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Chilmark Project, The - Part III - Foxhunt

by Wylfcynne and Ravenwald

Title: The Chilmark Project - Part III - Foxhunt Authors: Wylfcynne & Ravenwald

DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere; just please ask; that way we'll know where it all goes, so we can visit.

SPOILERS: Does this really matter anymore? This is a post-ep for Demons, carrying on (and on, and on...) into an AU where some of the episodes beyond that happen, and others do not. This is the divergence point from the canon, but some episodes after that are included in our warped little world.

Specifically, Biogenesis, The Sixth Extinction and Amor Fati do NOT happen here! Neither do several other episodes. Basically, we picked and chose what we want to have happened in our universe. Also, we reserve the right to kill off the Fowl One OUR way! And just WAIT till you see what we have planned for Phoebe Green! It's not nice to screw over our Mulder...

RATING: R for adult concepts; chapters with NC-17 segments will be labeled.

CLASSIFICATION: post-ep, MT, MSR, AU,
Crossover (Highlander: The Series, The Sentinel, F/X: The Series)

SUMMARY: Post-Ep for DEMONS; did you ever wonder why Mulder let that quack drill holes in his skull and shoot him full of Ketamine? TWICE? We figured it out, and things started to snowball... The Chilmark Project is a Consortium sideshow, one of the little jobs they had running while everyone's attention was on the Big Show. Six children born in Chilmark, Massachusetts between 1961 and 1966 were the original subjects...

DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't ours; if they were, they'd be having more fun, and we wouldn't be saving up for new cars! Thank you, Mr. Carter, for creating the show, and thank you, Mr. Duchovny, and you, Miss Anderson, and you, Mr. Pileggi, for creating the people. We're just borrowing Fox, Dana, Walter and the others for some fun and games. We promise we'll bring them back on time and unharmed, and they won't remember a thing.

Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Kim Cook and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter, Fox and 1013.

Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg and Simon Banks belong to Pet Fly.

Rollie Tyler and Angie Ramirez belong to Fireworks/Rysher.

Duncan MacLeod, Amanda, Methos/Adam Pierson, Joe Dawson, Anne Lindsey and Matt McCormick belong to Panzer/Davis Productions.

Anyone else belongs to us.

FEEDBACK: Please...? (sad puppy pout) The Wylf howls at the moon for feedback... Ravenwald pouts if she doesn't get it.

XFC-FDBK: Yes!!

AUTHORS' NOTES: at the end.

Part I - Demonology was originally written several years ago and is on Gossamer in a slightly different version. It has since been revised and the revised version is available on Ephemeral or from the authors.

Part II - Mother's Day - is available on Ephemeral or from the authors.

+++

Part III - Foxhunt

FBI headquarters Tuesday May 14, 2000 9:10AM

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked up at the familiar voice. Dana Scully was a quietly beautiful woman, and he almost always looked forward to seeing her. He also knew she had many fine, if less tangible, qualities: she was terrifyingly intelligent, she was a scientist, and absolutely, incorruptibly honest.

"Agent Scully, where is your partner?"

She blinked at him, patently startled. "Sir?"

"Where is Agent Mulder?"

She was still unsettled; he could see it in her eyes.

"I...I don't know, sir," she said finally. "I expected to find him here. He didn't come in?"

Skinner shook his head. "He didn't come in, he's not here. He's not answering his home phone or his cell. Is he working on something on his own time?"

Scully was processing the information he had provided. "Not that I'm aware of, sir. He took Monday off to visit his mother. Perhaps there's been a problem and he has not had a chance to call in."

He hated it when she so calmly came up with such a rational explanation. That annoyance made his voice harsher than he had initially intended.

"Then find him, Agent Scully. I don't want to mark him AWOL."

"Yes, sir." She turned and walked out. He heard her footsteps accelerate in to a run before his office door closed completely.

+++

It was just a few minutes before noon, and Skinner was looking forward to getting down to the gym and pounding the stuffing out of the heavy bag. He usually pictured Cancerman's creased but smug face on the bag, and right now he wanted to pound something bloody.

(*I know I'm only an AD, but I hate being kept in the dark and fed manure!*) he groused privately. (*Cancerman treats me like an errand boy and Scully vacillates between believing whether she can trust me or not. Mulder trusts me, at least a little... wherever the hell he is--!*) Before he could follow that line of reasoning any farther, his phone rang. He glared at it, then grabbed it.

"Skinner."

"Scully here, sir," came the quiet but terrified voice. "I must report that I believe Agent Mulder has been kidnapped."

Skinner's voice betrayed nothing. "Kidnapped, Agent Scully? What evidence do you have to support that theory?"

"His apartment's been trashed, sir, and there are some traces of blood. I've sent them to the lab."

"And you don't think he's just in pursuit of some suspect?"

"His service weapon, his badge and identification, and his car keys are here, sir. His car is here. His sneakers are here. I think he was accosted in the shower; there was an open bottle of shampoo lying on the shower floor. He lost the fight, and was taken out bleeding, naked and wet."

"And no one noticed this?"

"Apparently not, sir," she sighed. "Mulder is an insomniac; sometimes he runs in the middle of the night. He was supposed to go to Greenwich to see his mother; I don't know if he did, and I don't know what time he might have gotten home. If it was three or four in the morning, it would not be beyond the realm of possibility to imagine that no one we have been able to locate saw anything. The only thing I can positively say is missing from his apartment, besides him, are his handcuffs. I don't like what that implies, sir."

Skinner frowned. "I don't like it, either, Agent Scully. Report the crime to the local police, but make sure they know you're the lead on this. He's one of us--it's our case."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep me informed, Agent Scully. Do you want someone to help? I can assign you someone..." He could not even say 'interim partner.'

"No, sir. I can handle this."

"If you need manpower, tell me."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

+++

That evening, having made no significant headway in the investigation, Scully made a decision. She got into her car, and made a short trip that she had seldom before made without Mulder. She got out of the car and slowly walked up to the door. She hesitated and then raised her hand to knock. The door opened before she finished the motion.

"Agent Scully?"

The facade that she had kept intact under Skinner's penetrating gaze crumpled as she heard the genuine concern in Byers's voice.

"Agent Scully, what's wrong?" The bearded man steered her into the building and got her over to one of the office chairs before she collapsed.

"They've got him." The statement came out low and broken. She had no proof that the Consortium had taken Mulder, but with these men, she did not need any.

Byers immediately understood what she meant. "Frohike, Langly, those bastards have kidnapped Mulder!"

The other two men entered the office quickly and took their places surrounding her.

"How...?"

"When...?"

Langly and Frohike spoke at once.

"Sometime over the weekend. He had yesterday scheduled off. He was supposed to go see his mother over the weekend. When he didn't show up this morning, I went to see what was wrong, to find out what she did to him this time."

She took a deep breath, and deliberately detached, as if this were just another case.

"When I got to the apartment, there was no answer, so I used my key. I entered his living room and there was clothing scattered around, two or three outfits as if he had dumped his suitcase out onto the floor, and then someone had kicked the pile apart. There was a trail of clothing, sweats and his socks leading into the bathroom. The shower was running and there were signs of a struggle. There was a small amount of blood trailing from the shower to the door and then it stopped."

Her composure began to show strain. "They took him naked and dripping wet."

Frohike hunkered down in front of her and took her hands in his. "We'll help you find him, Dana. We won't let these bastards win!"

+++

Scully could not face her empty apartment again, so on Wednesday night, when Skinner told her that she had to go home or he would have her arrested just to make her stop running around town chasing flimsy leads, she went to her mother's.

She let herself in, and stopped dead when she saw the four flower arrangements on the mantle. (Four?! Who...?)

"Mom--!" she called, her already ragged emotions shredding with this additional stress. "Mom!"

"I'm here, Dana!" her mother called from the kitchen. She came out smiling, drying her hands. She frowned when she saw the distress on Dana's face. "Dana, honey, what's wrong?!"

Afraid to say anything for fear of completely losing control, Dana gestured inarticulately at the mantle where the flowers were displayed.

Margaret Scully could see her daughter trembling, and knew that something was horribly wrong. She also knew that her daughter would not talk until she was good and ready. So she glanced up at the flowers and smiled gently.

"Fox brought those on Sunday night. I thought it was very nice of him."

"Mulder was here?!" Scully went on alert. "What time? Did he mention going to Connecticut? When did you see him, Mom?"

Margaret frowned. "Dana, what's wrong?"

"Mulder's been kidnapped, Mom. He was taken right out of the shower in his apartment; we've been looking for him for two days and we can't find him anywhere..."

"Oh, Dana!" Margaret rushed forward and hugged her daughter.

Dana resisted comforting. "Mom! When was he here, and when did he leave? We need a time frame!"

"He arrived on Sunday night, sometime after one in the morning," Margaret did not hesitate: this was important. "He slept for a while on the couch, and he left some time before I woke up at eight-thirty. When I came down, the flowers were there."

Dana Scully stared at her mother. "What was he doing here, Mom? And why would he stay here? Was he looking for me?"

"No, honey. When he pulled up in the driveway he didn't seem to know where he was or how he got here," she said softly. "His mother went out of town without telling him; he drove all the way up to Connecticut for nothing. She didn't even leave him a note!" She let her anger become audible. "He was a little shocky and seemed surprised at where he had ended up, so I invited him in for coffee. We talked, and he slept for a while on the couch. When I woke up in the morning, he was gone, and he had left me the flowers he bought for his own mother."

Dana collapsed in the nearest chair. "Oh, God, Mom... what if it turns out you were the last person to see him alive...?"

"Dana!" Scully looked up and her mother was shocked to see tears in her eyes. (*Oh, Fox... you doubted that she loves you...! If only you could see this...!*) "Dana, when you were missing, after that awful Mr. Barry kidnapped you, Fox never failed to believe that he could find you, that you were alive and that if he tried a little harder, or worked a little more, he could find you and you would be all right. Don't you dare give up on him! If he's being held somewhere, he's waiting for you to find him, Dana! You cannot give up on him! You cannot!!"

And Dana Scully stared into her mother's eyes, wondering at the grief she saw there.

+++

Unknown location Wednesday evening

Mulder woke up slowly. Groggy, he tried to move, and could not. His wrists were cuffed painfully tight behind his back; his ankles were bound together with rough manila rope, and anchored to something immovable. Another loop of that rope was snug around his throat. Something bounced him hard against the bonds, and he gasped in pain.

(What the hell--?) He was tied down inside the trunk of a moving car. (This makes no sense...)

But thinking was difficult, too: he had a splitting, screaming headache that seemed centered across the top of his skull. He felt the car start up again, and the vibration and the jolting quickly pushed him back into unconsciousness.

+++

When he woke up again, the car was not moving. He wondered what had disturbed him out of his half-drugged daze. He tried to focus his eyes in the darkness, but there was nothing to focus on. Then the trunk lid opened. The light was so bright that he cringed in pain and buried his face against his shoulder.

"C'mon, Mulder. Get up. We're there." Mulder squinted into the blinding dazzle and tried to look up. Someone grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him up and out of the trunk. After hours lashed together, immobile, Mulder's legs were asleep, and he sagged against the car, pulling free of his captor's grasp.

"C'mon! Bring him in here!"

"Yes, sir!"

Mulder tried to look around, but he was grabbed by two thugs the size of gorillas and hustled inside a large building. They dragged him down a long corridor to an elevator, inside and down several levels below ground. Then they unceremoniously shoved him into a cell and left him alone.

Moving slowly, still dizzy and disoriented by whatever-the-hell drug he had been given, Mulder looked around.

(Looks like a hospital cage for an animal,) he grumbled to himself. It was also very cold; he had been grabbed out of the shower, and although he was dry, now, he was still naked. He fought to sit up, annoyed at how difficult it was with his wrists cuffed behind him and his ankles lashed together. He had to worm his way into the corner and use leverage against both walls to manage it. He had just succeeded when the cell door opened. He looked up warily, in time to see another prisoner, naked and bound just as he was, tossed inside. The door slammed.

"Hi, partner."

The other prisoner was Alex Krycek, and he winced at the vicious sarcasm in Mulder's tone.

"Don't--"

"Don't what? After everything you've done to me, you expect me to be polite to you?!" Mulder was getting very angry, and he shoved himself up onto his knees to glare at the renegade agent.

"I'm no better off than you are..." came the feeble offer.

"And that's supposed to make everything all right?!"

Krycek shuddered. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I really am. I never wanted it to be like this..."

"And how did you want it, Krycek?" Mulder spat. He was shocked out of the rage he was cultivating when he saw Krycek shudder from head to foot. The psychological analyst in Mulder's mind suddenly came awake, and he swallowed the next harsh retort trembling on his lips.

Krycek tried to square his shoulders, and could not, so he dropped his gaze to the stainless steel floor between them.

"I...I would've liked..."

Mulder's gaze sharpened; something was seriously disturbing Alex Krycek. "What would you have liked, Alex?" he asked softly, intentionally using his enemy's first name.

Krycek lifted his eyes, and managed, somehow, to meet Mulder's. "How long have we known one another, Mulder?"

Mulder was startled by the sudden change of subject. "What?"

