.

There was a female cop standing just across the street from him, her feet
apart in classic shooting posture, her gun held steady in both hands,
staring directly at him. Her partner, a stocky man, stood beside her and
was now in the process of drawing his own weapon. The pedestrians around
them on both sides of the street were frozen, stunned by the events
transpiring around them.

For a long moment, Mulder's eyes remained locked with those of the female
cop, his body coiled with tension and panic like a deer in the headlights
of an oncoming car. He hadn't even noticed them. How could he have been
so oblivious, so stupid as to let down his guard so carelessly?

Then the female cop took a step towards him. Instinct took over, and
Mulder began to run.

"I said freeze!!" Mulder could hear the woman shouting at him, but he
paid her no mind, jostling his way past several onlookers as he raced down
the street. "STOP!!"

He couldn't believe this was happening... how could this be happening??
Mulder fought to lengthen his stride, hearing the sound of the two cops
coming after him, their feet pounding against the pavement. It had all
been so easy... the licenses, the money... so easy. Too easy.

Without any idea where he was headed, Mulder swerved around a corner,
looking desperately around him for someplace, anyplace to hide. He had a
slight advantage in the fact that although it was still early in the day,
the streets were fairly crowded, and he doubted that the cops would fire
at him from so far away for fear of hitting a bystander. Yet they were
closing the distance, and fast, and Mulder knew if he didn't come up with
something quick it would all be over.

Heedless of oncoming traffic, Mulder darted into the street, hearing the
sound of car horns blaring at him as he tore across the intersection.
One car refused to slow down and sped past him, nearly knocking him down,
and Mulder could feel his heart thudding in his chest at the near miss.
Another car shot towards him and Mulder leapt out of the way, hearing a
screeching of brakes followed by the crashing sound of metal. Reaching
the other side of the street, he glanced back and saw that his evasive
maneuver had bought him at least a small break -- two cars had smashed
into each other in an accident that didn't appear serious but that was
causing a backlog of traffic, slowing the cops down.

Taking the opportunity he'd created, Mulder rounded a corner and darted
into an alleyway between two buildings, his mind an incoherent panicked
whirl.

<Scullycan'tletthemfindhercan'tletthathappen>

At the end of the alley where the curb met the street was a drainage
duct, and Mulder pulled Scully's new ID out of his pocket and tossed it
down into the dark depths of the sewer. He threw his ticket voucher in
behind it, not concerned at the moment with how he would get back onto the
train, if he were lucky enough to make it back to the station. All of his
mental energy was focused on getting rid of the evidence, getting rid of
any clues that would point towards her.

That task accomplished, Mulder started running again, short of breath
now, looking desperately for a place to hide. But there were no big
stores open yet, no obvious places where he could disappear into a crowd
and be lost. He could hear the cops shouting at him, calling attention
to him, alerting the people he passed and depriving him of the opportunity
to merely blend in.

He rounded another corner, glancing quickly through the windows of the
cars he passed, hoping against hope that he would see forgotten keys in
the ignition. Hoping against hope that there was some way, any way, out
of this.

The woman cop yelled at him again, and Mulder could hear the anger in her
voice. "STOP!!!"

Mulder reached the end of the block, footsteps close on his heels, and
turned the corner only to find himself face to face with the barrel of a
gun, held steady in the hands of the male cop. "FREEZE!!" the cop
shouted. "Don't move -- and put your hands up!!"

A second later, the female cop was behind him, and Mulder felt his heart
sink into the pit of his stomach at her words. "You're under arrest!"

Mulder slowly raised his hands, his eyes trained on the gun pointed at
him, his mind still spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening.
As her partner kept the gun aimed squarely at his head, the female cop
pushed Mulder over towards the wall of the nearest building with the
barrel of her own. "Against the wall," she ordered, and he slowly
complied, resting both of his palms against the cold concrete. He heard
the sound of her gun being placed into its holster, and then the
unmistakable rattle of handcuffs as the woman pulled them from her belt.

"You have the right to remain silent," the cop declared as she yanked
Mulder's hands behind his back and secured them with the cuffs. "Anything
you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

As the female cop continued to read him his Miranda rights, Mulder could
hear the sound of her partner, radioing for backup. The cuffs tight
against his wrists, Mulder stood, unresisting, a bleak feeling of despair
washing over him. The cop frisked him, removing his wallet and his gun,
and the envelope with the money he had just obtained. It was only at that
moment that Mulder became aware that he didn't have the disk. I must have
left it on the train, he thought, stunned by the realization. His eyes
slammed shut as a wave of dread consumed him.

Here endeth part 7... parts 8-10 posted simultaneously. Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].

X-7 X-7

This is part eight of a ten-part post. 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].

DOWN THE TRACKS (8/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96

It wasn't until she heard the third whistle blow that Scully really began
to panic. She had been on the train long enough to understand the
pattern, well aware that the first whistle signified the ten-minute
warning, and the second blew after five more had passed. It was the third
that preceded the actual departure of the train from the station, and sure
enough, a moment later she felt the shuddering vibration of the engine
coming to life as the train started down the tracks.

Take it easy, she told herself, trying to calm down. He's probably just
wandering through the corridors, taking his sweet time.

As soon as the thought entered her brain, it vanished. She knew better
than that. Knew Mulder wouldn't delay, knew that he would be aware of her
concern.

Still, her mind found it incredibly hard to entertain the notion that the
train could actually be leaving the station without him aboard, and Scully
sat where she was, her legs tucked beneath her in the chair, waiting for
Mulder's knock.

A knock that didn't come.

When she reasoned that the train had been en route for five full minutes,
Scully got up from the chair and made her way over to the door, searching
for the button that would signal the coach attendant. Finding it, she
pressed it three times in quick succession, an angry twinge of fear
creeping up her spine.

The door to his office was opened by one of the rookies and Russell
Hackett looked up from the paperwork he held in his hand. "They've
brought him in, sir," said the young cop.

Rusty nodded, rising to his feet and brushing a hand across the spiky red
hair that inspired his nickname. Carrying the paperwork with him, he
followed the rookie through the station, down to the bottom level where
the holding cells were located.

As Chief of Police in El Paso, Texas, Rusty Hackett's job basically
consisted of dealing with a constant stream of drunk-and-disorderlies,
occasional border crossings, and the rare homicide. In seventeen years on
the force, including six as Chief, he had never before been involved in
the apprehension of a federal fugitive.

There's a first time for everything, he thought.

Rusty reached the last holding cell and greeted the two officers standing
guard with a brief incline of his head. One of the men opened the outer
door, allowing Rusty access to the inner part of the cell. As the door
shut behind him, he stood quietly for a long moment, studying the man
seated on the cot inside the steel-barred cage.

