*^*^*
Given Building
Sub-basement Level 2
2:15AM

She had no idea what time it was. Her watch had been removed as 
her hands had been grabbed and trying to check the windows for 
daylight yielded no results. They'd been bricked or blocked in 
some other way. Along with the fact that her ability to move her 
head was being severely curtailed by one of the men in black who 
seemed to move with merely a glance from Diana Fowley. If her 
situation weren't so dire, she would probably be laughing at the 
sheer irony of it all.

It had been bad enough to find Diana in the same city -- once 
Again -- but to be held as her captive... She knew there was some 
cosmic humor in there somewhere but it was escaping her right at 
the moment.

The tall brunette had asked her a question that she hadn't 
answered and the result had not been pleasant. The taller of the 
two men had moved behind her and rather deftly jammed his thumbs 
into the fleshy area of her throat, nearly constricting her 
trachea. She supposed the only thing keeping him from continuing 
had been the fact that his boss had not yet extracted whatever it 
was she wanted from her.

And Scully had no idea what the hell that was.

The fact that the Fowley woman wanted Mulder came as no surprise. 
Diana had always wanted Mulder and there had been a time when 
Scully was sure the feeling had been mutual. A time much closer to 
the present than she wanted to admit or remember. And, although she 
was confident in Mulder's feelings for her, Scully had to 
acknowledge that Diana Fowley could be dangerous.

Especially in her current state. It was no secret that even though 
the former Agent had at one time given Scully an important piece of 
the puzzle to save Mulder's life, it was also no secret that she 
held only a grudging acceptance of Scully's place in the X-Files.  
She was sure there was zero recognition or acceptance of her place 
in Mulder's personal life as evidenced by the brunette's little 
visit to the Radisson.

Once the black-clad man had released his pressure on her and moved 
away from her--away but not far--Diana had begun again, a 
self-satisfied grin on her face as she watched her subject. She 
wanted answers. To what questions, Scully wasn't sure, but she had 
the distinct feeling she wasn't going to be able to provide those 
answers. At least not to Diana's satisfaction. 

Along with the fact that she was now held firmly in place in the 
wooden chair; ankles lashed securely with electrical tape and her 
hands likewise restrained at the wrists, palms up on the strangely 
modified table. The dual significance of her open hands didn’t go 
unnoticed, as she squirmed, testing the adhesive bonds.  Her first 
thought was for the supplicant posture she was now in. Had Diana 
placed her on her knees, the picture would have been complete. Her 
second thought was for the potential physical damage that could be 
wrought. In a momentary showing of morbid humor, her thoughts 
flitted darkly over the extreme possibilities. Over what Diana, 
through her hired hand, had the power to rob her of -- her career as 
both an Agent and a pathologist. 

She had to figure out why she was here and how to respond to her 
self-appointed judge and jury. One that seemed to be, for all 
intents and purposes, slightly off-center. 

As the man Diana referred to as 'Jorge' grinned, tugging at the 
rectangular wooden surface, Scully winced. Visibly, in spite of 
herself, but the reaction from Jorge's boss was immediate.  "I see 
I've managed to make you a bit uncomfortable," she announced, "and 
maybe now you'd be a little more willing to answer a few questions?" 

Scully watched Diana's hands move to her hips now, and her smile 
widen as she waited for Scully's response. The woman was entirely 
too smug, she thought from her seated vantage point, and she longed 
for a release of her anger and frustration. But she was severely 
hampered and limited by obstacles both figurative and literal. 
Scully felt her pique heading toward the boiling point as Diana 
leaned forward, telling Scully she wasn't sure she'd heard her 
answer. And she made sure that Diana got her answer.  She spit in 
the woman's face. 

The reaction was hair-trigger and swift as Jorge wrenched Scully's 
head back by snarling his beefy fist in her flowing hair. Diana 
drew her arm back, her open hand hitting Scully's cheek with enough 
force to nearly unseat her. Had it not been for the ankle and wrist 
tape, she would surely have landed on the floor. 

