Reimagined: IWTB
by ML

-x-

Chapter Fifteen - Don't Give Up

Scully sat in her office, head in her hands.  She'd been so certain
the day before, but today...the interview with Father Joe had been
very upsetting, not just because of the way Mulder had left, but that
the ex-priest now seemed a confirmed fraud.

If he was a fraud, what business did she have taking his words to
her as something to act upon?  And why was she letting the words he
spoke to her just now unsettle her so?

No, she told herself sternly.  You had very good reasons for making
the decision to operate.  Maybe you had a tiny doubt, but it had
nothing to do with the rightness of the decision.  You don't believe
in signs and portents.

Sighing, she gathered up the folders with all her research, stacking
them to one side so that she could transcribe her notes.  She could
have gotten her administrative assistant to do them, but she
preferred doing them herself, just as she'd done in the FBI.

Some discarded articles lay under the pile of folders.  She picked
them up, checking that there was nothing important in them before
throwing them into the recycle bin.

A word caught her eye in the first paragraph: "transplant."  Almost
in spite of herself, she skimmed the article.

She'd printed this one by accident in her haste a few days before,
discovering that it had little to do with her research.  But now, the
subject of the article held her attention for a different reason.

She vaguely remembered reading about these experiments, many years
before; had probably even seen some newsreel footage in some long-
forgotten basic biology class.

Russian scientists, doing early transplant research in the middle of
the last century, using dogs as test subjects.  She looked closely at
the picture accompanying the article.  Even in a poor-quality black
and white reproduction, it was clear, and clearly unspeakable: a
second head grafted onto a dog's body.  

Dogs.  Transplants.  Acepromazine in the human limbs found...

What Scully was thinking was unspeakable.  Why?  What awful
experiments were going on, and what had she gotten Mulder into?

Without even thinking twice, she dialed his cell phone number.

"It's Fox Mulder.  I must be busy.  Leave me a message."

"Mulder, it's me," she started, almost incoherent with fear and
horror.  "You've got to call me back.  I've found something --
whoever it is, they're experimenting, with dogs and humans -- I don't
know why or where, but please call me as soon as you get this."
Just in case she had a bad connection, she went out into the hallway
outside her office, where the reception was better.  Her phone showed
a clear signal, but it didn't ring.

She couldn't wait.  What if he was already in danger?  Knowing
Mulder, he wouldn't wait for backup.  If he could even get backup...

*She* was his backup.  No one else.  There was no one else, not for
him, not for her.

Unwilling to wait a moment more, she went back to her office and
found Agent Drummy's card, dialing the number as she grabbed her coat
and purse.

"FBI, SAC Fossa," a female answered the call.

"I'm trying to reach Agent Drummy," Scully said, and waited
impatiently for him to come to the phone.

"Agent Drummy," she finally heard, after an interminable several
seconds.

"Agent Drummy, I need your help.  Mulder may be in trouble --"

"Is this Dr. Scully?" he interrupted.

"Yes, it's Dr. Scully," she said impatiently.  "Look, I don't have
time --"

"What seems to be the problem, Dr. Scully?" 

"I think Mulder has found something, but he's on his own.  Do you --"

"Where is Mulder?" Agent Drummy interrupted again.

"If I knew, would I be calling you?" she asked in frustration.

"Hold on a moment," he said, and he muffled the phone.  She could
hear some exchange going on in the background but couldn't tell what
was being said.

Agent Drummy came back on the line.  "Dr. Scully, I'm going to
suggest you call the police." 

"WHAT?" she yelled into the phone, startling the few people in the
corridor.

"This is not an FBI matter," Drummy said flatly.

"But he's working on your case!  You called him in!"

"It wasn't my call," Drummy said.  "That was Agent Whitney's."

"I understand that, and I know that she died chasing the suspect
that Mulder is pursuing now.  I need your help!"

There was a pause.  "I'm sorry," he said in the same flat tone.  "I
can't help you."

Unbelievable, she thought.  "Then connect me with someone in the FBI
with balls who *can*!"

Her phone went dead.  She thought her connection had degraded, but
no, it was just as good as it had been a moment before.

In the situation room at the FBI, Agent Drummy looked at SAC Fossa,
who nodded approvingly as she left the room.

Agent Mosley Drummy watched her go.  Dr. Scully was right; someone
should be out there helping Fox Mulder with whatever it was he'd
found.  Drummy didn't agree with his methods, but it didn't mean he'd
leave a man out on his own.

