Isolation (10/16)
by ML 

email: msnsc21@yahoo.com
Rating: PG13 for mild violence and swearing

Type: Gen, het. M&S, a character/other pairing 
Disclaimer: You know the tune, sing it with me now: I don't own
them, I'm just borrowing for a while.  The original characters:
they're mine, all mine.

Author's Notes: This was written for the 2010 XF BigBang.  
I couldn't have done it without Wendy's expert beta.  Bouquets 
of thanks to her! That said, if there are any errors or omissions, 
that's my fault.  More notes at the end of the story.  

Summary: It's time to come out of hiding and get back to the
business of saving the world.  Mulder is looking for people to help
him and Scully do just that.  With so many of his former friends and
colleagues either missing or dead, he gets help from an unexpected
quarter -- and finds that he's not the only one who's ready to get
back into circulation.   

Takes place in 2008, after the events of "I Want to Believe".

We never gave up, we never will.  In the end, if that's the best
they can say about us, it'll do.
-John Fitzgerald Byers

x-x-x

Chapter Ten

The next morning, wary of what might happen between Fletcher and
Langly, Mulder had suggested that he drop Langly off at Best Buy to
do some computer shopping.

"Best Buy?" Langly said disdainfully.  "I don't buy computers off
the shelf."  Instead, Langly directed him to a disreputable looking
computer store not far from the warehouse, which Langly seemed to
recognize.  Mulder had handed over a credit card with some
trepidation, promising to come pick him up in a couple of hours.

When Morris Fletcher finally showed up, alone, he was glad he'd left
Langly off at the store.  Fletcher's news was not pleasant.  Frohike
had disappeared.

"What do you mean you can't find him?" Mulder yelled.

"He's not where I left him," Fletcher shrugged.  "No one seems to
know where he's gone."

"He's not just a package you left in a bus locker somewhere, he's a
human being!"

"I also didn't have a tracking device on him, although that's
certainly a consideration for the future," Fletcher said 
thoughtfully.

"Tell me where you expected him to be," Mulder demanded.

"I don't think so.  Besides, if he's not there, what good would it
do you to know?"

"I am a trained investigator."

The door alarm rang.

"Saved by the bell," Fletcher murmured.  He smirked at Mulder. 
"Aren't you going to get the door?"

"This conversation isn't over," Mulder promised as he checked the
monitor.

Doggett and Reyes stood at the door, with a young woman standing
with them.  He buzzed the door to let them in.

"This is Connie Philips," Monica said.  "She's Roger Mintage's
assistant.  We told her we'd found him, but that he's lost his
memory."

Connie looked like a rocker chick.  She had the requisite spiky hair
style, black with blonde streaks and kohl-rimmed eyes, giving the
impression she'd been up all night.  Her jeans were authentically
worn, as were her high-tops.  She wore a tee shirt for a band Mulder
had never heard of. 

"There's no Roger Mintage here," Fletcher said officiously.  "Mr.
Mulder, can I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Mulder gestured toward the kitchen.

"Are you out of your mind, bringing her here?" Fletcher demanded. 
"How did you find the studio, anyway?"

"We found a business card in Langly's pocket.  We were
investigating.  It's what I do." 

"There is no Roger Mintage any longer.  By the time that girl gets
back to Chicago, it will look as if Mintage Sound had never existed. 
There will be a fire, or something suitably catastrophic.  Mintage's
name will live on as a footnote in the music business, another tragic
early death."

"You can't do this!" Mulder yelled, not caring if anyone heard him
or not.  "Haven't you done enough damage already?"

"What are we supposed to do with the girl?" Fletcher hissed.  "We
don't know anything about her.  She could be a spy."

"I'm going to take that chance.  You don't get a vote."

"Meet the new boss, same as the old boss," Fletcher muttered.

"I'm telling you, if you don't want me to have Skinner just lock you
up and throw away the key, call off whatever clean-up operation
you've got going on.  We'll figure out something else."

"Well, we could always do a memory wipe on the girl."

"Not an option.  Don't even think about it.  We'll handle this our
way."

They came back out to the main room, where the others stood trying
to look as if they hadn't heard every word.

"Roger's here, isn't he?" Connie asked.  "He's okay, right?  This
guy," she looked daggers at Fletcher, "didn't hurt him?"

"That remains to be seen," Mulder said.  "I'm just about to go get
L...uh, Roger.  You guys sit tight.  Keep an eye on our friend here,"
he said, gesturing to Fletcher.