The flinty-eyed and former Agent Fowley glowered, her face flushed 
with her slim hold on her fury. Somewhere in the recesses of her 
mind, she knew that she had to bring herself back under control. 
She risked everything if she lost it now. She had no one to blame 
but herself for allowing the sniveling bitch get to her the way 
she just had, provoking her wrath. It was too early in the game. A 
game she didn't plan to lose. No Fowley sibling had ever been a 
loser or a failure and she didn't plan on being the one to break 
with family tradition.

Diana knew from years of observance and study that Dana Scully was 
cold and haughty and yes, self-righteous. A licensed psychiatrist 
would say that she was compensating for what she lacked in physical 
stature, trying to make herself larger in others' eyes, seeking 
approval. She snorted. Dana could compensate all she wanted; Diana 
saw right through it.

What Scully needed was the big picture. And she was about to get it.
In a big way. 

The slap had been gratifying in a purely base, animalistic way, but 
Diana realized she wasn't going to 'break' the little bitch by 
sheer physical force. She'd been through the same training the 
all-too-silent Agent Scully had; knew the special tricks of the 
trade that allowed the captured to remain distant from the captor. 
She knew all that -- and more. Much more than she knew the redhead 
would give her credit for.

But she'd learn. Diana Fowley grew up understanding that experience
was the best teacher and she was just dying to be the teacher 
imparting her vast experience. One way or another Dana was going 
down. 


^*^*^
Radisson Hotel
2:50AM

Storming into the lobby at full speed, Mulder watched the eyes of 
the desk clerk widen as she took in his appearance; her gaze 
hovering -- around his head. He hadn't tried to rake his fingers 
through his hair after leaving his friends' house. It was too damn
windy. And he had neither the time nor the patience to think about
his appearance. Perhaps the Radisson staff just didn't have the 
same appreciation for his too damn worried about Scully look...

As he approached the gleaming dark mahogany registration area, the 
young woman made a valiant effort at a calming smile as she 
welcomed him to the Radisson and asked him if she could help him. 

Drawing a picture from his jacket pocket, he carefully set it on 
the counter in front of her. "Um, yes, " Mulder looked down at her
name tag and smiled wanly, "Marilyn. I was wondering if you could 
tell me if you've seen this woman."  He found it hard to take his 
fingers from the edges of their colorful image, to relinquish the 
photo. The fact that she bent down to meet his gaze and quietly 
set her hand down close to the squared corner caught his attention.

"She's very pretty, isn't she?" Marilyn drew another smile from
him, small though it might be. She gently took the 3X5 square 
print and held it closer, scrutinizing it as if her life depended 
on it. The slight furrow to her brow bothered Mulder for some 
reason he couldn't identify. There was nothing in the 
twenty-something woman's demeanor that set off any internal 
alarms. Tamping down the feeling to focus on gathering the facts, 
he ran one finger across the photo Scully's smile.
 
"What is it," he whispered as if speaking any louder would lend 
more credence to her seeming-worry. His head barely moving, his 
eyes shifted quickly to hers and then back at the picture, where 
they remained. Willing color-print Scully to tell him where she 
was. 

Knowing Marilyn either had or hadn't seen her, Mulder stared at 
the image of the gloriously care-free two-dimensional Scully.  A 
brisk fall afternoon, not unlike yesterday, she'd been sitting on
their bench tucked away, but in sight of the Washington Monument. 
A lazy Sunday with nothing more pressing than whiling away their 
day together. He'd suggested they go for a walk; she'd wanted to 
run. Scully usually got her way; at least in most things, he 
mused, the corners of his mouth quirking upward despite his 
concern for her now.

He'd started off at a slow jog/walk until she'd told him to stop 
trying to baby her. As if to prove her point, she'd sprinted away,
literally leaving him in the cloud of dirt kicked up from 
disturbing the gravel parking lot where they'd left his car. So, 
she was going to play, he'd hissed, already lengthening his 
strides to a pacing lope.