But it wasn't his call.  He watched SAC Fossa's retreating form,
wondering what the hell was going on.

At the hospital, Scully dialed another FBI number.  "I'd like to
speak to Assistant Director Walter Skinner, on an urgent matter."

"Who's calling for him, please?" asked the operator.

"Former Agent Dana Scully."

x-x-x

Rural Virginia

The snow that had started falling before dusk was getting heavier,
covering the tracks in the road where Mulder's car had been pushed.

Down the slope, falling snow and ice had almost covered the car
already.  But if anyone had been watching from the road above, they
would have seen some shifting of the pile forming over the passenger
side of the car.  The shifting turned into a hole, and out of it
reached a gloved hand.  The hand became two, and the hole enlarged to
reveal the dazed and bloodied head of Fox Mulder.  Little by little
he made the hole big enough so that he could pull himself out of the
car through the broken window.  He'd been cut by flying glass, and
was slightly concussed, but it was nothing he hadn't experienced
before.  He knew he had to keep moving -- not just for his own
safety, but to find Dacyshyn's latest -- and, he hoped, last --
victim.

He looked up the steep slope and looked for a place to start the
climb back up to the road.

x-x-x

Cheryl Cunningham knew that there was something afoot.  Her prison
had been moved to the edge of the lighted room, and she could see her
surroundings more clearly than before.  It didn't inspire hope or
confidence in her to see the operating room set up, and to understand
what her fate was likely to be.

The dogs set up another chorus of frenzied barking, heralding the
arrival of Mean Man.  Sure enough, he came through the far door.  He
handed a bag to Hat Man, who handed it to White Legs.

Hat Man and Grey Pants approached Cheryl's box.  She braced herself,
ready to come out fighting.  She was sure her life depended on it;
these people certainly could have no intention of letting her go,
after what she'd seen and heard.

Tense moments passed, and she heard some exchanges in whatever
foreign tongue these people used, and the clatter of metal against
metal.

She heard the hasp of the lock on her prison.  She tensed, ready to
bolt.

The door swung wide and the two men reached in for her.  She
screamed, "NO! DON'T TOUCH ME!" at the top of her lungs, and did her
best to elude their grasp.

She never had a chance.  The two men held her thrashing body as the
woman approached, pressed the pneumatic syringe against her neck and
she stopped resisting, going limp almost immediately.

Janke Dacyshyn watched from his vantage point next to Franz's
gurney, whispering into his ear.  "You don't need this body any more;
it has betrayed you.  I have a fine, strong body for you.  Soon you
will be healthy again."

Franz made no reply.  He couldn't even turn toward Janke; he
couldn't speak if he'd wanted to.  His head was held onto its body by
sutures within and without; the result of a painstaking surgery
performed a few days ago.

But despite the best efforts of the doctor and his assistants, the
body was dying.  It would soon take what was left of Franz Tomczeszyn
with it, if they didn't operate tonight.

So much had been leading up to this moment: the careful
experimentation over the years, both animal and human; the long
periods of time between attempts, so as not to draw attention.  Janke
had ranged far and wide to find compatible donors.  Even when Franz
had been in remission, the experiments had continued.  Janke had
wanted to be ready.  Franz was all he had in the world, and he owed
him everything.  This gift, the gift of a new body, was his 
repayment.

The doctor and his assistants lowered Cheryl's inert body into the
ice-and-water bath that would lower her temperature during the
procedure.  The nurse began to insert the needles and lines that
would connect the girl to the bypass machine for the surgery.

Approaching Franz's gurney, the doctor waved Janke away with
irritation.  He wasn't even sterile, and here he was, hanging over
the patient in his great filthy coat.

Janke retreated, thinking that this might be a good time to go make
sure that the man he'd run off the road -- for all he knew, an FBI
agent -- hadn't survived the crash.  And if he had...

x-x-x

By the time Skinner picked up Scully in Richmond, he'd already
gotten the location and description of the crashed car, called in by
a man who'd seen the accident site on his way home.  They were
approaching the site now.  Scully sat on the edge of her seat,
willing the SUV to move faster through the thickening snow.  She
could see the flashing red and blue lights of the cruiser ahead, and
the spotlight of the tow truck pointing down into a ravine, where the
Taurus was being winched up, foot by foot.

Almost before the vehicle stopped, she was opening the door, rushing
to the deputy who stood by the tow truck.

"My name's Dana Scully," she said.  "That's my car."

