Gabriel
Chapter Six


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Outside Denver, Colorado
September 17, 2001
10:14 a.m.


He couldn't have been dazed for more than a
few moments, as he heard the rustle of leaves
come closer.  The sun blared into Gabriel's
swollen eyes and he gasped, lowering his head
against the bright pain.

"Easy, man," came the murmur beside him, as the
huge arms sat him upright.  "Hold on - lemme cut
you out o' these."

As soon as his hands were free, Gabriel reached
up to tenderly examine his itchy face, asking
Jesse in a rush, "Is it dead?"

Jesse cut the rope around Gabriel's ankles in
one neat slice and looked up from his crouch,
puzzlement clouding his face.  "Is what dead?"

Gabriel didn't have time to explain; he got up
and swayed in place, adrenaline waning in a
heartbeat.  "Shit."

"Yo, man, take it easy," Jesse said, holding him
up with both hands.  "I don't see no one around
but you, Gabe.  What the hell you doin' tied up
in the back of that truck, anyway?"

"Better question is - what the hell are you
doing following us?"  Though thankful Jesse had
freed him, Gabriel was pissed at the way his
friend had put himself in danger by coming after
him.  Jesse was still in danger, as was Gabriel. 
He grabbed the knife from Jesse's hand and moved
toward the overturned vehicle, giving his
rescuer a stern warning.  "Stay back."

Against Jesse's muttered curse of protest,
Gabriel staggered to the truck, knife held out.

"God damn it, Gabe -"

"Stay back!" he hissed, waving Jesse away.  To
his relief, the man didn't follow him, though
Jesse's salty language trailed after him,
echoing in the close confines of the forest.

He crept up to the broken driver's side window
and peeked in.  Nothing but some torn clothes,
half-melted by the now harmless green blood. 
Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment. 
Yes, it was dead.  But it took its destination
and *her* whereabouts with it to hell.

Shit.  He hadn't meant to kill it, only
incapacitate it temporarily until he could slip
from the truck.  Sure, it would have followed
him - but at least he would have had time to
come up with a plan of action.  Now he was once
again without direction.

A thought suddenly came to him - no, he wasn't. 
The road they'd been on winded up into the
mountains; the *only* road, as far as he could
see.  He scrambled up the incline, hearing Jesse
behind him.

Only to be greeted by the skittish whinny of a
huge horse, its chestnut coat gleaming in the
sunshine with beads of sweat.  "Whoa," he
murmured, holding up his hands.

His ticket out of here, he knew.

"Fuck, man," Jesse growled beside him.  "Don't
go scaring off our ride back.  I don't feel like
walkin'."

Gabriel slid the knife into his belt and reached
for the reins of the animal, soothing murmurs
interspersed between his question to Jesse.
"Where the hell did you get the horse?"

"I stole it from outside the Silver Moon." 
Jesse's teeth flashed in a satisfied smile. 
"When you didn't come back to the room after ten
minutes, I left Layla with a big smile on her
face and snuck into the hall.  Just in time to
see this big, ugly sucker draggin' your ass down
the back stairs."  A rare shine of embarrassment
made him chuckle.  "Fuckin' thing threw me three
times.  Took me forever to catch up with you."

"You didn't have to come after me," Gabriel
muttered.

"Sure I did," the man answered, as if Gabriel
were nuts for thinking otherwise.  "We gotta get
back to the camp, Gabe.  Train's leavin' at noon
and we gotta be on it."

Hating what he was about to do to Jesse, his
gaze skirted the woods around him and he said,
"I'm not going back."  The road before him
beckoned and he stared at the way it disappeared
around the next bend.

"You're not going back?"  Jesse was incredulous. 
"Man, what the fuck you talkin' about?  You
comin' back with me."  He took a step forward.

Gabriel brought the knife up and slowly drew the
horse away.  "Back off," he warned, giving Jesse
a narrowed stare.  Though his eyes still felt
like shit, he could see well enough to defend
himself, if necessary.  Not that he wanted it to
come down to that, but he was determined to
continue.  "I'm going up that road and you're
not going to stop me."

