Diametrically Opposed
by mountainphile

************
Chapter 21
************

Beneath the Knoll complex, Hocking, Ohio
March 16, 2001
Early evening

During the heady minutes following their reunion the Toskala 
brothers seemed indissoluble.  They kissed one another on the 
cheek in the manner of European men and embraced.  Tusk's 
hands and arms shifted to grip, pat, clutch, and hug, 
absorbing this miracle of survival.  

He also wiped away the red smudge from his brother's mouth -- 
blood that wasn't Stefan's -- and held him afterward with his 
eyes squeezed shut.  Some things, Scully knew with a glance 
toward the dead guard, must have impacted him much deeper than 
others.

"What does 'Isoveli' mean?" she asked Mole.   

"I think it's the Finnish word for big brother.  Man, I was 
just a kid in high school back then, but I can remember that 
Stefan was really into languages and his Finn roots."

When it was time for introductions, Stefan took Scully's hands 
in his, caressing them with a touch that was surprisingly 
gentle.  "Your lady?" he inquired of Tusk.

"I wish.  But no, Dana's our friend, bro.  She's helping us 
get you out of here."

Signs of mental trauma were evident in Stefan Toskala, she 
saw.  Polite and attentive one moment, short-circuited the 
next, with a blank smile on his face.  Under coercion or 
strong emotion the man inside couldn't quite force the body 
outside to convey the appropriate response.  

But his house wasn't truly empty, Scully realized after 
looking deep into his eyes.  Rather, its disoriented owner 
wandered and called through the darkened rooms, but no one 
listening on the outside could fully interpret his garbled 
cries for help.

"It's good to have friends," said Stefan, and he patted 
Scully's shoulder, his smile so sincere and engaging it seemed 
guileless.  "A friend with a gun is even better," he added a 
moment later, his gaze dropping to the slight bulge on her 
left side. 

"FBI--" she started, then stopped. 

The sage, more adult turn-of-phrase had caught her off guard.  
Apparently he was capable of intelligent and lucid thought.  
If Mulder were with them he could not only empathize with 
Stefan's predicament, but would also have the background to 
evaluate his mental acumen and eccentricities. 

When the second team arrived minutes later Cricket went head-
over-heels into ecstasy.  Tusk stepped aside to give her space 
and she dove in.  Her arms around Stefan, then Tusk, then 
Stefan again, she laughed, cried, and reveled in the long-
awaited restoration of her immediate family circle.  

The word "sisar", repeated over and over by Stefan, needed no 
translation. 

Footer had angled the guard's larger flashlight around so it 
backlit the group, allowing them to save battery power.  With 
first aid on Mole completed, Tusk packed up his kit.  Scully 
patted down the guard for ID and retrieved his .44 from the 
dirt.  She also requested that Mason drag the corpse to a far 
corner where it would be less conspicuous, after Cricket cast 
several anxious looks in its direction.    

With one hostage accounted for and the labs still out of their 
reach, she felt a niggle of impatience.  But the details of 
Amanda Carmichael's impending rescue were something she'd have 
to discuss with their leader, who was nowhere to be seen.  

"Where's Tusk?" she asked Mason, motioning toward the second 
gun.  "I want him to be armed when we go in for Amanda."

"I dunno... he's gotta be around.  Maybe off in a corner 
somewhere taking a piss."

"Oh, great."

"If he's not interested in carrying that piece, I'm your man."

She gave him the thinnest of smiles.  "I'll remember that." 

But all playful considerations faded when she scanned the dark 
corners of the junction with her flashlight and came up empty.  
Though Mason didn't seem concerned, she knew Tusk wouldn't 
disappear without a parting word to someone about his 
intentions. 

She found him after a minute of careful searching.

If he'd sought this clandestine pocket in the tunnel as a 
place to relieve himself, she'd already missed that show.  He 
leaned with his back to the wall, headlamp on the ground like 
a blind eye.  

"Kill the light," he said gruffly, eyes closed to the glare.