"How long have we known one another?" Mulder's eidetic memory flashed the answer at him. "Since July 31, 1994. Why?"

"Are you sure?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

"I...remember you as a kid, Mulder. You and me. And another kid...and three girls."

Mulder refused to react. (*He belongs to the Consortium; they could tell him to say this...*) "So?"

"Why did we all hate your father, Mulder? We all hated our fathers, but yours most of all. I killed him because that was my assignment: to kill him and frame you for the murder. But I enjoyed it. He was a monster, and he didn't deserve the quick death I gave him. But I can't remember why! Tell me why!!"

"I didn't think you'd ever met him, socially." Mulder could not keep all the vicious sarcasm out of his voice.

Krycek's shoulders slumped. "I swear..." Then he cut off whatever it was he had been going to say when the door opened to admit a pair of guards.

"Here. You two've got five minutes to get dressed, or I take you before the Director in your skin."

"'The Director?'" Mulder asked as one guard entered the cell, unlocked his bonds and handed him a set of blue scrubs. Mulder entertained the notion of trying to jump the guard at that moment, but he was still wobbly from whatever drug had been used to capture him, and decided all he would do if he tried was fall on his face. Unwilling to risk that indignity, and knowing that the other guard would likely shoot him if he tried, Mulder leaned on the nearest wall and pulled on the simple cotton pants and shirt. "Yeah." That was Krycek, speaking in a dry, sarcastic voice around the pistol barrel being pressed against his throat. "He's a member of the Board that runs the Consortium. The people that give Cancerman his orders."

"And you yours." Dressed, Mulder turned and faced his guard, trying not to show how hard it was to stand straight without swaying.

"Most of the time," Krycek admitted, with a vicious glare at the man holding him.

"And the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time I do what I want."

Mulder snorted in disbelief. Annoyed, his guard slammed him up against the wall and pistolwhipped him hard.

Mulder went down hard, limp and in pain, but not quite unconscious. He could feel himself being manhandled, but he could not quite figure out what the guards were doing. Gradually the world faded to gray, and then to black.

It was some indefinable time later that Mulder found himself on his feet, being shoved down a hallway. One guard's hand was on his arm, shoving him ahead. His bare feet stumbled on the cold tile floor. He could not see where he was going; the first thing he realized when awareness filtered back was that he was hooded. The fabric felt like a pillowcase, and it was strongly woven; no light leaked between the threads. He was totally blinded, and the air inside was a little thick and warm from the accumulation of his own exhalations.

He was wearing handcuffs again, possibly even his own set, but this time his wrists were fastened in front of him. He had less range of motion, however, because there was a length of chain belted around his waist that went over the short bit of chain between the cuffs. His hands were held together and snug against his body. Another length of chain connected his wrists to steel shackles around his ankles. His ankles were fastened to each other with a scant foot of chain, forcing him to shuffle. Beside him, another set of chains rattled; a muffled curse told him it was Krycek and that he, too, was probably chained this way.

(*This is how violent felons get taken to court, and to their deaths.*) Mulder's thoughts went bleak. (*I wonder if Scully will ever learn what happened to me?*)

That thought depressed him even more than his own apparently imminent death; the idea that Scully might get swept up in a hopeless quest for him, just as he had been swept along on his quest for his missing sister.

The corridor seemed to be as metallic as the walls in his cell, judging from the echoes. Mulder and Krycek were shoved along until they got into an elevator. Mulder leaned against the wall, as far from Krycek as he could get, and tried to overcome the dizziness he still felt. The elevator went down for a long time; Mulder guessed it was at least ten levels, though there were no cheerful bells announcing the floors, as on a public elevator.

"How appropriate," he rasped.

"What's that?" Krycek asked, puzzled.

"Our destination."

"You don't even know where you are!"

Mulder faked a shrug and heard the chains chime musically. "Into the Underworld. Hades. Land of the dead, home of shadows and wraiths, the antithesis of life and light."

"You read too much at Oxford, Mulder."

The elevator stopped then, and the guards shoved them out into the corridor. This time they only walked a little way. Then the guards pulled them to a halt and Mulder heard him knock.

"Come."

The door opened. The guards shoved him in and deliberately tripped him. Mulder landed on the floor on his knees, and, without a convenient wall, or a helping hand, he had no way to get up, chained and still somewhat disoriented as he was. He settled back, sitting on his ankles, and straightened his back. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. If they were going to kill him, so be it. They were not going to cow him. He had faced certain death before. He could do it again. He would do it again.

If there were others in the room, he could not hear them moving their feet or shifting; he wondered if there was anyone there but himself, Krycek and their guards. Then he heard an electronically changed voice come from a speaker somewhere above him.

"Take him." No one touched Mulder. Instead, a jolt of electricity hit him through the chains and he choked off a scream as he collapsed. The electricity continued to flow, and the chains begin to glow red- hot. He gasped, twisting in agony on the floor, as the jolts continued to hit him.

He did not see Krycek flinch, or start to move forward toward the suffering prisoner.

"Mr. Krycek!"

Krycek froze at the sound of that voice.

Mulder choked back a sob as the red-hot chains began to burn the skin on his wrists and ankles.

Alex Krycek could only stand in his chains and watch, paralyzed, horrified, and not understanding his own turmoil; why was it so upsetting, and yet so familiar, to see Fox Mulder being tortured? He never heard the next command, was unaware of his own fate until it struck. Lightning raced through his body, and then the pain was all he knew. He was hardly aware when he hit the floor beside Mulder, who had gone limp, blood seeping out from under his chains.

"Take them both," Krycek heard the Director say. (Take us where?) he wondered as the darkness claimed him. (And why me, too? Why me?)

+++

The intercom buzzed, and Skinner slapped at it impatiently. "What?"

"Sir?" It was Kim's voice, her usual cool tones leavened with excitement. "Agent Kehoe with something on Agent Mulder's disappearance."

"Send him in, Kim."

Agent Kehoe was an average looking man from the Midwest who had distinguished himself by his ability to interface with local police agencies and keep everyone working side-by-side happily and efficiently. He had done well enough to be promoted to Headquarters, where he was the HQ Liaison to the DC police and to every other law enforcement agency in the Capital area for non-terrorist, non-political crime.

Mulder's kidnapping had been his number one priority since the report had been filed.

He came to attention before the Assistant Director's desk.

"Well?"

"Sir, we have identified another kidnapping that matches that of Agent Mulder. It happened within twelve hours of Mulder's kidnapping, but we've only just learned about it."

"Why is that?" Skinner growled.

"Because no one noticed that this guy was missing," Kehoe almost shrugged, and then caught himself. "This guy was new to the neighborhood -- he'd only been in that apartment for three months. No one knew him, no one cared, so no one reported him missing."

"How did you find out?"

"Landlord got complaints that there was no hot water in the building for the other tenants, so he went in to check the place. He found the shower running, and wouldn't have cared, but there was a blood smear on the bathroom floor. I had put Mulder's kidnapping on VICAP at once. When the officer entered this other case into VICAP, it hit on Mulder's case. The officer followed procedures and called us."

"Have you identified the missing man, yet?"

"Yes, sir; I was waiting until we had confirmation to report this."

Skinner glared at him. "Well?!"

"Alex Krycek."

Skinner stared at him. "Krycek? Was living in a dive like this?" He had recognized the address as being in a very shabby section of town.

Kehoe nodded. "For the last three months, anyway. Neighbors describe him as quiet and unassuming, helpful within limits; he generated a certain amount of sympathy for his handicap. They all positively identified him from photos we offered. It was him."

Skinner was thinking hard as he buzzed Kim and asked her to send Scully up to his office. Scully walked in at once. She shrugged at the expression on his face. "Kim called me when Agent Kehoe went in, sir. She knew you'd want me. What's up?"

Skinner gestured, and Kehoe repeated his report.

Scully half-collapsed into a chair. "Krycek? Who would kidnap Mulder and Krycek?"

Skinner leaned back in his chair, gestured Kehoe into a seat, and steepled his fingers as he studied Scully. "You know Mulder better than anyone on the planet, Agent Scully," he said softly. "Can you think of anything they have in common?"

"Quantico," was the immediate first offering. "Krycek was one of us, for a while, anyway."

Kehoe got out his notebook, and started taking notes. "Hobbies in common?" he asked gently.

Scully spared him a disparaging glance, and then faced her commanding officer. "You might want to check some unofficial channels, sir," she said pointedly. "And then close them with extreme prejudice."

"Scully." That was reproving. Then he sighed. "I might want to do that, but it might not be possible."

"Sir, you are a marksman. It's possible."

"I'm not closing any channels until we have Mulder back safely," Skinner said quietly. "I will inquire, but if he has had a hand in this, he won't tell me the truth."

"He will intentionally mislead you, either way, sir," Scully pointed out. "But it will give us direction, even if it is negative direction."

Kehoe interrupted cautiously. "I have to believe the two of you know what you're talking about, but if the same people took an agent and an ex-agent, then there has to be something they have in common. It may not be anything obvious, but it has to be there."

"Quantico is the obvious place to start," Skinner sighed. "See what instructors they may have had in common, and remember that they went through the academy what, six or seven years apart? Make sure that Mulder's classmates are matched against Krycek's instructors. Social contacts are important. Then you can go through all the cases they both worked on: continue after Krycek disappeared, and match up every time Krycek has inserted himself into Mulder's life. Scully, you might want to start with the most recent impact and work backward."

He turned to Kehoe. "Did you search Krycek's apartment?"

"Everything that didn't belong to the landlord is in evidence downstairs. We'll go over it again, of course, but we couldn't find anything overtly suspicious. Only fingerprints in the room were Krycek's and the landlord's."

Scully was discouraged. "Wonderful."

"Agent Scully."

She looked up. "Sir?"

"He never once gave up on you," Skinner said tensely. "Don't you even consider giving up on him."

She glared at him. "Never, sir. Never."

"All right, then."

+++

Unknown place Unknown location

Krycek woke up tied down on an examining table. It took him a few minutes to process all the bizarre information his senses were feeding him. They had taken the cuffs and shackles off him, and removed his prosthesis. He was tied down with soft cotton bonds that criss-crossed his chest, fastened down each ankle and his single wrist. Another strap had been tightened down across his thighs. These straps were fastened with Velcro, which made it almost insulting that he could not get them off. To be chained had been flattering, in a way, but this was the sort of soft binding reserved for mental patients who might hurt themselves if not restrained. He struggled against it for some time before admitting temporary defeat and turning his attention to what else he could learn.

He was naked and uncovered to whoever might enter the room. And it was not just a room. This was plainly a medical laboratory. There were cabinets against one wall with clear glass doors through which he could see an assortment of medical instruments and tools, including one shelf devoted entirely to glass ampules of injectable drugs. It was too far away for him to read the labels on any of the bottles; he could tell that they were drugs, and that was all that mattered.

In each corner of the room, up just under the ceiling, was a video camera.

A low agonized moan pulled his attention to the other side of the room.

"Oh, my God..."

There was another examining table about a yard to his left. Naked and exposed on it, just as he was, lay Fox Mulder. But where he was bound with soft cotton strapping and Velcro, Mulder was still chained. The cotton strapping had been wound around his upper arms and around his thighs to hold him to the table, but the stainless steel handcuffs still kept his wrists together, and the chain belt was still holding his cuff chain snug against his belly. The ankle shackles were still there, connected with about a foot of steel chain. The ankle chain was fastened down with a bit of clothesline. All the metal bonds were
bloodstained, and there were streaks of blood dried on his skin. Krycek could only stare, horrified, fascinated, as Mulder moaned again, and twisted a little, fighting the bonds.

(Even unconscious, in agony, he won't give up!!) The now-familiar thrill of admiration filled Krycek again. "Fight 'em, Mulder," he whispered. "Don't let 'em win..."

A few minutes later, several technicians came into the room. Krycek lay back and just watched. He flushed with embarrassment when they moved on both prisoners and began their activities with the employment of Foley catheters to collect urine in plastic bags slung somewhere underneath the tables upon which they lay.

(*Be glad you're out of it, Mulder. I could've missed this...*)

Then the prisoners were each fastened down even more securely, with a throat strap and a pair of more narrow bands anchoring down the right forearm. Krycek began to fight, desperately, when he saw them bringing in an IV rig and the nearest technician bared the needle at the end of the attached plastic tube.

The tech was disgusted. "Oh, stop it. You can't avoid it. Lie still and take it, or you could be in as much pain as your pal, over there."

Krycek involuntarily glanced at Mulder in time to see the tech on that side open the IV and inject something into the port. Mulder's entire body convulsed as the drug hit his bloodstream. In moments he was screaming. Much to Krycek's shock, he was not just wailing in agony; he was crying out for help.

"Dad!! Dad!! Help me!! Dad, don't let them! Dad! No! Not again!! No!! Anni! Sam! No!! Noooo!!"

The nearest tech negligently slapped Mulder, rocking his face to one side. "Shut up, asshole. Your daddy's not here." Still not really conscious, Mulder subsided a little, moaning more quietly. "Don't take them away...I need... Anni...? Sa-man-tha...? Nickie...? Nickie, don't leave me alone..."