The atmosphere got a little strained once Mulder left.  Monica took
Connie over to the area set up as a lounge and tried to make her sit
down, but she was restless and tense.  Her eyes tracked Fletcher
wherever he went.  "I don't like that guy," she said softly 
to Monica.

"I don't blame you," Monica whispered back.

Langly was waiting at the door of the computer place when Mulder
pulled up, several boxes of equipment around him.  "This'll do for a
start," he said, handing over the credit card and the receipts.

Mulder whistled.  "This had better be some computer."  He helped
Langly load the boxes into the back of the SUV.  There were several
hard drives and monitors, and lots of cables, keyboards, and other
peripherals.

"I've got some catching up to do," Langly said.  "I'm six years
behind on everything.  Not to mention that security at the warehouse
sucks.  I think you need to do something about that right away."

"We installed cameras at the entrance, we use key cards, and there
are motion sensor alarms.  Do you think that having six locks on the
door is better than one really good one?"

"No, I think six really good locks are better than one.  I think
that you need a lot more security than you realize.  But Frohike is
the real expert on that."

"Yeah.  But right now no one seems to know where he is."

"Not even Fletcher?"  Langly said incredulously.

Mulder shook his head no.  "That's what he says.  I'm not sure I
believe much of what he tells me.  I don't know what his motive would
be for lying about that."

"Maybe he's holding him for ransom, and he's upping the price?"

"He hasn't asked for anything -- yet.  He seems to want asylum. 
He's a shifty bastard."

"You've dealt with plenty of shifty bastards before.  Just make sure
you're keeping an eye on him.  I'll see what I can find out once I
get the systems set up.  I bet I can find out more and faster than
any of those guys Skinner's got working for him."

"You're on.  The sooner we find out what's going on, the better." 
He paused, thinking about what he needed to say.  "Langly, before we
get back, I've got to tell you something."  He explained about Connie
and the business back in Chicago.  Langly didn't ask any questions. 
He sat silently until Mulder finished his narrative, then shook his
head.

"I've never heard of the place, or her," Langly said.  "But I'll be
nice to her."

"One other thing," Mulder said.  "Morris Fletcher is here, too."

"Let the ass-kicking begin," Langly said grimly.  "I've always been
non-violent, but for him I'd make an exception."

"Just remember what Scully said.  We still have to get Frohike and
Byers back."

"Yeah, yeah," Langly muttered.

"Roger!" Connie jumped up as Mulder and Langly came in.  "You're
okay."  She stopped short of hugging him, but didn't seem to know
what to do with her arms.  She sort of hugged herself and then let
them drop, standing awkwardly in front of Langly.

"Yeah," Langly said uncertainly.  He had no memory of this skinny
young woman with the dyed black hair and multiple piercings, but he'd
told Mulder he'd play along.  He caught sight of Morris Fletcher
lurking in the background.  Before he could say or do anything,
Mulder stepped in.

"Let's give them a chance to talk," Mulder suggested to Fletcher and
the others.  He herded everyone else into the kitchen, leaving Connie
and Langly in the lounge. 

"Hey," Connie said to Langly.  He sat down on the sofa, and Connie
perched on the edge of the armchair next to it.

"Hey yourself," Langly said.  "You're Connie, right?"

"Yeah," Connie said.  "They told me you have amnesia, so you don't
remember stuff.  What is this place?  I mean, I know it's a
warehouse, but what's it for?"

"It's -- I don't know what it is any more.  I used to live here."

"That makes sense, I guess," Connie said.  "It's like your place in
Chicago, except not fixed up.  The -- the recording studio; Mintage
Sound.  Do you remember?"

"I had a studio in Chicago?"  Langly shook his head.  It was like
she was telling him about a dream she'd had, and he was in it.  It
wasn't his dream.

"You still do," Connie assured him.  "These two guys came -- a man
and a woman -- they say they're FBI, and they showed me badges.  They
told me that you'd been kidnapped and lost your memory.  So I locked
the place up, set all the alarms, and came to find you.  If you don't
remember how to get there, I can show you."

"I don't remember anything.  I'm sorry, I don't even remember you."

She wouldn't cry.  She never cried.  Roger Mintage had been her boss
as well as a friend.   She'd never had a family before Roger.  Now he
was gone too.

"That's okay," she said, although her throat was aching.  "I was
your assistant.  I know how to do most things around the studio now. 
I could probably help you remember how to do stuff."

She was so earnest under her tough looks, almost desperate.  Langly
wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. He sure didn't want her
to cry.  He said something almost at random. 

