TITLE: The Chilmark Project, Chapter IV: Ancient Evil

AUTHOR: Wylfcynne and Ravenwald

SPOILERS: Please.  This is 2005.  The Chilmark
Project is a crossover, marrying the X Files to
Highlander: the Series, Sentinel and FX: the Series. 
The break-point with X Files is at the episode called
"Demons."  X Files Seasons 8 & 9 do not happen here,
and neither does the Biogenesis story arc.  Others are
still being considered.  Yes, this is a WIP.  Sorry.

RATING: Each chapter may vary; Ancient Evil is rated
PG-13 for violence and blood.

CLASSIFICATION: AU, Crossover, MulderTorture,
RST, Mytharc.

SUMMARY:    This is the sequel to Foxhunt; Mulder is
recovering but, just to make things more interesting,
there are two serial killers operating in nearby
Seacouver.  Can Mulder NOT get involved in that?  Of
course not!

DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were,
they'd be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save
up for a new car!  Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the rest
belong to FOX Networks and 1013; Macleod, Methos
and Amanda belong to Rysher, Blair and Jim belong to
Pet Fly.  I'm pretty sure anyone else you meet is an
original character we created.  We're just borrowing the
others' characters for a little fun and games...we
promise we'll bring them back on time and unharmed...
and they won't remember a thing...


The Chilmark Project IV:  Ancient Evil
Ravenwald & Wylfcynne


Rescue plus 10 days
1:20pm.
Downtown Seacouver

("So what's your explanation, and how are you going to
sell it to the SAC?") Scully asked him.  ("Why do you
think he hasn't killed yet?")

Mulder glanced down at his partner as they walked
back to the Miklaus Task Force offices from the
elevator bank.  This was the FBI's regional office
complex: floors four, five, six and seven of
the James H. Dillon Federal Office Building in
downtown Seacouver.  The cafeteria was on the eighth
floor, and they had just finished lunch.

("It won't be hard,") he shook his head.  ("Miklaus  kills
rarely... sometimes only once or twice in a calendar
year.  Longest dry spell we can document was eighteen
months.  Whoever killed those six prostitutes, it wasn't 
Miklaus.  Those killings don't fit his profile or his
historical victimology.")

He was not surprised that she was using their bond for
what was, actually, idle conversation; they both used it
almost exclusively, now, especially when they were in
public.  They had been overheard too often in the past;
this way no one could eavesdrop on their
conversations.

("We know he's here; Laddey picked him out of a photo
array twice.  He hasn't done any killing; we haven't
found any victim cluster that matches his profile.  It's
been almost two years; he's due.  Do you suppose he's
actually here hunting for Laddey?")

Mulder considered that as he held the door for her, and
they went inside.  ("Probably.  Otherwise it's just too
much of a coincidence.  And Rutuska will just have to
admit that he's got two serials working here.")

("Will you and Agent McCormick want to split up, and
each take one, or can you work them both together?")

Mulder did not have to guess her opinion; she did not
want him working, at all.  She would certainly oppose
him working on two cases, despite the fact that she
knew perfectly well that ISU agents routinely had
caseloads of 35 to 50.  They went into the Task Force
offices and he pulled the door closed behind them.

The offices were empty; all Task Force personnel were
out chasing leads.  The only reason they were not on the
road like everyone else was Skinner's stubborn refusal
to take Mulder off restricted duty.  Scully was just as
glad.  Mulder was recovering with his usual amazing
speed, but he still had little stamina and tired easily.  He
was eating voraciously and his metabolism was
cranked so high that she could feel the fire of his life
force blazing when he lay beside her at night.

(*And it's amazing that either of us is getting any
sleep.*)  She shivered deliciously at the thought of
Mulder lying beside her.

He grinned and changed the image to one of her on
top.

She flushed as the heat rose in her body.  ("Mulder,
please!  We're at work!")

He shrugged and let the image fade.  ("You started it.")

She glanced up, biting her lip.  ("Was I sending?  I'm
sorry; I didn't mean to... my thoughts were wandering.")

He leaned down and kissed her lightly.

She 'saw' the image of her tattoo in his eyes, and
realized that he had picked up the image because he
had been touching her.  She could not help but grin. 
("Your touch inflames me...") she purred.

His expression shifted in a subtle fashion as he ended
the kiss and straightened.  ("Don't start this now,") he
asked.  ("It's too early in the day.  Give me a break,
Sweetheart.  Please.")

("Sorry.  Professional mode back on, sir.")

("Goof,") he snorted, not offended by her irreverence.

("But I'm your goof, and you love me.")

("Yep.")

("Good.  Ditto.")

"Mulder!" a voice greeted them from the hallway door.

They spun apart in opposite directions, so neither's
access to a weapon would be impaired, so that they
would divide a foe's attention.  The bondmates were
both reaching for their sidearms
as Mulder finished his turn and recognized the man who
had hailed him.

"Matt!" he grinned, letting his hand fall away from his
weapon.

Scully relaxed instantly and just watched as her
bondmate and the stranger hugged.  She decided that
Mulder and this man had known each other in
Behavioral Science.  There were really only two kinds of
relationships formed in the crucible of full-time criminal
profiling:  the hissing vitriolic hatred she had seen from
Bill Patterson, and the shared-foxhole relationships she
had seen between Mulder and his Violent Crimes
partner, Reggie Perdue and, to a lesser extent, his
BSU partner Jerry Lamanna.  Obviously, this was
another shield brother.

"Scully, this is Matt McCormick.  We worked together
on the Miklaus case ten years ago.  Matt, my partner,
Dana Scully."

"Honored to meet you, ma'am," McCormick showed
just a bit too much the Southern gentleman to win Scully
at once, but she did notice how happy Mulder was to
see this man.

"How are you, Agent McCormick," Scully shook his
hand, and noticed that he had started to lift her hand to
his lips for a kiss.

("That's not a front or a pose,") Mulder assured her. 
("He really is Rhett Butler.")

("I'm not Scarlett.")

("You're MINE.")

"Time out," McCormick laughed.  "You two need to
work on your public behavior."

One pair of intense hazel eyes and one pair of flaring
blue eyes swung toward him, united against him.

"What are you talking about?" Scully growled.

"When you're talking telepathically, you turn to look at
one another," he explained, moving into the room and
claiming a chair at the conference table.  "Once your
eyes meet, the rest of the
world, all too obviously, ceases to exist for you."

"What the hell...?" Mulder started to growl.

"Hey, relax," McCormick said calmly as he dropped
wearily into his seat.  "I'm the one who gave Skinner his
initial briefing in the care and feeding of Sentinels;
Ellison's captain is an old friend of mine, from before I
joined the Bureau.  Blair's kept me updated on the
developments here."

Slowly, the bondmates let themselves relax, but Scully's
hands were still trembling.

("We have to...")

("Shh.  Later.") Mulder sat on the couch at the other end
of the room.  "So what took you so long?" he asked. 
"We expected you three days ago."

"I was tied up in court on another case," McCormick
scrubbed at his face, "in Alabama."

Mulder grinned.  "That's why your accent got thick
again."

McCormick glared at him.  "And you will never convince
me that you're from Massachusetts."

Mulder shrugged, swung his feet up and lay down. 
Scully pulled a chair close, but did not touch him.

"My mom was from New York and I spent my formative
years traveling," he repeated what he had told
McCormick years before.  "I spent most of my life
before I was ten in Eastern Europe and Northern Africa,
so I never picked up the Cape accent.  And after nearly
eight years in England, whatever was left got
smothered by BBC official Queen's English."

"A likely story," was how McCormick always
responded.  Then he looked at the wall above Mulder
and sighed at the familiarity of the detailed
relationships schematic there.  "Did you learn anything
new about him?" he asked without much real hope.

Mulder was lying still with his eyes closed.  "Study it," he
said briefly.  "Tell me if you see anything that you didn't
already know."

("Crashing?") Scully asked quietly.

("Just a nap... just for a few minutes...") He hated the
idea that he really had no control over these waves of
exhaustion that still swept over him every few hours.

("Sleep, my love,") she ordered gently.  ("I'll be here.")

("Wake me if you have to leave - ")

("Of course.  Sleep.  You need it.")

He mumbled something and she saw his body start to
relax into slumber.  She hummed Brahms's Lullaby at
him mentally, and he fell asleep smiling.

"Is he really asleep?" McCormick asked, startled, his
voice low.

Scully nodded.  "Yes," she replied just as quietly.  "His
stamina isn't recovering as fast as he wishes.  This
happens several times a day."

McCormick scrubbed at his face again, then stood up. 
"I'll go..."

"I'm going to stay with him," Scully said unnecessarily. 
"We're all meeting at a restaurant called Rocci's for
dinner tonight; will you be there?"

McCormick frowned as he turned to face her again. 
"'We' as in the Task Force or 'we' as in the Friends of
Duncan MacLeod?"

Scully blinked.  "The Task Force.  But I think Duncan
had a word with the owner so we could get the back
room on such short notice."

He relaxed slowly, and she realized that he was tired
and stressed out, too, just like everyone else.

"Take it easy, Agent McCormick.  You look like you
could use a nap, too; why don't you take the other
couch?"

"I'm on duty..." he protested weakly.