(*Alone? He's been alone for years. This doesn't make sense. And who are Annie and Nickie? The only women we've documented in his life are Phoebe Green, Diana Fowley, and Dana Scully. This doesn't make any sense...*)

Krycek did not see the tech beside his own bed repeat the same actions. All he knew was that suddenly, the world blurred out, all color vanished in a wave of grayness. Suddenly he was utterly alone, isolated in a way he did not know he could ever be. The two technicians in the room vanished from his awareness. His eyes strained to see his companion in pain, but the body on the next table was only a shadow.

"No," he whimpered, unaware that he voiced this grief, this terror. "No! Don't leave me alone! I can't be alone...! Please...!"

But he was alone. He remembered...

He remembered this isolation, at the point of a needle.

He remembered others like himself, sobbing out their loneliness and fear, huddling together in the little patch of woods behind the elementary school, holding each other in silence, no words necessary between the six of them as they trembled with terror at the memories they shared. He
remembered his arm around Samantha Mulder on one side, and, on the other...

"Molly..." he whispered, his eyes staring, unfocused, at memories more than a decade old, memories Alex Krycek had never seen. "Oh, God, Molly..."

From the next examining table, came the words, whispered, as if to keep their captors from hearing. "Nickie... Nickie...you aren't alone... I'm still here... Nickie...?"

And a wall constructed years ago, with drugs and pain and malicious intent, began to crumble. As the artificial persona of Alex Krycek disintegrated into nothingness, Nicolai Lermontov screamed himself back into being.

"Nickie! Nickie, it'll be over, soon... Take it easy..."

Fox Mulder came partly out of his drugged daze at the sound of a familiar voice screaming. He could hear himself saying, "Nickie... Nickie... It's all right, Nickie..."

When he could get his eyes to focus, he saw his fellow prisoner. At first, his vision was not entirely clear, and he could not recognize the other's features. But the voice was familiar enough, especially in this setting; it was Nick. Nickie Lermontov. The bond-sib that he had long ago resigned himself to never seeing again.

"Nick! Nickie, it's me, Fox. You aren't alone... settle down. It' s wearing off, Nickie. Settle down... Can you hear me, Nick? It's Fox..."

"Fox...?"

That single syllable was sobbed, in a tone so utterly desolate that it hurt Mulder to hear it.

"It's me, Nickie," he confirmed. "Take it easy, now. It's just tests. We've been through this before..."

"God, Fox, she's gone..."

"I know, Nick. Anni's gone, too."

"Why are we alive?!" Nick's voice was suddenly a snarl. "This is WRONG!!" Mulder blinked and found his focus returning. Suddenly he gasped. "Oh, my God! Nickie?!"

He was staring at the tear-streaked face of Alex Krycek. His memories of Nickie Lermontov shimmered, and the image of the last time he had seen his bond-sib superimposed itself over Krycek's face.

They matched.

Alex Krycek was his bond-sib and childhood companion Nickie Lermontov.

+++

FBI headquarters AD Skinner's office a month after Mulder's disappearance

"You're crazy!"

"Agent Scully..."

Skinner's voice held a warning, but Dana chose to ignore it.

"This is Mulder's life that you're playing with. What do you think the Consortium's going to do when Mulder's kidnapping airs on national television?"

"Let him go, maybe." Skinner studied the haggard woman in front of him. "There isn't anything else we can do. It's been four weeks and there's no sign of him. I've run out of ideas and options. Do you have a better idea?"

Scully sighed, and her shoulders suddenly slumped. "No," she told him in a small voice. She felt the world closing in on her. "No, I don't. I... I think I'd better tell Frohike and company, or they'll be in here bothering you, Sir."

"Do so." The thought of The Lone Gunmen invading his office made Skinner shudder. "Go now. The producer of the show would like to interview you tomorrow in your office."

She shook her head sadly. "Would you mind if we did it up here? I would rather the world was not exposed to Mulder's obsession. If we do the interview down there, he's just a nutcase who believes in UFOs and who's probably off chasing the last one he saw. Up here, he's a federal agent that's been kidnapped in the line of duty."

"Very well." Skinner wished he dared touch her; she so desperately needed a hug. "We'll find him, Dana. I promise."

She just stared at him, then turned on her heel and left the room.

+++

"I think that it's appropriate that we should ask for help." Frohike did not look at his two friends or Scully as he said this. He knew what their reaction would be.

"You're crazy," Scully said, right on cue. "There isn't anyone we can trust with this! This is Mulder's life! You're as crazy as Skinner is!"

"That's my point. It's Mulder's LIFE. We haven't been able to do anything in all this time..." his voice trailed off. He knew the statistics as well as the others did. If you did not find a kidnap victim within the first 48 hours, the odds of finding him alive became more remote as each day passed. "I have friends I trust with my life. Not many, but a few. And I know that Langly and Byers do, too. It's time to call them. There isn't anything else we can do.

"Skinner was right when he contacted AMERICA'S MOST WANTED, Agent Scully. You haven't found out anything with the entire resources of the FBI at your disposal. You need help." Byers's voice was quiet with conviction. Usually the retiring one of the three, now he stepped forward to take Scully's shoulders in his hands and force her to look up at him. "Mulder needs help. He needs as much help as we can get, wherever we can get it from." He gingerly pulled Scully to him as her tears started to fall. "We'll find him, and when we do, you have to tell him how you feel. He'll never be the first to voice what he feels. You know that."

Defeated, both by her superior and by Mulder's friends, Scully nodded at the three men standing before her. "Okay, who do we contact first?"

+++

852 Prospect Avenue Cascade, Washington Saturday night

Blair sat on the couch cross-legged with a pile of exams on his lap. Sighing, he looked fondly over at Jim who was slouched in the other corner of the couch. He was tempted to slide over and start something, but then he looked down at the piles of exams surrounding him and sighed again.

"What's wrong, Chief?" Jim asked around a mouthful of popcorn.

"I hate the end of the semester. I don't know why we have to have final exams."

"Is there some sort of rule at the university that says you have to have exams?"

"No, but if you don't, you have to assign a major research paper for the upper level classes and that's even more of a pain to correct than the exams are. Well, at least the seminar papers are typed."

"Look, give me the key and the Anthro 101 tests and I'll help you." Jim offered.

Blair looked up with abject and total adoration on his face. "You will?"

Jim laughed and ruffled Blair's curls. "What are friends for? C'mon. I'll help until nine, and then we'll take a break and watch AMERICA'S MOST WANTED." Jim grinned at Blair's reaction. "Hey, come on, think of it as my homework. You never know when something you see on that program is going to help in a case. They really have solved a number of crimes, Blair."

"Yeah, right." Blair retorted, then handed Jim a red pen, the answer key and the largest pile of papers.

"Hey..." It was Blair's turn to grin at his partner. "Jim, you can do each of those exams in under two minutes, these take fifteen to twenty each. Which would you rather have?"

"Never mind, I never said a word."

"Didn't think so," Blair whispered softly to himself and concentrated on deciphering yet another sophomore's handwriting.

+++

"Okay, all done!"

Blair looked up from his work to see his Sentinel grinning.

"Time for a break, Darwin." Jim plucked the red pen from the younger man's hand and set it on the coffee table. Then he took the pile of exams from Blair's lap and put them next to the pen. Slowly, never breaking eye contact with him, Jim pulled Blair into his arms and snuggled his Guide close. "Now, this is the way to watch television. A good show, popcorn and a fully interactive body pillow!"

Ten minutes later, the interactive body pillow ended up on the floor...on his butt.

"No way!" "Jim?" Blair looked up at his friend and was stunned at the look on his face. "Talk to me, Jim."

"Wait!" Blair turned his attention to the television, and listened to John Walsh's narration as a picture plainly taken from a federal ID card flashed on the screen. "Take a good look at this picture. This is Alex Krycek, American born son of Russian refugee parents, raised in Rhode Island.

"He qualified as an FBI agent in 1994. He was a Special Agent for the FBI for less than a year. When he was found to have assisted in the kidnapping of another agent, he disappeared again.

"Since then, it has become apparent to the FBI that Krycek is one seriously sick individual. He is absolutely obsessed with the man who was his partner during his stint with the FBI."

Another photograph flashed on the screen; a slightly older man, smiling faintly. It was another identification card snapshot.

"This is Special Agent Fox Mulder, the Bureau's premier profiler, head of a small department within the Bureau that specializes in cleaning up cases that other police agencies and other departments of the FBI have given up on. Within that department, Special Agent Mulder and his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, have one of the highest solved- case percentage rates in the Bureau.

"Krycek was assigned to Mulder for his field training. Krycek betrayed his oath and his partner, interfering with Agent Mulder's work to the extent that he prevented Agent Mulder from rescuing Agent Scully, who had been kidnapped.

"Krycek disappeared at the same time. Agent Scully was rescued some time later, but there was no sign of Alex Krycek.

"Since then he has repeatedly reappeared in Agent Mulder's life. He stalked Agent Mulder for months. He murdered Agent Mulder's father. He assaulted Agent Mulder's immediate superior, Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and stole vital evidence from him. He was involved in an attempt to murder Agent Scully, when her sister Melissa was killed, instead.

"There had been no sign of Mr. Krycek for months. Then, five weeks ago, Agent Mulder was
kidnapped right out of his own apartment. He vanished without a trace, and there has been no progress in the investigation whatsoever.

"Because of their history together, Alex Krycek was the prime suspect in Agent Mulder's
disappearance. That lasted for approximately three days, when the DC police turned up evidence that Mr. Krycek had been abducted in the same fashion, at approximately the same time.

"Alex Krycek is wanted for murder, for assaulting one member of the FBI and is wanted for questioning in the disappearance of another. But he is also apparently a victim in this case. He is armed, dangerous, and very unpredictable; don't try to approach him! If you see him, or if you see Agent Mulder, call the local office of the FBI, your local police or 1-800-CRIME-TV."

"Jim?" Blair asked cautiously. Jim was rigid, staring at the screen, gritting his teeth so hard Blair could hear them grating against one another.

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Who wouldn't?"

Jim took a deep breath and turned to face Blair. "I don't know who Alex Krycek is, but I knew that guy in the Army as Nicolai Lermontov. They had tapped him for the Rangers because he spoke Russian fluently. His parents were immigrants. Because of that, and because he was small growing up, he learned to fight early, but he never liked it. There is no way he'd do something like that, Chief. He... he just couldn't." Blair searched Jim's face and wondered what this man had meant to Jim. The older man saw Blair's questioning look and sighed, looking away.

"You loved him." Blair said quietly.

"Yeah... maybe." Jim refused to make a clear statement. "We never became involved because he was under my command and I didn't play that sort of game. If this Alex Krycek is Lermontov, something horrible must have been done to him. We lost touch when I was sent to Peru. He didn't go on the mission because he came down with the galloping god-awfuls the night before we left. When I got back I tried to locate him, but I was informed that he had gone AWOL."

"So, it possibly could be the same person. Think he could have kidnapped this Federal Agent?"

"Yeah, it's possible. God knows he had the training. I just don't think he had the motivation. I'm a lot more comfortable with the idea that someone else grabbed both of them and that the rest of what they said is some sort misunderstanding. Something weird is going on, Chief. I wonder if I can find out?"

"Well, we can't do anything tonight. Tomorrow, why don't you call Jack Kelso? Maybe he could find out about what's going on for you?"

But in the morning, Jim Ellison did not call Jack. He called AMERICA'S MOST WANTED.

+++

Washington DC The next afternoon

"Agent Scully?"

Startled, she looked up from her monitor screen. The Assistant Director was standing the doorway of the X- Files office. "Sir?" "John Walsh called."

She went absolutely still. "What did he say?"

"They got over four hundred calls last night. Some of it is probably a waste, but one call was definitely pay dirt."

She swiveled her chair around to face him squarely. "Tell me."

"He says Alex Krycek is an alias; he knew the man as a US Army Ranger from 1985 to 1988."

"What was his real name?"

"Nicolai Lermontov of Chilmark, Massachusetts."

Scully sank back in her chair, her eyes blank with shock.

+++

The rail car laboratory Actual location and date unknown

Nick was startled when, after what seemed to be weeks tied down to the examination tables, he was suddenly freed. Wobbly on legs that had not supported weight for days, dizzy after so much time horizontal, he was pulled out of the room, down a short corridor, and shoved into a tiny cell.

(Is this the same train car?) he wondered, suddenly frightened. ("Fox! Fox, can you hear me?! Fox?!")

Distantly, weakly, he could feel Fox's presence. Their bond was not really verbal; it never had been. Careful experimentation had shown them that sub-vocalizing the words made the sending clearer. If he concentrated, Nick could feel Fox thinking about him; still groggy from the last test, but conscious and aware, sending reassurance to his companion. Nick's legs gave out on him, and he sank to the floor. (*They want to know how far apart we can sense one another. Should I lie? Can I?*)

He fell asleep trying to decide.

The decision became moot a little later, when he woke up screaming in pain and discovered he was alone. Whatever was causing that horrible pain was being done to Fox and not to him.

("Fox, I'm here. You aren't alone. I'm here. It'll be over soon... hang on...")

But it was not over soon.