"When I was a kid, I thought it would be fun to have a recording
studio.  It's cool to be in a band.  I think it's even cooler to work
with a lot of bands, you know?"

"Yeah.  You were good at it, too.  Maybe once you go back, and see
it, you'll remember."  She'd taught herself not to want much, but she
couldn't stop herself from wanting this.  Please make him Roger
again.  Please.  

"I think I need to stay here for now.  But you know how to handle
things, right?  Maybe you could keep things going until I come back."

"Really?"  She brightened a little.  "I can do that, just until you
can come back.  'Cause you will come back won't you?"

"It sounds like you know your stuff.  You'd have to  show me what to
do all the time.  Do you think you could run it yourself?  If I come
back, you might be the boss of me." 

That made Connie smile.  "I know I can.  You'll always be the boss,
if you come back.  I won't let anyone else do it."

"Sounds like a plan," Langly said, pleased with himself.  He was
royally pissed at Morris Fletcher for doing this not just to him, but
to this girl, who obviously didn't have much to begin with.  The
least they could do was to help her keep the business going.  Mulder
would help with that, he knew.  If Connie even needed help.  

x-x-x

By the time Scully got to the warehouse that evening, the place was
starting to look presentable -- for a warehouse, anyway.  With
everyone's help -- even the grudging help of Morris Fletcher -- some
additional furnishings had been assembled.  

"Not quite all the comforts of home," Mulder said. "There are
sleeping quarters set up for Langly and the others.  Langly's got his
computers going.  We're not done by any means but we're getting
there."

"It looks like an Ikea showroom," she remarked, looking around the
lounge.

"Hey, don't disrespect Ikea," Mulder said.  He gave her the tour,
ending with the vast, empty main warehouse floor.  

"This will be your lab," he said, sweeping his hand over about half
the  space.  "With the infirmary right next door."  

"That's a lot of square footage for one researcher," Scully
remarked.  "And a part-time one, at that.  I can use the labs at the
hospital, you know."

"I figure that in time you'll have a staff here, same as me," Mulder
said.  "If you agree, that is."

"It could work," she replied thoughtfully.  "We won't be ready for
the next arrival, though.  If Fletcher brings them here, we have to
be ready to get them to the hospital."

"Well, I don't want him pulling up to our house in his unmarked
white van," Mulder said.  "What would the neighbors say?"

"Speaking of keeping up appearances," Scully said, "How do I explain
my new patients?  Amnesia isn't exactly in my area of expertise."

"But if you were given a grant to study it, would you consider a new
interest?"  Mulder asked.

"Someone's offering a grant?" Scully asked suspiciously.

"I've had some money put away for a while," Mulder explained.  "From
my father's estate, for Samantha, if she ever came back."

"I remember."  She didn't know about it until after Mulder himself
was thought dead.  "It's still in existence?"

"Oh yeah.  I didn't get around to changing it, before -- you know. 
I think it's time I put some of that bad money to good use.  I talked
to the lawyers today."

x-x-x

Later that evening, after much arguing, Fletcher revealed Frohike's
alternate identity.  Doggett suggested putting out a BOLO for "Frank
Franklin".  Fletcher had refused to reveal more than the name.  Then
Monica found a Missing Persons report from the Tucson area filed for
a Frank Franklin that day.

The report stated that Mr. Franklin had gone to Tucson with a Gibson
Praise, and had not returned when expected.

"If he's with Gibson, he's probably already on his way here," Mulder
said.

"How can you be so sure?" Fletcher scoffed.

"I just know.  I think you should come back here in a couple of days
with the antidote, and we'll take it from there."

There was a good deal more wrangling before Fletcher reluctantly
agreed.

After he left, Scully took Mulder aside.  "I don't know if that's
the best idea, Mulder.  We don't know anything about the antidote or
how to administer it."

"What's the alternative, Scully?  Letting Fletcher do it?"  He
sighed. "I know it's not the optimal solution.  At least you'll be
able to oversee it."

Scully nodded, her expression grim.  "You're right, it's not the
optimal solution."

When it came time to call it a night, some awkwardness arose
regarding sleeping arrangements.

"I'd rather stay here," Langly said, "if that's okay."

Connie said quickly that she'd rather stay too, although Scully
invited her to go home with them.  Connie had stuck close to Langly
all day, helping him put together his computer components.

"We may have trouble getting her to go back to Chicago," Scully
observed to Mulder on the way home.