Although he was seated, it was obvious that the man was fairly tall, and
rather thin for his height. He had a short beard, and brown hair that was
in need of a trim, tumbling over his ears and across his forehead. All
in all, he bore little resemblance to the photograph attached to Rusty's
paperwork, with the exception of the eyes.

The man had looked up at Rusty's entrance, and had immediately fixed him
with a glare that was fiery in its intensity. The same gaze stared up at
Rusty from the photo in his hand. As far as Rusty was concerned, those
eyes provided stronger proof than the matched fingerprints that the man in
the cell was indeed Fox William Mulder.

After only a few moments passed, Scully heard a knock on the door of the
compartment, followed by a woman's cheery voice. "Hello?"

Without opening the door, Scully asked, "Are you the attendant?"

"Sure am," answered the woman. "My name is Sheila -- can I help you with
something?"

Scully hesitated a moment, and then slowly opened the compartment door.
She heard the woman's slight, surprised intake of breath, and then the
words, "Is everything alright, ma'am?"

"My... my husband hasn't come back yet. I'm... afraid he might have
missed the train."

Sheila's confusion was almost palpable. "Are you sure about that? He
might still be on his way back to the compartment."

Scully shook her head firmly. "No, I don't think so. It's... it's not
like him to be late."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time that's happened, especially on such
a short stop." Sheila gave a little laugh. "I'm sure if he did miss the
train, he's already notified the station desk back in El Paso. I can have
the conductor check, if you'd like."

"That would be terrific," Scully answered, a faint ray of hope blooming
inside her. "If he did miss it, what happens then?"

"Well," Sheila replied, "the easiest thing would be for you to wait for
him at the next stop. There'll be another train on this route coming
through later tonight -- he can board that one and then you can meet up."

Not so hard, Scully thought. You can handle that. Aloud, she said,
"Great. Can you find out if that's what happened?"

"Not a problem," came the response. "I'll be right back."

Scully heard the woman's steps receding as she shut the door, leaning
against it with a small sigh of relief, hoping that the attendant's
explanation for Mulder's absence was correct.

"I want to make my phone call," Mulder demanded, his eyes never wavering
from the red-haired officer.

"Can't allow you to do that," the officer drawled. Mulder could tell by
the badge on his uniform that he was of senior rank, probably the man in
charge, and he harbored a faint hope that perhaps he could reason with
him.

"I know my rights," Mulder countered, trying to keep his voice calm. "I
have a right to a phone call, and to see an attorney."

The officer waved the sheaf of papers in his hand as he shook his head.
"My jurisdiction as Chief has been superseded, by the federal government."
He read slowly from the top sheet of paper. "The fugitive is not to be
allowed to speak to anyone outside of enforcement personnel. No phone
calls or outside contact is to be permitted." He paused, tracing his
finger down the page, before continuing. "There's more, but it's all the
same. Basically, we're just supposed to hold you until the Feds show
up."

Mulder said nothing, his mind whirling. He hadn't really expected that
they would allow him to use the phone, and he wasn't positive that it was
a good idea anyway. But part of him ached to call the Gunmen, to give
them a message, some kind of clue as to what had happened.

The chief studied him through the bars, wearing an expression that
bordered on curiosity. "You're in a great deal of trouble, boy." A
pause, and then, "I hope you realize that."

You have no idea, Mulder thought, his stomach tight with tension.

The chief ran a hand across his brush-cut hair. "They've forbidden me to
interrogate you, which is fine, far as I'm concerned. But they did ask me
a question I couldn't answer, so I'm going to put it to you."

Mulder sat where he was, absolutely silent.

"Where is she? Where's the girl?" A beat, and then, "What's happened
to her?"

It took all of Mulder's effort to maintain eye contact with the chief,
all of his strength to keep from screaming in panic, to shout that he
didn't know. That he wasn't sure. That he needed to get back to her,
right now, this instant.

He said nothing.

When she heard the knock, Scully leapt up off of the bed and made her way
quickly back over to the door. "Sheila?" she called, hoping that she had
remembered the attendant's name correctly.

"Yes," came the response, and Scully pulled open the door.

"Is he at the station?" Scully asked, her voice slightly breathless.

Sheila's response came just a beat too late, and in that silent pause,
Scully's heart sank. "No, he isn't. At least not so far as we know --
nobody's come up to the desk in El Paso."

Scully could feel the bleak beginnings of despair beginning to overtake
her and she fought to retain her composure. "Oh.... well, thanks for
checking."

"Can I do anything to help?" Sheila's voice was full of concern, and
Scully knew much of it was due to her blindness. "Is there someone we
need to notify?"

"No, no...." Scully shook her head, forcing herself to smile. "I'm fine
-- I'm.... I'm meeting my mother in --" She paused, searching her brain
for the name of a city on the route that Mulder had read to her. "In
Tucson. I'm meeting her in Tucson, when the train gets there. So, I'll
be fine until then."

Sheila was silent, and for a panicked minute Scully feared that her lie
had been too transparent.

"Okay, then," Sheila finally answered. "As long as you're sure."

"I am -- believe me, I am."

"All right." Scully could hear the hesitation in Sheila's voice, but
fortunately the woman didn't push her any further. "Just ring the bell if
you need anything -- I'm on duty all day."

"Thanks -- I will." With that, Scully shut the door again. Making her
way back over to the bed, she collapsed upon it as the fear gripped her
completely.

The man remained completely silent, and after a moment, Rusty shrugged,
giving up. "No matter. They'll figure it out."

The man finally turned away from him, laying down on his bunk, his arms
crossed against his chest. Interrogation over, Rusty thought wryly,
feeling as though he had been utterly dismissed by the prisoner.

Rusty turned and knocked on the outer door of the cell, and as he waited
for the door to open, he took another glance at the fugitive. There was
something about the way that the man was lying on the cot, something about
the way that his body seemed tense even in repose, that Rusty found a bit
unsettling. It was as though the man was coiled to spring, ready to move
at a moment's notice. He showed none of the animosity, none of the rage
or anger that Rusty was so used to encountering in his more disorderly
prisoners. Nor did the man seem resigned to his situation, plagued by
uncertainty and grief.

Focused, thought Rusty. The guy is completely and totally focused. The
thought frightened him for some reason, and he felt relieved to step into
the hall and leave the prisoner behind.

"Everything okay?" The question came from one of the duty guards, and
Rusty nodded.

"Fine, just fine." Checking the paperwork that had been faxed to him
from Washington D.C. once again, Rusty signaled to the guards. "He's all
yours. Take care of him, as instructed." A pause, and then he added,
"And watch your backs. I don't trust this one as far as I can throw him."