+++

Same place. Later

Nick was fed real food, and forced to exercise regularly on a treadmill. He found this return to relative normalcy unnerving, even as he crammed in all the food and exercise he could get, storing up strength for later.

He felt incredibly guilty to be so well treated while his bond-sib was still tied to a table, being used as a lab rat. Fox's screams regularly woke him up. They sobbed together in their shared fear and pain. Nothing was changed except that now they could not talk to or see one another.

Nick desperately wanted to talk to Fox. He could feel Fox's emotional state clearly when his bond-sib was conscious. Those times became less and less frequent, but each time, Nick could feel a dark depression, a sense of overwhelming hopelessness in his companion. Their bond did not allow them to speak to one another; all Nick could send to Fox was the wordless, formless feeling of their connection, their affection, their need for one another's companionship. Sometimes it was enough, and Fox would send him a smile then fall gratefully asleep.

But sometimes it was not enough, and the darkness would seem to nearly swallow the older man. Nick was reduced, on more than one occasion, to kneeling at the wall nearest the laboratory, pounding on it with his fists and screaming the FBI agent's name.

(*Is it any kindness to keep him here with me? Or is it just my own selfishness? I don't want to die alone, here. I want someone to realize my loss and mourn me, and Fox Mulder is the only person on the planet who will care when I'm gone. So I have to keep him sane and alive. God, is that sick, or what?*)

Nick shuddered, but he still could not bring himself to let Fox go.

+++

Same place - Some time later

Nick guessed it had been about ten or eleven days; he had been counting the meals they brought him. Then he was dragged back into the laboratory, and tied down again. Once he was secured, they freed Fox.

Mulder was weak from having been tied down and could not stand without support; he had to be all but carried out of the room. Nick relaxed back with a sigh. He was reasonably sure they had just traded places, and now he would be the target for a couple of weeks while they combined monitoring Mulder's reactions with getting his physical health back.

He was right.

They used drugs and physical torture. Wired and tubed every possible way, Nick had no way to measure time, and the individual incidents began to blur into one another. Desperate for the anchor to comfort that he found in his bond-sib, he yearned desperately for him. Contact was there, and usually supportive. Early on, when he reached for Fox all he got was a nightmare image, but as Fox regained his strength, he regained his need and ability to support his bond-sib as he had been supported.

Nick was unconscious when Mulder was returned to the lab, and was both pleased and dismayed when he awakened.

"Fox?" His voice was only a whisper; he had screamed himself hoarse.

"I'm here. Relax, Nick."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Holding you here." Mulder turned his head to meet his bond-sib's pain-glazed stare. "It's not your choice, Nick."

"You can't lie to me, Fox."

Mulder chewed his lip. He knew what Nick was talking about, but neither of them wanted their captors to know. "I forgive you, you know. I understand. Am I holding you, too?"

"I think so."

"Figures." They both smiled thinly. Then they were silent for a long, long time.

+++

Interim Status Report

After the first treatment with Compound CP-TPB-6 both Subjects B and C responded, within the limits of measurement, as they had when last tested at ages 15 and 13, respectively. They both began to exhibit expected complaints of loneliness and isolation, both were reduced to terror and then to tears almost at once.

It also became apparent that, despite having known Subject C for several years as Alex Krycek, and to have developed a significant antipathy toward him, when the first treatment began to wear off, Subject B immediately recognized his childhood bond-sib, and they picked up that original relationship as if they had never been separated; as if Alex Krycek had never existed.

This conclusively demonstrates that CP
compounds and SL compounds, such as are most commonly used in the various forms of Semileth, are mutually antagonistic. When the CP drugs were introduced, all effects, long- and short-term, of all their previous exposures to Semileth were apparently negated. This conclusively
demonstrates that Semileth, in all its forms, is no more than a mask. It does not destroy synaptic connections, it simply isolates them.

Subject C regained all knowledge of his childhood identity and history, completely shattering the construct shell persona of Krycek that had been so painstakingly layered on after Subject D's untimely death had left Subject C on the edge of sanity and teetering dangerously.

Certainly the imposition of the shell persona preserved Subject C's sanity. However, this minor step in the re-evaluation has totally bared Subject C and while the data is significant to the Project, it is more subjective than we would prefer.

Subject C has been spending most of his waking hours sobbing, apparently mourning the death of Subject D. Due to the timing of the imposition of the shell persona, Subject C apparently feels her loss as having been recent. Even though Subject A's death was Several months ago, Subjects B and C have done their mourning together.

It is clear that they are each deeply grieved for the other's loss. This shows an emotional empathy that Alex Krycek never exhibited; it was part of Subject C that was sublimated by the shell.

It has been observed that they seldom sleep at the same time. It appears that they are standing guard over one another's dreams. Even when they are asleep they are aware of one another on an emotional level; one's distress will awaken the other, even if the distressed one makes no sound, even if they have both been rendered temporarily deaf with earplugs.

We theorize that, although they communicate through their bond, that this communication is non-verbal. They still speak to one another aloud. When they were children, non-verbal
communication was apparently only possible between members of a pair-bond. When Subjects A and B, for example, were isolated during a testing session at the age of 13, they never spoke aloud. Our observers in town reported that they rarely spoke except to others. When they were alone together, they never spoke aloud, though they exchanged smiles.

Step Two will commence on Day 50 of this re-evaluation.

Interim report, Re-Evaluation, Week Seven. submitted Tuesday 30 June 2000

+++

The rail car laboratory Actual location and exact date unknown

In a windowless laboratory, moving almost constantly along the interstate rail system, the two prisoners had no way to judge the passing of hours or days. Neither had any idea how many days into this captivity it was when one of their captors came in alone.

They eyed him warily. This was no mere technician; this was one of the decision-makers, a doctor they had long ago labeled Mengele's Stepson. They had not seen this particular tormentor for a very long time. Either he preferred to simply observe from outside, or he had been away and had now returned.

He did not speak to them; he never had. He seemed unaware that they were capable of verbal interaction. He simply walked in, with a roll of duct tape over one wrist. He stopped beside Mulder, studied him for a moment, then casually tore off a length of tape and pressed it down over Mulder's eyes. He smoothed the tape down snugly and anchored the ends together at the back of Mulder's head.

Braced for pain, terrified that the tape would be placed over nose and mouth to smother him, Mulder only just managed to get his eyes closed in time. He concentrated on sending a calmness toward Nick, who could not see what was happening. The doctor was between the two prisoners, his back to Nick. It only took a few moments. Once the tape was secure, the doctor left, all without a word.

As soon as he was gone, Mulder relaxed.

"Fox?"

"I'm okay, Nick."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He faked a shrug. "It doesn't hurt. It just kinda itches."

"But you can't see!"

Mulder shrugged again. "What is there to see in here that I haven't memorized?"

Nick frowned. "Fox, the last time they did this..."

Now it was Mulder's turn to frown as he turned his blinded face toward his companion. "What are you talking about? They didn't do this before..."

"Sure they did, Fox. When we were kids. Don't you remember?"

Mulder's breath caught. His body did not move; Nick had to look closely to see if he was breathing. The blank silver tape masking half his bond-sib's face made his expression impossible to read. "Fox?"

Something deep inside Mulder's mind creaked and moaned and cracked open. Light filtered in and, insatiably curious as ever, he followed it. Blinded, bound to an examination table, helpless, he could only lie where he was and listen to Samantha screaming. She was screaming his name, begging someone to stop, pleading at the top of her lungs for her brother to save her. They had long since given up on being succored by any parent; bond-sibs could only rely on other bond-sibs.

He shivered, cold to his bones. This was familiar; this was the original source of the audio track for his manufactured abduction memories. This was where Samantha had screamed, "Help me, Fox!" And he was tied down, unable to move, to go to her aid, to do anything for her.

"Fox! Fox! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Gradually he became aware of his sole remaining bond-sib calling him, and turned his head.

"It's okay, Nick," he said. "I'm here."

"Stay with me, Fox," Nick begged. "I've been alone for so long, if you leave me again, it'll kill me."

"I'm okay, Nick," he repeated. "I was just thinking."

"You weren't here, Fox. You didn't answer me for a long time."

"Really? Didn't feel unusual. I was just remembering."

"Flashback, maybe?" Nick suggested, calming down. "Don't leave me here, alone, Fox. Please, don't."

"I'm not going anywhere, Nick. I'm here with you."

But that assurance became thinner and thinner as the days went by. Inevitably, they could not talk all the time; they got tired, they slept. Neither would speak when there was a tech in the room, although they knew that they were always under observation.

+++

The rail car laboratory Actual location and date unknown

Mulder woke up screaming, and then went limp, exhausted.

It had been a long time since Mulder had had the energy to actively resist. Now he had to hoard energy just to stay awake. He was still trying to find a way to escape, but the chains were beyond his ability to defeat, and his eyes remained taped. He was pretty sure that he had been a prisoner here for at least a few weeks. They talked around him as if he was an animal. That was all he was, to them. He was their lab rat. They talked about their plans, but he could not figure out what they thought they were accomplishing by torturing him. This was all too similar to the testing he had undergone as a child, although some of the drugs and several of the guards were orders of magnitude more violent than those he had experienced as a child.

He was still hearing another voice inside his head. He might have fought against that clear symptom of mental illness, except that the voice was familiar. It was Nickie. Sometimes, when he called his name, Nickie answered him.

("Nickie...?")

("Fox...")

Neither had had any luck sending any words other than their names, but he could feel Nickie's worry and pain and wondered if Nickie could feel his. Mulder wasn't sure, but he noticed that almost every time he felt Nickie's presence, Nickie was sobbing.

Mulder had no idea if Nickie was really there. Every other time that he remembered being strapped down and tortured, Nickie or at least one of his other bond-sibs had been there, reassuring him, making certain he knew he was not alone. All those other times were a blur in Mulder's mind. Without sight to give him an anchor to his current reality, Mulder was adrift.

In this strange, dark world, there was no time and no certainty, except that pain would return. When it did, it was always a surprise, and he could rarely tell if it was his companion's pain or his own.

+++

Hegel Place, Alexandria, Virginia two months after Mulder's disappearance

"Mulder!" Dana sat up screaming, instantly awake. The dream image had been horrifying: Mulder blindfolded, strapped to a table, his body convulsing in agony, his face contorted in a scream. She stared around, disoriented.

(Where am I?)

A few glances around showed her that she had just had another nightmare. She burrowed into the pillow, tried to make herself comfortable on the beat-up leather couch upon which Mulder had always slept.

She had not been home in days. Mulder's apartment was dark and comforting. She had acquired temporary power of attorney and she was paying his bills, using his paycheck to keep his life up-to-date, so when he could come home, there would be a home waiting for him. The pay would keep coming as long as he was MIA. She knew that if he was missing long enough, the FBI would start simply crediting him with his pay and benefits. Eventually they would take legal action to have him declared legally deceased, so they could stop paying him. But that, hopefully, was a long way off.

(*Mom and Melissa handled this when I was missing, but Mulder doesn't have anyone but me.*)

Sleep was obviously eluding her; she sat up and wrapped the blanket around her. She curled up on the couch and stared blankly. She could not avoid remembering that horrible image from the dream of Mulder being tortured. She reached for the television remote.

+++

Scully's apartment later that week

Scully had to make the conscious decision to go home to her own place to sleep every night.

(*After all, if he escapes, he won't go home, he'll come to me. I have to be here when he does.*)

She spent most evenings at his place, idly watching videos, taping Yankees games for him. She knew what she was doing: she was working hard at refusing to believe that Mulder was dead. As an experienced law enforcement officer, she was well aware that the statistics said that it was almost impossible for him to still be alive after being missing for nearly two months.

(But they don't understand the details,) she told herself fiercely. She was sitting cross- legged at the end of Mulder's couch, checking through a random selection of videotapes she had found in a box near the desk.

She stopped suddenly, and stared at the videotape in her hand. It was the alien autopsy tape in which she had found the exit code that had made it possible for Mulder to escape the railcar lab out west before the bomb went off.

(*Railcar lab. Consortium. Tests in childhood... Oh, my God!*) She grabbed her cell phone and punched the speed dial code for her supervisor.

"Skinner."

"Scully, sir. We need to check rail lines."

"For what?"

"Laboratory cars. Remember?" She summarized the incident until Skinner interrupted her.

"I recall. Why do you think it's significant, now?"

"Sir, right after his wife died, Mulder shared some newly-recovered childhood memories with me." She explained all she knew.

"How could anyone forget that so thoroughly?" Skinner sounded shaken.

"The Consortium has a drug that destroys memory, sir. They've used it on him at least twice since I've known him: once when he trespassed on Ellens Air Force Base in Idaho, right after I was assigned to the X Files, and once when he broke into Weikamp to rescue one of the Rebels. As I've seen it used, it can cause memory gaps of several hours up to about thirty. I find it very believable that even a more primitive version of the drug, administered after these testing sessions, could have masked the significant time, even if it was days. They apparently used it on him throughout his entire childhood."

Skinner did not understand. "Mulder can't forget."