He'd stayed purposefully behind her, most probably to give her a 
head start. More likely to watch the way the hem of the slightly 
flared, rather pared down bike shorts flirted with the soft spot 
on the back of her thigh where it just met her firm butt. Most 
probably.

When she'd called out, wondering why he didn't catch up, he'd 
charged her, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her off her feet.
Amidst her squeals  and mock protestations to put her down. He'd 
known exactly where he wanted to put her down, but he'd complied 
anyway.
 
When she'd turned toward him, running in place and then backwards,
he'd followed like a hungry tom cat in search of his favorite 
catnip. Right up to the point where he'd gotten too close, she'd 
back-swerved and landed on the bench. Neither of them had seen 
the couple with the camera approach, but sixty seconds later, they
were holding a Polaroid of breathless, sweaty and very happy 
Scully on their bench. 

"Excuse me Sir, are you all right?" Mulder became aware of the 
woman's hazel eyes focusing on him.

Waving away her show of concern, he repeated his question, noting
that her look was really one of embarrassment. "What is it?"

Falling just short of stammering, Marilyn explained, "Well, I 
wasn't really as the desk at that time, although it was my 
scheduled shift. I needed a break for personal reasons, so John 
covered for me. I'm pretty sure he's the one who saw her."  

She paused at that point and Mulder knew she was trying to 
remember something. "What were you just thinking," he prompted.

"Well, can you tell me her name? I sorta need to know which room 
she's in to know if I'm right about this. Although I'm not sure 
how it would help, but I figure what the heck." Color rising in 
her face, she averted her eyes, seemingly aware of how she was 
speaking to potential guest. "Um, sorry Sir."

Mulder smiled wanly at her awkwardness, assuring her that there 
was nothing to apologize for. "Her name is Dana Scully."

Tapping a few keys, her eyes lit up as she checked the computer 
screen. "I was right! She's the one."

"The one?" He knew she had said it wasn't anything she thought 
would help, but at this point, any bit of information might prove 
useful.

"She's an FBI Agent, right?" Not waiting for his response, she 
continued in a rush. "She had called the desk earlier and said she 
was accessing some material on her laptop. She wanted to know if 
she could send it down here to print and if someone could kindly 
deliver it to her."

Mulder watched Marilyn giggle and then compose herself. "Sorry. 
It's just that I remember thinking that not all the guests are 
that nice about making requests like that. We always accommodate 
them, but it sure is great when they're polite about it. Anyway, 
we put the papers in a sealed envelope and one of the desk staff 
who was going off duty slid it under her door."

"Thanks, Marilyn, anything you remember is welcomed." Shifting her
back to John, Mulder asked, "Did he tell you something?"

"Well, John's a senior in college over at UVM. He's working his 
way through school. Anyway, when I came back, he was all hot and 
bothered and I immediately figured he'd been eyeing the guests 
again. Boss is really hard on staff who pay too much 'unnecessary 
attention' to the customers." Marilyn had leaned on the counter, 
chin in her hand, conversationally relaying the story to Mulder.
 
"Go on." The two words were spoken calmly and evenly...far from 
his need to tell the woman to speed it up; he had places to go.

"So, John told me he'd seen one of the guests; a woman he'd been 
watching -- not like stalking -- just watching, since she checked 
in. He described your friend here. She *is* your friend, right? 
Anyhow, he said that he saw her go outta here pretty fast," she 
told Mulder almost conspiratorially, "and she was by herself. Told 
me he's seen her a few times with someone who looks sort of like 
you, actually."

Had this been another time or occasion, Mulder might have enjoyed 
talking with both Marilyn and John; they seemed like good kids. 
He mentally corrected himself, they seemed like good young adults.
But not tonight. "Did John see where she went? Was she alone?"