Scully clicked off her Maglite and headlamp, removed the 
latter as he had done, and shook out her hair.  He read like a 
clear, yet suspect x-ray; the film showed one thing while her 
gut instinct told her all did not bode well.  Just the tenor 
of his voice and bowed shoulders declared something was sorely 
amiss.

"Tusk?  What's going on?"  

He shook his head, reluctant to speak.  

"Please," she cajoled gently, "tell me what's wrong."  

"Did you see it?" The words burst out in a gush.  His hand 
shot up as if to hold them in and shield his face.  "What he 
did to that guy...  How easy it was for him to just--"

"Stop.  Any one of us, in Stefan's place, might have done the 
same thing."

"Don't hand me bullshit, it's more than that..."

As she watched he slid with a groan to a sitting position on a 
pile of dirt and gravel, muttering through his hands.  "God, 
what did they do to him, Dana?  He's not the same, he's--" 

And then his voice broke.

"Tusk, listen to me," she said, drawing closer.  "You found 
Stefan in physically good shape.  That's no small miracle, for 
either of you.  Under the circumstances you did everything 
humanly possible."

"I waited too long... I waited too fucking long!"  

"Coming here any sooner might have been disastrous."

He shook his head miserably, shamed and unused to displaying 
weakness.  Still masking his face, he reached out for her.    

"It's all right," she murmured, alarmed at how he slumped and 
quivered.  The Magnum and her headlamp landed on the ground.  
Then, stepping like a barrier between Tusk and the others who 
mingled outside the shadows, she felt him latch onto her hand.  

She was pulled inexorably toward him in the darkness, to dock 
between the hard shoals of Tusk's knees.  To her surprise both 
big hands slid up her back under the opened jacket, fingers 
spread wide across her shoulder blades.  Shudders wracked him, 
indicating how mightily he strove to maintain control over his 
emotions.  

Without warning he sank his face against the fleecy pillow of 
her chest.  A sense of dizzy unreality seized Scully when she 
felt his nose nestle itself between her breasts.  

"It's all right," she repeated numbly, her heart and pulse 
pounding.

"Give me a minute," he huffed, "I'll be okay in a minute.  
I'll be..."  

Against her better judgment she let him linger within that 
safe soft valley.  The fleece and her flesh beneath it grew 
damp from hot breath... and tears?  His grip on her body 
tightened as he worked to regain control, fingers kneading the 
fabric at her back.  

"I know.  I know you will," she answered over the lump in her 
throat, arms wrapping his head and neck.  "Everything will 
work out."

It remained one of the paradoxes of human behavior that 
physical contact with a woman's body could be more than mere 
sexual elixir to a man.  In times of deep emotional upheaval 
Scully knew it also brought a primal sense of support and 
comfort to his soul.  Acceptance found nowhere else.  

She had a flashback to the night Mulder had learned of his 
mother's death during the LaPierre case.  His sobbing, near-
violent denials reverberated in that shadowed room, yet his 
hands held her fast and he clung, pulling her ever closer 
until she felt she might somehow be absorbed by the force of 
his need or drown in the depths of his anguish.

For these brief moments underground it was within Scully's 
power to diminish the pain and guard the dignity of this 
proud, tenderhearted man she'd grown to trust as a friend.  

So she held him closely, without protest, and weathered the 
brief storm with him.  

************  

"Did you find Tusk?" Mason asked her a few minutes later. 

She had rejoined the group, brisk and no-nonsense, surveying 
them with her leather jacket re-buttoned.  Mason was standing, 
while Mole sat near Footer, holding his splinted arm and 
rocking on his buttocks.  Cricket leaned close to Stefan, and 
Scully noted there was still no breech in their happy 
communion.  

All five looked to Scully for an answer.

"Of course," she said with firmness, "and we've consulted 
privately about what the next move should be."

"So what happens now?" 

She took a deep breath and held out her palm to Mason.  "I'm 
putting in a call to Mulder, that's what happens."

"Yeah?  What's the boss got to say about that?"

Tusk walked into the light toward them, headlamp strapped on, 
rough edges back in place.  He stood like an oak beside 
Scully, one hand draped over her shoulder, the other on the 
Magnum pistol tucked inside his belt.  