 She made a face.  "I know as well as you do that BSU
works 24/7," she informed him.  "Take a nap.  Mulder's
been known to solve cases in his sleep; why don't you
try it?"

+++

Scully was sitting at the conference table, working on
her laptop.  The backlight from the screen was the only
light in the room.  Around her, the only other sounds
were the soft snores from
Agent McCormick on his couch, and Mulder's quiet
breathing from his.  A part of her awareness was
monitoring Mulder's dreams, diverting any trace of
nightmare, keeping him content and peaceful.

Her hold on him was secure enough that when the door
slammed open, Mulder did not stir.  Scully looked up to
see the local SAC, Gene Rutuska, standing in the
doorway.

"Can I help you, Agent Rutuska?" she asked icily,
standing up and folding her arms across her chest.

"What the hell is going on here?" he snarled.  "It's the
middle of the damned day!"

"Agent Rutuska!"  Scully's voice had a snap in it like an
icicle breaking, and he remembered that those who did
not call her Mrs. Spooky usually called her the Ice
Queen.  "I'll remind you that Agent Mulder is here only
as a consultant; he is on restricted duty and under
doctor's orders to rest as much as possible."

She was right, but he did not like to be backed down. 
"That doesn't excuse McCormick," he sneered.  "I've
about had it with all you prima donnas coming in from
Headquarters and expecting us to kowtow to you as
you take over my investigation!"

Scully sat back down and leaned back in her chair.  "Sit
down, Agent Rutuska."  He tried to expostulate; she cut
him off.  "I said, sit down, Agent Rutuska!"

He sat.

McCormick had been awakened by the SAC's
entrance, but had feigned sleep while he tried to come
up with an acceptable excuse.  He soon forgot the futile
exercise in the fascination of listening to Scully ream out
the agent who was their ostensible superior officer on
this case with amazing precision, leaving him flayed, all
without once raising her voice or using one crude or
profane term.

"You are the SAC here, certainly.  You are not, however,
in charge of the Miklaus Task Force.  Nor have either
Agent Mulder or myself been assigned to assist you,"
she pointed out calmly.  "The only reason that Agent
McCormick is here is because a friend of ours spotted
his suspect, Miklaus, in town.  There have been no
murders attributable to him here, and we are not at all
certain if Miklaus is still in this state.  We could be
leaving on a moment's notice."

"I'm still..."

"You are in charge of the hunt for the Rysher Creek
Killer," she reminded him, the edge in her voice almost
disguised by her courteous phrasing.  "And you've
obviously never worked with
the profiling unit before," she trampled right over him,
ignoring his attempts to speak.   "Profiling isn't a
nine-to-five occupation.  A profiler is thinking about the
case every waking moment, and his brain continues to
process it while he sleeps.  If you will look in Mulder's
file, you will find that he actually dreamed the location of
a victim of a serial killer a decade after the man was
convicted.  Yes, he's sleeping.  But that doesn't mean
he isn't working."

"Everyone's heard of fuckin' Spooky Mulder," Rutuska
was finally allowed to speak.  "But even if he's a walking
mentalist act, that doesn't explain why he's sacked out
here.   What's his excuse?"

Scully was fed up. (*Where has this idiot been the last
three months?*) she wondered.  She went back to her
laptop and retrieved a .jpg file.  "Look at these
photographs, Agent Rutuska."

Curious despite himself, he moved around the table till
he could see the screen.  The photographs that scrolled
slowly up the screen were obviously evidence photos;
they all showed a man brutally mistreated.

"What am I looking at?" he growled, disturbed more
than he cared to admit by the man's suffering.

"Those photos are of Agent Mulder," she said flatly. 
"They were taken upon his escape ten days ago,
before he was treated for his injuries.  He had been
held prisoner for fourteen weeks."

Rutuska paled, and glanced furtively at the agent
sleeping so heavily on the couch.  "What the hell is he
doing working at all?"

Scully closed the file.  "He volunteered," she said
quietly.  "Once he learned that the case was open here,
we could not keep him from working on it.  He would be
working it even if he was still hospitalized, Agent.  This
isn't a job for him.  It's a vocation.  It's what he is, not just
what he does."

Rutuska did not know how to respond.  At the far end of
the room, McCormick sat up slowly and stretched,
hoping that he would get screamed at but not officially
censured.  Scully heard the door open again and turned
that way.  She was surprised to see Skinner standing
there, looking grim.

"Sir?"

"We have a victim cluster, Agent Scully," Skinner
growled.  "The Task Force is meeting here in half an
hour."

"We'll be ready, sir," she promised.

+++

The Briefing.  1500 hours

All the shifting and low-voiced conversation in the room
stopped abruptly as Assistant Director Skinner went to
the front of the room.

"As best as we can construct it at this time, this is what
happened.  Seacouver Police Captain Ray Bennett,
age 45 and a 21-year veteran of the force, left for work
this morning at 0645 hours.  At home he left his wife
Laurel, age 38, and their two daughters, Jessica, aged
8 years, and Brittany, aged 2=AB.  Shortly after Captain
Bennett left the home, Miklaus entered.  For purely
practical reasons, it would appear likely that he
attacked and killed Mrs. Bennett first.   She was beaten
with a skillet, stabbed repeatedly, and raped; we do not
yet know in what order.

"Once Mrs. Bennett  was at least incapacitated, we
speculate, he treated eight year old Jessica the same
way.  Then he turned his attention to the toddler."

Skinner had to stop to school his emotions out of his
voice.

"Captain Bennett is not a deskbound commander, and
regularly spends a significant amount of time in an
unmarked unit, backing up the men working his
precinct.  He made it a practice to stop off at home if he
was in the neighborhood because the baby's been sick
lately," he continued, his voice flat and uninflected.  "He
arrived in time to see Miklaus begin to dismember the
baby.  The baby..."  Skinner closed his eyes and
swallowed a rising bile, "was still alive at that point."

Scully, seated on the couch beside Mulder, gasped in
horror even knowing that it had been a possibility, along
with most of the agents in the room.  Mulder, sitting with
his head back, his eyes closed and his feet up on a
folding chair, did not move in the least.  When she
turned her attention to him, she found him so totally
barricaded, on every level, that she could not hear what
he was thinking.  When she would have spoken,
Skinner continued, and she stayed quiet to listen.

"Captain Bennett shot Miklaus in the body.  When he
attempted to cuff the suspect, Miklaus attacked the
Captain.  One of the neighbors heard the screams and
the gunshot, and called 911 to report an officer in
trouble at the Captain's residence.  The first unit was on
the scene in about five minutes.  They found Captain
Bennett unconscious and the suspect about to behead
him with a sword."

Matthew McCormick leaned forward, bracing his
elbows on his knees, scrubbing at his face.

"The officers shot Miklaus four times and were able to
cuff him.  He was still struggling, so they put him in the
back of their patrol unit.  Other units arrived, and the
Assistant Chief took over the scene.  Bennett, as can
be imagined, was not in any condition to be
interviewed.  The suspect was covered with blood, so
the Assistant Chief told the two arresting officers to take
the suspect for  treatment.  Somewhere between the
crime scene and the hospital, Miklaus escaped.  He
killed both patrol officers and drove their unit for several
miles until he managed to pull over a young housewife. 
He carjacked her, took her new Ford Expedition and
vanished.  Her
three-year-old son was in a car seat in the back."

"The Bennett baby was DOA at the hospital.  The
Captain's wife and older daughter were dead at the
scene.  The boy taken in the carjacking is still missing."

Skinner let his gaze travel over his team, giving them
time to assimilate the horror of it all.

 "All right.  Mulder, you and McCormick interview
Bennett; he's at the hospital.  CSI is on the scene
already, but Flanders and Aubrecht, you go to the
scene and take over supervision; the local guy was
off-duty quite a while ago and deserves to be relieved."

Mulder climbed to his feet and headed for the door.  He
did not care how the rest of the assignments were
handed out; Skinner did not tolerate incompetence. 
McCormick held the door for him, and was surprised
when Scully joined them.

"Don't you have autopsies to do?" he asked.

"They aren't going anywhere," Scully said quietly.  "And
I'm not all that anxious to autopsy two small children and
their mother.  The morgue staff will be taking the
photographs and doing the external for trace evidence
for a while.  They don't need me for that and Dr.
Morrigan is quite competent."

McCormick grinned humorlessly.  "I didn't think you'd let
me take him without you."

"Not on your life.  Besides, Bennett's at the same
hospital as the morgue.  After we finish with him, I  can
always go downstairs if I need to."

"How about if you two ride with me?  We can all talk that
way?"

"Sure.  What are you driving?"

"Bureau Taurus," he admitted.

"It'll work," Mulder agreed.  "God, I'm not looking
forward to this..."

The ride out was quiet; Mulder actually managed to nap
a little.

+++

Bennett had been taken to County General Hospital for
observation after his head injury.  It had certainly been
done as much to keep him safely away from the
investigation as for his health.  He had recovered
consciousness readily and denied so much as a
headache when the young nurse who was taking his
history at the ER asked him how he felt.

"He's in room 4, over there," the young woman
gestured, but clearly had no inclination to go back in
there.

