Title: Holding Me Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Summary: Mulder and Scully are assigned to a stakeout that turns into a trap. ~~~~ Holding Me ~~~~ Chapter One ~~~~ You say you're not worthy of me But how do you know when you can't see Your eyes where midnight catches fire I can't describe this dizzy desire ~~~~ Scully watched him leave the room, and felt the fluttering and wondered if it was a mistake, if it would all be one horrible nightmare and she'd wake up all alone again. He walked to the end of the hall and dipped his head down for a drink of water, watching the people around him from the corners of his eyes. He knew what they must be thinking, there goes Spooky, wonder what new theory he's going to try and sell. But he just wanted some water, some relief from the tension he could feel between himself and her. She couldn't seem to look him straight in the eye or even come up with the snappy comebacks, like usual. He wondered if the cancer was hurting her, or if she was tired from it. But he knew something was wrong, and he had walked out, just to give her some time to think. He had a feeling she wanted to tell him something. Oh, God, don't let it be more bad news. Don't let it be that she's going to die. I couldn't take that, not now, not ever. With so much left unsaid. He shook his head and made his way back to the office, wondering when she would finally tell him the problem, if she would ever admit she wasn't always the strong one. That she could be weak too. He came in to see her head bent over her desk, appearing hard at work, ignoring him. What was he supposed to do? Go right up to her and say what he felt, and leave his heart and soul bare naked for her to trample or rip to shreds? No thanks. Scully could feel his eyes on her, his beautiful brown puppy dog eyes, that turned black as night when he was in a mood. She could feel them slide over her, linger on her hidden face and trail back. She heard them scream at her to do something, say something, relieve the tension, get rid of the fear he had in the back of his mind. But what could she say? "I'm okay, Mulder." she said quietly. She looked up a second later, giving him time to recover from that little shock. "Sure?" he said, letting a little frown come to his face. She hated it when people were concerned over her, when they were put out because of her own weaknesses. "I'm sure." He nodded and went back to his desk, settling behind it with some grace and ignoring the work piled around him. He tilted his chair, propped his feet on the desk and regarded her thoughtfully. He gave the impression of utter confidence, but inside, he was shaking. His stomach quivered and he hoped it wouldn't acy up and dump his breakfast all over the place. Lunch. That was a good idea. You don't say stuff like this in the office. "Scully, you want to go out for lunch?" he asked. "I'm getting a little cramped, and sick of take out Chinese." Her face turned to see him, eyes blue and honest, and looking like she had been pulled from her own little world and into one she hardly recogized. "All right. Good idea. What do you have in mind?" He frowned. He hadn't thought that far in his plan. He had been making it up as he went. "We'll see." he said, for lack of any forthcoming ideas. He gave her a knowing look and let her believe he had it all under control. "All right, let me finished this last question. Then I'll be ready." He nodded but she had returned to her work, absorbed in the case once more. He watched her eyes as they scanned the question, then grow unfocused as she formulated her answer. They turned several shades of her true blue, from a light grey to a greenish blue. He admired her clam, the collected way she held her body, no fear, no intimidation, just herself, take it or leave it. He'd like to take it. Her head came up and she met his gaze, eyebrows raised, and she went to writing down the perfect genius already formed in her head. He watched, as if the more detail he caught, the better informed he would be. "Okay Mulder. I'm through," she said, and her head came up to look at him again. He smiled and stood, then grabbed both their jackets as she came around the front of her desk to the door. He handed hers to her and pulled his own on. "We're walking," he explained. She slipped on her jacket and followed him out. ~~~~ At the small diner, in a booth at the back, Mulder tried to get up the courage to say what he had decided to say. He watched her move in the booth as she tried to get comfortable, each little flicker on her face he memorized. But it wasn't giving him any courage, all it did was make him more nervous. How could he ask her to love him? He was a terrorized man, always getting into deeper and deeper trouble with the shadow government, always dragging her along for the ride. What if she wanted to get off one