"The boss says to hand the lady the damn phone," he said 
brusquely.  "That's what the dude in question said to me 
earlier tonight... and it's good advice."

************

Innumerable times Mulder had arrived alone at the scene of an 
investigation.  Depending on lighting and size of the crowd, 
he could usually pick out Scully in nothing flat.  

He swelled with pride during those moments of identification.  
Moving through the crowd with her bright hair and subtle 
beauty, she became this little flame of energy bringing order 
and elemental perspective to their work.  Her flickers of 
doubt and sparks of rationalism had blistered him on occasion, 
but more often than not they fueled and re-directed his own 
search for answers.  

He felt proud of her now, functioning as self-appointed SAC in 
this undercover investigation below ground.  

From the top of the stairs he spotted Scully's fiery head.  
Lifted up, her face shone with a warm smile and rare joy that 
made his heart leap.  Even here, in the dank bowels of the 
earth, she represented homecoming and everything he held most 
precious in the world.

Followed by Mason, he eased his way down the metal staircase 
dressed out in Mole's caving gear.  Scully watched his descent 
with expectation, eyes and hair glimmering in the brassy 
artificial light.  Her steps quickened.  As he hit bottom she 
slid her arms around his neck, and all felt right with his 
world.  

He'd not seen her wear that black fleece outfit before... and 
sneakers?  Without high heels she was infinitely shorter, 
smaller, and it seemed like weeks instead of days since he'd 
tucked her sweet self against his shell-shocked body.  Fuck 
decorum -- they were below ground with a handful of renegade 
townies, dirt on their clothes, sporting bad cases of hat-hair 
from the straps around their heads.  

"Scully, hey..." His lips slid over hers, feverish for the 
soft depths of her mouth.  They struggled for full, unimpeded 
connection, finally gasping for air.  "God, I've missed you," 
he whispered, his throat constricted, "you don't know how 
much."

She tasted and smelled like sex remembered.  The dip at her 
waist melted under his hand into the gentle flare of her 
hipbone.  A moment later she whimpered against him, impatient 
for him to keep going or desist, he wasn't sure which...  

A hand clamped his forearm -- strong and hard.  Not Scully's.  

"Want to back the hell off?" he snarled to the tall brawny guy 
with the shaved head.  

An expert flick of the wrist and Mulder broke the grip with 
ease, his lip dangerously curled.  Scully was murmuring that 
everything was fine, when he knew damn well nothing could be 
right about this asshole running interference. 
   
"Dana's injured! I don't want you to hurt her any more than 
you already have."

Tusk's voice, deep as a gravel pit.  Mulder recognized it from 
their brief exchange on Glenn's cell phone.  Discounting the 
tattoos and earrings, he had mass and presence.  The nose was 
prominent, but fairly proportional to the rest of his face.  
As for that Ron Jeremy crack Mulder had made earlier to Scully 
-- no way in hell was he culling her opiniion on that.

Staring down at her now, he felt at a loss.  "Why didn't you 
tell me?  How bad is it?"

"I'm sorry.  I was cut by glass the other night when we were 
investigating the grounds outside," she explained, her tone 
and eyes begging him to let it go.  "It wasn't necessary to 
worry you about it, then or now.  Mulder... I'd like for you 
to meet Tusk and the group."

Nerves jangling, he exchanged a brisk handshake and curt nod 
with this tattooed Mr. Clean, caveman vibes emanating from 
both of them.  Punk-haired Cricket he also recognized, and she 
pinned him with a surly smirk.  Needlenose and Mole he'd 
recently met in the field near the tunnel entrance, where 
Glenn had jumped at the chance to hang out and talk.  Someone 
calling himself Footer stepped up, shook his hand, and then 
backed away.

They gave new meaning to the term "motley crew," he thought, 
with Scully caught right in the middle.  Only one member 
remained...

"I told you Stefan's story on the way in," Mason reminded him.  
"The dude's a real survivor."