As they walked across the bustling Emergency
Department, Mulder frowned, then  stopped, reaching
out blindly for support.   McCormick caught him, stood
still while Mulder re-established his equilibrium.

("Mulder!") Scully's touch on his other wrist was cold
with fear.  ("What's wrong?")

"Can't you hear that awful noise?" he gasped aloud.

"No.  Is it like that buzz that bothered you the other day
at Chazz's?"

("Yeah... but worse.")

Scully did not try to hide her relief.  "Then it should fade. 
Relax.  Slow, deep breaths."

It took him a few moments to get control over it.  Then
he shook it off and let go of McCormick.

"Okay, now?" McCormick watched him narrowly.

"Yeah.  It hasn't gone away... but I can handle it.  I'm
okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah.  Thanks."  Mulder turned back toward the
curtained room.  Scully and McCormick followed him.

Mulder stopped at the curtain and knocked on the wall
divider.  "Captain Bennett?"

"Yeah?" came from inside the room.

"You decent?"

The curtain was flung aside.  "Why do you...?" He
slammed his jaw shut.  "You're FBI, aren't you?" 
Bennett put his hand to his head as if trying to rub away
a headache.

 Mulder nodded.  "I'm Fox Mulder.  My partner, Special
Agent Dana Scully.  From our Behavioral Science Unit
in Washington DC, Special Agent Matthew
McCormick."

Bennett glared at them and went back inside.  They
followed.

McCormick grabbed some chairs from the hallway and
shoved them into the alcove.  He did not mind standing,
but Mulder was too close to the edge of physical
endurance.  McCormick was too much of a gentleman
to expect Agent Scully to stand, and he knew that
Mulder would resist sitting if she had to stand. 
McCormick seated Agent Scully, much to her
bemusement, and shoved a chair at Mulder with studied
nonchalance. Mulder dropped into it gratefully.

Bennett sat on the exam table and stared at the three of
them.  "Okay.  I suppose you want to know what
happened."

McCormick nodded warily.  "First, you want to ID the
perp for us?"

Bennett's expression was absolutely blank.  "Sure;
photo array?"

"Yeah."  McCormick reached inside his jacket and
pulled out a sheaf of a dozen photos.  They were all
booking shots, showing full face and profile views of
twelve men.  All the men were similar in build and
coloring, as well as in expression.

Bennett watched as McCormick laid them out in three
rows of four on the end of the exam table.  He studied
the photos intently, gnawing on his lip.

"I never realized how hard this could be," he admitted. 
"I thought his face was burned into my brain forever." 
He continued to study these until, after five or six
minutes, he picked out the third photo in the second
row.  "This is him."

"Turn it over," McCormick suggested.

Bennett looked up at him, puzzled.  "Why?"

McCormick just nodded toward the photo.

Bennett flipped it... and swayed.

Lettered neatly across the back were the words, "Mik
Clauss, a/k/a Michael Klass, a/k/a Miklaus the
Cannibal."

"He was arrested in a small town just outside of
Cleveland in 1975 for vagrancy and released after
serving his ten days," McCormick explained.  "They
found the bodies two weeks after they let him go,
matched him to it with fingerprints.  He kills one or two
families every year."

"Twenty... nearly thirty years of killing and nobody can
catch him?"  Bennett asked incredulously.

"His pattern of killing is incredibly random."  McCormick
spread his hands.  "He's a hard man to hold," he started
to explain.  "He killed the two officers who took him into
custody at your house, carjacked a woman for her SUV
and escaped."  There was no point in adding the detail
of the child's kidnapping; Bennett had enough on his
mind.

Bennett's strength failed him and he dropped to slump
on the exam table.  "They're dead?" he whispered,
shocked.  "Mace and Harry are dead?"

McCormick nodded sadly.  "Yes."

"They'd shot the bastard to doll rags!" Bennett
protested.  "He was bleeding all over the place... he'd
taken five rounds to the body!  How could he do that?"

McCormick bit his lip.  "If I tell you, all three of you need
to promise not to reveal this information.  The logic
behind that will be apparent."

Scully's gaze sharpened.  ("What the hell...?")

("Let him talk.  I think this is gonna be good.") Mulder's
attention was on McCormick.  "Go ahead, Matt," he
said softly.  "You either trust us or you don't."

McCormick grimaced.  "I have to tell you this, Bennett,
because it directly affects you.  I have to tell you, Mulder,
because if I don't, Miklaus is probably going to get
away and continue this murder spree he's on."

Mulder nodded slowly.  "Thirty years is long enough. 
We want to catch the bastard."

 McCormick shuddered.  "Thirty years was enough in
1644," he growled.  "Miklaus has been butchering
children at least since then.  He's an Immortal."  He
waited a beat.  "So am I."  He waited another beat as
he turned to face Ray Bennett. "So are you."

There was a long stretched out moment of silence.  It
was Bennett who broke it.  "Immortal?  What the hell are
you talking about?"

"Miklaus's favorite prey is new Immortals.  He butchers
their families and then kills the Immortal.  If he can't find
an Immortal with a family, a regular mortal family will do
until he can find a family of his preferred victims.  That's
his pattern."  He glanced at Mulder.  "That's why all the
profiles of him are inadequate," he explained
apologetically.  "The entire Immortal dynamic is central
to everything he does, but no one knows that but me."

"Keep talking," was all Mulder said.

"We're Immortal for no reason we know, by no
methodology we understand.  Some people, if they die
by violence, come back Immortal.  That's all we're sure
of."

"What do you mean, Immortal?"  Scully glanced at him. 
"You live forever?"  Her skepticism was fairly blazing
out of her eyes.

McCormick shrugged.  "We don't age, get sick or die of
natural causes," he answered her calmly.  "We can be
killed; that was what Miklaus was about to do when the
backup arrived."

"You mean beheading?"  Mulder spoke up.  Scully
could hear him thinking hard, memories of several
X-Files flashing through his memory.

McCormick nodded, and rubbed his own throat.  Then
he shuddered and squared his shoulders.  "We are a
self-contained sub-culture, with our own traditions, our
moral code, and
mythology.  We are all, like it or not, participating in The
Game.  We are subject to challenge.  The Rules state
that we have to respond to a challenge and fight a duel
fairly, with swords or other mutually-agreed-upon
weapons.  Two go out; one comes back."

"Dueling has been illegal in the US for well over a
hundred years," Mulder pointed out dryly.

"We don't care," McCormick said quietly.  "Our duels
are private because the winner takes the loser's head
and acquires the loser's Quickening.  That's life force,
experience, wisdom... everything.  It comes by lightning;
it's important that there are no witnesses.  The winner is
incapacitated by the victory for a short time... usually
less maybe ten minutes."

"So you would be vulnerable to any witness for that
time?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah."  McCormick sighed, and rubbed at the back of
his neck.  "Quickenings are additive," he went on.  "The
more you take, the stronger you are...and the more of a
target you are.  Remember the stories of the old West? 
About the cocky youngster going after the old
gunslinger just to prove himself?"  He waiting till they
nodded their understanding and then went on.  "The
same thing happens among Immortals.  The older you
are, the more Quickenings you've taken, the stronger
you are...and the more time you spend looking over
your shoulder.  The hottest swordsman of the Millennium
lives right here in Seacouver; he wanders away
frequently, just to throw off the pursuit, but he has never
walked away from a fight.  A finer, more honorable man
never lived.  If I can't win The Prize, I'll be pleased if he
does, and he's half my age."

Mulder's head tipped to one side, making him look
quizzical.  "Um...'The Prize?'"

McCormick shrugged.  "We play the Game; last man
standing wins the Prize."

"What is it?"

He dropped his hands.  "We have no idea."

"Let me get this straight," Scully's voice was just short of
scornful.  "You claim to be Immortal, immune to aging
and disease, yet you spend all these lifetimes hunting
one another down with swords??  And you call it a
game?"  Mulder heard the outrage in her voice, felt the
moral indignation coming off of her in waves.

"There's only one refuge," McCormick said quietly. 
"Holy ground.  Any religion, any faith, any path, but
space made sacred is sanctuary."  He turned his
attention back to Bennett, who was
watching him with glazed eyes.  "Any questions?"

Bennett startled, then swallowed hard.  "How old are
you?"

McCormick sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets.  "I
was born in Salisbury, England, in the Year of Our Lord
1222," he replied, his eyes staring over Bennett's head
at some distant memory.  "I died the first time impaled
on a lance at a tournament in 1255.  For a time I
consoled myself that God was including me in His
plans, for He had taken me at the same age as He had
taken Jesus.  But that wore off."

"You expect us to believe that you're nearly 800 years
old?"  Scully's voice was thick with disgust.  "That's
absurd.  C'mon, Mulder; we have a killer to catch."

Scully turned away, but Mulder made no move to follow
her.  ("Wait.")

"I hate this part," McCormick said tonelessly.

Scully turned back.  "What part?"

McCormick looked up at her.  "If you shot me dead, in
eight or ten minutes, depending upon the damage I
took, I'd stand up and be fine," he stated.  "It's not that
we can't be injured or killed... it's that we heal so
quickly, and that even death will not stop the healing
process.  We feel pain just like you do, without the
exacerbating component of fear, because we know it
won't kill us.  But every time we die, it feels like dying." 
He swallowed, and glanced at Mulder.
"You still carrying that Gerber E-Z-Out?"