"Right," the deputy said.  "I have your name.  Some bigwig over to
the FBI in Washington called already."

"That would be this man," Scully said, gesturing to Walter Skinner,
who'd just walked up.  "Any sign of the driver?"

"Not a sign of him," the deputy said.  "He could have been thrown
clear; the windows were broken.  We did find this."  She held up a
zip-lock bag with a cell phone in it.

"It's got blood on it," Scully said with fear.

Skinner said, "Now, calm down and think, Scully.  He's nowhere to be
found; that says he survived the crash and walked away under his own
power.  Any sign of tracks?" he asked the deputy.

"No sir, but snow's been pretty heavy since nightfall.  We wouldn't
even have seen the place where the car went off the road if it hadn't
been for this man."  She gestured to the proprietor of the feed store
who had talked to Mulder earlier in the day.

Skinner turned back to Scully.  "He had to have climbed out.  If he
climbed out, he climbed up -- so he's probably somewhere along this
road.  You know Mulder, and you were a damned good investigator --
where do we go from here?"

Scully got a grip on herself.  Skinner was right; her worry and fear
for Mulder was drowning out that part of her that could think coolly
and logically in this kind of situation.  She took a deep breath and
looked around.

"Which way would you say he was heading?" she asked.

The feed store proprietor said, "He was at my store about an hour
before.  If he was on this road leading away, he'd be heading up that
way."  He pointed in the direction Mulder had indeed been heading, as
he followed the white truck.

Scully gave her card to the tow truck driver and got back into the
car with Skinner.  At least they had a place to start now.

x-x-x

As he left the compound, Janke lowered the plow into place.  He'd
risked driving without it on the way, but in the intervening hour or
so the snow had gotten much thicker.  It was slow going but he wasn't
going to take foolish chances now.

About half a mile from the main road, the plow mechanism made a
dreadful clanking noise and the truck stalled.  With a curse, Janke
got out of the truck and looked at the plow.

The hydraulic line was broken, and fluid was leaking out of it. 
Pushing that car over the edge had probably caused the damage.  Janke
kicked at it angrily and futilely.  He slammed the driver's door and
considered his options.  Surely the cold and his injuries would
finish the man off.  And if they didn't, there was still no way he'd
find the way to the compound.  Janke headed back there himself.

x-x-x 

Mulder was getting more and more tired.  He knew he was slightly
concussed, and he also knew that if he sat down to rest, he might
never get up again.  He kept on, looking for a road that might lead
off the main road, one that appeared to be recently traveled, even in
this heavy snow.

The thing is, how could he tell what was more, or less, traveled? 
In the end, he picked the first road he saw, shuffling through the
snow, on the lookout for sign of civilization.  As he came around a
curve in the road, he froze in his tracks.

There was the truck, headed straight toward him.  He couldn't hear
the engine running, and the only light he saw was reflected from the
snow.  It was eerily quiet, but he approached with caution, just in
case Dacyshyn was lying in wait.

The engine was still slightly warm, and the driver's door was open. 
There were no keys in it, and Mulder didn't want to take the chance
of being surprised by its owner while he fumbled with half-frozen
fingers to hot-wire the thing.

Instead, he rummaged around in the cab, looking for anything he
could use as a weapon.

-x-

Chapter Sixteen - The Surgery

Janke Dacyshyn was back in the primitive operating room, this time
keeping his distance from the activities.  He could see the new donor
body in its ice bath, and the lines of tubing circulating the life-
giving blood through the dialysis machine.  The doctor and his
assistant were working on Franz now, carefully cutting the stitches
that held him to the dying body.

It had to work this time.  He was sure that Franz could not
withstand much more of this, and neither could he.

x-x-x

It was very slow going, inching along the country roads in this
hellish weather.  Skinner had been on the phone, trying to muster
what support he could, and letting SAC Fossa know that she *would*
cooperate with this part of the investigation.  She was instructed to
send Agent Drummy to the Richmond office, and as soon as they knew
the right location, to dispatch him and his men where Skinner ordered
them to go.

Scully listened to Skinner barking orders into his phone and felt a
bittersweet longing for those days.  

They'd made a good team, she and Mulder.  They'd probably still be a
good team, had things been different.  But they weren't; events had
played out in ways beyond their control, and they'd done the best
that they could in the circumstances.

Now, they'd established a different path for themselves.  They were
together in life, but separate in their life's work.  Again, it was a
choice thrust upon them, but she had made her way through it, and she
couldn't just walk away.