Both Scully and Mason had clued him in to the third Toskala's 
history.  With icepick lobotomy a thing of the past, 
psychosurgery was supposedly clean, selective, and more 
exacting.  Targeted were specific sections of the frontal 
lobe, like the cingulate gyrus.  Actual burning of the brain 
connection was accomplished with electrical current or a non-
invasive radiation tool called a gamma knife.

All of which sounded good in theory and on paper.  But even in 
the best facilities permanent and irreversible side effects 
still plagued many patients after such controversial surgery.  
Considering the source and place of his treatment, if Stefan 
Toskala had the intelligence, tenacity, and good fortune to 
overcome even a fraction of the odds, he was one lucky 
bastard.

"Always an honor to meet a survivor," said Mulder, approaching 
the shaggy-haired man who stood with Cricket.  "Maybe you can 
help us locate another one before the night's over and the 
shit really hits the fan."

Stefan shook his outstretched hand.  "It hit a long time ago," 
he said, after a careful pause.  "I clean it up every day."

"How much time do we have?"

"Not very much.  The big meeting is over in a few hours.  Most 
of the doctors were ordered to attend it.  Serendipitous."  He 
enunciated the word with care.  "You came at the best time 
ever," he said, directing the last words at Tusk.  For some 
reason the tall guy's face worked and he gave Stefan's 
shoulder a squeeze.  

He also shot a tender wink over to Scully.  Mulder, irritated 
on principle, contemplated asking her the reason behind the 
signal, but shelved it for later.  

"How many hostages are there in the labs?"

"Not many; two died a few days ago.  But only the young one 
has any chance to get out."

"Young one?"

"The *pikkutytto*."

"Little girl," supplied Tusk by way of translation.

"Her name's Amanda?  She's blonde, college-age?  I explored 
the utility tunnel under her dormitory, which I suspect was 
used during her kidnapping.  It connects both Wilson and 
Treudley Halls, then heads over in the direction of the 
physical plant."

"That's not far from the Knoll," added Mason.  

"So she went from campus to captivity in a matter of minutes 
and no one saw a damn thing.  Some set up."

Stefan's cheek twitched again, an indication he was clearly 
affected by the subject matter.  When he began to gently slap 
at himself, Cricket stepped in to intervene.  "You need to 
take a break, bro?"

"Can't... we'd better go soon..."

Mulder pointed to Stefan with his chin.  "Listen to your 
brother."

"Lay off him, dude," Cricket bristled, turning on Mulder, "and 
me too.  This isn't the fucking Dean's office.  Why don't you 
tell us what's new with the witch?  She fly off somewhere on 
her broom?"

"Plug that shit!" growled Tusk, jabbing a finger at his 
sister.

Leave it to the punk kid to drop a bomb onto Mulder's 
overstrained psyche.  

He'd already been mind-fucked by not one, but both of the 
psychics he thought he could trust.  His dead sister, existing 
only in starlight, might be alive after all.  His beloved 
partner was incinerated one minute and talking with him the 
next.  He sleepwalked his way through most of this case, only 
to find Scully on the freshest of trails, lighting the path 
with headlamps and a gaggle of weird friends. 

He gave up fighting his anger and went for shock value, 
figuring the girl deserved the jolt.  

"You really wanna know what's new with Willow Nightingale, 
Cricket?  When I saw her earlier today she'd painted 
somebody's kitchen floor red.  And the cupboards... and part 
of the back door.  It looked like she managed to take down one 
of her attackers before his sidekick blasted her neck apart.  
Does that answer your question?"  

Cricket paled under her eye makeup and bristled hair.  "Holy 
shit," mumbled someone, maybe Footer.  

"Unless I've missed something, that would've been helpful 
information to know before now," Scully admonished quietly.

"Pardon my inability to provide you with better intel over the 
last few days."

Her cheeks pinked and she crossed her arms at the subtle 
rebuke.  "Do you have any idea why they no longer considered 
her useful?"

"My best guess?  I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near that 
fire at the Super 8 when they tried to roast you alive, so 
technically she slipped up.  She'd lost her edge, then their 
trust when she tried to vanish under their noses.  With these 
people you don't commit two fouls and get a third chance."