day? She had said it before, that she had wanted to come along for the journey, to be beside him through it all, and hated that the cancer would take her from him. But that didn't mean she wanted him to love her, that she wanted to love him. And did he deserve such affection from her? He was the one who introduced her to the search, the one who had encouraged her to come along, to find the truth. Could he ask her heart from her as well? She was a pure spirit, a beautiful soul. He was nothing, he had a one way ticket to ruin. She could save him, put him on a different train, but at what expense? Could he ask that of her? "Mulder?" she said suddenly, staring at him. He jerked out of his trance and blinked. "Mulder, what are you thinking?" she said, eyes narrowed. "That I think I could get away with putting off all that work until tomorrow," he said. She raised an eyebrow. "Right. Now would you care to tell me the truth?" She saw the barest flicker of surprised register and then his face was smooth again. "I. . .I . . .I was just thinking. . .that I'm not sure this is something I should be thinking," he said, wondering if she was going to make him blush, after all these years. "Mulder, tell me what's making you so upset. . ." "I'm not upset." "You watch me as if you'll never see me again," she protested. Had he been doing that? Maybe so. Only because if he told her what he felt, then he might not ever see her again. Agents had been known to transfer on less. Even the most dedicated. . .even those he had thought were there to stay, like Diana. The FBI was not the most secure of positions, geography wise. "Well. . .promise not to leave?" he asked, humor in his face, but seriousness in his voice and eyes. And she only watched his eyes for the truth. "Mulder. I'm not leaving." "Not yet anyway," he muttered under his breath. She gave him an icy look. "Scully. . .I think that. . .that. . ." She was waiting patiently for him to continue, and if he was about to say what she thought he was, then she wished he would just jurry up. She had never known him to be anything but brash. Quiet, yes, but brash. "I love you." His words came out in a blue and she blinked, like she was not sure if she had heard correctly. He had actually said it. He hadn't put it off for another time, or made a lame excuse-- He loved her. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said--" "Mulder." She could see him wince, as if he were expecting a tongue lashing for what he had admitted. "Mulder, I love you too." His head shot up and he looked in her face, eyes shocked beyond recognition. "What?" he breathed. He couldn't seem to believe that she was actually saying it back. "Can I not love you, too?" she said, a grin in her eyes. "No. Yes. I mean, why?" She laughed. It was good and musical. It was a heavenly choir. "Because you are very lovable." His head tilted and he blinked again. "Really?" "Mulder!" she said. "Do think that no one could love you?" "Yes." He saw that hurt her. He saw her breath steal and he wished it weren't the truth. "Well, I love you, okay?" "Okay," he said quietly, quickly. "Come here." Mulder scooted out of the booth and came to sit next to her, feeling like it had gone way too perfectly, way too simply. He waited for the bombshell; he waited for her to say April fools, for a man to walk in and say it had all been a hoax, for him to wake up, alone. "Mulder, listen." "I really can't help but," he said with a faint smile. She was sitting so close to him he could feel the heat radiating from her arm and thigh, and the sound of her heart thudding and shaking her body. She might be just as frightened as he was. "Just because you have so much sadness in your life doesn't mean you can't have any goodness. I think you don't know how to accept success, or love. Mulder. . .you aren't going to suddenly wake up." He wondered where she had gotten the ability to read minds. He felt suddenly choked and tight inside, all trapped by the freedom she offered. "I'm going to kiss you," he said, his eyes so dark and swirling, she was powerless to stop him. She leaned forward and placed her mouth very lightly on his, brushing, and still she felt the power of it ripple and build within her. He still only half believed it. ~~~~ You think it's all a mistake That I'm caught in a dream from which I'll wake up And there you'll be just another guy You could never be but I dare you to try When you're holding me Holding me tonight ~~~~ His arms were around her, light and secure, and she never wanted to leave their assurance. In his arms she could forget the things they had to face each day, she could forget that she had cancer, that people were constantly out to foil them. All she needed to remember was that he was right beside her, ready to tackle anything for her. And that she would do the same for him. "Scully?" he said