The two young officers nodded to indicate their comprehension of the
order, and Rusty turned on his heel and headed back upstairs.

"I don't care -- call them again!" Skinner shouted into the phone. "I
want it made absolutely clear -- no one sees or speaks to Mulder until I
get there!!" He waited for a response and then hung up the phone.

The door to his office opened and Holly poked her head inside. "Sir,
your car is waiting."

"I'll be right down," he responded, and she nodded, ducking back out of
the room.

Skinner surveyed his desk quickly, checking to be certain that he wasn't
forgetting anything that he needed. He spotted one particular file and
scooped it up, stuffing it into his bag.

After all this time....

When the call had come in, Skinner had found himself frozen in place,
unable to believe that Fox Mulder had been found. Arrested by two beat
cops in the unlikely location of El Paso, Texas. Apprehended after an
intense manhunt that had lasted nearly two months, thanks more to sheer
coincidence than any sharp investigative work.

Mulder had been found.

Alone.

Skinner stormed out of his office, his thoughts a confused jumble.
There had been no sign of Dana Scully anywhere near Mulder; he'd been
taken in the middle of the city, and a slew of beat cops had combed the
streets, looking for Mulder's missing partner, only to come up empty.

Where was she?

There had been nothing found on Mulder's person that indicated her
whereabouts, and so far as Skinner had heard, Mulder wasn't talking.

What had happened to her?

Skinner suspected that the answer lay in the place that Mulder had come
from, on his fateful trip into town. Perhaps she's holed up in some
motel, he mused, although he knew that by now all of those establishments
had been thoroughly searched, looking under the name Stewart that had been
found on Mulder's false ID.

Of course, she could have gone off on her own. Skinner dismissed the
thought as soon as it entered his head, for two reasons.

First, because the one thing he knew about Dana Scully was that she would
never have abandoned her partner, at least not of her own volition.

And second, because if the rumors he had heard were true, Dana Scully was
now blind.

Which effectively ruled out that possibility.

Skinner reached the street level and exited the building, descending the
steps with brisk strides. As Holly had promised, the car was indeed
waiting for him, and he climbed inside, ordering the driver to disregard
the speed limit on the way to the airport.

For reasons too numerous to name, Walter Skinner was in a hurry.

Elliot held the drawing at arms' length, eyeing it with a practiced gaze.
More orange, he decided, picking up the pencil and beginning to sketch.
The knock at the door caught him off guard, and the pencil slipped in his
hand, skidding across the page and leaving a bright orange streak in its
wake.

Cursing under his breath, Elliot crossed the room to the door and threw
it open, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Lisa! What are you doing
here? How did you find my compartment?"

"Down the stairs, four doors to the left," she answered, her words flat
and automatic. "Can I come inside for a minute?"

"Sure," said Elliot, stepping aside to allow her to enter. He glanced
into the hallway as she did so, puzzled to see that Rick was nowhere in
sight. "What's up?"

Lisa didn't answer, moving slowly across the compartment, and after a
moment Elliot realized that she was searching the unfamiliar room for a
seat. "Here," he said, taking her gently by the arm and guiding her
towards a chair.

"Thanks," she responded, sinking down into the cushions.

Elliot went back and shut the door, then came to sit in the adjacent
chair. Lisa remained quiet, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap, a
lost expression on her face. Elliot waited until the silence overwhelmed
him before he spoke.

"Lisa? Is something wrong?" He paused, then, "Where's Rick?"

At the mention of her husband's name, Lisa sat up straighter in the
chair. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she said, "Elliot, I need
your help."

Confused, Elliot replied, "Name it."

"Rick.... he.... he missed the train."

Elliot sighed, smiling with relief. "No problem," he told her. "It
happens all the time. You can just catch up with him at the next stop."

She shook her head, her face grim. "You don't understand. Rick, he ....
there's no way he missed the train by accident. It just.... it didn't
happen like that."

Elliot looked at her closely, trying to discern the meaning behind her
words. He couldn't imagine that she meant what he thought she meant.
He'd never seen a couple more in love.

Then again.... Elliot couldn't ignore the livid bruise on her cheek. It
wasn't as dark as it had been the day that he had met her, but it was
still clearly visible. He found it hard to believe that a man like Rick
was capable of that kind of violence, yet he was old enough not to be
naive.

Choosing his words carefully, he asked, "Did he -- do you think that....
that he left you? On purpose?"

Elliot saw something flash across Lisa's face, so fast that it barely
registered. A peculiar mix of doubt, panic, and despair. Something dark
that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Then she lifted her head, her
jaw set with determination, and spoke to him through clenched teeth.

"Rick would *never* have left me behind. *Never*." Lisa paused, and
then rose to her feet. "I'm sorry -- I shouldn't have bothered you. This
wasn't a good idea."

"No -- no!" The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush as Elliot grabbed
her arm, urging her to sit back down. "Lisa -- I'm sorry. I am..... I
didn't mean it. I -- I just had to ask."

Scully heard the earnestness in Elliot's voice and it calmed her somewhat.
She took her seat again, cautioning herself to take it easy. Don't
panic, she thought. You can't get out of this if you panic.

"I know," she answered, relieved at the normal tone of her voice. "I
didn't mean to overreact."

The room was quiet for a minute, and Scully knew Elliot was thinking.
"So," he said finally, his voice slow and measured. "If you don't think
Rick missed the train by accident, and he wouldn't have missed it on
purpose, what you're saying is you think something happened to him."

Scully nodded, certain he was looking.

"Can I ask, why?" A pause, and then, "I mean, if it were me, I wouldn't
immediately jump to that conclusion."

Scully raked her fingers through her hair, trying to figure out exactly
how much to tell him. Enough to get you off the train, her mind
instructed. No more than that.

"I don't really want to get into it," she answered. "Rick and I....
there are.... some people who are looking for us. Dangerous people.
And if --" her heart seized up at the thought and she had to force
herself to continue. "If they found Rick.... he could.... he could be in
a lot of trouble."

"Why don't you call the police?"

Another difficult question. Scully searched her brain for an answer but
only came up with the truth. "I can't. The police are looking for us
too."

"What about.... what about your parents?"

The simplicity of the idea made Scully want to laugh and cry
simultaneously. If only it were that easy...

"Elliot, I -- I just can't. You have to believe me. It's just -- it's
not possible, not now. If Rick is in trouble, a call like that would only
make it worse."

Scully heard Elliot sigh, a long troubled exhale. "Then exactly what is
it you want me to do, Lisa?"

As though it were the most normal thing in the world, Lisa said, "I need
you to help get me off of the train."