"Sir, more than almost anything else, Mulder wishes he could control his memory. Given a way to do it, I can imagine him as a child subconsciously refusing to fight the drug, letting it take the memories of the tests, the pain, the loneliness and guilt. If this kidnapping is a renewal of the program he was part of as a child, the other surviving members of his bond-sib group may be with him. They, too, may have been kidnapped. We need to correlate all similar, not necessarily identical, kidnappings nationwide."

"You think you can find Samantha?"

Scully sighed. "At least, we might be able identify where she was. If Mulder was taken to do follow-up on the testing program he was part of as a child, then Samantha may very well be with him."

"Maybe that will make this a little easier for him," Skinner suggested softly. "To have it finally confirmed that she is still alive."

"Maybe," Scully conceded that, but she
remembered what Mulder had told her about how traumatic the tests were and she was not reassured.

+++

the dojo Seacouver, Washington August 22, 2002

"Come at me, Adam," Duncan urged him. "Hard!"

Methos held his katana two-handed, his elbows on one side of his balance line, and the blade on the other at a forty-five degree angle to the floor. With a happy smile, he charged. Duncan beat him back, but Methos was good, and gave little ground. He actually pinked Duncan on his sword arm, and Duncan laughed.

"Very good!" Then he tapped Methos twice, once on each shoulder. Their blades clashed in another exchange. Duncan was fighting one- handed, fencing epee-style with a weapon not suited to it at all, and holding Methos at bay with ease. Duncan saw the opening he wanted, and closed in. He grabbed at Methos's hair with his free hand. One good yank brought Methos to his knees, and Duncan's blade came flat against his throat. "Never forget your opponent has two hands."

"And a sword," Methos panted as he hit Duncan with the back of his blade on the inside of his thigh, where the edge would have severed the femoral artery and dropped even an Immortal in only seconds.

Duncan smiled and let go of Methos's hair; Methos lowered the point of his sword to the floor so Duncan could step back. "Very good. You did pay attention. You're improving every day, Adam."

"You're not even breathing hard--!" Methos mourned as he panted, his hands on his knees.

"I've been in training for four hundred years," he reminded him, "and you just took a couple of centuries off. You've improved with just the couple of months' work we've done. You know that swordplay is like chess; you can always get better."

When Methos had his breath back, Duncan told him to do his kata. He had had to explain the word when they started this training; Methos had never trained in Japan, and did not use the language with the ease and facility that Duncan did.

Methos began it a little hesitantly, unsure of what Duncan would do or say. Four beats into the pattern, Duncan stepped carefully inside Methos's lunge radius and walked around him. He tried to be critical, but he could find little to fault. Methos was light on his feet, strong and confident with his blade, and he knew it to the veriest tip: one of his lunges reached out and tapped Duncan on his chest as he stood studying Methos's form. Methos did not hesitate to judge his reaction; Duncan did not flinch, having confidence in his lover's ability to control his blade.

"Good job," he said as Methos finished with a samurai salute. Duncan lifted his own katana. "Now, do it again." He ignored the expression on Methos's face. When they began, Duncan countered Methos's every move lightly, their swords just kissing one another. The routine was ten minutes long, and when it was done, Methos knew that he had not seen such expertise with a blade as Duncan had just so casually displayed, in a long time. Duncan had been Methos's reflection, mirroring his every movement, almost close enough to touch, but never touching anything but steel.

Methos sheathed and racked his sword, and then dropped to sit against the wall beneath the daisho rack, his head back against the cool bricks, his eyes closed, trying to calm himself down. He had never, in his entire life, been so excited by just the proximity of a male body.

(*Almost touching, yet never touched... *)

He shuddered, trying to keep control as Duncan slid down the wall to sit beside him, laying his own sword on the floor.

"You're good, Adam," Duncan smiled at him. "Getting better all the time."

Methos just smiled, not trusting his voice or his choice of words.

"Good?" Amanda was standing in the doorway, wearing sweats and carrying her own sword. "You two dance like you've been lovers for decades. Would you like to be alone?"

Duncan was saved from having to frame a reply by Methos, who grabbed at the opportunity to escape.

"No, I'm going to take a shower. Duncan, beat her to death for me, will you?" he said with a forced grin. He pushed himself to his feet using the wall, and headed for the elevator.

"Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose," Duncan grinned as he stood, taking up his sword as he rose. He faced Amanda, and they smiled at one another.

When the door closed, and they were alone, Amanda spoke. "He's getting a lot better, isn't he?"

"Yep." Duncan nodded. "Are you?"

"Come and find out," she invited, falling into her stance, lifting her blade between them.

"En garde!"

+++

An empty factory building near the waterfront Cascade, Washington The same day

A coldness settled over Jim as he faced the other man. He recognized the body language: It was that of a trained killer. He had been one himself in a long-gone life and he felt as if he was looking in a mirror into that past when he gazed at the set features and the cold, emotionless gaze.

This man would kill him without a second thought or a moment's remorse. Jim knew that he was the only thing between Blair and the killer.

Jim had left Blair in the truck but, as usual, his lover had not listened. Instead, he had followed Ellison inside, and had managed to release the hostages. But in the process, he had been captured, himself.

One of the women had children who had already lost their father today. Blair had made sure they did not lose their mother as well. To Blair, this was an acceptable exchange, but to Jim, it was not acceptable at all.

These thoughts flashed through his mind and then were left behind. All that mattered was removing the killer that threatened Blair, his Guide, his friend, his lover, from the live grenade that Danvers had placed in Blair's bound hands.

Blair sat in the corner where Danvers had left him, staring down at the grenade in his hand. The man was arrogant. He had not bothered to tie Blair to anything; he was just handcuffed. After having watched him for over an hour, Blair knew that the other man was as deadly as Jim could be. He just hoped he was not deadlier.

He sighed in relief when Jim finally came into the room, but was repentant at the look of horror and agony that flashed in Jim's eyes when he saw him sitting there.

(*I'll never learn, Big Guy. No matter how many times you tell me.*)

Blair thought sadly of the kids who would be crying tonight as he tried, without success, to ignore the body of their father that lay butchered next to him. It reminded him what would happen to both of them if Jim lost this fight.

Danvers and Jim circled, while Blair watched with a perverted fascination. (*It's a dance. They're performing a dance of death.*)

The anthropologist in Blair could not help but be enthralled by the dynamics of the movements playing out before him. The lover in Blair shuddered for his mate. He began to search for something to take the place of the pin that Danvers had removed from the grenade. Anything he could do to help Jim, he would, even to the extent of risking his own life. This was what friends did.

While Sandburg looked furtively around the floor, Jim and Danvers began the next exchange. Jim rolled away and wiped the blood from his lip; the other man seemed uninjured.

"Come, now, Captain Ellison, you can't have forgotten that much since you left us."

The man was taunting him, and Jim realized that Danvers knew about his past. (*Great, someone else bent on revenge or whatever! Why do I attract all the loon-shits?*)

Jim stepped to one side, attempting to get between the other man and Blair.

Danvers cut him off. "Oh, no. Your pretty little friend will be stay staying here with me. After I've finished with you, he should be entertaining."

Jim heard Blair whispering. "Big Guy, he's trying to push your buttons. Don't let him. Ignore that I'm here. Just get him for what he's done to these people!"

His Guide's voice sounded vicious, and Jim realized that Blair was not scared; he was furious. Jim knew his Guide. (*Shit, he's going to do something stupid if I don't take care of this fast!*)

Knowing he had to end this now, he feinted just slightly to the left and then he started to turn to the right. It threw the other man off his stride when Jim spun back to the left and as he came past Danvers, he locked his arm around the man's throat and pulled him back against him. Danvers, however, was stronger than Jim imagined. He broke the Sentinel's hold easily and turned to grip Jim around the neck, thumbs digging into the artery on the side of his throat.

Blair realized that his Sentinel needed help. As Danvers tightened his hold, Blair made his move and came up off the floor in one, fluid movement.

"Now, Jim, hold him for me," Blair whispered, confident that his Sentinel could hear him.

Jim reached out and grabbed the other man knowing that Blair would continue, no matter what. In a desperate move, Blair pulled back on the other man's belt and slid the grenade into Danvers's shorts, the tightness of the man's jeans insuring that the grenade would not go off. Danvers released his hold on Jim and whirled out of Jim's grasp to backhand the Guide. Jim heard the sickening thud as Blair hit the edge of the desk, heard his partner moan. With a roar of fury, Jim turned on the other man and with a motion too fast to follow, snapped the other's neck.

Letting the body slide to the floor, Jim went over and gathered Blair gently into his arms. "Chief, what am I going to do with you?"

Blair smiled groggily. "Take me home, tape my ribs, take me to bed and love me. The same things you always do when I've done something stupid."

"I'll even throw in a bath beforehand. You are going to be sore tomorrow, Chief."

"I know, I know, but before we get started, I think you'd better retrieve that grenade."

+++

852 Prospect, Cascade - Later that night

Jim sat up abruptly, dislodging Blair from his embrace, and shuddered as the nightmare faded. Blair lay next to him, panting at the pain the sudden movement caused.

"Sorry, Chief."

"Nightmare?" Blair asked.

"Yes." The syllable was snapped out and Blair knew his partner well enough to know that this was not the time to pry. Later, he would be able to get Jim to talk about it, but now, the thing that Jim needed most was to know that he was not alone.

He carefully sat up, took Jim's hand in his and brought his fingers slowly to his mouth. After having his ribs taped this afternoon, he wasn't up to gymnastics, but there were other, gentler things that they could do and when Jim was like this, it was always best to be very gentle.

Jim's hand curved around Blair's chin and brought him down for a kiss. Carefully, he lifted the smaller man to lie full length on him, then, pulled his hand away and brushed back the soft, cascading curls that surrounded his Guide's face. (*What did I do to deserve you, Chief?*) he wondered again as he saw the look of total love on the younger man's face. (What did I do?)

+++

Offices of the Cascade Police Department Major Crimes Unit Captain Simon Banks's Office The next day

Jim walked into Simon's office without knocking, and Simon knew something was wrong. He had not seen his detective since before the encounter with Danvers, but he had read the report Jim had left on his desk afterwards.

"How's Sandburg?"

"He insisted on going into the University today to finish up. The last thing he had to do before he left was turn in the final grade reports for his classes."

"Sounds like him."

"Doesn't it just? Simon, I need some time off."

Jim's pronouncement was flat. Simon did not have to be a Sentinel to hear the underlying tension in the other man's voice. He tried to lighten the mood.

"Can't get over the fact that Sandburg not only gave the guy a wedgie, but stuffed a grenade down his shorts, can you?" Simon said with a grin.

Jim exploded from the chair he had been sitting on. "This is no laughing matter, Simon. Blair could have been killed and it would have been my fault." Jim was shaking. Simon realized that he had totally misread just how upset Jim was and once more damned his two best men for becoming involved with one another. "And your friend MacLeod said that Blair isn't the type to come back." Jim's voice was ragged.

"Jim..."

"No, Simon, don't start. I can't take it today. Blair could have been killed and it would have been my fault. I... I have to take some time off to get my head together. Eleven people died in that warehouse that night, and it could have been thirteen. I don't have anything on my caseload that's urgent. Rafe said he'd take over the Malton case, and Megan's doing clean-up on that jewelry store robbery. I'm taking vacation time; God knows I have enough of it saved up. I'll be back when I'm ready."

"Jim..."

Jim said nothing more, he just turned and left a gaping Simon staring after him.

+++

852 Prospect, Cascade An hour later

Jim went back to the loft and was grateful that Blair was still at school. He did not want Blair to overhear the phone call he was going to make. He looked up a number in his address book and dialed.

"MacLeod."

"Mac, this is Jim Ellison." Jim paused. Now that he had MacLeod on the line, he did not know how to broach the subject. Taking a deep, centering breath, he continued. "I've got a big favor to ask. Are you busy for the next couple of weeks or so? I mean, do you have any plans?"

MacLeod was intrigued. He could tell that The Sentinel was upset about something.

"What's wrong?"

"I almost got Blair killed."

MacLeod, recognizing a guilt trip from having been on far too many of his own, said nothing and waited for the other man to continue. "We were up against yet another rogue covert ops agent. If it hadn't been for Blair's distracting him, we both would have been killed."

MacLeod sighed. (Guilt trip, all right. Big time.) "So, how can I help?"

"I need to practice, Mac. I've realized that my edge is gone. It's been far too long since I practiced with anyone I could go full out against. Anyone that's close to my level. I was wondering..."

"Sure, Jim. I thought you were going to ask for something hard. Why don't you pack the kid up and you can both come to visit. We can leave Blair with Adam and Amanda, so you won't have to worry about him being bored, and we can go out to the island. We can practice there without interruption."

"You have an island?"

"Sort of. It's actually tribal land, but I've had a place there for over a hundred years. The title rests with the tribe, but it's my place for all of that. I'm sort of the tribal..."

"Protector?" Jim laughed at that, his relief a palpable thing. "Been there, done that."

MacLeod smiled to himself. He had heard that sigh and knew he had done the right thing.

"So, when will you get here? If you arrive before three, we can be to the island before dark."

"Not today. Sandburg's at the university finishing up his paperwork for the semester. Do you think that we can safely leave Blair with them, Mac?"

"Afraid of a little competition from Amanda?"