But would she best be able to fight the future by being a doctor?  

No, she hadn't forgotten that there was a larger issue at stake; it
was always in the back of her mind.  Mulder had never stopped
thinking of the big picture either, and had been doing what he could
to find answers, even while hamstrung by his exile.  Now the
opportunity presented itself for them to once again enter the larger
stage.

But first, she had to ensure that Mulder would be there to argue
with, to make the hard decisions with her.

She would find him.  There simply was no other option.

x-x-x

The only way to go, Mulder reasoned, was in the direction the truck
had come from.  He tucked the big wrench inside his coat and jogged
down the road.  The jogging made his head hurt but it warmed him up. 
He kept it up until he came to a tall cyclone fence, locked with a
serious padlock and chain array.  He could see the faint outlines of
tire tracks, partly obscured by the falling snow.  A collection of
dilapidated buildings was illuminated by floodlights, but the area
around the fence itself was in shadow.  

The fence looked impossibly high, and it was topped with barbed
wire.  The wrench was not long enough to use as a lever to try and
break the chain, and frankly it looked too thick to be snapped by
anyone other than The Incredible Hulk.  He squared his shoulders and
started to climb.

He dropped awkwardly into a snowdrift on the other side, thankful it
was there to break his fall.  He crouched down low, in case there was
anyone outside to see him.

Something was outside to see him, but it wasn't human.  He heard the
growling and snapping before he saw anything and he gripped the
wrench tightly in one hand, watching.

The dog came running out of the darkness, barking and snarling. 
Mulder blinked.  Was he seeing double?  Or did the dog really have
two heads?

Then he could spare no thoughts as the dog leaped for his throat.

In the operating room, Janke hovered around the edges, watching the
procedure carefully.  The doctor's assistant was swabbing Betadine
over the girl's neck, marking the path for the surgeon's cut. 
Everything seemed to be going the way it should be.

Then the dogs started up.  Usually once they were in their kennels,
only a disturbance outside set them off.  They were more agitated
than usual, and Janke felt a thrill of fear.  Had someone found this
place?

The doctor paused in his delicate work and suggested rather
forcefully that he go and find out what was happening.

He shouted to the dogs to be quiet, and they began to calm. 
Something still didn't feel right.  He walked past the circle of
light near the buildings and cautiously approached the fence.

There he found it: evidence that an intruder had somehow breached
their security.  The dog the doctor called Cerberus lay dying -- at
least part of him was, one head quiet in the snow while the other
panted, tongue lolling.  There was fresh blood nearby, and not all of
it was the dog's.  He could see a few spots of it leading away,
toward the light.

Mulder burst into the operating room, brandishing his wrench.  The
warmth of the room after being cold for so long made him almost 
dizzy.

"Stop what you're doing!" he yelled as forcefully as he could,
though his voice sounded unbelievably weak in his ears.  He held the
wrench high.

A tall, gaunt looking man turned to look at him, some kind of
surgical instrument in his hand.  He spoke what Mulder recognized as
Russian, though he didn't understand the words. 

He looked around the room, holding his weapon at the ready.  He saw
a female body in a tank of what looked like yellow slush, tubes of
red attached to her.  

"I want her out of there," he said as forcefully as he could.  "Take
those tubes out and sew up her neck.  *Now*!"

The table where the surgeon had been standing held a body covered by
a sheet, and something else nearby, also covered.  Mulder approached
it cautiously, removing the cloth from the smaller object.

A man's severed head stared up at him.  As Mulder looked on in
shock, it blinked.

The doctor, or someone, was still speaking to him, approaching him
slowly.

"Back off!" Mulder said.  "And *shut up*! Do any of you speak
English?"

No one answered, at least not in English.

The doctor put his now empty hands out, in an apparently
conciliatory gesture.  He spoke calmly.

"I don't understand you!"  Mulder shouted.

And then he was grabbed from behind.  He managed to wrest himself
from the grip of Janke Dacyshyn, who then threw a roundhouse punch
that made him reel.  Before he could recover, the doctor had gotten a
hypodermic in hand, and had administered the drug.

Mulder didn't need to speak Russian to know what it was.  And after
a moment, he knew nothing at all.

x-x-x

Scully could feel hope draining away with every moment that passed. 
Skinner drove slowly out of necessity both due to the weather and so
that they wouldn't miss anything, but she was so afraid that they
wouldn't get there, wherever 'there' was, in time...