Elliot massaged his temples with one hand as he asked, "And then what?"

"Take me to a hotel, someplace away from the train station."

"And what are you going to do then?"

The expression on her face told Elliot clearly that she had no idea,
although she tried to hide her uncertainty behind a brave voice.
"Well.... I'll figure that out. I just have to get away from here --
sooner or later, they're going to figure out that Rick was on this train.
And I can't do anything to help him if they find me here."

This isn't happening, Elliot thought. This cannot possibly be real.

And yet it was. Lisa was sitting across from him, a tiny figure in a
flannel shirt and jeans. A blind woman who was asking him to spirit her
off of an Amtrak line and deposit her in some Texas hotel with who knows
what pursuing her. Suddenly Elliot felt as though he had become a
character in one of the books he'd spent the last few years illustrating.

As though his silence frightened her, Lisa's next words were soft. "Will
you.... help me?"

"Of course," he answered, the words rushing from his mouth before he gave
them a second thought.

Lisa smiled, a tentative smile of relief. "Thank you... you have no idea
how much I appreciate this."

"One question, first." She nodded, and Elliot continued. "I don't want
to know who these people are, or why they're after you. But the thing
about the police... what kind of trouble are you in? Did you and Rick
do... whatever it is you're being accused of doing?"

Lisa face darkened, shadowed by some distant memory. When she spoke
again, in a low voice, her chin trembled slightly and for a moment Elliot
feared she might cry. "Some things happened.... some very bad things.
And Rick and I were involved. But --" She took a deep breath. "But it
wasn't our fault. It wasn't our fault."

Elliot noticed that Lisa repeated the phrase as though she was trying to
convince herself of that fact, but he decided that it was enough for him.
For now.

"I believe you." Elliot studied her, still considering her request. A
vision of her, alone in some cheap motel, flooded his mind, and he spoke
again out of sheer instinct.

"I'll help you get off of the train, Lisa, but I'm not going to leave
you."

A puzzled frown settled on her face. "What are you talking about?"

This is crazy, Elliot thought, the words flashing madly in his brain, but
he couldn't stop himself. "I can't leave you alone -- it wouldn't be
right."

As he said the words, he knew they were true. There was no way he could
look at himself again in a mirror if he abandoned this woman, despite the
fact that for all intents and purposes she was a stranger to him. But he
couldn't help but think about Beck, about what he would want someone to do
for her, if the circumstances were reversed. And there was something
about Lisa that seemed honest, and desperate. Something that made him
believe her.

Feeling the rush of confidence that comes from making a decision, Elliot
continued, "You should come with me. To Santa Fe."

Here endeth part 8... parts 9-10 posted simultaneously. Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].

X-8 X-8

This is part nine of a ten-part post. 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].

DOWN THE TRACKS (9/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96

Elliot's words ran like ice water in her veins as Scully thought about the
distance between El Paso and Santa Fe. Too far, she thought, too far
away.

"I can't do that," she protested. "I have to -- I have to stay here.
Close to El Paso."

"Lisa." There was a firm tone in Elliot's voice that Scully hadn't heard
before, and it cut through some of her panic. "You're not thinking
clearly. There's nothing you can do on your own -- as much as you may
hate to admit it, you need some assistance."

Despising the truth in his words, Scully grit her teeth and said nothing.

"I would stay with you, if I could, but I have to get back. So you
should come with me -- at least until you can figure out what you want to
do."

Scully took a deep breath, trying to make a decision. Every bone in her
body protested the idea of going so far away from Mulder, so far from the
place where she had last seen him, but the rational part of her mind told
her that Elliot was right. She knew that what she needed was to get out
of harm's way -- to hide somewhere that they couldn't find her. To be
safe, at least for the moment.

She knew that was what Mulder would want.

Mulder...

Thinking of him made her dizzy and she shut her eyes, trying to surmount
the fear that threatened to consume her completely.

Her face was pale and when she started to tremble Elliot panicked, patting
her on the arm in an attempt to reassure her. "Lisa... it's okay, really.
I didn't mean to freak you out." Nice job, he thought. She probably
thinks you're a serial killer trying to lure her to some out of the way
spot. "If you want me to take you to a hotel, I will -- I will. I was
just trying to help."

Lisa's eyes fluttered open and she shook her head. "You didn't freak me
out, Elliot. I was just...thinking. And you're probably right. It's
better for me to go somewhere that they won't be looking for me, until I
figure things out."

Elliot sat back, relieved. "Okay then. It's settled." He glanced at
his watch. "We need to get our stuff together, though -- the train will
be getting into Las Cruces in twenty minutes, and that's the station where
we have to switch lines."

"I don't think we should get on another train."

"What?" Elliot was confused. "Why not?"

Lisa sighed. "If... if somebody finds out that Rick was on this train,
they'll search it, and all the other connecting lines. Is there another
way to get to Santa Fe from there?"

"Well, there's a bus. We can take that to Albuquerque -- that's where
the train would have let us off, anyway." Trying to crack a joke, he
added, "Is that cloak and dagger enough for you?"

If she got the joke, Lisa didn't show it. A serious expression on her
face, she said, "I think so. Elliot....." her voice trailed off as she
searched for words. "This isn't your problem. And I don't want to
involve you in it, without you understanding how dangerous it could be.
These people -- they're the kind of people who shoot first, and ask
questions later."

Elliot's stomach started to churn at her words, suddenly realizing just
how Lisa might have gotten that bruise on her face. Although he
considered himself to be as brave as the next guy, this might be pushing
the envelope. Idiot, you're an artist, not James fucking Bond, he
thought.

But how could he leave her alone?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Elliot replied, "I get it." A pause,
and then, "I'm in. Now we need to get packed and get out of here."

"Where are you now?" The man fired up another cigarette, his hand shaking
with anticipation.

"Just outside of Austin." Christophe's voice rang in his ears, undimmed
by the crackling of the cellular phone. "I'm doubling back now -- should
be there in about twenty minutes."

"Good." The man inhaled deeply, satisfied with the answer. "There will
be a plane waiting for you at the private airfield just outside of town."

Dead air on the line, and then, "How should I handle it?"

"That," the man said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, "is up to you. You
know what we need -- I'm not going to counsel you as to the method."

"Understood," Christophe replied. "I'll check in with you as soon as I
can."

"I'll be waiting." With that, the man disconnected the call, feeling
once again as though success was within his grasp.

Pam walked down the hallway, balancing the tray carefully with both hands.
She was acutely aware that she was acting against policy, but at the
moment, she was too curious to care. She was off-duty now, which would
usually mean making a beeline out of the building in order to savor every
precious moment of free time she had. Instead, she was hanging out at the
station, bribing one of the duty officers to allow her to be the one to
bring the prisoner his meal.