"Aw, man - don't do this.  They're gonna come
after you," Jesse pleaded, hands raised as
Gabriel kept moving away with the horse.  "Is
she worth all this trouble?"

Clenching his jaw, he ignored the question as he
lifted himself onto the horse's back.  It danced
a bit in the rocky dirt, but didn't bolt. 
Gabriel wasn't a horseman by any means, but he
silently thanked his long-gone mother for
forcing him to hobnob with the rich and at least
learn how to handle a country club horse his
fourteenth summer back on the Vineyard.  Like
riding a bike, he knew, taking firm hold of the
reins as he turned back to Jesse, who stood some
yards away, sputtering with frustration.

"Gabe, you can't -"

"Sorry to make you walk back, Jesse," he said,
with a snap of his wrist tossing the knife into
the dirt at Jesse's feet.  The horse turned at
the press of his knee and he rode away, flinging
over his shoulder, "You should be able to make
the noon train if you start now.  So long."

Jesse's voice followed him up the trail.  "You
motherfucker!  Don't you leave me like this!"

Gabriel felt awful for Jesse's long walk back to
town, but he wasn't about to stop, the horse
picking up speed at his urging.  He took one
last look over his shoulder as he rounded the
curve in the road.  Jesse was still muttering,
though he'd turned in the opposite direction.
Good.  He was going back.

That off his mind, Gabriel surged forward, not
knowing where the road would end... but damned
determined to find out.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 20, 2001
1:57 p.m.


The room was alive with activity and Mulder
could feel their energy bounce off the walls. 
So close now... just a couple more days, then
he'd be out and on his way.  The guys were
looking over the papers with a fine-toothed comb
as Mulder paced, his hair swinging out behind
him like an avenging angel.

"Quit wearing a hole in the floor, Mulder,"
Frohike murmured, not looking up from his
magnifying glass.  "Sit down before you run into
something."

"What the hell would I run into?" he asked, his
jaw clenched as he kept making a circle around
the table.

"Oh, you'd find something," Frohike answered
with a wry huff.  "I've never seen a man more
susceptible to injury.  Not that you're clumsy,
just... face it, you attract trouble."

That was the understatement of the year.  Mulder
finally gave in to the bit of truth in Frohike's
words and sat at the table, though his fingers
drummed against it like sharp taps of a hammer.

"So - think we can all set out tomorrow?"  He
was understandably anxious and it wasn't like
him to bow to another's decision-making,
especially Frohike's.  But the little man had
grown into a leader and Mulder had let him take
over the role, at first too worn out physically
to protest.  Then, as time went by, he found
that lifting the burden of command from his
shoulders was a good thing for him mentally as
well.  It freed him to concentrate, to make his
mind ready for what was bound to be a difficult
journey.

What if they never found her?  Could he stand to
give up one day?  No.  As long as he had breath
and the wits to survive, he'd never stop
looking.

"Yeah," Frohike said, shoving the paper to
Langly, who waited patiently to peruse it a
second time.  "Maybe late tomorrow, but I figure
we each have a good two days or so of walking
and hitching to get to a company depot."

They were all setting out in different
directions; according to the company bulletins
posted on the Internet, there were sign-up
depots scattered in the major metropolitan
areas.  Men who wanted to work were asked to
show up at the train depot each morning.  You
got picked, you got on a train.

Mulder had picked St. Louis - the Gateway to the
West.  He'd didn't quite know why at the time,
though something was telling him deep inside to
follow the sun.  Good a place as any to start,
he figured.

"Remember... try to stay off the main roads.  If
you can get a safe ride, do it, but don't put
yourself in danger, understand?" Frohike warned,
looking straight at Mulder.

Byers and Langly grunted their agreement and
Mulder nodded, though he knew he'd take any
chance at all to plunge ahead.