"Don't worry, we'll find him," Skinner said from the driver's seat,
sensing her worry.  "I know Mulder, he won't do anything crazy."

Scully didn't answer; she just looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Well, not overly crazy," Skinner amended.

She turned her attention back to her side of the road.  They were
passing a row of mailboxes, battered by years of weather and probably
the random baseball bat.  She didn't look at them closely, her
attention more focused on the road ahead.

And then, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.

"Stop," she said.  "Back up."

Mystified, Skinner did as she requested.  The SUV's headlights
illuminated the mailboxes, and Scully saw it:  one mailbox, evidently
missing a digit so that it read "25 2."

"I don't believe it," she breathed.

"What?"  Skinner asked.

"Proverbs 25-2," she said.  

"What?" Skinner asked again.

"'God's glory to conceal a thing...'" Scully quoted softly.  Without
hesitation she opened the mailbox and reached inside.

x-x-x

Mulder had regained a hazy consciousness, but he couldn't move.  He
was aware that there was some activity around him; now he was on the
move, being dragged across the floor, over the threshold, and down
the steps.  He couldn't raise his head, so it bumped against the
steps as Dacyshyn dragged him outside.

He ended up next to a woodpile, in full view of a stump with an axe
stuck in it.

Now I know what the Thanksgiving turkey feels like, he thought.  Try
as he might, he could not make himself move.

As he watched, the axe was yanked out of the stump.  He heard a
scraping of metal on metal, the sound of an axe being sharpened. 

x-x-x

Scully shuffled through the mail, looking for any recognizable name.
Most were addressed to "occupant", but finally she found a bill --
and from a medical supply company.  The spark of hope inside her
grew, just a little.

"Dr. Uroff-Koltoff," she said.  "I think this must be the place. 
It's an address on Bellflower Road."

"I'll check the GPS," Skinner said.

"Wait," Scully said, listening.  Somewhere in the distance, she
could hear dogs barking.  Not one dog, but a chorus of them.

It was more than a spark of hope now. 

Hang on, Mulder, she thought, climbing back into the SUV as Skinner
gunned the engine.

x-x-x

Mulder found that by concentrating very, very hard, he could move
his head slightly.  He turned away from the stump to see what else he
could see.

To his left, there was a very pale, naked body.  Headless.

Even without a head, he was pretty sure that he'd just found Monica
Bannan.  Then Janke pulled the body away, out of his line of vision,
and he heard the sickening sound of the axe biting into flesh and
bone.

Numbly, he waited his turn.  A long, dreadful interval later, the
axe was returned to its stump.

There were more dragging sounds and a rustling of plastic.  Mulder
didn't need to see; his mind supplied the details of Dacyshyn
wrapping body parts in plastic, prior to disposal.

Mulder strained to move his arm.  He was just about in reach of the
axe, if he could just make his arm move...and it did, excruciatingly
slowly, his hand and fingers still limp.  He dragged his arm toward
the stump, willing his fingers to regain their strength so he could
try to grab the axe.

Dacyshyn's hand reached down and pushed Mulder's arm off the stump
as if it belonged to a rag doll.  He pulled the axe from the stump
and dragged Mulder so that his head and shoulders were now resting on
it, face up.  

He heard sharpening sounds again.  He wondered if it was harder to
chop up a living body than a dead one, and whether or not he stood a
chance of rolling out of range at the last minute -- and how long
he'd be able to fight back in his weakened state.

I can't believe it's gonna end like this, he thought disgustedly. 
After all we've been through, it's not just pathetic, it's ludicrous.

He raised his eyes to Dacyshyn, who now towered over him, axe raised
above his head.

"HEY!" A familiar, much-loved voice distracted Dacyshyn and he 
turned.

Mulder heard a loud THWACK that sounded for all the world like a
baseball bat hitting a good, hard, fastball.

The next sound was of a body falling behind him.

His next sight was of Scully.  She pulled him off the stump and ran
her hands gently through his hair, lightly touching the cut on his
forehead.  "Mulder, are you okay?" she asked anxiously.

He smiled up at her.  "Sorry about your car," he rasped.

"Oh, Mulder," she said through her tears.

"Cheryl Cunningham...she's still alive," he said.

"I'll be right back, I promise," she said.  "Don't move."

If he could have laughed, he would have.

Inside the building, Skinner leveled his gun at the group around
Cheryl Cunningham and yelled, "Hands where I can see them!  Now!"