Tusk had a hand on the back of his sister's neck in a slow, 
comforting massage, and Cricket had regained some of her 
composure.  She blinked at Mulder with new respect.

"This is our only chance," insisted Stefan earnestly.  "We 
miss it, we die."

"Mason told me you offed a security guard barehanded."

"Mulder, please," warned Scully, but his quickly raised hand 
and Stefan's nod overruled her.

"Do you mind?" 

His fingers parted the dark hair over Stefan's forehead, 
revealing a small circular scar.  Another marked the opposite 
side.  They were similar to the ones Mulder carried on his own 
scalp, mementos from his ill-fated sojourn into experimental 
regression hypnosis. 

"Raskin meant to shoot my brother," Stefan said simply.  "I 
did it because it had to be done.  That's the only way to 
survive here, by doing what's hard... and incomprehensible 
anywhere else..."  

"I appreciate your attitude.  Can you lead us to where they're 
holding Amanda?" 

"We can get in if we're careful.  But it's too late for the 
other patients.  They're starting to get soft all over, like 
gummy bears left out in the sun... but especially here."  He 
pressed his fingers into his midriff.  "I don't whisper to 
them anymore."

"Whisper?  How do you mean?"

"He told me he's called in to soothe the test subjects if they 
fight back or cry out," said Scully.  "The past few days he'd 
been sent to calm Amanda." 

Mulder threw her a telling look.  "Shades of Dallas, eh, 
Scully?"

"Sounds more like it all the time."
 
"Have you been able to see the creature growing inside them?" 
he asked Stefan.

"After a while.  In the beginning, one or two a year managed 
to hatch out.  But over time they started to die before fully 
gestating... like everything dies around here.  Now the 
doctors want to inject the little one with a newer, better 
serum." 

"Containing a viable alien entity?  What's the timetable?"

"Soon," whispered Stefan.  He pushed the glasses up his nose 
and rubbed at his thighs again.  "We must save her tonight, 
because in a day or two the big ship will come to pick her 
up... along with whatever has started growing inside her."

************

A company of seven strong, they crept single file through a 
maze of passageways toward the labs.  Stefan was the natural 
choice to lead their small strike force.  Cricket couldn't 
bear to part from her brother, so she kept close to him, the 
agents not far behind.  After Tusk came Mason, with Footer 
bringing up the rear.  

Scully kept the younger Toskalas in her sights while she 
eavesdropped on the low conversation that unfolded behind her.  

Mulder and Tusk.  It gratified her that the two men had quit 
their ridiculous posturing and made attempts at civility.  Of 
even more significance was the fact that Tusk, out of 
desperation, was speaking about the one thing she knew 
disturbed him most -- and was directing those concerns toward 
Mulder.

"According to Dana, you know psychology," Tusk whispered over 
Mulder's shoulder.  "And she trusts your judgment, which means 
a lot to me.  So what chance does my brother have to..." He 
faltered into silence, unable to settle on the appropriate 
word.

"To heal?  To regain full mental capacity or close to what he 
had before?" asked Mulder under his breath.

"That's right."

"Based on the scars I found, he's undergone some form of 
psychosurgery to keep him docile.  Maybe a cingulotomy, rather 
than temporal lobectomy, because his speech patterns are 
fluent and his high-level thought processes seem intact.  From 
his mannerisms I wouldn't rule out the possibility they've 
given him shock treatments."

"My brother's always had a strong dislike for violence of any 
kind," he muttered.  "What he's capable of now is blowing my 
mind.  Shit... it's hard to believe how he took out that 
guard."

Hearing the pain in his voice, knowing what he'd toughed out 
just a short while before, Scully reached back in the semi-
darkness to touch his arm.  Mulder, she noticed, observed the 
gesture with unabashed interest.    

"Getting back to brain function impairment," he said softly, 
gazing quizzically at Scully while he was responding to Tusk, 
"you'd need to have him tested.  Some of his behavioral 
aberrations might stem from mental trauma caused by physical 
and emotional abuse.  Basically, he's a POW who's learned to 
adapt and survive.  Ongoing therapy and medication might be 
all the treatment he needs when this is over."