If pressed, Pam would have attributed her curiosity to the fact that she
had yet to come across a federal fugitive in her time on the force, at
least aloud. Deep inside she knew that she found the man fascinating, and
had from the moment that she'd arrested him. There was something strange
about him that piqued her interest, and she felt compelled to see him
again, if only for a moment.

Reaching the holding cell, Pam greeted the duty guard with a nod of her
head. "Hey Sam," she greeted him. "Want to let me in?"

She saw Sam glance at her, surprised that it was she who had brought down
the tray, but he was junior in rank and knew better than to ask the
question. "Sure," he replied, opening the outer door and allowing her to
enter.

The prisoner was sitting on his cot, leaning back with his head against
the wall. His eyes had been shut but they opened at the sound, and he
stared at her, his expression revealing nothing. He looked different than
he had when she'd arrested him, and it was due to more than the regulation
blue prison garb he'd been issued. Someone had cut his hair and shaved
his beard, which made him look younger and more vulnerable than the man
Pam had seen on the street.

"Brought you something to eat," she declared, placing the tray on the
shelf on her side of the iron bars.

The man said nothing, merely continuing to stare at her.

Pam shrugged slightly as she released the latch that held the partition
closed. Flipping the panel up, she slid the tray through to rest on the
shelf on the other side, and then shut the partition and reaffixed the
latch.

The man sat where he was, not moving towards the tray as she would have
expected, and there was something about his stillness that she found
vaguely chilling.

"Need anything else?" she asked.

The man shook his head, a motion so small as to be almost imperceptible,
but Pam got the message.

"All right, then," she said, rapping on the outer door as a signal to
Sam.

Back in the outer hallway, Pam took a deep breath, inexplicably relieved
to be away from the man. Curiosity killed the cat, she thought, deciding
that she'd seen enough of him to hold her for quite some time.

Carrying his bulky backpack with one hand, Elliot knocked on the door of
Lisa's compartment. After he'd identified himself, she opened the door as
the whistle blew for the third time, announcing the arrival of the train
in Las Cruces. "Ready?" he asked, and she nodded, allowing him to enter.

"I think I've got everything," she said, indicating the duffel bag on the
bed with a wave of her hand. "But would you mind checking, just to be
sure?"

"No problem," Elliot responded, doing a quick scan of the room and
finding nothing amiss. "I don't see anything lying around." A beat,
then, "We should go."

Lisa nodded, and Elliot noticed that she had changed her flannel shirt in
favor of a dark green sweater that dwarfed her small frame. She made her
way over to the chair near the wall and scooped up the navy jacket that
lay there, draping it over one arm.

Elliot took her cue and shouldered his backpack, the backpack that he had
bought five years earlier for his post-collegiate Europe trip, the
backpack that Beck regularly chastised him for carrying.

For once, Elliot was glad he had the backpack, as it enabled him to carry
the duffel bag with one hand and steer Lisa out the door with the other.
"Santa Fe, here we come," he declared, as they made their way down the
corridor.

As they made their way off of the train and into the station, Scully tried
to adjust her steps to Elliot's stride. He wasn't quite as tall as
Mulder, but his steps were faster, and she found herself wondering just
how much effort Mulder had made to accommodate himself to her pace.
Elliot also lacked some of Mulder's vigilance, and she had already
stumbled twice as a result of his failure to inform her of a change in
their direction.

"Sorry," Scully heard him mumble, as she once again lost her balance.

"That's okay," she replied, adjusting her grasp on his arm. "It takes a
bit of getting used to."

Though it hadn't taken Mulder long, Scully thought, a tremor shuddering
through her body as her fear for him resurfaced. From the very beginning,
his movements had been almost naturally attuned to hers, and the
instinctive trust she placed in him had done much to alleviate her fears
of falling.

Pushing thoughts of Mulder to the back of her mind, Scully forced herself
to focus on the matter at hand. "Elliot -- look around." She kept her
voice low. "Do you see anything out of the ordinary?"

"Like what?" She could hear the confusion in his voice and sought to
explain.

"Suspicious people -- anyone taking too much of an interest in us." A
beat, then, "Or police. Anybody in uniform."

Elliot looked around the station. It was fairly crowded with an
assortment of people, each of whom seemed intent on reaching their own
particular destinations. As far as he could tell, there wasn't any one
person paying them special attention. "I don't see anything strange," he
responded, glancing down at her.

Lisa's face was drawn, her expression worried. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," he told her, putting a great deal of emphasis on the
words. "The only thing I see is one of the Amtrak security men -- but
he's on the other side of the station, and he's not looking our way at
all."

"Keep an eye on him," was all that she said, but the tone in her voice
spoke volumes.

Elliot guided her out the doors of the station and towards a cab parked
alongside the curb. "We have to take a taxi to the bus station," he
explained, and she nodded, stopping next to him automatically.

"Where to?" asked the cabbie, as he exited the vehicle to grab their
luggage.

"Bus station," Elliot replied, and the cabbie nodded, walking around to
the back of the cab and opening the trunk.

Elliot pulled open the car door and waited for Lisa to enter. It took
him a moment to realize that she was waiting for him to help her inside,
and then he quickly moved to do so, apologizing to her with a low murmur.

This isn't going to be easy, he thought, as he climbed into the cab
beside her.

Mulder paced the cell restlessly, every muscle in his body protesting his
imprisonment. The cell wasn't large, and he reached each side in a few
short strides before turning on his heel to head the other way.

His mind was moving even faster than his feet, occupied solely with
thoughts of escape, weighing every option, each seeming more bleak than
the last.

If they'd found her, you'd know...

The thought ran through his mind, but Mulder wondered if it was the
truth, aware that there were plenty of reasons that information might be
kept from him.

If they'd found her, you'd know...

Assume they haven't, he told himself. Assume they haven't figured it out
and Scully's still on the train.

Mulder sighed and ran a hand through his newly close-cropped hair.
Although the barber's visit had come as a bit of a surprise, he understood
the reasons behind it. Eliminate the disguise. Eliminate the chance that
he might escape their grasp again.

If they'd found her, you'd know...

If they haven't, what is she going to do without you?

The thought ricocheted inside him, pulsing viciously in his brain, and
Mulder sank back down on the cot, resting his head in his hands. Another
wave of guilt swept over him, rocking him to the core.

Before he could stop it, Mulder felt a single tear escape his eye, and he
brushed it angrily away with the palm of his hand. No time for that, he
thought. No time at all.