Having warmed to Mulder easily, the dark-haired woman told him, 
"Oh, she was all by herself, he checked her out pretty good. Said 
she drove off in her own car, too, but other than turning right 
out of the turnaround, he wouldn't have been able to see from here.
Hey, is this lady all right?"

"Thanks, Marilyn; you've been very helpful. Tell John thanks, too."
With that, Mulder was heading for the elevators. He stopped halfway 
to his destination, shaking his head at the fact that he'd nearly 
forgotten to request information on Scully's calls.

He turned, calling out to Marilyn, who looked only too pleased to 
be of further assistance.

"Marilyn, could I get a look at the log of calls made to and from 
Ms. Scully's room?" He noted her slight blush as she nodded to him,
already at the computer terminal.

Trying not to let on just how impatient he felt, he willed himself 
to keep his hands by his side when what he wanted to do was jump 
over the counter and gather the information himself.

"Um, Mr. Mulder? It doesn't show any calls being made from her 
room. If there is a way to check calls coming into the room 
directly to her line, only our Engineer would be able to tell me 
that and... uhm, he's gone for the day. If you want, I could call 
him at home. I mean, if the FBI wants to know, he wouldn't mind me 
calling. He's a nice guy and all..." She looked at him, hoping the 
results were favorable.

Frowning slightly, he nodded. He laid a business card on the 
counter for her, asking that she call him if she had any other 
information to report and then headed back to the elevators. 
"Thanks again, Marilyn," he called out.

The elevators where he usually had the worst luck with his cell, 
but for some reason, luck seemed to be with him tonight; make it, 
this morning.  Calling into the Bureau, he asked that calls to and 
from Scully's cell phone be checked. Only to be reminded that 
there was no way to trace them. However, he didn't want to leave 
the possibility of checking incoming calls to her room phone 
unchecked. Before disconnecting, he asked his contact to talk with 
the local phone company for follow-up. In the meantime, he needed 
to find her. Waiting for answers from others was not Fox Mulder's 
modus operandi. 

 
^*^*^
Given Building
Sub-basement Level 2
2:30AM

"Cat got your tongue, Ms. FBI Agent? Where's that precisely elegant 
and eloquent speech?"  Diana's grin widened considerably and in 
direct proportion to the grip she had on Scully's hair.

Then, as fast as her fingers had wound their way in, the tall 
brunette released the shorter woman's hair, pleased with how her 
head bobbed forward, chin nearly slamming into her chest. Purring 
in her victim's ear, Diana admonished her, "You would do well to 
speak when spoken to, Dana." 

Moving away first and then circling round her chair, Diana signaled
to both Jorge and Ward, watching as they bracketed her, forming 
an implacable wall in front of Dana.  Aja remained off to one side,
waiting for further direction.

"Let's try this again," Diana's softly voiced sarcasm got Scully's 
attention, but still she did not raise her head. 

Again, the woman in charge nodded infinitesimally and this time, 
only Jorge moved. Stepping over to stand behind the front and 
center seat, he crouched down. Resting his arms on the upper rung 
of the chair back, his beefy hands firmly grasped Scully's jaw 
line. Digging his thumbs just inside the bones into the soft 
tissues, he applied ever-increasing pressure.

And still Diana received no reply. Bringing the slightest furrow 
to her otherwise impeccable brow line. Her eyes darted to Ward this 
time and she took a few steps away from her center post. She was 
having a deliciously difficult time deciding which was more 
exciting to observe; the way Ward's rippling biceps moved beneath 
his muscle tee as he hefted the wooden stand in position in front 
of Dana or the uncontrollable soupcon of fear that settled into 
the redhead's eyes. Either way, the show was about to begin.

Not wanting to divert her attention from the unfolding scene, 
Diana Fowley nonetheless turned slightly, wondering what had 
become of her assistant and chief scientist. When she located Aja
Sonjah standing in the shadows, she motioned to her, none too 
gently imploring her to join the group. She wasn't sure why the 
doctor seemed reticent, but the brunette was not about to allow 
any hesitation within her team. She didn't want to have to 
physically drag the good doctor, but was not above resorting to 
such tactics. Luckily for them both, Aja seemed to muster her 
earlier self-confidence and took her place alongside the rest.