Jim laughed at that. "No, just wondering what those three inventive brains could get up to if we left them together."

That made it Duncan's turn to laugh. "Doesn't bear thinking of, does it?"

"Well, I suppose we can always say they were with us if your local cops come after them."

+++

852 Prospect, Cascade the next morning

"C'mon, Chief! It doesn't matter when you get there, but Mac wants to be out to the island before dark. Hurry up!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!"

Jim Ellison could, if he wished, hear all the sub-vocalized muttering coming from his lover's office. But he had learned, early in their relationship, that there was nothing to be gained by such eavesdropping, and he did not want to put any more stress on this relationship now. Even after a year together as lovers, they were still working out the dynamics between them.

(And I do need him.) Ellison was not afraid to admit this to himself. (*I literally cannot function in the world without him. If I'd never found him --or vice versa!-- there's a better than fifty-fifty chance I'd be utterly insane by now, if I was even alive. Everything I am, including alive and functional, I owe to Blair Sandburg. Now, if I could just admit it that easily to him...!*)

He knew that he had lost his edge. He was no longer the cold-blooded killer that the army had trained him to be.

(And that could have cost Blair his life,) Jim thought bleakly and suppressed the shudder of horror that had shot through him at the thought of losing his Guide.

(*At least against Mac I know I can go flat out, without using competition rules or pulling any blows. And I trust him not kill me.*) Jim had seen MacLeod practicing and he knew that MacLeod could pull his blows within a hair's-breath.

(*Besides, I could use a really good work out, the way things have been going the last couple of days!*)

Blair came out of his office, the taped ribs interfering with his usual bounce. Jim's heart ached to see him walking so hesitantly. He met Blair halfway and took the larger backpack from him. He nearly dropped it, startled at how heavy it was.

"What the hell do you have in here, Chief?" he asked. "Bricks?"

"No," Blair told him with a grin blossoming on his face, "but Adam has promised to lend me his copy of BRICKWORK by Plumridge and Meulenkamp. It's a history of bricks and their uses in architecture. He told me that he's written in corrections and snide comments, but that the basic text is pretty accurate. The writers did good, solid research." "So, what exactly is in here?" Jim asked as he shouldered it and followed Blair outside, pausing to lock up behind him.

"Books I promised him, mostly. And discs of really cool stuff I downloaded a while back off some sites that are gone, now," Blair told him as they got onto the elevator.

"You couldn't e-mail it? You have to physically carry them?" Jim teased. "How primitive."

Blair just grinned wider and stuck out his tongue at him. They put the backpacks behind the seat beside Jim's duffel and climbed inside, ready to leave.

Blair slid across to nestle against him and steal a kiss. "I love bench seats."

Jim grinned. "Put your seat belt on."

Blair made a face at him, then slid back to obey. "I never get to have any fun." He feigned a pout, then a smile spread slowly across his face. Turning to the center of the seat, he started fishing around for the center lap belt. When he finally found both ends, he turned and sat with his back against Jim's shoulder, legs extended across to the door and ankles crossed. He buckled himself in. Jim reached out to tousle his hair. "Do you really think I can drive like this, Darwin?"

"I have faith in my Blessed Protector. You can do anything."

The absolute trust in Blair's voice shook Jim to his core. He reached out with his arm and hugged Blair to him briefly, then placed a fond kiss in the anthropologist's curls.

"Don't let Amanda lead you and Adam into anything you can't handle. Remember, I get territorial."

"Gee, y'think?" Blair borrowed Angie Dawson's favorite rejoinder: he liked it because it was so cheeky.

"Yes, I think! You're up there to pick Adam's brains, not to party with Amanda." He started the truck and pulled out into the street. He had faith in his partner, but they had been teasing one another about Amanda since they had met her.

"Can I pick her brains about partying?" Blair asked innocently. "For that matter, can I pick Adam's? After all, Jim, he's been having sexual relations with various people, alone and in groups, for thousands of years! He's forgotten more about sex than anyone will ever know!"

"That might be really interesting," Jim admitted. "Not that I'm bored, or anything--!" Then he grinned evilly at his smaller companion. "I can see the monograph now: Sex and Partying: A study of sexual practices through the ages by A. Pierson and Dr. B. Sandburg."

Blair chuckled. "And you think Amanda wouldn't want equal credit?" Suddenly he was not the eager, even boyish researcher, but seemed older as his voice dropped almost an octave. "If you've been bored, it's been with someone else!"

Jim wrapped his right arm around his lover and used his left to control the wheel. They were on the ramp to the interstate when Blair maliciously started sucking on Jim's fingers, one at a time, making an elaborate production out of each one. Jim shivered. "Dammit, I'm trying to drive, here--"

"Want me to stop?" Blair asked sweetly.

"Uh--"

Blair chuckled, laced his fingers with Jim's, and settled their clasped hands on his chest.

Jim could hear and feel the accelerated heartbeat, smell the beginnings of Blair's arousal, and he grinned. "This is no way to start a monastic retreat, Chief."

Blair paused, then tipped his head up to study his friend intently. "Why do you keep harping on this, Jim? Don't you trust me out of your sight?"

Jim flinched, and stole a glance at the younger man. "I'm sorry," he said at once. "I trust you; I swear it. But I'm anticipating significant temptation myself, out there all alone with MacLeod for two weeks. Aren't you at all tempted? Adam's been a pal of yours for a long time, and Amanda..." He let that trail off.

Blair was about to deny everything when he realized that Jim had admitted to feeling tempted. "A little," he admitted, more honestly than he had originally intended to be. "I like Adam a lot. We've been pen- pals for years, and now that we've met in person, I find that he arouses all these atavistic male imperatives in me: I want to cuddle him and make him feel happy and safe. I want to stand between him and his terrors, fight them off and free him."

"Don't go there," Jim drawled. "I think that role's already taken. You want to arm-wrestle Duncan for him?"

"Hell, no!" Blair was startled. "He'd break me in half. He's even scarier than you!"

Jim stole a glance at him. "When were you ever scared of me?"

"When you almost put me through a wall--when we first met!"

Jim snorted. "I didn't intend to hurt you--that was just to impress upon you how intense I was right then."

"It worked." Blair settled more comfortably against Jim and eventually nodded off.

Jim's thoughts, wandered back to Blair's admission of attraction to Adam and his own admission of attraction to MacLeod. He was not usually attracted to men; Blair was the other half of him, and he simply could not imagine needing or wanting intimacy with anyone else. With Blair, gender had simply been irrelevant.

(But MacLeod...)

Knowing that MacLeod was already involved in an intense, bisexual, three-way 'marriage' just made him more fascinating.

(*Amanda loves him, and Adam damn-near
worships him! And it can't all be sex! I think that what it is, is that he's a Paladin.*)

Jim had not thought of the word for a long time, but he remembered Simon's son Daryl had discovered role-playing games in junior high school. One of the non-player character types in Daryl's favorite game had been a Paladin, who was described as a solitary warrior, skilled, noble, who fought for truth, justice and honor, and carried the special blessing of Heaven.

(*He's not Galahad, because he sure as hell is no 'Virgin Knight,' but he is definitely a Paladin. And how can you not trust a Paladin?*)

Jim shook his head at his own silliness and settled down to drive.

+++

the dojo Seacouver Washington noonish

Duncan walked into the dojo and found Methos doing his sword kata. When the turns of the exercise brought him around, the older Immortal smiled at Duncan without missing a beat. Duncan returned the smile. "Want to dance?"

"And get you all hot and sweaty?" Methos grinned. "I thought you were expecting company."

They were standing toe to toe; Duncan gazed down into the changeable hazel eyes and smiled slowly. "I'm game if you are."

Methos stepped back with a smile and an inviting gesture.

Duncan kicked off his boots, pulled off his socks, then went all the way to the wall rack in the office, and took down his favorite practice katana from the daisho rack there.

They faced one another across two
sword's-lengths of the floor, and held their katanas hilt up, each in salute to the other.

"Your choice," Methos said.

Duncan smiled and began it. His smile faded as their eyes locked. The fine steel of their blades rang like bells, hissed like water flowing over rocks, and sang like birds, as their bodies moved through the motions of the dance. Their hazel eyes -- one set brown and the other green -- stayed locked together.

After the first stanza, they were breathing in unison, completely oblivious to everything except one another.

+++

the dojo Seacouver Washington dinnertime

Blair slept almost the entire trip. He woke immediately as they pulled into the alley behind MacLeod's building. He peered out through the windshield at the vicious thunderstorm that was underway.

"Are you guys really planning to canoe to an island in the middle of the Sound in this?"

Jim shrugged. "I hope not. But it wouldn't be the first time I got wet on a canoe trip."

"But, Jim, the Sound will be a nightmare! A canoe?!"

Jim looked down at Blair who had released the seat belt and turned to stare up at him. He saw the Blair's frown and knew that Blair was worried.

"Hey, it's okay. I don't think Mac would let me drown and besides, I don't think he's stupid. Let's go inside and see if he's made alternate plans."

"Right. And get drenched?" Blair shook his head, fished out their cell phone, and dialed the number for MacLeod's loft from memory.

"Talk to me," came a familiar voice.

"I want to cover you in chocolate sauce and watch Adam and Duncan lick it off your body. Slowly."

"Blair!"

"Hi, Amanda." He grinned up at Jim who was shaking in not-so-silent laughter. "Can you come down and let us in the side door? It's raining cats and dogs out here and I don't want to step in any poodles."

"No problem, be down in a second."

Less than five minutes later, the door opened and Amanda motioned them in. "Come on, you really are getting drenched."

Amanda hugged a shivering Blair to her as he passed and she felt him wince. "What happened this time?" she asked.

"Upstairs, okay?" Jim responded, as he hugged her, then kissed her on the cheek.

"Just another crazy, Amanda," Blair told her lightly. "You know how it is. Just another exciting day in the life of a Police Observer." Amanda shook her head and took Blair's larger pack from Jim and pulled the other out of Blair's hands. "Come on upstairs and you can get out of that damp clothing."

Before they could see inside, Jim could hear the ringing of steel. Instantly sobered, he frowned: would Duncan fight a duel in his own dojo? Then he realized that Amanda would not have been so calm if Duncan were fighting. Someone was practicing, and it was a very precise practice if the controlled cadences were anything to go by. Cautiously, Jim walked to the dojo entrance and peered inside.

He stopped short, entranced by what he saw.

Blair noticed his preoccupation, and squirmed between Jim and Amanda to watch, fascinated, along with his partner.

MacLeod and Methos were practicing - no, it was not practice. Jim changed his mind at once. That was not an exercise; it was a dance.

He stared, fascinated. He had seen sword dances before, and he had seen Duncan do his sword kata, but he had never seen a performance like this! The sexual tension being generated between Duncan and Methos was so intense that Jim could feel it out in the hall and was aroused by it, even more so with Amanda draped between him and Blair, a slender arm around each man's waist.

Jim could not bring himself to interrupt the dancers. The three of them stood there and watched, impressed at the skill being displayed, and enjoying the sexual aspect of it. He had always been aware of MacLeod's sexual relationship with Adam, but usually Duncan kept himself under more control than this.

(And they aren't even touching!) Blair marveled. (*Even so, I could sell a video of this to the triple-X market for serious bucks.*)

Several other members of the gym arrived for their workouts, but Jim stopped them from going inside. Once they saw what was happening on the dojo floor, none of the weight lifters argued. They stood back and watched, too.

And then it was over. The two hilts went up in salute, and then the blades swooped back to rest upright along the lowered arm. They stood still for a moment, their eyes still locked.

Jim released Blair and Amanda and started clapping. Belatedly, the others watching joined in.

Duncan and Methos were both startled to see that they had an audience. Jim grinned and started walking inside. The others followed. They split around the couple standing in the middle of the room, carefully not staring.

Blair greeted them with a big smile. "You two could make a fortune selling tickets. How long have you been rehearsing that?"

Duncan and Methos exchanged glances, and their gazes locked. "This was the second time."

Jim lifted one eyebrow, impressed.

Conversation lapsed; everyone in the gym was studiously not staring at the owner and the other man. Even Jim forgot for a moment why he had come to Seacouver.

Duncan looked at Methos and grinned recklessly. "Well, now that you've gotten me all hot and sweaty, let's go do something about it." He slid his arm around Methos's shoulders. Methos's arm went around Duncan's waist. Without letting go of one other, they got into the elevator and disappeared from view.

Jim stared after them, a bit bemused. Then he sighed. "Damn. So much for getting to the island today!"

"Never mind, they won't get too involved, Joe and Angie are upstairs with the twins!" she told him with an infectious grin. "Even Adam won't do anything in front of the kids!"

As soon as the dojo was out of their sight, Methos was in Duncan's arms. When the elevator deposited them at the entrance to the apartment, they stepped out onto the hardwood floor and started shedding clothing. Half-stripped, Duncan slung Methos over his shoulder and carried him toward the bed. He stopped short when he realized that Angie and Joe were sitting on the sofa, watching the show with obvious interest.

"Oh, hi!" Duncan said in embarrassment and let a struggling, laughing Methos slip down to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

+++

MacLeod's loft Seacouver Washington a few minutes later

When the elevator arrived back upstairs, Blair and Jim found Joe and Angie grinning at the chagrined pair of Immortals.