"Would that be such a bad thing?  I don't think there's anyone to
miss her in Chicago, as awful as that sounds.  If she doesn't want to
go back, I wouldn't force her to go.  She seems like a quick study,
and she gets along with Langly.  That's a feat in itself." 

"You're right about her being alone.  Monica did some checking, and
Connie was in the foster care system for a long time.  I wouldn't
tell her she had to leave here.  It should be her choice.  I don't
think she's been given many."

"I certainly wouldn't turn her out," Mulder said.  

Scully sighed.  "It's all so wrong."

"What's wrong?  What Fletcher did?  Yes, it is."

"Do two wrongs make a right?  Should we allow Morris Fletcher to
continue to control this?"

"We're not going to let him," Mulder said.  "We're giving them their
lives back, the lives that he stole, getting them involved in that
whole business."

"The thing is," Scully said, "their lives are being stolen again. 
It's not just the Gunmen, either; we're ruining other lives too. 
Look at Connie.  Her life will never be the same."

Mulder was silent for a long time.  "It's all wrong," he said
finally.  "What's happened to the guys is wrong, what's happened to
you and me is wrong.  We're trying to make some of it right.  We
can't change the past, but maybe we can make the future better."  He
sighed.  "Nothing about this is going to be easy." 

"No," Scully agreed, "it's not."

Mulder reached over for her hand and held it for the rest of the
ride home.  

x-x-x

Somewhere outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, Frank saw flashing
lights behind them.  "Pull over," he hissed to Gibson.  "Act 
natural."

Gibson did as he was told, speaking politely to the officer and
handing over his license and registration when requested.  Frank sat
stock-still, staring straight ahead.  He had nothing to be worried
about, he told himself.  He'd done nothing wrong; he was an adult and
free to go where he pleased.

"Your identification, Sir?"  The officer asked Frank.

Frank hesitated only slightly before handing it over.  What would
happen if he refused?  Nothing good, he was sure.  Sweat trickled
down the back of his neck as he handed it over.

The officer barely gave it a glance, as if confirming something he
was already sure of.  "Mr. Praise, would you step out of the car,
please?  And you too, Mr. Franklin?"

The younger man looked at Frank with panic on his face.  Frank was
sure that his face mirrored Gibson's.

Frank heard the officer on his radio.  "I've apprehended the
subjects, awaiting further instructions."  He couldn't hear the reply
on the radio.

"Should we make a break for it?" Frank murmured to Gibson.  

Gibson didn't answer right away; he was frowning a little,
concentrating on the officer.  Suddenly his face cleared a little. 
"No, I don't think so.  I think it's okay.  Stay put."

In a moment, the officer came back over to the car.  "Mr. Praise,
Mr. Franklin, I've been ordered to escort you to the closest FBI
office."

"Can you tell us why?" Gibson asked, although Frank was sure he
already knew.

The officer said, "I do not have that information, Sir.  The Deputy
Director has instructed the local office to assist you in any way it
can."

x-x-x

"When are Gibson and Frohike arriving?" Scully asked the next
morning.  She drank her coffee, though it wasn't helping her feel
much more awake.  Neither she nor Mulder had slept much after getting
yet another late-night call, this time with the news that Gibson and
Frohike had been found.  

"They're getting a flight first thing this morning," Mulder said. 
"Doggett's picking them up at the airport.  He was all set to go down
to Little Rock and escort them personally."

"Does Fletcher know?"

"I took great pleasure in waking him up myself," Mulder grinned. 
"He'll be there.  He says he has the antidote." 

"We're not letting him anywhere near Frohike with it," Scully said
firmly.  "And before ANYONE does anything, we're going to talk to
Frohike.  We're not just going to rush him off to the hospital.  I
want him to understand what's happened."

Mulder nodded.  "That's why I want you to come to the warehouse.  We
should talk to him together, in surroundings that are a little less
threatening." 

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Scully promised, giving Mulder a
swift kiss before rushing out the door.  Why had she thought thirty
miles was a short commute?  It was beginning to feel like a hundred.

She had strong misgivings about administering an unknown drug. 
Langly was okay so far, but there was no telling how Frohike or Byers
might react.  The "grant" might cover liability for the hospital and
her staff, but it wouldn't make her less culpable, nor would it
assuage her guilt if she did anything that harmed her friends.  