lightly. "Hmm?" "Oh. I thought you were asleep." "And if I had been, what would you have done?" His lips dropped down to claim hers, then trailed along her neckline to maker her shiver violently. "I would have woken you up." She didn't doubt it. She leaned her head back down to his shoulder and let her eyes drift closed. His fingers tangled in her hair and touched her skull, making her drowsy, despite the shocks of electricity running through her. "When do we have to get back?" she asked. "I don't care." She smiled. She had been doing a lot of that lately. "I didn't ask if you cared, I asked when." "Oh, my bad. At ten, the other team has its shift. We stay for a few minutes, make sure they have everything," he replied from somewhere over her head. They were on stakeout, enjoying the time along, and actually doing their job too. They had decided to simply not 'fraternize' on the job, and she found that it was hard not to touch him and not start down the road to 'unproper conduct for FBI agents' but the glanced between them covered a multitude of words. . .along with the subtle everyday touching they had always done. She liked being with him in the quiet of the night. They were still so shy about it. . .taking everything slowly. She liked leaning against him on the couch, watching a movie she never remembered later, or eating take out in his apartment, laughing over the junk piled in every corner. On the stakeout, she liked being in his arms, his warmth. He liked it too. Scully glanced at the time; it was getting close to ten. She pulled out of his arms reluctantly, knowing that some agents were eager and arrived early. He felt her sigh and squeezed her shoulders, then let her go. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Did you see that?" Mulder was suddenly wide awake. "What?" "Over there, top right window. A light, like a flashlight," she whispered. He strained his eyes and watched intently. It went off again. "Yeah, yeah I saw it." He picked up the CB radio the local police had provided the stakeout cars with. "Base this is S4. We have a 10-13." Possible ID. He heard the agent manning the radio call out to someone and Scully grabbed his arm. The suspect was moving through the house, the flashlight bobbing, and he was coming downstairs. The door opened and it was him. "Cancel that. S4 has him, repeat, we have a definite ID." "10-4, S4, proceed with schedule A." Mulder watched the man get into his car and quietly gave the license number and make to the dispatcher. Once the car was halfway down the street, Mulder started their car and followed discreetly. "S4 proceeding south, well behind," Mulder reported. "Continue on, S4," came the acknowledgement. Scully pointed silently and Mulder took the turn slowly, seeing lights far up ahead. "S4 now on Cooper, proceeding roughly southeast." "10-4." Mulder glanced to his rearview mirror, a funny feeling in his gut. Scully saw his wariness and looked back herself, as if someone or something would appear. She put her eyes back to the car they were following and Mulder tried not to worry her. "This is S4. I have a bad feeling about this one," he said. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something just didn't agree with the internal alarm in his mind. "S4, nature of the problem?" "At the moment, nothing." "Then go ahead." "10-4," Mulder replied, frowning. He looked back again--there was nothing and he turned worried eyes to Scully. "Get your gun out, Scully. I don't like this." She nodded. She trusted his instinct. The gun slipped from her holster with a thick sound of leather; she checked that the safety was on and licked her lips. For the first time since her Academy days, it felt unnaturally heavy. Then the whole world seemed to blink. Every light everywhere was gone for an instant and Mulder reacted at once, swerving the car to a stop and calling on the CB for backup. Then he saw it, just in the rearview mirror. The set-up. Seven cars were behind them, lights now blazing, and he just knew they had guns. All of them. Against him and Scully. "This is S4. We have a 10-91, repeat 10-91. Get out here!" He couldn't protect them, they were dead. He was panicked, calling emergency over the airwaves, emergency because he didn't remember the code for officer down. "Mulder," she said, barely breathing. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said, looking to her. "Mulder, don't give up now. Drive!" He slammed on the gas, dazed by his lack of intelligence, and held her back with his arm, preventing her from hitting the dash. He raced to the end of the street, that bad feeling becoming a permanent fixture in his gut. There were four more cars blocking off the street at the end as well. Hr drove the car up the sidewalk, wishing it were a bit bigger or the car a bit smaller. Scully was on the radio, trying to get them help, an agent, someone. Mulder felt the car scrape against another blockade of cars and it stalled once, choked and quit. They were dead. Scully was jerked from the car before his eyes, even as someone wrestled him out as well, then they were both thrown to the ground. Two men soaked the car in gasoline and strongly pungent turpentine. Mulder struggled in the grip of one of the men as a match was lit, but was pushed free as the car erupted in flames. A firebomb scorched into the cold night air and Mulder grabbed Scully and covered her, turning his back to the flames. He felt his jacket melt into his shirt, then his shirt into his skin, even as he propelled them backwards, trying to get past the men. She felt him shiver, even with the heat. He was deathly afraid of fire, of flames. It exploded and they both ducked, hitting the hard black pavement with a crack of bones. A man jerked them to their feet, not saying a word, and Mulder realized that these people had no qualms about killing the FBI. They were shoved into an alley, tall buildings reaching to the sky on either side of them and the entrance partially hidden. Only one man, with a nasty looking gun, followed them in. He was going to kill them. The thought came frighteningly calmly into Mulder's head and he breathed in. "Scully, please say you have your gun," he whispered. "Mulder you told me to take it out, and he took it," she said, her mind swirling. She wouldn't let this happen, couldn't let this happen. She was supposed to die of cancer, with Mulder still able to continue the search. They weren't supposed to die because of some drug lord and his vendetta against the local police. It just wasn't right. The man, in his polo shirt and nice, ironed pants, watched them and smiled. Mulder pulled Scully behind him, despite her struggles, and said, "Get my gun," through clenched teeth. With her behind him, her movements were blocked and she easily reached up under his jacket and found his holster. She carefully, slowly, unlatched it and found it suddenly in her hands. Mulder put his hand behind him, looking for the gun, and Scully saw a blur of motion from the corner of her eyes. The man, raising his own weapon, face a hard mask, stance ready. Mulder would not have time. Without thinking, Scully darted in front of him, gun ready, and fired-- the shot echoed with the ring of its twin-- the bullet snagged her shoulder even as the man dropped, bloody and choking. Mulder caught her as she fell back, the gun slipping from her limp fingers. Panic seared into him, fresh with the blood soakign through his shirt and slicking his hands. He figured they had ten minutes until someone realized that they were not dead, and that their hit man was not coming back out. He tried not to look at her; he knew he'd be afraid. He clamped one hand over her wound and lifted her over his shoulder, walking quickly down the alley. He was looking for a way out, but it was a dead end, nowhere to run. He glanced up at the buildings and tried not to let the terror in, but it crawled up his stomach and entered his throat--it tasted faintly like metallic Scully-blood. He noticed boarded over windows at ground level, some kind of former hotel, and kneeled down next to it, balancing Scully carefully. The wood came off easily and he wiggled inside, pullingn Scully after him as gently as possible. He laid her on a clean patch of floor and pulled the beams back across the window, jamming it as beset he could without attracting attention. He wondered if they would noticed the stains of her blood along the trash strewn alleyway, or the streaks of it along the bottom boards in the shape of his fingers. He shivered and turned back to Scully. She looked dead. Pale and listless, arms and legs limp, her hair bright as red death. He cradled her in his arms, touching the gunshot wound carefully. It must have been a 9mm, judging by the hole and damage, and there was no exit wound. He tore off his jacket and tied it around her, almost like a toga, cinching it under her right arm and making sure it was tight on her left shoulder. He realized that if she hadn't stepped in front of him, the bullet would have gone straight to his heart. As it was, it had almost missed her. But they were still in trouble. He picked her up, gentler this time, and walked to the door he could see. Peering through a window, he realized that all the cars were still out front of the condemned building, waiting for the hit man to come back out after killing them off. Except he wouldn't, and then it would be known they were gone. He needed a place to hide until they left. "Mulder?" He heard her say his name, like a breeze in the trees, soft and feather light. He prayed she wasn't dying; she sounded so weak. "I'm here, Scully," he said, his heart aching. She nodded and her eyes closed heavily; he wondered if it was alright to let her sleep. He