Blair shrugged out of his coat. "Hi, Ange, hi, Joe! How are the kids?"

Jim grabbed it before it hit the floor. Blair went over to the coach and sat down next to Methos who was now sitting there holding Noelle.

"I think we should wait until tomorrow to go out to the island." MacLeod told Jim. "You and Blair can sleep on the couch down in my study. It's pretty comfortable."

"Yeah, great. I wasn't looking forward to paddling through nine-foot waves any more than you were."

Duncan laughed. "Only four-footers, according to the noon report." He paused, turning serious. "If you really wanted to get started, I suppose I could get Brandon to run us out in the launch..."

"Naw, tomorrow's soon enough. Just knowing I'll be doing something about it helps. Besides, Adam would probably kill me if I deprived him of your company tonight."

MacLeod started to reply when Amanda
interrupted. "What are you two planning on doing on the island?"

"Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, my dear," Jim told her. Amanda's face hardened. She liked Jim, but took that tone of condescension from no one, especially not a cop. "If you're going off with one of my men, you'll tell me what it's about." The phrase 'or you'll be sorry' hung unspoken in the air between them.

Methos's voice cut across the loft. "Tell her, Jim. You'll never win. Take it from someone who's known her for twelve hundred years, it's easier and much safer to tell her everything."

Jim froze. These were his friends but he hesitated telling them what he and MacLeod were going to be doing. MacLeod took the decision out of his hands.

"Jim needs a practice dummy that won't flinch. He's says he's getting soft in his old age." The grin on MacLeod's face took the sting out of his words and he hoped that Amanda would be satisfied with the answer.

"Well, if that's all it is, why don't we all go to the island? We haven't been there yet. You'll need some help opening up the house."

MacLeod knew that Jim did not want an audience for what they had planned, but he also knew that if he put up a fight, they would never get away from Amanda.

"I had Brandon do that yesterday after Jim called, Amanda. Stocked it and everything."

Amanda knew MacLeod well enough to know that he was telling her to let it rest, and after a moment, she did. "Well, I suppose that's all right then."

She heard Jim's sigh of relief and it piqued her curiosity. She really did hate not knowing the answers. "But we'll have Brandon bring us out for the weekend. We can have a picnic on Saturday."

Jim and MacLeod exchanged glances and
MacLeod shrugged. It was just the way Amanda was. If they fought the idea, it would just get worse.

"Fine," Jim answered snarkily, "and why don't you bring Joe and Angie and the twins and Rollie and Chazz along while you're at it. And don't forget Laddy."

Duncan winced. Jim would never learn.

"You heard him. Party on the island this weekend!"

"Cool!" Blair said from across the room. "I've always wanted to see this place."

Jim glared at Amanda.

Amanda smiled sweetly at Jim.

Joe Dawson sat and laughed at the pair of them.

+++

MacLeod's library Seacouver Washington

midnight

Late that night, Jim and Blair were getting ready for bed. Blair waited until they were snuggled together before he brought up the subject that had been bothering him since Jim's confrontation with Amanda. "You're going out to the island to get MacLeod to spar with you because of Danvers, aren't you? Damn it, Jim, if anyone should be getting self-defense lessons, it's me."

"These aren't going to be lessons, Chief. I'm going out there to practice with Mac because I know I can't kill him. Well, I can, but it won't kill him... You know what I mean!"

"Yes, I do. What I don't understand is why you have to do this, Jim." Blair's voice was soft.

"I've got to get my edge back," Jim told him grimly.

"I don't want you to get your 'edge' back. I like you just the way you are. I don't want to wake up some morning and find myself in bed next to Danvers or anyone like him."

"You won't. But I have to practice against someone that will challenge my reflexes, Blair."

Blair did not answer; he just hugged Jim to him as hard as he could. He let go with a yelp when he stressed his cracked ribs.

"That's why I've got to do it, Chief. I can't stand to see you hurt." Jim's voice broke on the last word, and he carefully gathered Blair to him.

"Jim, this is all my fault. If you want to do something about me getting hurt all the time, figure out a way to chain me in the truck." Blair's voice was soft as he kissed his way up Jim's throat.

The larger man sighed. "That is a thought, but Amanda would probably just teach you how to pick the damned locks. Besides, it sounds a little kinky..."

"You were really stupid this afternoon, you know."

"When?"

"When? When you treated Amanda like a piece of fluff. You are on her shit list now. She is not going to let this drop."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes I think I should let you do all the talking for the two of us; you're better with words. But if I did that, nothing else would get done."

"That had nothing to do with vocabulary or vocal facility," Blair growled at him. "That was the most male chauvinist pig comment I've heard from you in a long, long time! And I know you know better!"

Jim sighed. "Yeah, I do. I was trying to brush her off, and Amanda's like a burr or a foxtail; the harder you try to brush 'em off, the tighter they hang on."

"And if you aren't careful, they draw blood," Blair reminded him, completing the simile. "Why didn't you want her out on the island?"

"I didn't want anyone out there but me and Mac," Jim admitted. "You don't like fighting, and I'm pretty sure Mac originally suggested the island because he didn't want to stress Adam by letting him watch. He's improved a lot, but it might still mess him up to see me kill MacLeod."

Blair lay nestled on his partner's chest, remembering the first time they had met the Immortals. He never had nightmares about it, but he could still remember with startling clarity the sensation of being held tightly against Methos's chest with Methos's fingers twisted tightly in his hair and a dagger at his throat. Blair swallowed.

"Yeah, I can see your point." Blair still had a hard time reconciling the fact that 'Adam Pierson, researcher' was really a however-manythousand
-year-old man with PSTD.

Jim felt Blair's slight shiver and cradled his lover and Guide closer, stroking his hair until they both fell asleep.

+++

MacLeod's loft Seacouver, Washington the next morning

Blair came awake slowly, confused by his surroundings. Looking up and seeing the display cases with the swords, he remembered that they were at MacLeod's loft and had slept on the futon couch Mac had there. Stretching, he winced.

(*I don't care if it's the best one on the market, it isn't a substitute for a real bed. I wonder if Adam and Amanda will let me sleep up there with them?*)

"Don't even think it, Chief."

Blair turned his head to find Jim standing fully dressed, his hair wet from the shower.

"Think of what?" Blair inquired, eyes going wide with feigned innocence.

"Whatever devilment you thought of just then. Adam has promised to keep an eye on you." Jim bent down and kissed the younger man on the forehead. "Come on, get up! Breakfast is ready. Mac and I already went for a run. We let the rest of you sleep in."

Blair looked at his watch. "Six-thirty!?" he squeaked. "You call letting us sleep until six-thirty sleeping in?"

"We were up at four and we did five miles this morning."

"That just means that you are both obsessive!" Blair answered as he pulled the blankets back over his head. "I'm on vacation. Come back on Tuesday."

"Well, Mac and I are leaving for the island in two hours," Jim told him. "Aren't you going to see me off?"

Blair's head peeked out of the blankets. "Hmmm. That sounds like a good idea."

"What?" Jim asked suspiciously.

"Seeing you off," he answered with a grin, reaching for the zipper in Jim's jeans.

"We don't have time for this."

"Aw, Jim, there's always time for..." Blair let his voice trail off as he reached inside Jim's boxers.

Jim stepped back out of range. "No..."

Blair followed, actually getting up out of bed to follow his wayward Sentinel.

"Ha! Got you up!" Jim crowed.

"That's okay, I got you up, too." Blair countered, coming into Jim's arms and rubbing his body against Jim's arousal.

"Blair!"

Blair took his Sentinel by the hand and led him into the bathroom at the far end of the floor. "Well, if you come and shower with me it'll save time afterwards."

Jim smiled to himself as his Guide pulled him into the shower stall. (*Well, that was easier than I thought! We actually do have time for this!*)

+++ MacLeod's loft Seacouver, Washington a half-hour later

"Breakfast," Amanda's voice called into the bathroom. "Are you two almost done, or do you need help?"

"Yes! Help!" Blair's voice, laced with laughter, wafted out of the shower stall. "He says he's going to keep me as a sex-slave."

"You mean you aren't already? Jim, I'm ashamed of you. You should have him trained by now!"

"That's the problem with taking on a lover without asking for references. You can't tell if they're going to be recalcitrant or not."

"Hey, you could have gotten a reference from Sam!"

"Yeah, right, I can see myself. 'Sam, I'm thinking of jumping Sandburg's bones. How is he in bed?"

"She wouldn't know that, Jim."

"I thought you said I could get references from her."

"Yeah, but we never did it in a bed. On the 18th hole of the Cascade Country Club, on a pool table, in a pool..."

"Never mind, I get the picture."

"...and once ...."

"I said enough, Chief. Amanda, how do you keep your two in line?"

"Well, Duncan I got young enough to train. I never did succeed in housebreaking Adam." (*Thank God! It's so much fun trying!*)

While they were talking, Amanda walked over to the linen closet that ran the length of the wall and got out three bath towels. "Here," she said, opening the shower door, to find Jim and Blair still entwined. "Like I said, breakfast is ready." She was amazed to see that Jim was actually blushing. "Come on, honey, you ain't got nothing that I haven't seen before. Do you?"

"That doesn't mean that it's for general consumption."

"And here I thought we were friends."

Jim turned suddenly serious. "We are, and I want us to all to remain that way. I don't poach."

"Aw, come on, Jim. I still want to see what happens when you kiss her."

"Jim, it isn't poaching if everyone agrees," Amanda told him softly. "Now, if you truly aren't interested, I'll understand, but if you are and you're doing this under the impression that someone would get upset if anything happened, well, you're wrong there. Rebecca and I taught MacLeod to share very early in his life and Adam, well, let's just say that he was involved with a group for a long time, and their motto was "We share everything."

"Blair," Jim said, shoving his lover gently out into the relatively cold bathroom proper, "get dried off."

Amanda proceeded to dry the anthropologist off carefully, keeping an eye on Jim to make sure he was not getting mad and was encouraged when Jim just looked thoughtful. Then she handed Blair a robe and the extra towel for his hair.

"Here, you'll want this."

Blair reached out an arm to snag the towel and dragged Amanda into his arms. "Hey, Jim, look what I caught. Can I keep it?"

"Only if you can prove she's had her shots, Chief." The faint grin on Jim's face took any sting away from his statement. He shrugged, got out of the shower and allowed Amanda dry him off, too.

"You make a good body slave, yourself, Amanda. I wonder what other skills you've picked up over the years."

Blair looked at Jim, not believing the older man had asked that of Amanda.

"Well, if you're a good boy and bring MacLeod back in one piece, maybe I'll show you."

"Yes!" Blair exclaimed. "Finally..."

"Chief?" Jim got his Guide's attention.

"Uh, yeah, Jim?"

"Get dressed."

"Oh, okay." Blair bounced out the door, leaving Amanda alone with Jim.

"Jim, I'm sorry if I..."

"Amanda, don't. It's all right. This is just something that I've been having a hard time with. Blair is the first man I've ever been with seriously. And then to have you offer to get in the middle... well, it's something I have to work out for myself."

"I wasn't just offering myself, you know. Mac and Adam and I talked about this. Even before the two of you got together."

"What?!"

"I was all set to take you both to bed months ago, when the pair of you made Adam laugh, but Mac said to let it be because the two of you had to work things out for yourselves. I honestly thought that you'd been lovers for quite sometime. I was shocked when Adam told me that Blair had asked him for advice on whether he should try to get you into bed."

Jim was nonplused. "Blair asked Adam?"

"Well, he figured with the amount of experience that Adam has, he probably had run across this situation before. Then too, he wanted Adam's thoughts on the Sentinel-Guide connection, whether it was always sexual, or if it could be platonic without endangering the partnership."

"What did Adam answer?"

"Adam told him that the permanent Sentinel-Guide pairs were always bonded sexually. The ones that didn't bond that way, generally split up and went on to find other partners." Amanda had no intention of telling Jim about the one Sentinel Adam had known who had gone mad when his Guide had bonded to an opposite sex Sentinel. And she was certainly not going to tell him that the Sentinel had ended up killing the other two and then committing suicide.

(*How crazy does a Sentinel have to become before he could kill his own Guide?*) she wondered. (*And how insane would he be after such a deed? Suicide was the poor guy's only remaining option...*) "Do you know how lucky you are to have found a Guide?" Amanda asked him. "In the modern world most Sentinels end up either as drunks or drugged out of their senses after they've been committed."

Jim shivered, remembering what it had been like when his senses had first come back on line.

"That could have been me if he hadn't found me."

Amanda gently laid a hand on Jim's arm. "But it didn't. You and Blair found one another and you bonded. That doesn't mean the two of you can't have a little fun now and again. But only if it's all right with both of you."

"Well, you know Blair, he was brought up by the original hippie."

Amanda grinned. "One of these days, I want to meet Naomi."

"Only if you're prepared to defend your men from her." Jim told her with an answering grin.

Amanda slipped an arm around Jim's waist and pulled herself into his side. "So, it's your call: do we let Blair sleep upstairs with me and Adam and give you carte blanche with Mac, or do we consign him to the sleeper sofa from hell?"