The warehouse was looking more and more like the Gunmen's old
headquarters.  Last night's pizza boxes were still on the kitchen
table and empty Red Bull and Jolt Cola cans were scattered around. 
The formerly empty racks along the wall were now filled with
components blinking their various colored lights.  Langly had pushed
all the other furniture out of the partitioned-off computer area
except for a couple of desks and a long table, which was covered with
equipment that he'd been pulling apart.  Several power cords and
cables snaked along the floor to the table and the desks.

"It's ridiculous to assume that the wireless connection is safe," he
was explaining to Connie, who nodded solemnly.

"How's everybody doing?"  Mulder asked.  "I brought breakfast."  He
held up a bakery bag.  

Connie and Langly both looked up at the same time.  Connie had a
monitor and keyboard next to the one Langly was using.  Data was
scrolling across the screens.  It was impossible to tell what they
were doing.

"Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, I haven't lost my kung fu,"
Langly said.

"Good to know," Mulder replied.  "How about you, Connie?"

"She's a natural," Langly enthused before she could answer.  "She
could be another Esther Nairn."

Connie smiled a little.  It was obvious she had no idea who Langly
was talking about.  "Roger, uh, Langly, taught me a lot of stuff,"
she said.  

Langly looked momentarily confused. "Oh. Yeah." 

Around noon, Doggett called to say that he and Monica were on their
way from the airport. 

Fletcher got there first.  He was cagey about where he was staying. 
Mulder briefly considered seeing if Skinner would put a tail on him,
tabling the thought for more urgent matters.

"Have you got the antidote?" Mulder asked.

"Nice to see you too," Fletcher said.  "Yes, I have it."  He held up
a small black case.  "Is Dana here yet?"

"That's Doctor Scully to you," Mulder said.  "I've called her, and
she'll be here as soon as she can."

Hearing voices, Langly came in from the computer room, Connie
trailing behind him.  Langly seemed not to notice he had a shadow
following him.  "What the hell is he doing here?" he said, gesturing
at Fletcher.  Connie glared at him. 

"Mulder," Fletcher warned, "you'd better keep him away from me if
you want my help."

"Is this guy who's coming here a friend of yours?" Connie whispered
to Langly.

"Yeah," Langly said, surprised at the question.  "Kind of.  Yeah. 
We worked together."

Doggett buzzed the door and Mulder let them in.  He looked around at
all the expectant faces.  "I don't think anyone expected a welcoming
committee," he said as he stood aside to let Gibson and Frank in.

Mulder, nearest the door, reached out his hand to Gibson.  "Good to
see you again," he said, deadpan, and Gibson took his hand, only to
be engulfed in a hug.

Frank stood uncertainly in the doorway.  Mulder approached him.  

"Mr. Franklin," he said, "you don't know me --"

"Sure I do," Frank said easily in his gruff voice.  "You're Mulder."

Hearing his old friend say his name was almost too much.  He turned
to Gibson.

"We had a long drive," Gibson said.  "I told him all about you, and
Scully, and the other guys.  What I knew, anyway."

"But you never met the guys," Mulder said.

"I knew them through you," Gibson said.  "And Frank, here, had
memories of you, and Scully, and Langly and Byers.  I can see them,
even if he can't."

Langly had been standing in the background and now came forward. 
"Do you know me?" he demanded of Frank.

Frank thought a minute.  "Yeah, your name is Langly, Richard Langly.
I don't know why I know that, I just do."

Fletcher said, "He was the hardest to put under, for such a little
guy.  He really fought against the imprinting."

"Who are you calling little, you overstuffed --" Frank started
toward Fletcher.  Doggett held him back.

"Get in line," Langly said.

Amidst all the commotion, the door alarm rang.  

"Do you think you guys can keep from throwing punches while I go let
Scully ?"  Mulder asked.  He went to the door and opened it for
Scully.  "Welcome to the party.  Frohike's just gotten here."

Without prompting, Frank walked right up to Scully.  "Hello, pretty
lady."

Scully didn't know whether to laugh or cry; she did a little of
both.  "Hello, Frohike," she said.

"The name's Frank," he said with a wink, "but you can call me
anything you like." 

Morris Fletcher clapped his hands together, startling everyone. 
"Okay, reunion's over: time to get down to business."

"I said we're going to do this our way," Mulder said.  "That means
full disclosure."  

"We need to explain to you about reversing the memory wipe," Scully
said gently to Frank.  "If you don't want to do it, we're not going
to force you."

Fletcher made a snorting noise and rolled his eyes.  "My way is much
faster," he said.

"Shut up, Fletcher," Mulder said.  "Fro-Frank, if you'll come in,
we'll tell you what we know."