They might not have understood the words, but they did understand
the intention.  Somehow a tall man leveling a gun at them commanded
more respect than a disheveled, bloody man holding a wrench.  They
huddled together, watching Skinner warily.

Skinner approached cautiously, checking for any other entrances or
other persons who might be lying in wait.  He gestured for the doctor
and his helpers to step away from their victim.

He noted a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see,
to his horror, a severed head, seemingly connected to the woman's
body by various tubes.  As he watched, the eyes blinked slowly.

"My God," Skinner breathed.  "What have you done?"

He motioned them to move further away from the operating theatre,
and spied a large plywood box behind them, its door open, obviously
some kind of holding pen or cage.

"Get in!" he shouted, gesturing with his gun, and the three did as
they were bid.  Skinner locked the door behind them and turned to see
Scully entering the room.

He marveled at how calmly she took everything in at a glance, taking
her coat off and rolling up her sleeves.

"Mulder's outside," she said.  "He's alive, but he needs fluids and
warm clothes.  Please, can you help him?  I've got work to do here."

"What about Dacyshyn?" Skinner asked.

"He's out there too," Scully said.  "I don't know if he's alive or
not."

Skinner left her to her task.  He'd already called Richmond and
reinforcements were on the way, but it appeared to him that Scully
could handle it all, without anyone's help.  Including his.

He found Mulder lying huddled next to a stump by the woodpile. 
Dacyshyn didn't look good, but he cuffed him and kicked the axe away,
just in case, and then turned to Mulder.

Mulder opened his eyes as Skinner knelt next to him.  He smiled a
broad, disbelieving smile.  "Skinner?" he asked incredulously. 
"Girl...inside...still alive..."

"Scully's got her," Skinner said, taking off his overcoat.  "How're
you doing?"

"C-cold," Mulder said, and he soon found himself wrapped in the coat
and the arms of his former boss.

-x-

Chapter Seventeen - Home Again

Here he was, right back where he started from.  Mulder sat at the
desk in his study, trying not to pick at the stitches on his
forehead, already itching.

He'd have stayed at the hospital, but Skinner insisted that Scully
wanted him to go home while she made sure that Cheryl Cunningham was
stabilized.

He'd been questioned while they patched him up, and according to
Skinner, Scully had been questioned, too.  He'd been treated as more
or less a victim, but they'd had a couple more questions for Scully,
such as, what did she know about the big dent in Janke Dacyshyn's
head?

When you were an FBI agent and you shot or injured someone in the
pursuit of a crime, you surrendered your gun, you went before a
review board, and maybe had to go in for some counseling.  It
appeared that when you were merely a civilian, there was quite a bit
more paperwork involved.  Fortunately, Skinner insisted that it was
self-defense -- that Dacyshyn had threatened her with an axe.  

It was true enough to pass.  No doubt Scully would have been next,
if she'd arrived just five minutes later.  Those who didn't know
Scully might not believe that she could get the better of an axe-
wielding madman, but that was their problem.  

There was also the mitigating circumstance that she'd saved the life
of Cheryl Cunningham.

Of course, that's not how the paper told it.  Agent Drummy and his
team had arrived on the scene at the same time as the ambulances and
made the arrests, and it was Drummy on the front page of the morning
paper.  

Not that Mulder wanted any credit or the publicity.  He was
perfectly happy to let someone else take the credit; he just didn't
think it should be Agent Drummy.  

That wasn't the main thing that concerned him, though.  What
concerned him more was where he stood with Scully.  They hadn't
really spoken since that last exchange in the hospital the day
before, and he wished he could take those bitter words back.

He wasn't even sure if Scully was coming home, or if she just wanted
him out of her hair.

The sound of a car pulling up outside ended his self-recrimination. 
He sat still, listening.

A key turned in the front door, and light footsteps approached his
inner sanctum.  He didn't turn as the door opened, giving instead his
traditional greeting:

"What's up, Doc?"

There was silence for so long that he was forced to turn around.

It was indeed Scully, looking mournful.  He should have known that
the reason she drove all the way out her was to deliver bad news in
person.  They had a history of this.

"Mulder," she said gently, "Father Joe died early this morning."

Mulder nodded, saying nothing, his face betraying nothing.

"He was obviously a very sick man," she continued.

Mulder picked up the paper he'd been reading, with news of the
grisly crime splashed across its front page.  "Did you see this?" he
asked her.  "'FBI Arrest of Modern-Day Frankenstein'," he read the
headline.  "No mention of all about Father Joe, except as a possible
accomplice."