"Looks like we have papers, gentlemen," Byers
broke in with a smile, looking up from the last
of them.

Mulder still couldn't get used to Byers without
a beard.  And that long hair?  God, did he
himself look that ridiculous?  It was like
straw, sticking out in all directions, the
strands waving at each other.

Frohike had shaved his head to a fine, stiff
crewcut that matched the gray stubble on his
face.  His vitality now was something to behold; 
gone were the loose jowls of fat and dull, mousy
eyes behind thick glasses.  He'd gone out about
a month ago and stayed gone for a week while
they wondered and worried.  Then he'd simply
walked in one sunny day, sans glasses.  He'd
found a traveling doctor, he'd said.  One who'd
fitted him with a pair of contact lenses from
his wagon of medical goods.  Traded his glasses
for them, he smiled.  Along with the only issue
of Celebrity Skin he had left in his possession; 
Mulder had laughed, knowing Frohike guarded that
with his life, carrying it around everywhere.

Frohike, despite his newfound confidence, was
still a geek at heart.  Willing to try anything
to charm the ladies, though he did so on the
pretense of ridding himself of an identifying
piece of goods.

That wasn't fair, Mulder told himself.  Frohike
was doing the best he could - hell, they were
*all* doing their best.  For her.  For the one
constant in their miserable little lives, the
one ray of sunshine left in a decimated,
desolate world.

"A few final touches," Frohike drawled, "then
we're all set."  He looked pointedly at Langly.

As they all did, waiting for the argument to
come.  Which wasn't but a second's pause away.

"C'mon, guys - I can tuck it under a cap." 
Gulping, he sat up straighter in his chair and
shoved his glasses up his nose.  "It's not that
distinctive, really."

Mulder could have laughed out loud at the panic
on Langly's face.  Instead, he threw a glance at
Frohike, urging him on with a knit of his brow
as if to say, put your foot down.

"You know the plan, Ringo.  Short becomes long
and long becomes short."  Frohike's voice was
adamant but soothing, as he stood.  He mirrored
Mulder's look, arching a brow for help.

Mulder rose as well; so did Byers, who sauntered
over to the cabinet on the far wall with a
whistle.  Langly sputtered, though he was
obviously too scared to move.  "I can dye it! 
Black - we gotta have something around here -"

His protest was cut short as Frohike grabbed his
arms, pinning him to the chair as he pulled
Langly's wrists behind him.  "It'll be over
before you know it," he whispered.

Mulder crouched before Langly, grabbing hold of
his flailing legs.  "Look at it this way,
Ringo," he said with a rueful smile, "if I could
trade places with you, I would."  He hated his
long hair and hoped for the day it would all be
cut off.

Preferably by a pair of slim, white hands.

At the first snip of the scissors in Byers'
hands, Langly wailed, "My manhood..."

"Shut up, you wuss," Frohike growled.

Mulder's eyes met Frohike's over Langly's
crestfallen face.  Frohike smiled and gave
Mulder a wink.  "You wanna find Scully, don't
you?" he directed at Langly.  Frohike was
enjoying this way too much, Mulder could see.

A sniffle and then, "Yeah."

Frohike gave his arms a shake.  "Then be a man. 
You don't see Mulder complaining about all that
hair, do you?"

The golden locks kept falling into Langly's lap
and he raised teary eyes to Mulder, though he
answered Frohike.  "That's because she doesn't
give a shit how *he* looks.  I have a reputation
to uphold with the chicks."

They were all silent for a moment or two as that
statement echoed in the room.  Then Frohike
chuckled and Byers joined in, followed by
Mulder.  Before long, laughter filled the air
around them, including Langly's.  Suddenly
struck by how ridiculous they all looked, how
*unfamiliar*, it occurred to them all that this
plan just might work.

As Langly sobered, he lifted his head and nodded
for Byers to continue, leveling Mulder with a
fierce stare, his voice snide, but brave.  "You
better hold on to her this time, doofus...
'cause this is the *last* time this hair's
coming off, got it?"