Scully sat beside to Elliot on the bus, feeling the springs in the
uncomfortable seat beneath her. She was next to the window, and rested
her head against the cool pane of glass. Her eyes were closed and she was
pretty sure Elliot assumed she'd fallen asleep, which was just as well.
He had spent the first part of the ride chattering aimlessly, and although
she had at first welcomed the distraction, she was now glad to be alone
with her thoughts.

Try as she might, Scully couldn't shake the heavy weight of guilt that
had descended upon her the moment Elliot had proposed his plan. It just
seemed wrong, somehow, to be leaving Mulder behind. After all of her
fears that he would abandon her, she couldn't believe that she was doing
it to him.

He could be dead, a dark voice echoed in her mind. They might have
killed him.

Choking back an angry sob, Scully pushed the thought away, hoping against
hope that the voice was wrong. Somehow, deep inside, she was certain he
was still alive. In trouble, perhaps, but definitely still alive.

If he died, a little piece inside of her would die too.

And that she would be able to feel.

"Lisa? You okay?"

Scully detected the concern behind his words and attempted a smile.
Elliot had been so kind, so incredibly generous. When they had arrived at
the bus station and she had suddenly realized she didn't have a dime to
her name, he had paid both fares without saying a word. "Fine," she
answered, feeling a rush of gratitude towards him. "How much further?"

"Hmmmm," Elliot paused, and she assumed he was checking his watch.
"About two more hours to go. We've just passed the halfway mark."

Scully sighed. "You like living all the way out here?"

Elliot chuckled. "It's not so far out of the way. Especially if you
travel by plane." A beat, then, "Besides, Santa Fe's beautiful, and we
have a really nice place."

"We?" Although Scully wasn't really in the mood for conversation, she
needed the break from her dark thoughts. "You and...."

"Rebecca." Elliot supplied the answer to her unfinished question.
"It's Beck, and me, and Coop -- Cooper is a friend we went to school
with." Another small laugh. "Rent's expensive, you know? The more the
merrier, especially when you still have school loans to pay off."

A thought hit her and Scully asked, "How old are you, Elliot?"

"Twenty-seven," came the response. "I'll be twenty-eight in January."

The same age as Charles, she mused. Aloud, she said, "What day?"

"The thirtieth," Elliot answered. "Aquarius."

He fell silent after that, as did Scully, vague memories floating at the
edge of her consciousness. Something about horoscopes, and astrological
signs. All of the stuff that Melissa had placed so much faith in.
Aquarius... an air sign... air signs were Swords...

Suddenly it all came back to her with a shocking, vivid clarity, and
Scully remembered the prediction delivered by Lucy, the woman they had met
back in New Orleans. Remembered the explanation she had given Mulder
during the tarot card reading.

"The Knight of Swords is a man in Lisa's life -- might be you, but the
placement signifies a future influence, so maybe not. Someone
intelligent, courageous and capable, who deals with problems swiftly and
effectively. Someone who will be a strong ally for her down the road a
ways."

It was as though everything now made an eerie sort of sense, and Scully
felt herself shudder. She reached down on the seat beside her and fumbled
until she found Elliot's hand. She linked her fingers with his, and felt
him give her an answering squeeze, tightening the clasp of their hands.
Reassured, at least for the moment, Scully exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Sir?"

Rusty Hackett was on the phone when the desk officer opened his door, and
the look on the young woman's face caused him to cut the call short. He
had barely put the receiver back in its cradle when she spoke again.

"The men from the FBI are here, sir. Asking to see you."

With a wave, Rusty dismissed the officer, who exited, pulling the door
shut behind her. Glancing at the array of detritus on his desk, Rusty
exhaled a long, low sigh. Well, he thought, it isn't as though they're
here to give me some kind of Good Housekeeping award.

A moment later, the officer returned, holding the door open for three men
dressed in suits. The man who entered first was clearly the one in
charge, and Rusty noted his formal, almost military bearing with approval.

Rising from his desk, Rusty said, "Afternoon, gentlemen. I'm Chief
Hackett."

Extending a hand towards him, the lead man said, "Walter Skinner,
Assistant Director." Skinner didn't introduce the other two men who
remained standing at the back of the room, near the door, but Rusty
acknowledged them with a nod. "I want to thank you for the discretion
you've exercised in this matter."

"Well," Rusty replied, "the orders were quite clear. And I can
understand your need for precaution, given the circumstances."

"At this point," Skinner declared, "all we want is to take him back to
Washington and get to the bottom of all this." A pause, then, "I'd like
to see him. Right away."

There was a gleam in Skinner's eyes that spoke of relief, which didn't
surprise Rusty in the slightest, given the length and difficulty of the
search. There was something else beneath it though, something that
looked almost like excitement, and it caused Rusty to hesitate, for just a
moment.

"Certainly, sir," Rusty answered. "First, though -- can I see some
identification?" Off the man's look, he continued, "As I said, the
instructions were quite clear."

Skinner nodded, and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket,
removing a standard government issue badge. "Of course," he said, passing
the badge to Rusty.

Rusty flipped it open, reading the text inside. Assistant Director
Walter S. Skinner, it said, alongside the words Federal Bureau of
Investigation. The picture was unmistakably that of the man who sat in
front of him.

"Thank you," said Rusty, returning the badge. "If you'll follow me, I'll
take you downstairs."

Mulder heard the sound of the outer door to the cell being pulled open and
sat up on the cot, trying to push thoughts of Scully out of his mind in
order to deal with this new interruption. He tried to focus, to remain
vigilant, all too aware that he couldn't afford any further mistakes.

In the bit of the corridor that was visible to him through the partially
opened door, Mulder caught a glimpse of the red-haired chief. The chief
was speaking to a man clad in a suit, but Mulder could only catch a little
of their conversation.

"....a moment alone," said the man in the suit.

"Certainly..." The chief's voice faded out, and then Mulder heard him
say, "... right outside."

The man in the suit then entered the cell alone, allowing the outer door
to fall shut behind him. Mulder looked at him, curious, certain that he
had never seen him before. He was a tall, well-built man, with a vaguely
European air about him. He had a full head of dark hair and piercing
black eyes. His olive complexion and strong features were unquestionably
attractive, but there was a vaguely ominous air about him that twisted his
good looks into something more sinister.

"It's been awhile, Agent Mulder," said the man as he stepped closer to
the iron bars.

Mulder didn't reply, trying to figure out the man's game.

The man stopped within an inch of the bars. "Don't you have anything to
say for yourself?" Barely moving his lips, he continued, in a voice that
was no more than a whisper. "If you want to help her, play along."

Christophe fought to keep the smile from his lips as Mulder's face drained
of color. The simple line had worked even better than he'd expected.