"Well, we'll never know the truth now," Scully replied.

"*I* know," Mulder insisted.  "And so do you."

"But I don't."

"Well, I can prove it," Mulder said.  "Father Joe died of lung
cancer, right?  Same as Franz Tomczeszyn had.  What time did you pull
the tubes from Cheryl Cunningham's neck and cut off the blood supply
to his head?"

Scully shook her head, but there was no stopping him.

"That's the exact moment Father Joe died, Scully.  Get me the death
certificate and I'll prove it.  And then I'll take it to the FBI 
and-"

"Do you really think after all that's happened they'll take your
call?"

"Skinner would," he said stubbornly.

"And then what?"

"It's an injustice to the man's name.  Father Joe saved that woman. 
We both know it."

"After what he did to those young boys, who's really going to care? 
He doesn't have a reputation to save."

"I care," Mulder said.  "And I think you do, too."

Scully said nothing.  He was beginning to tread on dangerous ground.

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

"I think you believed him, same as I did, Scully," he said quietly.

"I *wanted* to believe," she said, "and I acted on that belief."

"Why don't you just tell me what he said to you?" he asked.

Scully turned away.

For a long, agonizing minute, it didn't look like she was going to.

He waited her out as patiently as he could, knowing that everything
was riding on whether or not she replied.  He bowed his head.  If she
still couldn't talk to him about it, maybe there was nothing more to
be said at all.  He rubbed his eyes.

"He said, don't give up," Scully said quietly.

Without being told anything more, Mulder thought he understood. 
Still, he let Scully continue, and continue she did, her words
spilling out like water over a dam.

"And I didn't give up, Mulder, and it saved your life."  She
swallowed, near tears.  "But I put that young boy through hell, and
I've got another surgery scheduled later this morning.  All because I
believed that God was talking to me -- through a pedophile priest, no
less."  She rolled her eyes at her credulity, and gave him a watery
half-smile.

On surer ground now, Mulder could argue the case in terms that she
could accept.  "Doesn't it make sense, Scully?  If Father Joe was
seeking redemption, what better way?  What if Father Joe *was*
forgiven?  What if his prayers were answered?"

"Why him, though?" she asked.  "Why would God choose to answer the
prayers of a sinner like Father Joe?"

"Maybe...maybe because he didn't give up," Mulder offered.

Scully smiled sadly.  "Try proving *that* one, Mulder."

He smiled sadly back, knowing as well as she did that belief and
proof seldom went hand in hand.

"Why is this still so hard for you?" he asked gently.  "After all
we've been through together, why are you still so afraid to believe?"

"I'm afraid," she whispered, tears starting down her cheeks,
"because I don't want to lose myself in the darkness.  Or lose you."

"I can't get lost if you're with me," he said, "and neither can you.
Not as long as we're together."

"I want to believe that," she said through her tears, "but it's just
so hard.  I believe you, Mulder.  But I doubt myself.  I don't know
what to believe, how to tell what to believe in."

"I have enough belief for both of us," he said.  "I couldn't ask you
to stop questioning any more than I'd want you to stop breathing. 
It's your questioning that's saved me, more times than I can count. 
It's one of the many reasons I fell in love with you."

He watched as she registered his words, waiting for her response.

"I'm due at the hospital," she said, and turned to go.

Maybe it was too little, too late.  Sure, he'd gotten her to confess
her doubts and fears, but had it done either of them any good?  He
couldn't just let her walk away now.

He went after her.  "Scully," he called from the front porch.

She turned from unlocking the car door.

"Why did he say it?"  Mulder asked her, walking down from the porch.
"Don't give up.  Why to you, of all people?"

"Clearly, he meant it for you, not me, Mulder," Scully answered.

"But he didn't say it to me, he said it to you.  Why?"

Scully shrugged.  "I couldn't begin to tell you."

"If Father Joe was the Devil, why would he say the opposite of what
the Devil might say?"

Scully shook her head, but he had her attention.

"Maybe it's the larger answer, Scully.  Not about you, or me, or
even the boy, but all of us."

"What do you mean, Mulder?"

He got as close to her as he could, just as he had in the old days
when he wanted to talk to her, to tell her something that he wanted
only her to hear.  "Don't.  Give.  Up," he said simply.

She closed her eyes briefly, divining the larger question he was
asking in those three small words.  "Please don't make this any
harder than it already is," she pleaded.