Mulder blinked.  "I don't have it.  It's in DC."  He had not
even thought of the pocket knife.  The Gunmen had
brought him clothes and his firearms and wallet, but they
had not brought that.

"I need a blade..."

"Don't you carry a sword?" Scully sneered.

He stared at her coolly.  "Not on duty.  Someone jumps
me now, I shoot him and take him out into the
wilderness somewhere where we can fight in peace."

Mulder stood up and rummaged through the medical
equipment on the counter and the drawers.  It did not
take him long to find a scalpel.  "Good enough?"

 McCormick took it.  "Yeah.  Watch this - I'm only doing
it once because it hurts like a bitch."  He leaned against
the counter, rolled up his left sleeve, and set the blade
against the soft pale skin on the inside of his forearm. 
Before anyone could protest, or move to interfere, he
cut down into the muscle, dragged the blade up from
wrist to elbow.  Blood welled up thickly, ran off his arm
in streams, not paltry drops.

Scully gasped in horror, dashed forward with hands
extended to intervene.  She skidded to a halt as
lightning flickered across the wound.  She stared as the
blood stopped flowing and the cut healed itself by the
light of tiny flickers of lightning.

"Wow...!"  Mulder breathed, his eyes shining as he
watched.    "Cool!"

Bennett, too, could only stare.  "That's Immortal
healing?" he whispered.

When the wound closed, McCormick wiped off the thick
smear of blood with a paper towel, and dropped it
casually into the waste basket.

Scully used a latex glove to remove it.  "Biohazard
waste doesn't go there," she started to explain.

"It can't be a biohazard, Agent Scully," McCormick said
softly.  "No disease can survive contact with our blood."

Scully glanced at Mulder, who met her gaze unflinching. 
The image of the black oil was stronger for coming from
each of them at the same time.  Then he remembered
his imprisonment in Tunguska, and shuddered, tearing
his eyes away, scrubbing at his face.

("Hey, it's over,") she crooned to him.  ("Shh...")

McCormick saw them sharing a moment, and
wondered what they were saying to one another.  He
rolled his sleeve back down and re-buttoned his cuff.

"That's Immortal healing," he answered Bennett's awed
question.

"I can't do that!" Bennett protested faintly.

McCormick, at his wit's end for a way to convince the
new guy, reached out with the scalpel and slammed it
down into the back of Bennett's hand where it rested on
his thigh.  The impact drove the point of the blade
through the hand and into the leg beneath.

Bennett gasped in shock.

Before the Captain could exhale, before he could make
a sound, McCormick carelessly yanked the blade out. 
Blood followed it and the lightning flickered from the
wound up to the tip of the blade.

Bennett stared at his hand, flexing it, rubbing it with his
other hand, testing it.

"Well?"  Scully demanded of him.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with amazement. 
"It's gone.  It doesn't hurt!  There's no cut!  There's no
scar!"

"Told ya," McCormick shrugged.  "Minor wounds like
that are just annoyances."  He sighed and stretched,
flexing stiff shoulder muscles.  "And that buzzing hum
that you heard?"

Both Bennett and Mulder looked up.  "Yeah?" they said
in unison.

Bennett frowned at the agent.  "You're Immortal, too? 
Then how come you didn't know all this?"

"I'm not Immortal," Mulder denied.  "Believe me, I don't
heal like that."  In his mind, he felt Scully's shiver, and he
reached out with one hand to soothe her.

"No, you're not," McCormick agreed.  "But you are a
Sentinel.  That gives you access to information from
senses other people don't have.  One of the things that
Sentinels can perceive that other mortals cannot is the
reverb of the Kenning between two Immortals."

"Kenning?"  Mulder asked.

"We can feel one another's proximity; it feels like a buzz
or a hum, but it isn't a sound.  The stronger the Immortal,
the louder the reverb.  Sentinels can't hear just one of
us, but if there are two or more, you can hear the reverb,
just like we do."

"So you can feel or hear or whatever one another's
presence?  What's the range?"  Mulder asked, his
insatiable curiosity surfacing.

 McCormick shrugged.  "It varies.  I've heard bragging
stretch the range to a quarter mile, but I've never known
anyone who could actually detect someone farther than
about a hundred and fifty feet, plus or minus a bit."

Mulder glanced at Scully.  "So Immortals can feel one
another just about as far away as Scully and I can talk."

Bennett frowned.  "'Talk?'" he asked, puzzled.

Mulder shrugged.  "You made yourselves vulnerable to
us," he said quietly.  "I'm just leveling the playing field. 
Yes, I'm a Sentinel.  Scully's my Guide.  We're mutually
telepathic; we can 'talk' telepathically as long as we're
within a range of about a hundred or so feet.  We have
a non-verbal bond that has a range of somewhere
around three thousand miles.  Being a Sentinel means
that I'm not limited to the ordinary five senses.  I have
others."

Bennett frowned.  "What kind of other senses?"

Mulder smiled faintly.  "I'm an empath, according to
Blair."  He looked up at McCormick.  "He says I really
do connect with the UNSUB.  Remember how I could
never really explain how I
knew some things?"

McCormick nodded slowly.  "Yeah... like when you said
the guy would have a speech impediment.  You wowed
'em with that one."

Mulder nodded.  "Apparently none of it was educated
guesses," he explained.  "I connect, on an emotional
level, with the UNSUB.  I really can look out through his
eyes, touch with his hands, feel what he feels..."  His
voice trailed off and he shivered, looking around warily.

Scully stood up, moved close behind him, and began to
rub his shoulders gently.  ("Sshhh...I'm here...")

("It hurts...  There's so much pain here...")

("This is a hospital.  Of course there is.  You need to
learn to control those shields better.")

He stared at her for a moment.  ("What the hell are you
talking about?")

She bit her lip.  ("You've been sleeping a lot; I've been
talking to Blair.  He's been studying what Sentinels are
for a long time.  I needed to know what he knows.")

Mulder grinned wanly and shook his head in wonder. 
("My little perfectionist at work.")

Scully could only smile tightly.  ("He thinks that, as an
empath, you have to have some kind of emotional
shields around your own mind, or the emotions of others
around you will overwhelm you.  You've been okay, and I
didn't think too much of it.  Blair admits that this is all
hypotheses; Jim is just a physical-senses modifier. 
Blair didn't think you could handle crowds of any sort, or
large groups of people, until you got some conscious
control over your shields.  Maybe he was right.")

Before he could answer, a wave of pain-and-fear swept
over him again, stronger than the first time, and he
struggled to maintain some control, not realizing that he
was doubled over as if in physical pain himself.  Scully
kept up the contact, rubbing gently, crooning wordlessly
while the two Immortals could only watch helplessly.  It
was several long minutes later before Mulder sat up,
looking pale and a little ill.

("Jesus... what...?")

"C'mon," Scully tugged him to his feet.  "Let's get you
out of here.  Captain Bennett?  We'll be in touch."

Mulder let her lead, but paused in the doorway, turning
back toward McCormick.

"Matt?  Thank you for trusting me that much.  For
trusting us.  That must have been difficult for you."

McCormick shrugged.  "You're a good man, Mulder.  I
generally won't out another Immortal without permission
but I wanted Fox Mulder, Profiling Sentinel, fully aware
of what Miklaus is.  People who don't understand
frequently get dead trying to handle him.  I need that to
not happen this time.  We need to finish this!"

+++

Scully took Mulder across the street where she found a
small patch of greenery called Cathedral Park.  Not
more than thirty feet wide in any direction, with three
trees marking the corners of the triangular patch-park, it
was surrounded by shrubbery, and made a tiny island of
isolation from the bustling traffic and from the hospital
itself.

In the center of the park, there was a bench made of a
cool dark green granite.  She headed for it, sat down
and tugged Mulder down beside her.  He used the
bench to slow his descent, but sat on the ground,
leaning against the bench and against her knee.  He
rested his head on her thigh and closed his eyes.

Her hand came down and she gentled him easily, her
fingers combing through his hair.  He sighed, relaxing a
little more.

("You don't want to go back in there and do the
autopsies, do you?") he asked.

("Not particularly,") she admitted candidly.  ("There's
nothing subtle about Miklaus.")

He shuddered.

("Hey.  I don't have to do it.  Skinner never told me that I
had to do the autopsies, and, like I said, Dr. Morrigan is
very skilled.  I'm yours first, Mulder.  I belong to the FBI
only after that.")

He looked up at her then, and the smile he gave her
made her toes curl.  He rose up, leaned forward  from
his knees and kissed her.

("Hey.  Quit changing the subject,") she protested
weakly.  She ended the kiss with a teasing nibble on his
lower lip, then ran her index finger from the spot
between his eyebrows down his nose to his mouth,
where she lifted the finger, kissed it, then planted the
kiss on his lips.  ("I don't want you to go back into any
hospital until you're better at shielding.  I don't like the
way this affects you.")

He closed his eyes and lowered his face into her lap. 
("I don't like it, either.  I feel... unshelled.  I used to have
armor.  I've always had some awareness of what other
people were feeling, but I put up walls, barricades,
because it's just too painful.  But now... all my armor's
gone transparent, porous.  I used to be able to handle
other's people's pain.  But if you hadn't gotten me out of
that hospital when you did... well, I wasn't too far from
curling up and screaming to try and drown it out...")