Mulder smiled.  "I'll do my best... Samson."

The name looked fine on Langly's new papers.


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
6:45 p.m.


Gabriel was exhausted and he knew the horse was
just about pushed to its limits.  Sunset had not
crept up on him - it had roared in a few minutes
ago, as darkness slammed onto the road.  The
narrow trail had gotten increasingly more
treacherous and overgrown, with the forest
growing dense and wild on both sides. 

Hours had passed and by his estimate, he'd gone
maybe twenty miles deeper into the mountains. 
It was slow-going and frustration gnawed at his
gut; slight panic enveloped him as he realized
he may not find what he was looking for after
all.  Not tonight, anyway.  The unforgiving line
of trees to either side of him seemed to press
on him, mocking his purpose.  But he shook it
off and sighed in the midst of the rising buzz
of insects.  The horse hung his head and Gabriel
decided it was time for a rest, or the animal
would simply die under him.  He heard a trickle
of water nearby and as the moon rose, he could
see a spring to the left.

He slowly dropped himself to the ground and led
the animal to the water, where he fell to his
knees beside it.  It tasted good, clear and cold
as it soothed his parched throat.  A few
splashes to his still swollen eyes felt even
better, almost refreshing.  Again, he lowered
his head to drink greedily then sat back as the
horse kept nuzzling the water a few feet
downstream.

With a small groan, he laid back against the
undergrowth and listened to the night sounds
float on the breeze.  He drew his jacket closer,
shivering against the cool ground beneath him. 
But he welcomed the soft, natural mattress of
leaves and closed his eyes.  A few minutes sleep
was all he needed, then he'd start again.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 21, 2001
8:57 p.m.


"Traveling at night should be safer and easier,"
Frohike said, as they checked themselves one
last time.  "Try to keep out of the populated
areas, but don't stray too far off the beaten
path - lots of hungry people out there."

Mulder nodded, knowing the world was more
dangerous now than any concrete jungle had ever
been.  As he folded his forged papers and put
them in his pocket, he took one last look at his
friends.

Byers - Fitzgerald now, at his insistence he
keep some part of himself intact - fidgeted with
his worn coveralls as if it was a painful cloak
of horsehair.  Somehow, he didn't look lost in
the unfamiliar clothes; to Mulder, Byers looked
as he always had when faced with a challenge...
frightened, but unwilling to let it show.

Admiration welled up in Mulder for them all as
he watched them transform from wannabes to
warriors.  From Langly's unconscious rubbing of
his shorn scalp to Frohike's donning of his
fingerless gloves, the little nuances of their
personalities meshed into a cohesive show of
force.

It gave Mulder pause and he wondered if they
could possibly survive without each other. 
They'd been together for so long, just like he
and Scully... and he knew what life was like
without her.  The guys worked best as a unit,
that was plain to see.  Was he doing the wrong
thing by letting them separate for his cause? 
Sure, it was because of Frohike's orders, but
Mulder knew he could have walked out of here a
month ago and they'd have been unable to stop
him.  Of course, they'd have followed anyway. 
So maybe it was best they'd planned it this way
- they'd had time to strengthen their cccombined
resolve.

"I'm reporting to the company office in Arkansas
right away," Frohike said, reiterating the
location of their home base, so to speak.  A
week before, he'd gone to the nearest depot and
offered his services to the company as a master
of computers and technology, hoping for just
such an assignment.  Mulder could have hit him
when he found out where Frohike had gone,
thinking his friend was sure to get into
trouble.

But Frohike returned with a big smile and a job
in Little Rock - he'd convinced the company's
recruiters he had business to settle before he
could join up.  To their surprise, the company
had agreed, letting him report a week later -
they were desperate for men with intelligence...
and self-confidence, Frohike had laughed.

Yeah, Frohike had that in spades, Mulder
thought, as he listened to the guy's bark.  "As
soon as you get settled, find a computer.  Check
into the newsgroup at least once a week.  When
we have a solid lead, we'll meet, okay?  And I
mean a *solid* lead, Mulder - got that?"