"That would be cruel, wouldn't it?"

"Especially since the beds out on the island are all king sized with really good mattresses."

"Go ahead, make me feel guilty."

Amanda wrapped her other arm and one leg around the Sentinel's still mostly naked body. "I'd rather make you feel other things."

"I thought you said breakfast was ready."

"It can wait..." Amanda responded and kissed him. Five minutes later, Blair walked back into the bathroom to find his Sentinel pinned against the wall by Amanda.

"Yes, she shoots, she scores!"

Amanda broke away from Jim and smiled at Blair. "Not too shabby! Nothing that a little training wouldn't fix!"

Jim, on the other hand just stood there and it finally occurred to Blair that Jim had zoned out on Amanda's kiss.

"Jim, listen to my voice, follow me back... come on, big guy, you can hear me."

Jim shook his head and stared at Blair. "Damn! She's good, Chief!" And Blair and Amanda burst into laughter.

+++

the Dawson home Pimlico Street, Seacouver, Washington the same day

The chime on the computer in the kitchen rang and announced: "Mail's In!"

Angie looked over from where she was changing her daughter. She finished her task and placed Noee into her highchair and gave her a cracker to keep her occupied.

"Maillll..." Ryan announced loudly to anyone who would listen.

"Mommy... maillll..." Noelle repeated along with her brother. "Mailll..."

"Okay. All right, all ready, I'll get it."

The twins giggled.

Angie went over and hit her hot key and a message appeared on her screen:

+++

Date: May 5, 2000
To: WonderAng@fx.org
From: Langly- tlg@TLG.org
Subject: A friend

ANGIE I HOPE THIS ACCOUNT'S STILL ACTIVE BECAUSE NONE OF THE REST OF YOURS
ARE. MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT. WE'VE GOT A
REAL PROBLEM AND CAN USE YOUR HELP.
I'LL CHECK IN EVERY DAY.

Langly
"DIAGONALLY PARKED IN A PARALLEL
UNIVERSE"

+++

Angie swore under her breath. Langly never asked for help unless he was in deep, deep kimchee. "I'd better give him a call." She knew the line would be secure at his end, and to be on the safe side, she went into Joe's office and used the phone in there. She dialed the number waited for the connection.

"The Lone Gunmen."

It was not her friend's voice so she simply said: "Turn off the tape. Let me talk to Langly."

"Who is this?" the voice on the other end asked suspiciously. He did not recognize the woman's voice -- Langly was holding out, the swine- - and the lack of a telephone number on the Caller-ID only made him more suspicious.

"Just tell Langly it's the Wonder Kid."

Angie heard another voice she did not recognize in the background. "Put Langly on," she repeated. "Tell him I got his e-mail."

"Langly, there's some broad on the line for you. She said to tell you it's the Wonder Kid."

Angie heard a mumbled reply in the background and waited a few moments and then another line picked up. "Hello, Angie?"

"I just got the e-mail, Lang. What's going-- Wait a minute..." Langly held on and he heard a muffled, "Just a minute, sweetie... Mommy will be out in a couple minutes. Play nice. Here's another cracker." There was a distinct rustle of sound, and then her voice was louder. "Okay, I'm back."

Langly swallowed hard. "Mommy? Angie, what have you been up to?"

Angie laughed. "Well, you saw me get married! I've had a couple of kids since then. What's going on?"

"Kids?" Langly was shocked. "How...?" he goggled.

"If you don't know, I'm certainly not going to be the one who tells you," she answered with a grin in her voice. "Now tell me what's going on."

Langly's voice turned grim. "You remember Dana Scully? The FBI agent who you met with us out in Las Vegas?"

"Yeah...what about her?"

"Her partner was kidnapped about two months ago and we've been putting out the word to everyone we know. We weren't going to do it, but his boss got the bright idea to put the case on AMERICA'S MOST WANTED. So we decided that contacting trusted friends couldn't hurt. You've heard me mention him before, Angie: Fox Mulder?"

"Sorry to hear about it, but I don't know what I can do, Lang. I don't get around as much as I used to. Hell, I took a job doing episodic TV so I could be give the kids a stable home."

"Ange, like I said, we're putting out the word to everyone we trust. We're pretty sure we know who kidnapped him; we just can't find him!"

"Why hasn't the FBI been able to find him? They have resources we can't match." Angie was worried. She really did not want to get involved in one of Langly's crusades, but she knew that Fox Mulder was one of the few friends that Langly had.

"Because these people that they're up against --Mulder calls 'em The Consortium-- are real evil motherfuckers, Angie. They do experiments on people, on children; they've wiped out entire townships just to hide an experiment. There's no telling what they're doing to Mulder..."

Angie heard Langly's voice break, and was shocked. Emotional involvement was always something Langly had scorned. She knew he had a good working relationship with the other two Lone Gunmen, but that he might really have a close personal friendship with someone seemed out of character with the aggressively hostile but undeniably brilliant geek she had known in high school.

"Look," Langly continued, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. "Scully's a real basket case. I swear she hasn't slept since he was taken. We're trying to do all we can to help."

"Look, Lang, I'll try hacking into all the databases and see if I can find any secret labs out here. I'll get some help from a couple of friends out here. I'll call you if we get a hold of him."

"NO!" Langly screamed into the phone. "Look, don't go in after him! DON'T!! Wherever he's being held is going to be a fortress. I can guarantee that. If you find any sign of him, call us before you do anything, and I mean anything! The people that have him are absolutely without conscience or qualms; they consider themselves above the law. Don't take any chances, Ange! None!! We'll keep searching at this end."

"Okay. Look, remind Agent Scully that she's got friends out here that will do all they can to find him for her. Okay?"

"Yeah. Hey, Ange?" "What?"

"Keep in touch. I've missed you."

"Later, Langly." Angie hung up with a shake of her head. She turned when she heard a whisper of sound behind her.

Joe walked over to her and he tipped her head up to look down into her eyes. "And what was that all about?"

"You remember those three weirdos I introduced you to in Las Vegas?" Joe nodded and she continued, "They want me to keep an eye out for a kidnapped friend: the FBI agent that we met there lost her partner almost two months ago to kidnappers, and they're calling in every marker they have for information leading to the rescue of said agent."

Joe shook his head, slowly. "It never rains, but it pours. C'mon, I'll help you get the kids ready. We'll go tell Adam and Amanda of this latest
development."

Angie hugged him hard and kissed him thoroughly. She had never even suspected he would be willing to actually help her with this: she had been willing to settle for mere tolerance.

+++

Project 1961-28 Progress Notes

Subject B is the second child born into the Project. He is a healthy adult male. Documentation attached shows that he and his original bondmate, Subject A, had a true and honest bond that was severed only by severe and irreversible brain damage resulting from an aneurysm suffered by Subject A while undergoing major surgery at age 26.

Subject B maintained his relationship with Subject A until her death, impervious to all attempts by other women to interest him in more than occasional physical encounters. However, since Subject A has died, he appears to have formed a bond with his assigned partner, Subject 38C, that is the equivalent of the bond with his original partner.

There has been some debate as to how true to the Project's goals this successor bond can be. It is indisputable that Subject B is capable of maintaining a relationship well beyond any reasonable limit, as evidenced by his lifelong attachment to, or even obsession with, Subject F. He and Subject F are siblings, separated when Subject B was twelve, and Subject F, eight. Neither has seen the other since, nor had any tangible proof that the other still lives, yet Subject B continues to search for any clue to his sibling's whereabouts or fate.

Researchers who have maintained contact with Subject B in the intervening years state their belief that Subject B chose his career in law enforcement precisely because it would give him access to information and the authority to use it in his hunt for his missing sibling.

Subject B has an IQ that routinely tests so high that some doubt the ability of the test to accurately measure it. He has an eidetic memory. He has a doctorate in Psychology from Oxford; his primary career path has been as a criminal profiler. When he first began this path, he was alone, abandoned, he believed, by his bondmate, Subject A. In profiling, he submerged his own identity into the identity of the targeted individual so completely that his sanity was threatened on several occasions. He and Subject A were reunited, reconciled, and married, and he stabilized psychologically. After the marriage, profiling became relatively easy and non-threatening. He could, and did, function just as well at the task, but he was suddenly capable of leaving it at work. This leads us to believe that true emotional and psychological stability is not easily maintained by a bereft bondmate; this is a weakness in the Project's planning that was unforeseen.

Subject B's psychological stability lasted for the eight months of the marriage, which ended, for all practical purposes, when both subjects were involved in a serious car crash. Subject B suffered several broken bones and other
non-life-threatening injuries, but he did not recover consciousness for eight days.

Subject A was severely injured, with primary damage to internal organs and her spine. She consented to a high-risk surgery, which was successful, but she suffered an aneurysm, and lost all her higher brain functions. In a permanently vegetative state, she was transferred to a longterm care facility. When her body left the building, Subject B regained consciousness.

It is theorized that he was trapped with her in her coma, and when she was removed sufficiently far from him, he could tear himself free of it. It was documented when he was sent to Great Britain at age 16 to attend college that the theorized verbal bond that Subjects A & B shared could not stretch across the ocean; telepathy has physical limits. He knew, from experience, that he could survive such solitude, so he woke up.

The focus of this review of the Project and its subjects is to determine if more time can have resulted in changes in the subjects with respect to the Project's goals.

Subjects B and C have been collected and are currently being held in RL-17984, en route from Washington DC as their current levels of bonding are tested and evaluated.

Subjects E and F are similarly being held in SL-56672. Subject G is currently MIA; no data on his current location is available. Subject H was a product of a side experiment which has since been suspended.

Subjects A D and H are deceased.

+++

Fifth Avenue co-op apartment, NYC Day 54 The trill of the phone was annoying; that was why she had chosen it. She picked it up and restrained herself from growling into it. "Hello."

"Ah, you are at home." The unctuous voice of the Cigarette Smoking Man oozed into her ear. She had heard Mulder refer to CGB that way, once, and she found it rather suited him more than his real name. Assuming, of course, that anyone knew his real name...

"Yes. What can I do for you?" She hated the servile tone she felt compelled to use. It took conscious effort to refrain from calling him, "Sir."

"Old Johannes de Kuiper died last night in Leeuwarden. His grandson Vos inherits."

"Young Vos knows nothing." Her mind churned through the possibilities.

"Correct. We anticipate that the structure Johannes set up to maintain our funding will continue to do so without him. It will take young Vos months, possibly years, to accidentally stumble across it. In the meantime, we are free of Johannes's directive regarding his bloodline.

"She straightened, startled. "Sir?!"

"You had a few extra tests you had proposed for Fox Mulder."

She could visualize the older man's slimy smile. "Yes, I do."

"Feel free to proceed on your own timetable."

She frowned. "Are you sure? Fox is the heir, now; Vos is childless."

"That is not our concern. In fact, if aught befalls Vos and he dies without legitimate heirs, the business would be broken up among the claimants and maintaining our income would be even easier, since we could claim quite a few properties and resources outright. Never mind about that."

"So you don't care if Mulder has some seriously negative reactions to my tests?"

She could almost hear him shrug. "Not at all," was his answer. "Fox Mulder has lost his protector. He is no more than any other Donated test subject, now."

"As you wish..."

"I knew you would be pleased." He hung up the phone.

Diana Fowley sat still for a long moment, considering her options. The train car would be arriving in Bismarck in the morning. If she was quick and lucky, she could meet it. She did not even bother to pack a bag; all she picked up on the way out the door was her briefcase and her coat.

+++

The rail car laboratory Actual location and exact date unknown

Fox and Nickie had both long since decided that their laboratory/prison was a railroad car; sometimes the hum- click- hum- click of the rails was almost audible. Frequently they could feel it. They had no windows, so they had no way of judging where the car might be, but they knew they were traveling.

The rail car, cruising across country in random directions, had been their home for distances and days that neither of them could guess at any longer. The only clues they had about where they might be were random things that the technicians who cared for them might say to one another. Nick was trying to escape. He had figured out how to beat the bonds that held him; that was as simple as filching a scalpel from a careless technician. He had it hidden, but he knew he could not hide it indefinitely. He needed more of a solution. He needed a way to get himself and his bond-sib out of here.

He was determined not to leave Fox behind. As far as either of them knew, they were the only two of the original six bond-sibs still alive. Tearfully, Fox admitted that he had absolutely no proof that either Samantha or Kyle was still alive.

"I just can't let it go at that, Nick. I have to keep looking for her..."

"I know, Fox. I know."

If he was going to take Fox with him, he was going to have to carry him. Fox had not been conscious, coherent or rational since shortly after they had blinded him with the duct tape. He also stopped accepting food. After three days, the staff had installed an NG tube and they were feeding him through it.

He could hear Fox thinking, sometimes. Not in words, of course, but the emotions were plain to him. Mostly commonly he could feel Fox's grief at the loss of Annaliese, and his incoherent and desperate longing for Dana Scully. That longing felt very familiar to Nickie Lermontov.

That was how he longed to be at Molly's side.

Even knowing she was dead, he longed to be with her.

+++

The rail car laboratory

Actual location and date unknown

Fox had not spoken to him for days. Sometimes