thought she might be going into shock. Weren't you supposed to keep people awake? "Come on, Scully, stay awake," he said and shifted her in his arms. Her eyes flashed open in pain and he winced. "Oh, Scully, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But you have to stay awake." She nodded and made the effort, somewhere the doctor in her was telling her the same thing. Mulder spotted stairs and climbed them carefully, realizing that the building had been a gran hotel, fashioned during New York's Gilded Age, and they had crawled into a room off the lobby. He could find a room and lay her down and try to dress her wound better. They could eve wait out the drug lords by hiding in the various rooms. Except she needed a hospital, now, and a makeshift bandage wouldn't cut it. Where was their backup? Hadn't he said it was an emergency, it was a setup? So they should have responded by this time. More FBI should be on their way. He felt his legs start to quiver and he climbed the stairs numbly. Surely they had dispatched some men to their location. Surely they weren't ebing abandoned. Abandoned. They had been left for dead by their own people. . . Mulder shook his head. He was getting too paranoid. He needed to stop thinking about that and find them a room. The first one they came to had rats; it stank with their feces and their wild mating; Mulder could hear them in the walls. He shuddered and closed the door. Maybe a higher floor. He went up three more flights, carryign Scully, before he found something clsoe to decent. No rats, or spiders, or roaches, or much mildew. Just a bathroom, a bed, and a night table. He was exhausted and wanted to stretch out on the bed and sleep for a hundred years. "Scully?" he said. "You still with me?" He had been talking to her on the way up, at least when his puffing breaths allowed, to distract her from sleep, to distract him from imminent collapse. It wasn't that she was heavy, she was actually rather light, but after three flights and being cramped in a car for six hours before that, he was ready for sleep. She opened her eyes to see him adn he could see the pain there, just behind the blue. She was trying very hard not to let him see it. He laid her down on the bed and pulled the top comforter off; it was dirty and dusty. He didn't want her shoulder getting infected. Her eyes shut instantly and he touched her cheek. "Stay awake, Scully." "Mulder?" she said, her eyes barely focusing on him. "Yeah?" "Come lie. . .beside me." He tilted his head and settled himself next to her on the small bed. She watched him openly, making him somewhat embarassed by her attention. He laid down the length of her and cradled her head in his arm, resting the other across her stomach. He could not directly meet her eyes because of the angle, but he could see her body, and the tenderness there that echoed the pain. "Why did you do that, Scully?" he asked. Anything to keep her awake. "Because I love you," she whispered, without hesitation. "You don't have to prove that to me by getting yourself shot." She shifted slightly, wincing, and nudged her chin into his neck. "Sometimes. . .wonder if you think it's a dream. Or that I'll wake up and realize who you are. . .who we are." "I hope you don't," he whispered and kissed her chin. She frowned with the throbbing of her arm and shoulder, the pain of his easy acceptance. "See? That it's. . .Mulder. . .I know who you are, what you've done. I accept those things. I love you. . . for them. . . in spite of them." Her eyes were flashing but she couldn't keep them open for long, only in short bursts. "I still don't want you shot, Scully," he said in a little boy voice, sounding like all he wanted was to be loved. Didn't he realize that she did? "Either me shot, or you dead. I liked this one much better," she sighed, her eyes closed again. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve that love from her, such self sacrificing love. "Mmm-Mulder stop," she said softly, panting. He was positive she could read minds. "Love you. . .partner. This is. . .nothing compared to. . .being without you," she said, her small hand coming to touch his cheek. The tips of her fingers were like live wires. He shuddered. "Thank you." She nodded and her eyes drifted shut. "Mm, sleep. I'll be O-kay." What could he say to that? She looked weary and far away. "Don't leave me." It was out of his mouth before he realized he was thinking it. "Won't. Promise," she said. Even with her pain-colored, breathy voice, he could hear the conviction. Mulder didn't think even God could take her if she didn't want to go. ~~~~ A room with a view Is in the dark with you But that should come as no surprise When you're holding me Holding me tonight ~~~~ Mulder watched her breath move in and out across her lips, and the slightly pained expression etched on her face. The shot