Frank listened carefully to the two strangers.  That asshole
Fletcher hung around in the background, muttering objections, but
everyone seemed to ignore him.

The man who'd introduced himself as Mulder and the pretty woman he
called Scully did most of the talking. They seemed serious; moreover,
they seemed to genuinely care about him. There was an inherent
truthfulness in the way they spoke.  Gibson, who had become a friend
on their long road trip, sat nearby, not trying to convince Frank of
anything, just listening along with him.  The others were out of the
room, although the one they called Langly had made a fuss about being
kicked out at first.

Their story was incredible, but after what Gibson told him, not
completely unbelievable. Gibson had that same trustworthy vibe about
him, and he seemed to trust them.

In the end, the only stipulation he made was that he wanted to be
sure that Carla, Teri, and his other employees at the diner were
taken care of.  "Some guy from the IRS was there," he said, "and I
don't want them to lose the business because I forgot to dot an i or
cross a t on some tax form or other."

"We'll make sure of it," Mulder said, with a hard look at Fletcher.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Fletcher muttered.

Once Frank agreed to go ahead with the procedure, Scully called the
hospital to get the admissions process started.  There would be a bed
waiting for him when they got there. 

"Why can't we just do it here at the warehouse?" Fletcher asked.  

Scully glared at him.  "Because it's the right thing to do," she
said.  "If you don't want to come along, you don't have to.  Just
give me the antidote and tell me how it should be administered."

"Nothing doing," Fletcher said.  "I'm coming along.  You can call me
Dr. Morris."

"You are NOT getting anywhere near Fro -- Frank at the hospital, and
I am certainly NOT going to participate in any scheme in which you
pretend to be a doctor," Scully told him.

"Dr. Morris," Mulder scoffed.  "Great alias, by the way."

"Hey, the IRS agent at the cafe was called Morris," Frank recalled. 
"What gives?"

"I wouldn't be too superior about aliases if I were you, 'M.
Luder'," Fletcher sneered, ignoring Frank's question.

"Boys," Scully warned sternly.  "If you don't stop it right now, no
one is going with me.  Frank, are you ready to go?"

"I was born ready," Frank said.  "Let's go."

Scully drove Frank to the hospital with Mulder, Fletcher, and Gibson
in the back seat.  Fletcher kept glancing over at Mulder, keeping his
mouth shut, for once.  When Scully looked in the rear view mirror,
Mulder and Fletcher looked like two teenage boys who'd been 
grounded. 

At least this time their patient was able to walk with them up to
the Neurology floor.  Once Frank was settled in a room, Scully read
the instructions that Fletcher had supplied, a single printed page
folded into the case with the drugs to be used.  She set up the drip
herself as Nurse Chavez and Dr. Chandra assisted with the monitors.

Once the Frohike was attached to all the monitors, Scully thanked
them both and told them she'd call them back if she needed 
assistance.

"Who wrote up these instructions?" Scully asked Fletcher, who was
standing in the doorway.

He shrugged.  "Someone in the lab.  Why?  Is there something wrong
with them?"

"No, surprisingly, they're fairly clear," Scully replied.  "I'd be
much happier if there was more information about the drug itself and
the indications, however."

"Hey, it works," Fletcher said.  "What more do you need to know?"

"Plenty," Scully said.  "What about side effects?  What about long-
term effects?"  She glanced over at Frank, hooked up to monitors with
the drip ready to go.  "How can we properly inform Frank, or anyone,
of the risks if we don't know what they are?"

"Mulder's still here, and he's okay," Fletcher pointed out.  "Aren't
you?" he asked Mulder pointedly.  "Also," he continued to Scully,
"your friends agreed initially to the experiment.  I think we have
the signed consent forms on file somewhere --" he made a show of
patting his coat pockets.  

"Dr. Scully, I'm willing to take the risk," Frank said.  "If you
promise me you'll stay with me."

"Of course I will," she promised him, her eyes damp.  "You're sure
about this, Frank?" she asked again.  

Mulder glanced at Gibson, who nodded slightly.  Fletcher noticed the
silent exchange, his eyes narrowed.

"Hey, you know what they say: nothing ventured, nothing gained,"
Frank joked, although his voice shook.  "Go ahead, before I lose my
nerve."

"You're going to be fine," Scully promised.  

Frank watched as if from a great distance as she prepared the needle
and began the first injection into the IV line.  Things started to
get fuzzy right away.  He focused on her soft hand holding his until
he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

~*~

Continued in Chapter Eleven