("We're going to have to talk to Blair about this,") she
pointed out.  ("If he's got an actual technique for
creating shielding, I think we're going to need it.")

("Let's not re-invent the wheel,") he agreed.

A sharp bark alerted both of them; it was her spirit
guide, the dainty little red fox.  The grey fox was lying
sprawled beside her, but the red fox was pacing back
and forth.  They looked where the foxes were looking,
and saw, through a narrow gap in the shrubbery, that
McCormick had emerged from the hospital, and was
standing on the front steps looking around, obviously
looking for them.

She climbed to her feet and Scully called out.  "Matt! 
Over here!"

McCormick heard her, and gestured at them to wait. 
He retrieved the car, paid the parking fee, and drove
around to pick them up.

"Where to?" he asked when they were settled in the
back seat.  "I'd offer you once around the park, but I
think that wouldn't be worth the sixty seconds it would
take."

Scully smiled.  "Probably not.  Back to the federal
building," she replied.

+++

McCormick left them at the employee entrance, and
then headed over to Seacouver Homicide.  He had no
compunctions about leaving the Miklaus investigation to
Mulder now; despite the fact that he had been hunting
Miklaus, off and on, for most of the man's life, he knew
Mulder had a better chance of anticipating Miklaus so
they could catch him.  He focused his attentions on the
Rysher Creek Killer, instead, so he could mollify SAC
Rutuska.  That case he knew he could get a handle on;
if he had ever had a chance to catch Miklaus himself, he
would have done it years ago.  Now it was all he could
do to track him.

Maybe Mulder would have better luck.

 +++

Mulder went immediately to the relationships display on
the far wall, started at the earliest of this current
rampage, the family of six in Cleveland in 1975.  There
had certainly been deaths before that, but there was no
way to explain to a prosecutor that Miklaus had been
killing for centuries.  Decades would be enough of a
challenge.  Scully went to the nearest phone, and, while
he could hear her voice on the edge of his awareness,
he paid no attention.  He was
concentrating on the crime scene photographs.

As Scully picked up the phone, she only  then realized
that she did not have cell numbers for Blair or Jim; nor
did she have any number for Chazz.  She had to look
Chazz up in the phone book; when she called, she got
the answering machine.  Running out of other options,
she called Seacouver PD's Homicide Unit, and asked
for the partners from Cascade.  It took a while, but
finally she did get Sandburg on the line.

The other agents working in the room ignored them
both.  Everyone had their assigned tasks, and everyone
but Mulder and Scully had deadlines to meet.

The two Guides talked for quite a while; Scully was
having a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea
that mental shields were that easy to build and control.

"Trust me on this one, Dana," Blair said calmly.  "The
easiest way is to draw a circle around the two of you,
mentally.  Then, with that circle as the equator, visualize
a globe of white light between the two of you and
everything else.  If you're under serious attack, make
the whiteness opaque.  If it's to be up all the time, it
should be the thinnest gossamer.  The Guide who wrote
about this technique in her journal used the phrase "Fiat
Lux!" to activate the shield, to make it solid and
opaque.  The two of you can use any phrase that works
for you."

"I don't need shielding," she growled.  "I'm not
perceiving this stuff.  He is.  He almost got sick in the
hospital today because he let what shields he has fall to
test McCormick's truthfulness and all the pain and fear
of the hospital's atmosphere dropped on him like a load
of wet sand."

Blair nodded.  "Easiest thing for him to do then is
simply to create his shields transparent to you.  Since
the two of you are two halves of a single being they may
be able to get to him through you, so you should be
included.  It should not be difficult.  But it may take
practice."

She felt Mulder shudder, then, and looked up, worried. 
He was standing across the room, frozen, staring at the
newest information.  One of the gofers had posted what
they knew about Bennett's family and the car jacking.

"Thanks, Blair," she said absently, setting the phone
aside as she stood up and headed toward her partner.

"Dana?"  Blair stared at the handset he held, and then
turned to Jim, who was staring at him.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?"  Jim asked.

Blair nodded.  As one they headed for the door.

Scully approached Mulder cautiously, careful not to
touch him.  He was staring at the photograph of the
missing child, tears running down his face.

"What do you see?" Scully whispered as she walked up
beside him.

"It's dark," he said quietly.

"It's not dark, Mulder."

"He turned off the lights," Mulder ignored her.  "He lit
candles, like birthday candles, only bigger.  I can kinda
see him."

Scully swallowed a surge of terror.  That was Mulder's
voice, but the words were not his, the cadences were
not his.  It was thoroughly disconcerting to hear her
partner's normal baritone voice but a child's words.

(*A child's words...  Oh, my God!*)

"He's got somethin' shiny..."

"Mulder, no!"  She tried to distract him with words, but it
did not work.  ("Fox!  Stop it!  Look at me!") She moved
around in front of him, took his hands.  He did not react;
his attention was riveted on that photograph of the
three- year-old boy.  "Mulder!!"

"It's a knife..."

She reached up and pinched his ear, hard.  He brushed
her hand off but his attention was still locked on the
photo of little Sebastian Lane.

"Mommy...  I want my mommy..."

Scully was frantic.  Somehow, he was attached to the
Lane boy.  Whether this was an actual real time bond,
or a intense projection of what would certainly be the
Lane boy's fate at the hands of
the Cannibal, she had to break it before he
experienced the child's agonizing death.  She knew that
Mulder could imagine that in all its horrific detail, and
she did not want that to happen.

"No... leave me alone!" the child whimpered.

Scully wrapped both arms around him, closed her eyes,
and visualized the circle of blue-white flame that Blair
had described.  Then she whispered, "Fiat lux!"

The ring of flame leaped to life and became a cold
white fire raging all around them.

("Nothing can reach us in here, Mulder - we're alone. 
Just you and me.  Fox, look at me.")

He shuddered, and sank to his knees.

She kept her feet, felt him shaking, hugged him close. 
("Shh...it's all right.  It's over.  It's just you and me.  It's
over.  Come back to me...")

He sobbed then and clutched at her.  ("Oh, my God,
Scully!  He was just a baby...!")

She held him tightly, crooning wordlessly, stroking his
hair.  ("I'm here.  I'm here.  You're not alone... I'm here.")

Finally he looked up at her.  His face was streaked with
tears, and all the horrors he had seen were visible in his
eyes.

 Scully took a deep breath.  "Were you really there," she
asked hesitantly, "or were you just projecting?"

He backed far enough away to sit on his feet on the
floor, and held out his left arm for her inspection.  The
sleeve of his white dress shirt was soaking red with
blood.

"Oh, my God!"  She took hold of his wrist and he
flinched, grimacing in pain.  "What happened?"

He swayed slightly and braced himself with his right
arm.  "First cut," he forced the words out past set teeth. 
"He joints 'em.  Like a butcher joints a chicken."

His shirt was not torn or cut.  She ripped his cuff open,
not caring where the cufflink flew, and carefully pulled
the white cotton fabric away from his arm.  She glanced
at the vicious cut that completely encircled his elbow,
and grimaced, wrapping the fabric back around firmly,
hoping to inhibit further blood loss.  She looked up, and
only then realized that the shield she had built was still in
place.  She could not even see the room in which they
knelt, much less their fellow agents.

(*I wonder if they can see us?*)

Mulder sagged against her, his head down, panting.

Scully looked around blindly, realizing only then that she
did not have a command to lower the white light barrier. 
It took her a moment to recall that Blair had assured her
that the barrier
was under her control, and that its properties could be
changed by an act of will.  She closed her eyes and
concentrated on lowering the wall, reversing its growth
until it shrunk back to the single line of the original circle. 
Then she wound that up into a ball and opened her
eyes.

The circle was gone.  The other agents were reacting
with shock and surprise, standing around the fallen
Sentinel and his frantic Guide.  The closest man was
Walter Skinner.  He took one look at Mulder's
blood-smeared form and turned to the nearest agent. 
"Call an ambulance!  Now!"

The agent fled.

Skinner dropped to kneel beside Scully.  "Agent Scully? 
What happened to him?  How could he get hurt in
here?"

She shuddered and turned haunted eyes up to her
commanding officer.  "Sebastian Lane is being killed
even as we speak," she whispered.  "First cut is
through the elbow..."

Skinner sucked in an extra lungful of air, horrified.  He
looked more closely at Mulder, and saw that he
seemed to be unconscious, pale, breathing light and
fast.

"Agent Scully?  Is he in shock?"

"Yes, sir."

"The ambulance will be here momentarily."

"All right."

"This is insane, you know."

She looked up at him.  "I have never been more certain
of what constitutes physical reality, sir."

He shivered, unnerved by the look in her eyes.

+++

Mulder was unconscious when they arrived at the
emergency room.  The emergency room doctor was
puzzled, but efficient.  He quickly determined that the
cuts, while deep, proved to not be deep enough to have
involved cartilage or tendons, but had involved some
major blood vessels.  Dr. Jameson called for a vascular
surgeon and sent Mulder up for surgery.

Skinner and Scully waited.  Scully briefed her
supervisor on what had happened, and he was
incredulous but not disbelieving.