"What if I get lonesome?"  He winked at Frohike
and was rewarded with a huff.

"You still got your right hand, don't you?"  As
soon as the words left his mouth, Frohike paled. 
"I'm sorry, man - I didn't mean to -"

Mulder brought his right hand up and flexed the
trembling fingers.  "Don't sweat it, Melvin." 
He didn't want Frohike to feel guilty for a slip
of the tongue, but neither did he feel like
pursuing the subject.  Instead, he brought his
head up with a small smile, extending his hand
in a effort to hold it steady.  "Well guys, this
is it.  See ya around."

With murmurs of goodbye, Langly and Byers shook
his hand and disappeared out the door.  They
were traveling together as far as Cincinnati,
where they would take off into opposite
directions.

Frohike motioned for Mulder to go as well and he
did, following the long tunnel cut into the rock
to the surface.  He heard the slam of the steel
door behind him and as he stepped into the clear
night air, he paused, waiting for Frohike to
come up behind him.

In a few seconds, Frohike had joined him.  They
were also traveling together the first leg of
their journey, but that was only to the depot
where Frohike had signed up.  Mulder thought it
best he continue to St. Louis before putting his
papers to the test and Frohike had agreed.

"Help me out with this, Mulder," Frohike said,
pulling on the camouflage netting after he shut
the wooden door to the tunnel.

Mulder complied and, after they'd draped the
blanket of leaves and brush over the doorway,
they picked up the wooden slat that barred the
door and slipped it into place.  "Condemned"
reflected back at them in the pale moonlight. 
The bunker now had all the characteristics of a
mine long abandoned; it was rather sad to be
leaving it behind and Mulder knew that the guys
were more disturbed by it than he was.  It was
comfortable to them - a hole filled with all the
necessities... computers, food, and computers.  

But there was no way they could ever come back
here once they'd found Scully.  Rendevous, if
and when it came, was already set in a place far
from here.  Where friends awaited and life was
good, they understood.  In the wilds of Canada
with Walter Skinner, where they could all live
out their lives in peace.  

The archived data from the computers had been
transferred yesterday, including Scully's notes
on the vaccine.  Sent through a secure satellite
connection to Skinner - all they needed now was
Scully.  Her notes had been very precise and
useful, but the lack of qualified personnel
hampered the vaccine's perfection.  With the
vaccine, they'd never have to worry about
invasion again.  With her, they'd find a
qualified savior.

That wasn't why Mulder wanted her back, though. 
And everyone knew it.  Vaccine be damned - he
wanted to put his arms around her and let
himself dissolve into the safety of her embrace.

"Come on, let's go," he murmured, turning toward
the future.

Frohike didn't follow and Mulder halted after a
few steps, the question on his face as he turned
back.

"Uh... I didn't want to give you this in front
of the other two, Mulder."  He reached into the
zippered pocket of his jacket.

"What?"  Mulder was impatient.  "Everything's in
order, right?"

"Yeah, this is just a little present from me to
you."  Frohike handed the paper to him.

As Mulder unfolded the paper, the moon emerged
from behind the high clouds and he caught his
breath at the face in his hands.

It was her.  Scully.  Julia.  Whoever - it was
her.  "Where did you get this?"

"Found it in the data dump yesterday - must've
picked it up from the Administration's network. 
Figured you'd want it."  Frohike shrugged, a
sheepish grin fading.  "Or not.  I'll take it
back -"

"No."  Mulder knew he looked like he'd had the
wind kicked out of him; did Frohike think he
wouldn't want a photo of her?  Even if she
didn't look the same?  He didn't give a shit
what she looked like.  Raising hot eyes to
Frohike he whispered, "Thanks."

Frohike stepped forward, lowering his voice to
firmness of steel.  "No matter what she's done,
she's still Scully.  You understand that, don't
you?"

Mulder bit his lip and nodded, unable to speak.