He watched as Mulder rose from the cot, fighting to speak in a normal
tone of voice. "There's a lot we have to discuss, sir. I'm not sure
where to begin." Coming close to the bars, Mulder matched Christophe's
own low tone, the words escaping from him in a hiss.

"Where is she?"

Christophe deigned not to answer that particular question, knowing that
the success of his plan depended on Mulder's complicity. Ignoring the
plea in Mulder's eyes, Christophe backed away. "I suppose we'll have
plenty of time to talk on our way back to D.C."

Mulder said nothing, his face registering confusion, so Christophe
dropped another clue. "I had to pull a lot of strings to get out here,
Mulder. For some reason, they seem to feel I'm too lenient an A.D. to be
trusted to bring you back safely."

Comprehension flooded Mulder's eyes, mixed with a fair amount of
distrust, and for a moment Christophe feared that he had misjudged the
man, feared that he had overestimated his desire to find the girl.

A long moment passed, and then Mulder slowly replied, "You've always been
fair, sir, and under the circumstances, that's all I can ask for."

Christophe nodded his approval of the response. "Then let's get out of
here."

Here endeth part 9... part 10 posted simultaneously. Let me know if there
are problems with the posting at [email protected].

X-9 X-9

This is part ten of a ten-part post. 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].

DOWN THE TRACKS (10/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96

The bus arrived in Albuquerque without incident, and Elliot relaxed as it
pulled into the station. Almost home, he thought, allowing himself a
brief smile at the thought of Beck. He helped Lisa off of the bus and
then led her over to the side where they waited for the driver to unload
their bags from the compartments beneath.

"Now what?" asked Lisa, once their bags had been retrieved.

"Last leg," Elliot responded, checking his watch. "We'll be in Santa Fe
by dinner." She nodded, and he took her by the arm. "C'mon," he said,
"it's not far to the parking lot."

He led her to the parking structure, forcing himself to walk more slowly
to enable her to keep up with him. Lisa seemed extremely nervous, and
was startled by every unfamiliar sound.
Elliot could tell that she was tired, and he was feeling the same way
himself, worn out from all of the travel and from the undercurrent of fear
that had permeated their journey.

They took the elevator up to the third level of the structure and then
walked across to the far side. "Here we are," Elliot finally announced,
dropping the duffel bag before removing the backpack from his aching
shoulders.

Lisa extended a tentative hand in front of her, a surprised look crossing
her face. "Elliot? This isn't a car."

"No," he answered, admiring his motorcycle with a familiar surge of
pride. "It's a bike."

"A bike?"

Elliot could hear the panic in her voice, and sought to reassure her. "A
motorcycle -- it's a vintage Harley. But don't worry -- it's in great
condition, she's my pride and joy. And I'm a very good driver."

Lisa gave a weak nod, but said nothing.

"Trust me, it'll be fine." Elliot picked up the backpack and secured it
onto the back of the bike, before picking up the duffel bag and doing the
same. "You should put your jacket on, though -- it gets a little cold on
the freeway."

In response to his comment, Lisa pulled on the jacket, the hem of the
sweater she wore remaining visible beneath the bottom of the coat. It
was a bulky fit, but she didn't seem to mind.

Finished with securing the luggage, Elliot released the mechanism that
allowed him to lift the seat. He retrieved the two helmets from the clasp
that dangled them against side of the bike, thankful that he'd brought
Beck's along. He put his own helmet on his head, fitting the strap
snugly beneath his chin, and then turned to Lisa.

"You have to put this helmet on, okay? It's illegal to drive around
without one."

"Okay," she answered. "Will you do it?"

"Sure," he responded. Lisa stood absolutely still as he placed the
helmet on her head and secured the strap, careful not to pull it too
tight. "Feel alright?"

Lisa nodded again, and Elliot was struck by how calm she seemed, by the
amount of faith she was willing to place in him. Faith that somehow
things were going to work out for her.

Well, he thought, it isn't as though she has a lot of choice in the
matter.

And it was that thought which made Elliot realize that whoever she was,
Lisa was very brave.

"Let's go," Elliot said, feeling a new admiration for her. He helped
Lisa up onto the back of the bike, positioning her so that she was leaning
against their piled luggage. Then he climbed on himself, and turned the
key in the ignition.

"Put your arms around my waist," Elliot instructed, "and just hold on.
We'll be there in no time." With that, he revved the engine and drove
the bike out of the lot.

Flanked by several other Bureau agents, Walter Skinner made his way into
the El Paso police station, pausing only to ask directions of the officer
behind the main desk. "I'm here to see Chief Russell Hackett," he
informed her, his tone terse.

She glanced at him, a peculiar look on her face. "And you are?"

"Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI."

The woman picked up a phone and repeated the information into it quietly.
She waited a moment, and then replaced the receiver. "Chief Hackett
will be right with you, sir."

"Thank you." Skinner moved away from the desk to stand with the agents
alongside the wall, shrugging off a twinge of impatience. Calm down, he
told himself. You're here now.

A few minutes later, the door leading to the inner part of the station
opened, and a stocky, red-haired man emerged. He had the build of a
pro-football player, and a bright, intelligent gaze. "Can I help you?"

"Looking for Chief Hackett," Skinner replied, weary of the question and
answer.

"I'm Hackett," the officer replied. "And you are?"

Skinner exploded, unable to contain himself. "Skinner! From the FBI!
I'm told you were expecting me?"

"Can I see some ID?"

The officer's response was so unexpected that it cut through some of
Skinner's anger. Surprised, he whipped his badge out of his breast
pocket, tossing it at the man.

Hackett opened the badge and looked carefully at the credentials inside.
A long moment passed, and then he handed the badge back. "I'm not sure
what to say, sir."

"What you can *say*," Skinner declared, drenching each word with
intensity, "is that you are going to take me to see Agent Mulder, this
instant."

"I can't do that, sir." Hackett's face was pale.

"And why not?" Skinner roared, past the point of caring.

"Because, sir. I've already released him -- to your custody."

They said nothing to him on the short ride, although Mulder made more than
one attempt to engage the men in conversation, only to be stopped by a
blow to the jaw that finally silenced him. The tall man who had come into
his cell was seated in the front passenger seat, diagonally across from
him, and although he glanced back at Mulder occasionally, he remained as
silent as the driver. The third man, on the back seat beside him, was
equally taciturn, though Mulder completely understood the significance of
the gun the man held to his side. Still handcuffed and dressed in his
prison garb, Mulder could do little more than wait.