had been clean, but the bullet was working free of the tissues of her shoulder. He could see it when he changed the bandage with the slightly cleaner sheets he'd found in another room. He was afraid to take it out. She has suffered so much, and all she wanted in return was him. And that wasn't even a sacrifice to him. . .he would gladly five her his heart and soul, for nothing, for free, for her to take and do as she like. As long as she didn't leave. As long as she just didn't leave. She turned and her face was right next to his. He felt his heart skip a couple of beats. Her pale face reminded him of moonlight and her fiery red hair made him think of newly minted pennies or sunsets in Martha's Vineyard in the summers. Her lips moved in her dreams and he trailed his finger along them. She twitched and her face relaxed for an instant, then went to the slight frown of pain again. Her checked her shoulder and was relieved to find that the bullet had worked free and the blood had trickled to a stop. Mulder clutched the warm, bloody bullet in his hands and stood, moving to the window. He carefully kept out of sight from the cars below, trying not to be noticed. The men still hunted around for them, the cars in blockade of the roads, angry and frightened henchmen scouring the place. Mulder wondered how long they would be there, blockading the alley and the streets like sentinels, the men spilling over the place like rats. There was no way to get out, not with Scully hurt and barely able to keep her eyes open, let alone walk out of a building surrounded by bloodthirsty henchmen. Where was their back-up? Had Skinner assigned them this on purpose, or had he not known this would occur? Had he been taken advantage of as well, or was this simply a misunderstanding, a case of miscommunication. . .? Mulder was growing angry with the injustice of it. They had simply been on stakeout, not working the X-Files, not battling her cancer. . . There were many unanswered questions, but what did it matter? If they died here, then they died. If they got away, then they got away. And nothing would ever be found to prove they weren't the focus of an assassination attempt, or that they were. And once again, all they'd be left with was their suspicions and scars. And hopefully, with each other. Although, as time went on, that was becoming less and less certain. Mulder went back to the bed, his eyes traveling over her body to make sure she was still alive, still all right. She was breathing slowly, rhythmically, and he laid down beside her again. He felt so tired of everything; it was one of those times when he just didn't see how it was worth it anymore. Life was so fleeting and he was wasting it away on a pointless quest, however noble, however right. Yet it had brought them together. And he had to keep going, if only to giver her the answers before she died. He wanted to save her, to find someone that could help her, that could get rid of the cancer for good. He couldn't give up on that. He wouldn't give up on them. He couldn't. And there was no way they were dying in some cheap, dirty, abandoned hotel while a drug lord rattled sabers at them. Hell no. He jerked and Scully was awake, looking at him, her eyes blue sand and surf. He touched her cheek in apology as she glanced around the room, as if noticing it for the first time. "Better, Mulder," she said with a faint smile, her eyes doing the only movement in her body. "What?" he said, looking to her shoulder. "Motel choice. . .definitely improved." He gave her that flickering smile of a man afraid this is the last time he'd hear her joke with him, then stood up. "Of course. When has my taste ever been bad?" She was beautiful spread on the sheets like that, relaxed and still, not the busy woman of their office. He hated that she was beautiful all bloody, but couldn't keep from noticing it. "Don't. . .get me started," she whispered, smiling again. He frowned, a hurt look playing across his face. "What about the motel room in Florida?" She raised an eyebrow in the midst of her pain, then cleared her throat. "Had to move cause of bugs. . .'member? And no light bulb in your bathroom." He shook his head. "But it was right near the beach, Scully." "Yes. . .never went. Spent the whole. . .whole time driving to town, from that 'near the beach' motel." He smiled at her and stroked the soft skin of her forehead. Despite her strong banter, her skin was slick with fever. "Okay, so I'll come up with a better example." "That was the best. . ." His forehead crinkled in concentration, thinking back. But he saw that her eyes were already losing interest, her lips parting slowly as if she were falling asleep. He carefully sat down next to her, gentle and timid in the face of her pain. She opened her eyes again, blinking, moving so slowly, so languidly, she looked like she was underwater, soft