"So it's a waiting game."

"Yes, but you'd be amazed at what the human brain can endure 
and overcome.  Even in a place like this, which brings to mind 
some of the weirder cases we've investigated, by the way... as 
well as an old song I got hooked on years ago.  You probably 
wouldn't remember it, Scully.  It's a Frohike favorite."

"Quite doubtful I'd recognize it then," she quipped, "but feel 
free."

"'Heard a cry for mercy in the city of the damned,'" Mulder 
recited with a voice loud enough for every one in the group to 
hear.  He seemed to be savoring the strangely incidental 
words. "'In the pits you go no lower, the next stop's 
underground. Oh hello, underground...' Anybody here astute 
enough to name that tune?"

Cricket's faint snicker was the only response.   

"The words seem apropos considering our present location, 
Mulder," she said dryly, "but that's a new one on me."  

Silence reigned for a half-minute as the group plodded along, 
the lyrics dismissed.  

"Led Zeppelin."  

Up ahead, Stefan had spoken without a backward glance.

"Title," tossed out Mulder, tantalized.

"'For Your Life'."

"Album..."

A long pause. "'Presence'."

"Year?"

"1976."  

"What's unique about it?"

Stefan shrugged, his attention trained on the tunnel far 
ahead.  "Studio cut.  Zeppelin never performed it live."  

"And I'd say *this* man knows his music."  

As the wave of incredulity trickled through the group, Mulder 
directed a thumbs-up signal back to Tusk.  The thoughtfulness 
of the gesture after this unexpected response from Stefan 
warmed Scully's heart.  It seemed to have the same effect on 
Tusk, for it moved him to reach out and give Mulder's shoulder 
a clasp of appreciation. 

"Quiet! No lights!" Stefan hissed suddenly.  "We're getting 
close."

Everyone obeyed, plunging the passageway into near-blackness.  
He crept forward, all elbows and curved backbone.  To Scully 
he appeared more feral than human while her eyesight adjusted 
to the dimness of the corridor. 

"Down there... in those small rooms," he whispered when the 
two agents joined him.  "That's where they keep the test 
subjects.  The little blond one is near the main lab... she's 
the best chance they have."

Scully peered through the gap, into the light and space 
looming below.  She saw concrete walls, linoleum flooring, a 
flood of bright light.  Distant footfalls echoed and machinery 
hummed.

"So only the date changes," Mulder whispered into her ear.  
The soft brush of his lips nearly derailed her concentration.

With scant warning a doctor wearing white scrubs and a lab 
coat passed under their noses on his way toward Amanda 
Carmichael's cell.

"That one."  Stefan's tic played havoc with the muscle in his 
cheek.  His hands and fingers grew restless.  "He needs to go.  
Then we can rescue her before they try to inject the new 
serum."

Tusk guessed his intent and shook his head.  "Let the people 
trained for this do their jobs, bro."

"Seriously, that's good advice," said Scully to Stefan.

"Can't risk noise; my way's better."

Eluding Tusk's hasty grab, the Whisperer vanished into the 
shadows.  A minute later Stefan reappeared in the lower 
hallway, having navigated the intervening passageways.  His 
demeanor was nonchalant as he followed the path taken by the 
scientist.  He caught up to the man and they shared a few 
quiet words before turning a corner.

A moment later Stefan motioned from the doorway, bidding the 
rest of the team to brave the darkness and follow him down.

"His way's expeditious," breathed Mulder, "I'll give him that 
much."

Guns drawn, they pushed through the heavy door that separated 
the archaic tunnel from newer construction.  Stefan had 
already dragged the doctor's body into a corner of the small 
room and masked it with a gurney by the time they arrived.  

"Over there," he said, motioning toward the curtained 
examining table.  "The little one..."

Ahead of the others, Mulder was first to survey the ravaged 
body of Amanda Carmichael.  He looked back at Scully, his face 
ashen.  "She's alive.  Will you need my help?"

She shook her head, sickened at the sight of the girl's 
trembling nakedness, chopped hair, and the various evil tubes 
that extruded from her like so many snakes.  "Just guard the 
perimeter for us, Mulder, and keep an eye on everyone else.  
Tusk will help me in here."