"I believed you and Dr Sandburg when you promised
me that Mulder would get better at what he was already
the best at," Skinner said slowly, trying to assimilate
everything.  "But this is
insane."

 Scully shrugged.  "That's the only way I can explain it,
sir.  He was uninjured when he walked into the room. 
No one went near him, and he hasn't got a knife.  I don't
believe he would do this to himself, now.  There have
certainly been moments in his life when suicide seemed
a viable choice.  This isn't one of them."

+++

Much to Scully's shock and Mulder's satisfaction, after a
unit of blood and an initializing dose of IV antibiotics,
Mulder was signed out to the care of his own physician
the following afternoon.

"You're kidding!"  Scully stared at the doctor.

He shrugged.  "Managed care.  You're a physician; if he
needs anything else, bring him back to the ER.  You can
get the scripts filled at the dispensary on the ground
floor near the cashier's
window."

"He had surgery less than twenty hours ago!"

"He was under for less than an hour, he woke up without
even a trace of difficulty.  He's young and healthy, the
surgery was clean and simple without complications. 
We need these beds for sick people.  Get him out of
here, Dr. Scully."

+++

Muttering under her breath, Scully bundled Mulder into
the back of Skinner's car.

"I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder murmured yet again.  He was
exhausted, and Scully was reasonably sure that he was
more than half asleep.

"I know you are, love," she said softly.  "Don't worry
about it now... just rest."

Skinner, from the driver's seat, turned around to study
his agents.  He had been about to ask for an
explanation, but it was obvious that Mulder was falling
asleep.  "Both of you relax," he advised instead.  "It's
only ten minutes to the hotel."

That got Mulder's attention.  He tried to sit up.  "No, wait
- I want to go back to the Task Force..."

"Forget it, Mulder!"  Scully and Skinner chorused.  They
traded amused glances, and Skinner turned forward
again, and started the car.

"You're going to bed, and you're going to sleep,"
Skinner instructed, carefully not looking at them in his
rearview mirror as he pulled out of the hospital parking
lot and onto the street.

Mulder slumped against his Guide and let her hold him. 
"Yessir..."

He was almost asleep when Skinner stopped the car. 
"We're here.  Pick up your feet."

Scully waited while Skinner climbed out of the car and
made his way around to Mulder's side of the car.

"C'mon, Mulder.  Swing your feet out."

Mulder obeyed, grumbling.  "'S nuthin' but a lousy cut...!"

"A lousy cut that took a hundred stitches to close!"
Scully snapped, her patience wearing thin with worry. 
She was immediately sorry, but Mulder was so groggy
he had not even noticed her outburst.

Skinner helped him stand and walked along side him
toward room 315.  Skinner opened the door with a
keycard and guided Mulder inside.  Scully followed
them and realized that Mulder's luggage was here and
that the door to the adjoining room was standing open. 
Smiling faintly, she turned to watch Skinner help Mulder
sit down on the nearer of the two queen-size beds in the
room.  Mulder swayed a little, but steadied himself with
one hand.  The wounded arm was bandaged, holding
the damaged elbow into a ninety-degree angle, and a
sling kept the arm braced.

Skinner stepped back.  "Can you manage?" he asked
Scully.

"We'll be fine, sir.  Thank you."

"I'll send someone to pick you up at eight," Skinner said
as he headed toward the door.

"Sir?"

 Skinner turned back; Mulder was staring at him. 
"Yes?"

"Sebastian Lane is dead," Mulder said quietly,
emotionlessly.  Scully dropped to sit beside him, and
took his good hand in hers.  "I was trying to see through
Sebastian's eyes, hoping for some clue about where he
might be."  His hand tightened on Scully's.  "I could see
what he saw, hear what he heard... feel what he felt..." 
Mulder's voice cracked.  "I... I guess I was too close.  I
lost myself.  I WAS Sebastian..."

Skinner was stunned.  "My God.  What broke the
connection?"

"Scully," Mulder answered.  Then he choked back a
sob, shuddering.  "Miklaus was... angry, sir. 
Frustrated."  Some of the shattered grief faded from his
eyes as, for the first time in hours he
turned his focus away from the doomed child and back
on the perpetrator.  "He was really angry at the cops
because they foiled his plans.  He hasn't been thwarted
like this in years... decades, maybe.  How could all his
planning and experience have been stymied like this so
easily?  This is the second kill cluster in a row that's
gone wrong.  He's really, really pissed."  There was a
long moment of silence.  Then he looked up at his
commanding officer.  "He may take this out on any law
enforcement personnel he can find, sir.  He prefers to
target the family groups we've described.  But he's a
murderer.  He can kill anywhere, anyone, any time.  And
he'll try for Bennett again... I'm positive of that."

Skinner nodded slowly.  "I'll contact Chief Kendrick and
make sure every uniform in the area is warned and that
a guard is placed on Captain Bennett."

"Security guards and such, too; he won't be picky, sir."

"All right.  I'll handle it, Mulder.  You get some sleep. 
You're off duty until after breakfast tomorrow morning. 
You'll be picked up at eight; you will get a good
breakfast.  If you show up at the office before nine I will
send you back here till one in the afternoon.  Have I
made myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," Mulder said sullenly.  "It's only a cut; I think
you're both over- reacting."

"Mulder!"  Scully's irritation returned.  "It completely
encircles your elbow; you needed surgery and a blood
transfusion!  And you don't want to know what Chazz
told me about psychosomatic injuries and hysterical
stigmata!"

He looked away, disturbed with her attitude.

Scully was not surprised that Mulder fell asleep almost
as soon as Skinner left them alone in the hotel room. 
She pulled off his shoes and socks, jeans and the
flannel shirt that fit over the heavy bandage that
immobilized his damaged elbow.

("What are you doing?") he murmured tiredly.

("Putting you to bed.")

The brusqueness of her tone disturbed him, and he sat
up, frowning, leaning on his good arm.  ("Scully?  I didn't
do it on purpose.  I don't like getting hurt.")

She turned away from him and began to turn down the
other bed.

("What are you doing?") he whispered, his tone
suddenly dull.

She looked up quickly, startled, and saw the animation
fading from his eyes as he watched her prepare to
sleep in the other bed.  ("Hey!  Stop that!")  She sat
down beside him.

("You're angry with me.")

("I'm worried about you.  I'm not really angry.  I know you
didn't do this on purpose.")

He looked away, avoiding her eyes.

("I don't want to hurt you,") she explained hurriedly.  ("If I
sleep with you, the least little movement I make is likely
to jar that arm.")

("I don't mind.") His words were so faint she could
hardly hear him.

"I mind!" she snapped aloud.

He flinched.

Scully gasped and reached for him.  ("Fox, I'm sorry!")

 He pulled her close one-handed and held her tightly,
his face buried in her hair.  ("I need you so much...")  He
was sobbing with exhaustion.  ("I need to touch you to
know you're real...")

She realized only then that she had not touched him
since they had arrived at the hospital.  She had used
their telepathic link to monitor his condition and his level
of consciousness, even during the surgery, but she had
not done more than hold his hand briefly since then.

("I didn't realize you needed touch so badly; I'm sorry.  I
wasn't withholding anything on purpose, I swear it.  I was
afraid of betraying us...  I was afraid I'd feel too much of
your pain and lose control...  I was just afraid...!  I'm
sorry!")  She cried on his shoulder.

("I don't care,") he told her over and over.  ("I don't care. 
You're here, now.")

The medication was pulling him down into sleep; she
could feel him fading.  ("It's okay; sleep.  I'll be here, just
like always.  I'm always here.  I'm always with you. 
Relax, now.  You're exhausted... sleep...")

He lay back on the bed with a sigh.  ("Stay with me...")

("Always.")

+++

The next morning when they heard a knock at the door,
they were dressed and ready.  They were surprised to
see Matt McCormick.

"Good morning," he said cheerily.  He paused at the
look of surprise on Scully's face.  "Rutuska decided that
he would rather dispense with my services... seems like
they've got a good line on the *ordinary* serial from one
of the beat cops.  Can I interest you in breakfast?"

"Don't be disgusting," Mulder glared at him as he
stalked past the Immortal.

McCormick stared after him.  "What's with your partner,
Agent Scully?" he asked as she joined him on the
sidewalk.

"Not enough sleep, no coffee yet, painkillers that don't
work well enough and antibiotics that make eating the
last thing you would want to do."

McCormick blinked.  "Good thing I already ate," he
commented as he joined Mulder on the sidewalk
outside their room.

Mulder stared at him.  "What are you thinking, Matt?"

"I want to know if you saw or heard anything that could
be a clue to where Miklaus was last night."

Mulder shuddered, and cradled his wounded arm
against his body.

"I appreciate the horror of it, Mulder, believe me,"
McCormick said gently.  "I'm a profiler, too.   But if we
don't catch him, Sebastian Lane won't be his last
victim."

Scully frowned.  "Come back inside, here," she
suggested.

Mulder turned to look at her.  ("What?")

She shrugged.  ("If he's going to play inquisition to get
you to cough up details you don't realize you have, I
prefer the privacy of our rooms.  It's not something I
want to do in the back seat of a car or under the eyes of
the Task Force!")