Mulder put his arms around her, and she leaned into him.  He held
her close, twining one arm around her waist and the other in her
hair.  He whispered, "If you have any doubts, Scully, any at all,
call off the surgery this morning."

Scully looked up at him.  He wasn't trying to persuade her to give
up; he was telling her as he had at least once before, that it was
okay to be afraid.  To have doubts.  And that no matter what, he
would be there for her.

"And then we'll get out of here," he said.  "Just you and me."

She smiled tremulously.  "As far away from the darkness as we can
get?"

"I don't think it works that way," he said, answering her smile.  "I
think the darkness finds you.  And me."

She nodded solemnly at his words, looking up at him with such love
and trust that it took his breath away.  He smiled into her eyes, and
continued, "but let it try."

He held her face in his hands and kissed her, investing it with all
the love and hope and promise he could.  They held each other close
for long moments, Scully finally pulling away reluctantly.

"I'll be here when you get back," he said.  "Whatever you decide."

She touched his hand one more time, for luck, and got into the car.

He watched her go, silently willing her to believe.

x-x-x

Scully felt that all eyes were upon her as she walked down the
corridors of the hospital.  Father Ybarra stood with the Fearons, and
she had no doubt that he was trying again to talk them out of the
treatment.  The board, almost miraculously, had decided in her favor
after a late meeting the night before, but she knew that there was
still a long, hard road ahead.

If in fact, she was still going to take the journey.  She headed for
the operating room, where Christian and the staff already awaited.

Christian was already prepped, lying so small and vulnerable looking
on the table.  She smiled at him, and he gave her a very small smile
back.

*What if I'm wrong?* the thought came unbidden.  She looked around
the busy OR.  It seemed to her that no one here would look her in the
eye.  Even Michael was subdued this morning.

She scrubbed in and returned to the OR.  Everyone waited for the
word from her.

Will I know when to say, "Enough is enough," or will I insist on
continuing despite all evidence to the contrary?  Will I listen to
what others are telling me, or will I listen to my heart?

Like Mulder.  So often they appeared at odds when really they were
so much alike.  Neither of them wanted to give up, despite the odds,
despite what seemed like the rational course.

"It's why I fell in love with you," she'd told him.

*Don't give up* she heard, this time in Mulder's voice.  She looked
to the door of the operating room and saw three nuns standing there,
watching, waiting.

*Don't give up.* Don't give up on what you believe in.  Don't give
up on me.  Don't give up on us.

"Are you ready to begin, Dr. Scully?" the assisting surgeon asked.

"Yes," Scully said decisively.  And I'm ready to go on, she thought,
turning to the operating table.

x-x-x

Epilogue

The sun went down early in the tropics, but here the darkness held
no fears for them.  

By day they explored their domain, reveling in the freedom such
privacy afforded them, to laugh and enjoy their surroundings and each
other.

By night they were free to explore more intimate territory, without
the fear that any prying eyes could see them.

When their time out of time ended, they returned to their new
reality, their bond strengthened and their faith restored, united in
purpose, and ready to face whatever was to come.

And what was to come?

That's another story...

-x- end -x-


Author's notes:

I loved IWTB the movie.  The novelization, not so much.  I bought it
after seeing the movie a time or two.  After reading it, I shared my
opinion with a couple of friends, and told them I thought any one of
us could have done a better job.

"Why don't you do it?" someone asked.

Why not, indeed?

So what you will find here is a fanfic treatment of the movie, more
or less, with a few added scenes, some different explanations for
things, maybe even a couple of guest appearances.  I tried not to use
the novel at all, though I did use it to check on the order of a
couple of scenes or a setting or two.  Still, overall, I took my
inspiration from the movie.

Special thanks go to Carol, who was always urging me to get back in
that chair and write; Tess and Donna, who dared (or maybe guilted )
me into writing it; and Char, who gave me that final push that made
me buckle down and finish it, already!

All the ladies helped with beta duties.  I owe a debt of gratitude
to them all for some great suggestions and tweaks.  They are better
than any Spell Check or Grammar Check.  I don't think Microsoft
offers Reality Check, but even if it did, I'd still go with these
ladies.  So, HKs all around!

And now, I can go read some of the post-IWTB fanfic that I've denied
myself lo these many months... 

Thanks so much for reading!

ML - msnsc21@yahoo.com

Circe Invidiosa has made a lovely home for my stories here:

http://ml.invidiosa.com/index.html