"You sure?"

"Yes, he has medical training."

She saw Mulder hesitate, his gaze darting from her to the girl 
as he assessed the situation.  With a nod toward Tusk and 
Stefan, he corralled the other team members outside in the 
hall.
 
The unfortunate girl sensed their presence.  Her mouth squared 
into a fresh grimace around a thick tube that emitted harsh 
slurping noises as she salivated.  Tears ran in rivulets down 
her neck to the vinyl pad beneath.  "Huurts... m-make it s-
stop..."

"Please help her," murmured Stefan, warming one of Amanda's 
quivering white feet with his hands.  "Poor pikku--"

"Amanda?" Scully peered into the agonized girl's face and 
tried to capture her attention.  "Amanda Carmichael?  We're 
here to take you home.  Can you understand me?"

The drainage tube in her mouth was the first thing to go.  
Leather straps unbuckled with ease, but revealed wide bruises 
and heavy chafing.  They found a sheet to place over the 
girl's nakedness and surrounded her with gentle calming 
attention.

"Amanda, we're going to help you by removing some tubes now.  
Then we'll take you away from here.  Nod, sweetie, if you can 
hear me."

Though her glazed eyes blanched and wandered, she managed to 
respond.

Stripping off the leather gloves, Scully donned latex and 
handed a pair to Tusk.  "Have you ever removed an NG tube 
before?"

"Tell me what to do."

She lowered her voice.  "Pinch it tightly first, so any 
remaining formula won't flood her lungs as you slowly ease it 
out of her nostril.  I know time is of the essence, but don't 
pull too quickly.  Expect about eighteen inches of tubing."

The catheter she removed herself, noting with a wince that 
deep inflammation had developed at the urethral opening after 
so many days of intubation.  The tender skin on Amanda's lower 
body was also mottled by rash, most likely from the 
disinfectants repeatedly wiped over her buttocks, inner 
thighs, and genitalia.  

The tiniest of blessings, Scully detected no evidence of 
assault or forced penetration in her cursory examination.

"Relax now, baby," she heard Tusk croon to the girl in his 
inimitable bedside voice.  "Don't tense up, it'll be out in 
just a few more seconds.  Here we go..."
 
Scully opened and applied the contents of several packets, 
first a cleansing wipe, then antibiotic ointment which she 
spread over damaged skin before attending to the IVs in both 
of Amanda's arms.

Stripping off her latex gloves and flipping them to the floor, 
she snapped on new.  

"Almost done over here," said Tusk.

"Will you... t-take me home?"  A barely articulate sob from 
Amanda.

"Sure thing," he assured her.  "Don't you worry, okay?  We'll 
take good care of you and get you out of here."  Finished, he 
dropped the tube to the floor as Scully had done and wiped 
Amanda's nose gently.

"I need tape and a few small gauze pads," she ordered under 
her breath.  "We can expect some bleeding after the IVs are 
out."

Tusk moved with alacrity, the perfect assistant, donning new 
latex before he prepped the items.  In turn he held each of 
the girl's forearms securely as Scully pressed down, extracted 
the needles in one smooth motion, and dressed the tiny wounds.  

"Everything okay?" Mulder asked from the hall.

"Just about ready to go."  She scanned the small room 
critically.  "Do we have a gown here or something she can 
wear?"

Mason surrendered an extra pair of hiking socks from his pack, 
thick plush affairs that reached nearly to Amanda's knees.  
After dressing her in a pair of scrubs, they swaddled the girl 
in a rescue blanket from their emergency stores.  Then, her 
long legs dangling, Tusk lifted her easily into his arms.

"No," said Scully.  "Let Mason take her.  You may need to use 
your weapon before this is over and I want your hands free."   

"Stretcher?"

All heads turned as an alarm bell clattered overhead, 
shattering the silence and drumming their nerves to a fever 
pitch.

"Time's up," Mulder called from the door.  "If you can carry 
her, then let's get the hell out of here -- and fast!"

************
End of Chapter 21
Continued in Chapter 22