"And if you *ever* hurt her, in any way, ever
again... you'll answer to me.  Got it?"  A sharp
poke at Mulder's chest punctuated the warning.

Mulder fell into step beside him, gently folding
the paper and putting in the pocket of his
shirt.  "Frohike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd never hurt her.  Not intentionally.  You
know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, buddy," he sighed.  "But sometimes it
doesn't work out that way.  Sometimes nothing
works out the way you want it to."


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
7:45 p.m.


Gabriel awoke with a start and sat up, leaves
scattering at his abrupt movement.  His horse
stood nearby, picking at the grass with lazy
nudges.  Other than the horse's shuffling, there
was only the sound of the wind in the trees. 
But a nagging uneasiness made him move and he
stood, shushing the horse with a hand to its
neck.

He fumbled for the photo in his pocket, as if he
half expected it to be missing.  But no, it was
there, and he pulled it out, fisting it as if
seeking strength from the smooth, calm face. 
The partial moon cast the colors in gray, just
like the night.  Just like the feeling he had
that the gray was hiding the red approach of
danger.

He had to get moving.  Something wasn't right,
but you couldn't tell it from the stillness...

"Shit," he muttered, finally figuring out what
the animals of the forest had already. 
Something - or someone - was out there lurking. 
Quickly but quietly, he got on the horse and
started up the road again, scanning the trees
for danger.  He went slowly at first, then gave
the horse a nudge.  Before long, he was at a
nice gallop, leaving the bad feeling far behind.

There was nothing to be afraid of; he was just
nervous.  Why shouldn't he be?  He set his
sights on the next rise and surged forward.  As
he made it to the top of the hill, the horse
suddenly shied, almost throwing him.

"Whoa," he said, as a smattering of bats came
out of the trees.  They were gone as quickly as
they'd come, frightening the horse more than
him, though his heart thudded in his chest.

It became even more frantic at the glow in the
distance.  It didn't frighten him, though...
he'd gotten to the point where a light in the
sky was rather ho-hum.  No, this wasn't a
tractor beam, or a star ship... not even a
little piece of metal that had blossomed into a
bright, traveling sun.  This was better than any
of those... on a par with the old 'hoaxster with
a garbage can lid and a flashlight'.

Why?  Because it was very much of this world. 
Faint, but there - at the summit of the incline,
he supposed.  Probably a couple of miles further
up the road, nestled into the mountainside like
a beacon.

A dwelling, a building of some sort.  Definitely
big, as he adjusted his sight to take in the
pinpricks of other lights scattered here and
there, like candles in windows.

He'd found it.  He looked at the photo again and
smiled.

Suddenly, he was flat on his back, his horse
scampering away into the night.  The piece of
paper flew from his fingers and he tried to
catch it, but it was gone.  "Son of a -"

"Shut up."  Harsh, black hands grabbed him from
the ground as another's pinned his arms behind
his back.  Hot, coffee-dark breath bled through
the knit-covered face before him.  "Private
property, asshole."

The slam to the side of his head made him see
stars, but he managed to focus again in a second
or two.  His first thought - the company had
sent the territorial police after him.  But that
couldn't be; he was only a few hours gone and
they didn't mobilize that fast.  He figured he'd
have at least a day's head start on them, if
they even bothered in this wilderness.

No, these were commandos of some sort.  Dressed
from head to toe in black, their faces and heads
covered until only their eyes shone in the night
with feral menace.  There were two he could see
- the one in front of him and the one hhe knew
was holding him from behind.  There was at least
one more, as the one in front nodded to the side
and said, "Go after the horse.  Take it up to
the Ranch - *quietly*."

The Ranch.  Now Gabriel knew that *was* a
fortress he'd seen in the distance.  Guarded by
some pretty fancy firepower, as he noted the
automatic weapons each man clutched.  "Hey guys,
I'm a bit lost -"

His words were cut off by the gun butt to his
stomach.  "Shut the fuck up."  The gun came up
again, this time barrel first, pressing against
his temple.