Jorge had eased off just enough to allow Dana a few unfettered 
breaths as Ward made his preparations. 

With Aja by her side, Diana began a sing-song recitation of what 
was about to take place, her voice high with her excitement. "I'm
sure you're wondering why you're here, dearest Dana. And I can't 
say that I wouldn't be wondering if I were in your shoes either." 
She took two steps to her right, pausing to admire the way Ward 
stretched out approximately three-foot long swaths of electrical 
tape and used his teeth to rip them from the roll. Roughly yanking
Scully's slim ankles to the chair legs, he secured her.

And the former Agent Fowley continued. "Well, I suppose you do 
know part of the reason you're here. Even a dolt could figure that
out and since I give you a bit more credit intelligence-wise, I'll
assume you've drawn some conclusions for yourself. But more about 
that particular line of interrogation later. For now, let's just 
say that I have some questions and I need some answers. You're 
going to supply some for me and I'm going to demonstrate some for 
you."

Hands on her hips now, she nodded again to Jorge, indicating that 
he had given her captor enough breathing time. The brunette tipped 
her head in approval as the sudden sharp pressure got Dana's 
attention. 


^*^*^
Radisson Hotel
3:15AM

The elevator couldn't move fast enough, but still Mulder tried to 
quell his anxiety; that feeling the swallowed him whole whenever 
she was missing, whenever he had no idea what had happened. He was 
swimming in a miasma. The result of his addled mind brewing mild 
fear with a healthy dose of adrenaline-fueled speculation. One 
thought after another was sifted through whatever information he 
could grasp.

Myopic and internalizing, he barely noticed the elevator had 
stopped and then he was at her door. Slicing the keycard through 
the slot, slamming the door out of his way.

"Damnit Scully! Don't you know I can't do this without you," he 
gritted to the empty space around him.

The few files she'd left on the desk went airborne with the sweep 
of his arm, sending the barrister's lamp tottering against the 
wall. Also sending the envelope with the diskette tumbling over 
from its perch against the desk light.

"Where the hell are you?" 

Never one to be able to sit still under the best circumstances, 
Mulder moved restlessly from one corner of the suite to the other, 
a strange human pinball zigging and zagging. But constant movement 
wasn't facilitating any kind of thinking.  And right now, what he 
needed most, was to give his undivided attention to any and all 
clues to her whereabouts.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped into the upholstered chair by the 
desk, one long leg bent and resting on the footstool, the other 
foot on the floor. His eyes darted around the room, taking in as 
many details as he could, moving with methodical inspection. 
Scanning level one included looking for any signs of her distress, 
signs that, god forbid, there had been a struggle or that she had 
left the room under anything but her own steam. He started with the 
door, noting that he'd had to use the keycard to gain entry. 
However, all that told him was that if someone had gotten in 
without her permission, she or he had not forced their way in. A 
visual search of the carpeting revealed no additional foot 
impression, the nap deep enough to hold a slight dip and change in 
shading had there been anyone else in the room other than Scully. 
And now, him.

The next level of inspection included the furnishings. Other than 
the bottle-green shaded desk lamp he had upended, all was as it had
been the last time he was here with her. Followed by the last time 
he was with her at the lab. When he'd left her here to go north 
with Zale and Jemel, she was heading for the lab and they'd agreed 
to meet up when he got back. 