and delicate, her hair fanning on the sheet. The blood was a dark stain against the white of her skin, the dirty cream of the sheets. "Mulder," she whispered, in a pained hiss that was sharp from her lips. Her eyes darted to the door and Mulder stood, balancing on the balls of his feet as he paused. He could hear her breath, and the creaking of the old motel, and then the men calling outside. It was getting lighter now, with the coming of dawn. He heard it then too. Mulder walked carefully to the door and tried to peer through the dust covered peephole. He saw a shadowy shape, moving down the hall, a gun in sharp relief to the soft vague impressions of the walls and the man. He was checking doors, some were locked and some were not. Mulder quickly locked theirs and prayed the man would not decide to kick down doors. But just in case. . . He moved over to Scully and helped her sit up as quietly as possible, her weight leaning into him as he cradled her. They moved into the bathroom, all the lights from the street effectively diminished so that they were in pitch black. He could feel her blood soak into his shirt. It reminded him of the bloodsoaked sheets and so he sprang back out, pulled the motel bedside up quickly and neatly, then slithered into the cold dark bathroom. They crouched there together, his arm around her to keep her steady and her breath coming raggedly against his chest. It was a lot for her to do, to be upright and still breathing and trying to be silent at the same time. She had less strength than she had let on. Mulder was pressed against the toilet, the cold bowl giving him chills as he smelled the odors of childhood sickness, where he'd throw up and mom would come in with a cold washcloth to soothe him. That was before Samantha was taken, afterwards he threw up and his mom cried in her room and there were no washcloths. Mulder was uncomfortable, but he stayed still, her body pressed firmly against his. The dark was a living monster in there with them. It grumbled in the small place and shook their nerves. The doorknob rattled and the man swore. Evidently he was sick of locked doors. A gun went off and someone on the street shouted. The man came in; Mulder held his breath. The gun weilding man went over to the window and pushed it up, yelling something about the gunshot. Mulder could feel Scully shaking under him, her body quaking and Mulder wondered if she were afraid. The man lowered the window, his eyes swept the room, then he left. Mulder let out a sigh and slumped against the bathroom wall. Scully was stil shaking and he started to ask if she was all right, when she sneezed. The little moan of pain that followed couldn't be repressed and they both froze, not breathing. The man had stopped; they no longer heard him moving down the hall. Scully had not sneezed that loudly, but it was a noise. They waited, Mulder wishing for a weapon. Then the man moved on and Scully closed her eyes in relief. They waited in the bathroom until the man had been gone for fifteen minutes. Once they had crawled out, into the relative light, Mulder looked carefully at her. She was exhausted he saw, her eyes drifting shut and her face strained. Mulder laid her gently on the bed, then moved to the window. The cars had dwindled and six remained, along with roughly twenty men. "I think they're beginning to leave," he whispered. She nodded listlessly and looked longingly at the window but said nothing. He knew then how bad it was, how much she wasn't showing him. She needed a hospital, a doctor, something. "Why don't you sleep? I'll keep watch for the reminder." "No. You're just as tired. . ." "So we'll do it in shifts. Mine's first. Close your eyes." She sighed, but it was more like a light breath from a butterfly's wings. He saw her eyes closed and her fists unclench slowly. He arranged the comforter across her legs and shut the door of the room, then sat down beside her. She took his hand and kissed it softly. "Thank you, Mulder," she said, her eyes already shutting. "No problem," he replied, soft enough for the words to slip from her hearing. He stayed beside her as the light began to dawn over the city, slow and gentle and hopeful. The cars below began to grow fewer and fewer, but as they did, the hours stretched away. Scully's lips were blue and her fingers stiff with cold, despite Mulder's attempts to cover her in blankets. He stole every comforter from the floor they were on, then changed the bandage--it was soaked through with blood. The grey light crawled across the floor and tiptoed up to the bed, then finally made it to Mulder's lap. It settled there for awhile, but Mulder did not notice. It climbed higher, to shine in his face with the blankness of false dawn. Mulder stood and looked out the window, his bones popping and creaking and his hands crusted over with her blood. The