Mulder glanced at McCormick.  ("You don't mind
betraying what we are to him?")

("He already knows most of it,") she pointed out.  ("He's
your friend; you know him far better than I do.  Is he
honorable enough to trust?  We know his secret, so we
have that much leverage, if we need it.")

("He's a good man,") Mulder nodded.  ("I trust him.  I
can't trust him for you.")

("I trust you.  If you trust him that's enough for me, too,")
she smiled.  Then her smile faded.  ("After all, you're the
one who is going to be laying himself bare.  I'm just
going to keep a much
tighter rein on you this time.  I don't like you going so
deep you get hurt!")

Mulder grinned wanly.  ("I'll be careful.") Then he
shuddered and looked away, the smile disappearing.
("Sebastian's dead.  If I link to Miklaus maybe I can get
the information we need.")

"First let's try just remembering."  She led him back
inside the hotel room.

McCormick followed the pair, shaking his head.  "It's
going to take me a while to get used to the idea that the
two of you can have an entire conversation while I'm
inhaling between sentences."

Mulder and Scully traded enigmatic expressions, and
McCormick swore under his breath.  "I can see I'm
going to want to slap both of you silly before this
session is over..."

Scully stopped dead, planting herself between the
Immortal and her Sentinel.

("Got your back,") Mulder teased.

She ignored him.  "How many people have you killed,
Agent McCormick?" she growled.

He was startled by the question.  "I'm sure I don't know,"
he said heavily, his accent thickening a bit.  "I was never
one for keepin' score, and I've fought in several wars."

"One on one, duels."

"I don't keep score, Agent Scully."

"One?  Two?  Two dozen?"

"I'm over eight hundred years old, Agent Scully, and I've
fought in several wars," he said quietly.  "The number
must be close to two hundred.  It's a rare decade that I
don't fight at least one duel."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that your entire purpose
here isn't to locate and kill Miklaus."

He sighed.  "Agent Scully..."

"Answer me."

"What could be the purpose of putting him in jail?" he
asked.  "Sentence him to life without parole and in fifty
or sixty or seventy years he'll be released because they
will decide that he's been misidentified.  After all, he'll
still look 35; he couldn't possibly be a man sentenced to
life sixty years ago...!  And when he gets out, he will go
on a spree, and more people will die.  If we find him
now, and I can defeat him, it'll all be over.  The case
may or may not be  closed," he admitted.  "But the
children will stop dying."

"Can you beat him?"  Mulder asked quietly.

McCormick looked past Scully to meet his eyes
squarely.  "I don't know," he admitted.  "The odds are in
my favor because I train, and I practice against
swordmasters.  He picks out the most helpless to
victimize.  I doubt he trains.  So I have an advantage in
a fair fight."

"Will he fight fair?"

McCormick smiled grimly.  "Probably not.  Would you
be my second?"

"I'd be honored," Mulder said instantly.  "That's not part
of the Game, though, is it?"

"No," McCormick admitted.  "But I will play fair.  If he
kills me fairly, you can arrest him for my murder, too. 
Other Immortals will handle him, eventually, and it might
happen while he's inside.  If he cheats..."

"I'll shoot him and hold him for you," Mulder offered.

McCormick nodded.  "Thank you, Mulder.  I couldn't
face losing and letting him go free to continue, but I can't
take another Immortal to a duel.  If he can take my
Quickening, he deserves it, as long as he pays for the
mortals he's butchered."

"He'll pay," Mulder promised.

It took them a while to arrange things to everyone's
satisfaction.  They finally settled Mulder on the floor,
leaning against the bed.  Scully sat on the bed, knees
spread to cradle Mulder between
them, her hands resting on his shoulders.  McCormick
sat in the room's single chair just to the right of Mulder's
line-of-sight.

"Okay.  You have to verbalize this stuff, Mulder, or I'll be
getting it second-hand from Scully.  Can you talk about
what you saw?"

"I don't know," he admitted.  "You may have to remind
me."

"I'm just glad you're doped to the eyeballs," Scully
commented.  "It's unlikely you'll be able to sink as far
into the experience as you did yesterday."

Mulder shuddered.  "Not an experience I want to
repeat," he agreed, his tone hollow.  Then he inhaled
deeply and closed his eyes, falling into his self-taught
profiler's trance easily.  "It was a vacant building," he
reported almost at once, his tone expressionless. 
"Filthy with dust and rat droppings, dirty windows high
on the walls that are so dirty they actually filter the light. 
Windows face south I think because it was late
afternoon and light was slanting in.  It was the only
available light."

"Very good," McCormick said softly.  "What did the air
smell like?"

Mulder's eyes stayed closed.  "Dust.  Decay.  Blood..."

"No.  Fainter scents.  Underlying scents.  Did it smell
like the mountains or the sea?"

There was a long pause.  Scully's fingers continued
their slow, mesmerizing motion through his hair, but she
said nothing, letting him hunt for the information he
needed.

"Mountains," was the eventual answer.  "Stone.  Rock
dust.  Pines... cedars...  No sea salt tang at all."

"Okay.  Abandoned storage facility on the east side of
town, facing south.  What did you hear outside?"

Scully watched as McCormick worked over a county
map, narrowing their focus with each set of responses
that he got from Mulder.

Finally, Mulder swayed under her hands, and she
checked her watch.  "Time out," she said quietly.

McCormick had been about to ask another question. 
"What?"

"He needs a break.  You've been at this for two hours,
and he never even got breakfast."

"Neither did you," Mulder mumbled.  He was slumped
against her right knee, cradling his immobilized arm
against his body.

"God, I'm sorry," McCormick was shocked at his own
thoughtlessness.  "Relax.  I'll go order in some food and
call in."

"Good," Scully nodded.  "Skinner was expecting us at
the office.  I wonder why he didn't call when we didn't
show up?"

"Maybe he was hoping you were sleeping.  I'll explain." 
He stood up and went into the adjoining room to use the
phone there.

("How are you doing?")

He shivered.  ("Pretty good, actually.  Memories are
easier to handle than real-time linkage.")

("That does make sense.  It's time for some of your
meds, but I think we'll hold off until the food comes.")

("Thanks.")

She pulled the bedspread off the bed and wrapped him
in it.

("...Scully...") he protested faintly.

("You're cold.  You're still depleted from your captivity,
more so from the stress of this case... and then even
more by this injury.  If you get chilled you're going to get
sick; your immune system can't be running at anywhere
near normal efficiency.")

He nestled more snugly against her knee.  ("Make me
too comfortable here and I'll fall asleep on you.")

("That's all right.  Take a nap if you like.")

He did not answer her directly, but struggled to stand
up.  He pushed the bedspread off with visible
reluctance, and walked tiredly into the bathroom.  Scully
waited for him.  When he came back out, he lay down
on the bed, on top of the blankets.  She arranged a
pillow under his injured arm and threw the bedspread
over him and tucked him in.  He smiled sleepily at her,
but then fell asleep so quickly that Scully was worried.

When McCormick came back, he stopped dead at the
sight of the two of them on the bed.  "Agent Scully?"

She was sitting beside her partner, her hip and thigh
warm against his back.  She smiled reassuringly up at
the Immortal.  "He's okay.  He's just exhausted.  What
say we let him nap until the food comes?"

McCormick nodded.  "Good idea.  We have to use him. 
We don't have to use him up."

"I wouldn't allow you to."

He grinned at her.  "I explained what we're doing to
Skinner.  He's sending someone we know over with
food and the latest forensics report.  He doesn't think
there's anything in the report that you don't already
know, but it never hurts to check."

She nodded.  "How far have you narrowed the search
grid?" she asked.

"From the entire Metro area, we're down to a ten by
fifteen block industrial zone off Seattle Street, east of
Ooloona Creek," he grinned at her humorlessly. 
"Skinner has unmarked local PD and Bureau cars
casing the boundaries of the area gingerly.  We don't
want him to run; we'll have to hunt him down again if that
happens."

She nodded.  "And the only way we'll pick up his trail
again is if... when he kills again."

"Which we don't want to risk," he agreed.

+++

Much to their surprise, the food was delivered by
Captain Bennett, whose eyes held such pain and mute
appeal that they explained what they were doing. 
Mulder, revived somewhat by food and caffeine and
almost a full hour of sleep, ran over all the clues they
had unearthed for him.

"I was born and raised here," Bennett grumbled.  "You
should've called me in on this."

"We didn't know."

"You fibbies need better liaison with local PD," he
advised.  "It's our home territory; we know it better than
you can."

Mulder nodded, sipping at his coffee.  "You're probably
right.  But we get territorial, too."

Scully looked up, startled.  Blair had waxed eloquent
about Jim's territorial imperatives: he claimed the City
of Cascade, as far outside it as he could reach, and
total ownership of Blair.  Mulder had never overtly
exhibited anything she could really label as 
'territoriality.'  He was firmly devoted to saving the entire
planet from the Consortium and the alien invaders.

(*But then, on the other hand, any time anyone looks
sideways at me, he's between us...   That matches how
Jim acts about Blair.*)  She smiled slowly.  (*The entire
planet is a much larger territory, but it seems to be the
same imperative.*)

She decided their overt relationship as Sentinel and
Guide was too new and fragile for her to test him on
this.  But in the back of her mind she started
contemplating ways to test and, yes, to tease him.