"No, man," came the hiss from behind Gabriel. 
"No gunfire, remember?"  His voice became
sarcastic.  "Can't disturb the princess."

What?  Gabriel's ears were roaring from the
pain.  What had the goon said?

"I got a better idea.  We could make like he
deserted the company - save the territorial
police some trouble, eh?"

"Yeah, but make it quick.  Damn, what's the use
of carrying these guns if we can't use 'em?"

In moments, Gabriel was being dragged into the
woods.  As they went deeper into the darkness,
he regained some of his strength and began to
fight the hold, elbowing the man behind him.

"You motherfucker!" he heard in his ear,
followed by the sickening *pop* of something
tearing in his left shoulder.

Gabriel screamed, a low, hoarse bellow of pain
that echoed in the trees.  With his right arm at
half-strength and his left now useless, he
sagged against the ground, his body giving up
the fight for a dizzying moment.

Next thing he knew, he was hanging from a tree,
the rope around his neck slowly cutting off his
air.  He groped with his right hand at the vise
and heard laughter above his wheezing.

"No use fighting it, man.  Say bye-bye."

Their laughter faded into the woods as he
struggled.  God, he couldn't breathe; the rope
hadn't broken his neck, not yet.  But it was
only a matter of moments before it would choke
him to death.

All else went from his mind except for one
thought: he was going to fail.  He was never
going to see her again.

He went limp as he fell into unconsciousness.


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
8:00 p.m.


"Easy."

The whisper penetrated his ears as he gasped for
breath.

"Gently, Matthew, gently."  Fingers pulled at
the rope around Gabriel's neck.  "Breathe...
breathe... it's okay."

Gabriel sucked in a ragged, painful breath, and
his throat felt like it was on fire.  Strong
arms cradled him and he tried to open his eyes,
but found the effort was too much.

"Miss?"  Another voice, this one rumbling under
his back.  Deeper, louder, but not by much.  "We
need to get out of here."

With that, Gabriel felt himself begin to move. 
He was being carried, that much he knew.
Screaming pain radiated from his shoulder and he
jerked against the hold.  Movement ceased for a
moment and he felt his legs settle against the
ground.  Rough fingers clamped around his
shoulder and he spasmed again, trying to avoid
the pain.

"I don't think it's dislocated, Miss.  But it's
been injured - he doesn't want me touching it."

His whole body seemed to be one big mass of pain
and he struggled to get his eyes open.  When he
did, he knew he shouldn't have, as the trees
spun around him.

"Oh, no," came the mutter above him.  "Miss,
he's puking."

The voice that answered was muffled, but close. 
"Put him on his side, quickly."

Gabriel felt what little was in his stomach come
right up as the soothing voice continued. 
"Don't worry.  You're okay."

God, he thought.  He must be in heaven, because
that voice sounded so familiar, so beloved.  It
was impossible, though - what the hell would she
be doing out here?  Yeah, he knew she was close,
but he couldn't be *that* lucky.

"Okay, let's go."

Gabriel knew they were on the move again and he
decided that it wasn't her - he was beginning to
become feverish with pain, that was all.  He
could feel his body light up with painful fire
as his skin burned.  But whoever it was, they
weren't going to hurt him.  That much he knew. 
He let himself go again, this time knowing he'd
be back.


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
8:45 p.m.


Murmurs drifted into his ears and he fought the
waves that dragged him down, slowly turning his
head to the warmth at his right.  He licked his
parched lips and slowly cracked open his eyes,
trying to focus on the figures that danced
before the fire light.  One tall and obviously
tense, its stance hovering over the smaller,
cloaked wraith at his side.

"We've got the shoulder set, Miss," the man was
saying.  "I don't think it's a good idea for you
to spend the night here tonight.  Whoever did
this to him could still be in the woods.  It'd
be safer if we spent the night at the Ranch."