cars were gone. All of them now. The last one was driving away. He wondered if all the men were gone as well, but figured they had to risk it. Scully needed a hospital. The light was chasing the car down the street. Drug lords, he decided, were not unlike vampires. They both could not live in the sun; they feasted on the blood of innocents. Scully was roused by his urgent lips pressed to her forehead, his fingers stroking her cheeks. She opened her eyes and saw him right as she had las seen him, standing at the window. "Have they. . .left?" He nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to find a phone. You stay here." He expected her to protest, but she didn't. Blood was thick and clotted now, but she was weak and she knew it. She didn't even lift her head to follow his movements to the door. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" he replied, glancing back at her. His hair was sticking straight up on top, spiked, and he had lines on his face from where he'd fallen asleep for a few moments against his hand and the sheets. He had an amused look for her and was watching her like he sometimes did. Appreciatively. "I love you." He smiled and she thought he looked cute. Definitely worth dying for. ~~~~ It's not a matter of mind The choice of the heart is a different kind It's always been a mystery When you walk into a room it happens to me And when you're holding me Holding me tonight ~~~~ When he walked into the alley, sweat and blood mixed in his hands, his forehead. He looked dead. A team of two agents had arrived, only a small part of the group scouring the neighborhoods for them. Skinner had dispatched cars in all directions. Apparently, the last radio contact they had was when Mulder said he had a funny feeling. After, base had been unable to raise them. Paramedics led Scully out of the motel on a backboard, her neck braced and her shoulder already open and no longer bleeding. The ambulance driver let Mulder ride in the back with them, but he was pressed against the side of the thin metal, hearing the wail echo in his ear drums and throughout his head. The two agents Mulder had encountered cruising the street had been the thing to scare away the cars of henchmen at four that morning. Mulder silently counted the hours to himself: three hours of bloodloss and fear and waiting in a dirty, rat infested motel. He couldn't pray anymore, couldn't think. Three hours. He sat in the waiting room much the same as he'd sat in the ambulance, scrunched and depressed, eyes dimmed. The wail of the sirens still echoed in his head, the shot of the gun against their motel room dor that one moment was in harmony, and singing an odd counterpoint was Scully's words as he'd left to find a phone. I love you I love you I love you He sighed and rubbed weary fingers along his cheek. Dried blood rolled into little clumps from his skin and fell away. It looked like he'd carried mud into the hospital. He needed to clean up. They let him use a shower in the locker room on the first floor, used mainly for cardiac patients after their workouts with therapists. There were fourteen old men sitting on benches when he came out, three of them were hald naked. Mulder rubbed his hair dry and grabbed his bloodied clothes. On second thought, with the men watching him, he dumped them in the trash and stole scrubs that were folded on a counter in piles. He had to search through them to find his size, but he dressed mechanically, tying the drawstring too tight. When he came back out, a nurse was looking for him. Scully was out of surgery and she was awake in the recovery room. She wanted to see him. He wanted to see her. He walked inside and her eyes lit up magnificently over her pale cheeks. She gave him the kind of smile he needed, craved, to see, and patted the bed with her weak hand. He sat beside her prone form and leaned down to kiss her forehead. His eyes were serious and pained. "I've figured it out, Scully." She wrinkled her forehead and reached up with her good hand to stroke his forearm. "What?" "The motel in New Orleans. It was just about perfect." She smiled again, sighing with the relief of it. "Okay," she said hoarsely. "Okay, I'll give you that." He smiled and leaned forward until his forehead was resting against hers, tight and warm. She threaded her fingers around the part of his neck she could reach, sliding them through the wisps of hair there. He nuzzled her cheek and kissed her again, again, nearly sloppy and unkempt. "I never want to do that again," he said. She closed her eyes and gave a sighing laugh. "Somehow, I don't think this will be the end of it. It doesn't matter though. It doens't matter. I have you. . ." He nodded against her cheek, then leaned back. "And I guess I'm stuck with you." She was simply glad to see him smiling again, holding her and smiling again. ~~~~ end all adios RM