However, he'd resorted to the element of surprise, loving the way 
he could catch her off-guard, the way her face would light up 
despite the fact that he knew she was trying not to allow him to 
affect her. One thing he'd learned since they'd been together is 
that the outwardly reserved and composed Agent Scully could give as
good as she got when it came to him. Although she'd made it quite 
clear that she still had work to do, she hadn't resisted his 
charms. Or maybe it was she who'd charmed him? No matter. The feel 
of her struggling against him and wrapped in his arms made him 
smile. He'd pinned her rather effectively, if he did say so 
himself. But, she'd also been rather effective in turning the 
tables on him. No that he'd minded since it resulted in some 
equally effective groping -- and in a public place no less. 

Barely twelve hours ago. 

No longer content to sit and observe, he first rummaged through the
top desk drawer for her spare cellphone. He shook his head, a small
smile tugging at his lips as he imaged his partner's eyes rolling 
at his need for the spare. Quickly checking and noting that it was 
fully charged, he turned it on and called Kimberley. The 
conversation was confined to relaying his new number and then he 
slipped the phone into his pants pocket. 

He then covered the short distance to the bed -- the very neatly 
Made bed where no sign of her existed. Other than her scent on the 
pillows that he noted when he pulled the spread back to check 
for... He wasn't sure what he was checking for, but it felt 
necessary -- important. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he went 
back to the desk, picking up the files and carrying them back over 
to the king-size mattress.

He watched as some of the pages casually fluttered to the 
muted-stripe covering, the file folders landing half-opened, half 
remaining closed. She'd been working on something, most likely the 
paste again. Turning around, the thought still weighing heavily, he
checked to see if he'd missed anything. Satisfied the desk's 
surface was now clear, he moved again to the bed where he sagged, 
the weight of another search for Scully weighing on him heavily. 
Willing himself to hold on, he leaned sideways, elbow bent, his 
head in his hand as he tried to make some sense of her work.

The first file folder contained information from various web sites. 
From the sheaf of papers, he gathered she'd either made some 
interesting discovery or she'd made a new supposition. The article 
titles seemed to fall into those two categories -- as much as his 
highly non-scientific mind could fathom. It was the top page that 
brought both a snort of laughter and surprise. The Steps in the 
Scientific Method by Lambert Dolphin. He found himself wondering 
why on earth a scientist with her background would have printed it, 
would have any need for it. Heck, she could probably recite it 
chapter and verse to him with more detail than he cared to know. He
tossed the paper to the other side of the bed, watching it slide 
across the surface of the spread.

The next set of documents were printed from the site for the 
International Center for Scientific Research, various individual 
pages of information from Asian and Eastern European countries 
were neatly filed in order by the specific organization. And then 
he saw the pattern; at least in this batch. Remembering the 
Gunmen's report on Aja Sonjah,he realized these were the countries 
in which the good doctor had done some of her work over the years. 
<What were you on to, Scully?>

The second file folder appeared to have more formulae than words.
From what he could gather, there were pages of biological, chemical
and possibly physics information. Quickly, but thoroughly scanning 
each of the five pages, he noted one word in common:  'catalyst'. 
Or some form of the word. 

The picture was becoming only a little clearer, but his interest 
was piqued. He never doubted her ability to tease out any and all 
threads to a problem. Her methodical and ordered way of laying out 
the issues and asking the right questions never ceased to amaze 
him. Never ceased to challenge him. But he needed her here to help 
him. No, make that 'tell' him what she had learned. He thought he 
might be able to make a rudimentary connection based on what little
their captors had chosen to share back in the sci-fi lab on Cat 
Island and what he'd observed when Diana had taken her unplanned 
trip through the portal. 

'Catalyst'. 

For what? He knew that from her perspective, this would be the key.

And he desperately wanted to ask her about it. But, reviewing 
anymore of her files wasn't going to bring her back. Shoving the 
papers back into their folders, he turned to stand.

And noticed the square white envelope laying against the hemmed edge
of the floor-length drapes beneath the desk. 

His brows drawing together, bending down to look a little closer, he
saw the trailing end of her precise handwriting on the front. His 
name; or the last few letters of it. On hands and knees, he ducked 
under the desk, his thumb and index finger retrieving the envelope. 


^*^*^