The Ranch?  Gabriel jerked at that, struggling
against his confinement.  In the next instant,
he realized he wasn't confined.  In fact, he was
naked.  Stretched out upon a bed so soft he
seemed to melt into the mattress.  His left arm
was bound to his body; immobilized by strips of
material.  Several blankets weighed him down,
but they felt so good, as he shivered with
fever.  He opened his mouth to ask for water,
but found he couldn't speak.

"He needs someone to look after him, Matthew,"
the little one said.  "At least until his fever
breaks."

"I'm taking you home, Miss - no arguments.  Then
I'll come back and stay with him for a while,
okay?  You can come back in the morning."

Water, he needed water.  God damn it, why
weren't they looking at him?  He dragged his
right hand out from under the covers and tried
to get their attention.  All he succeeded in
doing was knocking down the water pitcher on the
night stand.

The two figures stopped their arguing and turned
to stare at him, their faces shadowed.

Yeah, it's me, he wanted to shout.  Get me some
fucking water!

The little one whispered something to the one
called Matthew, who moved forward to get the
pitcher.  He slipped out of sight and Gabriel
hoped he was going for water.

"Are you thirsty?"  The voice came from beneath
the hood of the cloak, the mouth speaking hidden
by its black folds.

Gabriel nodded and he closed his eyes as the
glass came closer.  The bed sagged by his side
and he drank, coughing at the slide of the water
down his damaged throat.

"Slowly."

He couldn't drink anymore; he let his head fall
back as his eyes opened.

The rumble of joy started from deep within
him... his chest heaved, his eyes burned, his
hand shook as it brushed the soft velvet at his
hip.

"Okay?"

Her smile was gentle, her profile lit with gold
from the fire light, and her eyes - he caught
his meager breath at the startling blue he'd
only seen in his dreams these many months.

And he was helpless to stop it.

Her brow creased as her smile faded.  "Shh...
don't cry..."  Her hand - her cool, soft fingers
- brushed his forehead and temple.  "Yoou're
okay, you're going to be all right."

God, it was her.  Jesus, Joseph and all the
angels... he'd found her.  She'd found *him*.

Leaning closer, she searched his face, her
whisper meant for his ears alone.  "Are you the
one?"

The one?  What was she talking about?  God, yes,
he was the one... anything, anyone she wanted
him to be.  A fresh onslaught of tears blurred
his vision.

She pressed forward, desperation lighting her
eyes.  "Are you?"

"Miss?"

She turned from him and he latched on to her
wrist.  No, damn it.  She couldn't leave - she
might never come back.  Or worse... maybe he was
delirious and she wasn't really there at all. 
All this talk of being the 'one', wavering
pictures of black cloaks and huge hands...
maybe it was just a dream.

Giving a tug, he forced her to look back, his
tears clouding his vision.  Stay, he wanted to
cry out.  Scully!

"Sleep now," she was saying over the panicked
thump of his heart.  "I'll come back tomorrow."

But he refused to let her go, using his last
remaining bit of strength to hold on.  He
struggled to sit up and she sucked in a breath,
fright erasing her concern.

"Matthew..."

"God damn it, Scully - it's me!"  His lips
moved, but no sound came out.  The words were
stuck somewhere in his chest and it was too
painful to force them through his vocal cords. 
He began to hyperventilate, though his grip
remained strong.

"Matthew!"  She stood, yanking at his hold, fear
making tears come to her eyes.

No, no... it's me, Scully... no...

"Let go," came the growl above him.  A hand
wrapped around his arm and another pushed at his
chest.  "I don't want to hurt you."

But Gabriel didn't care - she was leaving him
again.  God, after all this time, she was only
there for a minute.  It was cruel.  It was God
punishing him for all he'd done - a God he
hadn't believed in until now.  A vengeful God
who laughed at him, letting him see her one last
time only to take her away.

Sobs made him gasp for air and he felt her
slender arm slip from his fingers as he fell
back, the lack of oxygen finally catching up
with him as his eyes rolled back in his head.


End Chapter Six