The car finally came to a stop, and Mulder was surprised to note that
they had arrived at a small airfield. A Gulf Stream jet was waiting, the
engine primed and ready, and Mulder was buffeted by the wind it created as
the tall man and the gunman led him over to the plane and up the air
stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, Mulder noticed that the driver of
the car was already speeding away, presumably in a hurry to ditch the
vehicle.

The plane was empty of other passengers. Like many small, private
planes, this one was equipped with several lounge style seats, as well as
a table-and-chair arrangement ideal for business meetings or board games,
depending on the purpose of the flight. The gunman led Mulder over to
the table, pushing him down into one of the seats and taking the chair
next to him, keeping the gun cocked and aimed.

The tall man sat down directly across from Mulder, but remained silent
until the plane left the ground. When he spoke, his voice was low,
barely loud enough to carry over the noise of the plane.

"Well, Mulder, how does it feel to be out of jail?"

Refusing to play games, Mulder cut straight to the point. "Who are you,
and what do you want?"

"You can call me Christophe," the tall man smiled. "And you and I, we
want the same thing. The girl."

It was Mulder's turn to remain silent, although had he not been cuffed,
he would have been tempted to reach across and choke the smile off of the
tall man's face.

Seemingly unperturbed by Mulder's lack of response, Christophe continued,
"Let me be more specific. You want the girl -- we want the disk."

"She doesn't have it."

"I'm not so sure about that," Christophe replied, his tone smooth as
silk. "Either she has it with her, or she's stashed it someplace.
Because you certainly didn't have it when they brought you in."

"How do you know *I* didn't stash it?" Mulder countered, and he saw the
man's eyes flicker the minutest amount.

"That possibility certainly exists," Christophe replied. "If that's the
case, all you'd need to do is tell me where to find it. Tell me, and I
vanish -- how is that for a deal?"

For a wild moment, Mulder considered bluffing, considered leading
Christophe on a wild goose chase in search of the disk, but there was a
malevolent glint in the man's eyes that told him that was a fool's move.
He didn't trust Christophe as far as he could throw him, but he didn't
doubt for a moment that the man was determined to find the disk, which
meant finding Scully.

With or without Mulder's help.

Which, Mulder realized, feeling suddenly nauseous, left him very little
choice.

As though he could easily read the thoughts passing through Mulder's
brain, Christophe smiled. "It seems to me that the best thing is for you
and I to become partners, Mulder. I'll keep the police away from you long
enough to help you find her. And then you give me the disk, and we call
it even."

"I don't even know where she is," Mulder told him, painfully aware of the
truth in his words.

"Maybe not." Christophe smiled darkly. "But I've heard you're an
excellent investigator. And you know her better than anyone else -- I'm
sure you'll be able to track her down."

Mulder knew, without question, that leading Christophe to Scully would be
a fatal mistake for the both of them. Knew that the man wouldn't be
satisfied with reclaiming the disk. Knew, somehow, that Christophe's job
wouldn't be finished until they were both dead.

But on the other hand, what else could he do? At least now he was out
of prison. At least now he had some freedom to look for her.

Please, Mulder thought, closing his eyes for a moment. Please let me
find her.

Safe.

And alive.

"Do we have a deal?" Christophe's voice, cold as ice, broke through his
reverie. Mulder opened his eyes and stared at the man, who matched his
gaze, unflinching.

All too aware of the Faustian bargain he was making, Mulder finally
answered, his voice dimmed by anguish. "Yes. We have a deal."

Scully held on to Elliot as tightly as she was able, her arms wrapped
around his waist, her face pressed against the back of his coat.   The
force of the wind was terrifying, and she couldn't help but feel as though
she was about to be blown straight off of the motorcycle.   Scully could
feel the bike lean from side to side as Elliot wove his way in and out of
passing cars, and the sensation made her extremely dizzy.   She knew how
easy it would be for him to lose control of the bike, to send them
skidding through traffic to crash into the retaining wall, and she tried
to push those thoughts out of her mind.

Not being able to see where they were going made it even worse, made her
even more positive that an accident was waiting to happen around every
bend in the road. The speed of the bike and the pressure of the wind
made conversation impossible, so Scully sat hunched against Elliot,
pretending she was on some dark amusement park ride like Space Mountain at
Disney World, where the cars always arrived safely back at the beginning
of the track.

After what seemed like an eternity, Scully felt the bike slowing down,
and the noise of the wind and traffic gradually died away. We must be
there, she thought, her body flooding with relief. A minute or so later,
she felt the bike come to a stop, and released her grasp of Elliot. "Are
we there?" she asked, excited.

"Not yet," came the response, and her heart sank. "Just have to get some
gas."

"Oh," she replied, unable to say anything more.

Elliot gave her shoulder a squeeze as he climbed off the bike and Scully
forced herself to smile, unwilling to let him know how much the motorcycle
terrified her. She sat where she was, waiting as he filled up the tank.

A short time later, Elliot said, "Lisa? I have to go in and pay for
this. Will you be okay for a minute?"

"Sure," she nodded.

"I'll be watching the whole time -- the cashier windows are all glass."

"I'm fine, Elliot," she told him, and listened as his steps retreated.

When he was far enough away, Scully opened her jacket and took hold of
the sweater she was wearing, raising it quickly to her nose with both
hands. She inhaled deeply and caught a faint whiff of Mulder, and for a
moment, a brief moment, she could almost feel his arms around her, the
memory so vivid as to almost be real.

<I'mobsessedwithyouDanaKatherineScully>

His scent, his touch, his voice....

Scully could feel the burning wetness in her eyes and fought down the
urge to cry. She rebuttoned her jacket, and a moment later, heard the
sound of Elliot's footsteps returning.

"All set," Elliot said, as he climbed back on the bike. "You alright?"

Scully forced the words out, her throat dry and tight. "I'm fine...
let's just go."

She wrapped her arms back around Elliot's waist, bracing herself as the
motorcycle roared to life. It wasn't until she could tell that they were
back on the freeway, speeding amidst a profusion of cars, that Scully
finally allowed the tears to spill down her cheeks. She cried for only a
moment, unwilling to break down completely. Not here, she thought. Not
now.

Too afraid to release her grasp of Elliot to brush away the tears, Scully
raised her head and allowed the wind to dry her face, a silent prayer in
her heart as they rocketed down the road.

Mulder....

Ummmm, that's the end of this one, folks!! <Nic, ducking as objects are
hurled through cyberspace at her head> What???   It seems like as good a
place as any to stop... besides, my fingers are numb. <g> Thanks to all
of you who stuck with me through this one -- I hope it was as fun to read
as it was to write!!   As always, I would *love* to hear from you --
feedback makes the world go round!!!! I'm at [email protected].   :-)

X-10 X-10

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