Mulder and McCormick sat calmly, finishing off the
hoagies that Bennett had brought, discussing Immortal
combat strategies.  Mulder had fenced in college;
McCormick had a low opinion of the entire concept of
formalized modern competitive fencing.

While Mulder and McCormick debated fighting
strategies, and Scully watched her partner to see that
he actually ate most of the steak hoagie, Captain
Bennett was studying the map, gnawing on his thumb.

"I think I know where he is," he announced suddenly.

All three FBI agents turned to stare at him.

"Where?"  Mulder asked, craning his neck to see the
map.

Bennett's hand came down to the northwest of the
penciled-in box that McCormick had sketched in earlier.

"This is an abandoned furniture factory on Margay
Street.  Before it folded eighteen months ago, they
made pinewood hope chests with cedar inserts.  The
place was stripped when the company went under. 
There's nothing else on the street for more than a mile
in either direction, but it gets steady traffic because it is
the most direct route between Rathburn and Ingham
Colleges and the Delftwood Mall.  See?"

"Sounds promising," Mulder murmured.

Bennett nodded.  "It's set back from the road far enough
that you could scream and not be heard by passing
traffic."

"Let's try it," Mulder suggested.

McCormick stood up and stretched.  "Just the three of
us."

"I'm coming!"  Bennett flared.

"You're supposed to be on compassionate leave,"
McCormick growled.

"I'm Immortal, too.  Why are you taking them?"

"Because you're Immortal, too," McCormick said
quietly, meeting Bennett's rage with ancient calm. 
"Taking you along violates the Rules.  Having mortals
as seconds doesn't."

"Doesn't?  Or doesn't as dramatically?"  Scully asked.

McCormick sighed.  "Having another Immortal there is
against the Rules.  Having mortals there is considered
stupid, and unwise, but it doesn't break the Rules."

"Because we don't know how to kill him?" Mulder was
curious.

McCormick shrugged.  "You could behead him, and he
would be dead," was his reply.  "His Quickening would
be lost.  I think it's more that most Immortals don't tell
anyone about what we are.  If a mortal takes one of us
down, they are less likely to behead us, even if they
understand, because, after all, it's not easy to do."  He
took a deep breath.  "Give us a half hour head start,
Bennett.  Then call Skinner and get us some back-up.  If
I lose, Mulder and Scully will have their hands full."

Bennett started to argue, caught the glint of steel in
McCormick's eye, and closed his mouth.

They took McCormick's car.

+++

The warehouse was huge; it covered about fifteen
acres of ground, and was shaped like an ell.  Scully
sighed.  "That's going to take us a long time to search...I
hope we aren't wasting our time here."

But the moment he caught sight of it, Mulder stiffened. 
"That's the place."

McCormick drove past it and found a distant driveway
that looped around behind the building.  Half a mile
away, he parked.

"I can't sneak up on him," McCormick explained.  You
two can.  Once he feels my Kenning, he'll know another
Immortal is out here, and he'll run."  He got out of the car
and walked around to open the trunk.  In a duffle bag
there he found three headset radios.  He passed one to
each of them.  "Here.  I know you don't need 'em to talk
to one another, but you do need 'em to talk to me.  See
if you can pin him down somewhere so he won't
escape.  I'll challenge him.  If he accepts, we fight.  If he
doesn't, we bust him.  Sound good?"

Mulder nodded.  "Yeah.  It gives him the illusion of
control that should allow him to make a good,
unpressured decision.  Who knows, Matt?  Maybe he's
been running from you all these years because he's
terrified of you."

McCormick snorted in disgust.

+++

Reluctantly, Mulder and Scully separated.  They were
swiftly out of telepathy range.  Alone except for the hum
of her life force  underlying every breath he took, Mulder
sauntered around the warehouse, pausing to look at the
wildflowers growing up through the pavement.

This was the first time he had been physically
separated from Scully since he had been rescued.  He
felt uncertain, lacking self-confidence.  He felt himself
beginning to breathe a little faster, and forced himself to
slow his respirations down, to still the tiny seed of panic
he felt growing.

(*I can do this,*) he said to himself.  (*I can't live my life
chained to her side.  I have to learn to do this...*)

So much of his attention was focused on that inner
battle that he almost forgot what he was there to do,
and he jumped, startled, when a harsh voice snarled at
him from a shadow.

"Stop there."

He froze, shocked, and then looked up hesitantly. 
"Yes?  Who's there?"

A ragged figure emerged from the building.  Miklaus
was dirty and reeked of body odor and urine.
Everything about him was dirty, brownish gray except
the pure silversteel glimmer of the sword in his left
hand.

Desperately, Mulder sent that visual to Scully, felt her
react to it.

"Hi," he said meekly.  "I'm sorry if I bothered you.  I'm
Martin Mulder; I'm a Professor of Botany at Ingham
College.  I'm scouting this location for a student project
on wildflowers in brownfields.  I'm sorry if I disturbed
you," he told the other man, blinking, trying to appear
harmless.

Hesitantly, wary as a feral dog, Miklaus approached. 
He did not come close enough to touch Mulder with the
sword, but he circled Mulder twice, while Mulder stayed
still and tried to watch him.

"Why are you here?"

"I explained that.  One of my classes is on the natural
reclamation of abandoned industrial space by wild
plants.  The students need a laboratory space, and I
was scouting this area to see if it would be
appropriate."

"Who do you talk to?"  The question was aimed at the
headset.

Mulder's good hand went to it.  "This is just a recorder. 
For my notes.  I can't carry a notebook and write with
my arm like this."

"What happened to your arm?"

Mulder sighed and shifted his feet.  "I fell off my bike,
and hit a plate glass window with my elbow.  It's cut up
some."

Miklaus licked his lips.  "Lots o' blood?"

Mulder fought down nausea at the expression on
Miklaus's face.  "Yeah, there was.  But they just stitched
me up, and I'm good to go."

+++

Scully froze when the image slammed into her
awareness.  A bum, with long straggly hair and a
long-ago broken nose, grimy clothing, the stench of
filthiness... and a meter of perfectly clean steel in his left
hand.

(*Oh, my God...*) Then she remembered the radio. 
"Matt!  Mulder's found Miklaus!"

"Where?!"

"I can't tell."  She could feel Mulder's tension, knew even
without being able to hear the words that Mulder had to
be scamming the Immortal murderer with every ounce
of energy he had, every scrap of creativity he could
summon.  She was hesitant to send to him, for fear of
distracting him.

"Dammit, Agent Scully, Mulder's no match for him! 
Where are they?!  Mulder!  Say something!"

There was no answer, and that was when Scully
realized that although she was hearing McCormick, and
he was plainly hearing her, neither of them seemed to
be getting through to Mulder's radio, nor were they
getting transmissions from him.  They should be able to
hear what he was saying to Miklaus.  It was not until then
that she realized that they had never tested the radios;
they had been preoccupied with the strangeness of an
Immortal duel that they had forgotten that most basic of
preparations.  Mulder's was not working; it might be a
malfunction as simple as a dead battery.  But it was too
late to do anything about it, now.

Scully stopped and closed her eyes.  Delicately, feeling
as if she was trying to thread a needle with a sledge
hammer, she created the visual of a partially folded
road map, added the sensation of a query, and showed
it to her Sentinel.

(*I hope this is working...*) she fretted.  This was all so
new to her, and it annoyed her no end that she did not
know how to use their connection any better.

Suddenly, with such strength that she staggered slightly,
she got a visual from Mulder that sent an ice cold
drench down through her.  Miklaus was so close to
Mulder that he could feel the foul breath on his face, see
the green teeth.  Behind him, the sun was showing over
the roof of the building.

And she could feel the pain.  Tearing, hot, red pain.

"North side of the building.  Outside.  Hurry!  He's got
Mulder!"  She was running, herself, without ever having
felt herself start to move.

+++

Mulder was on his knees, and he did not know why.  He
looked up, and saw Miklaus studying him.  The tip of the
sword moved, pinked Mulder's throat right under his
chin.  The point lifted, and he tried to move above it, to
keep from being cut, but he could not get high enough;
his hand would not come up off the ground.  The sword
flicked away, leaving a shallow cut that began to bleed
at once.  Freed, he looked down at his left hand.  It was
pinned to the ground
with a stag-hilted dagger that Mulder had never seen.

(*How did that happen?*) he wondered dazedly. 
(*When did that happen?*) He reached for it, to pull it
free.

A hand grabbed at his hair, yanked his head back.  A
heavily booted foot slammed his free hand to the
ground.  Miklaus's weight came down on his wrist.  He
felt the bones break under Miklaus's boot, and he
gasped in pain.  But he could not pull free.  Miklaus's
sword slid under the strap that held his sling and cut it. 
The sling fell  away.  The blade came back, started
slicing at the bandaging.

Mulder closed his eyes.  With both hands pinned to the
ground, the only weapons he had now were his feet and
his brain.  But the only way he could use his feet would
have meant surrendering and going on his belly.  He
refused to do that.  (*And I still couldn't reach him... I'm
not a contortionist!*)

 The sword sliced into his arm, vertically from his
shoulder almost down to his elbow.  He shuddered as
Miklaus let go of his hair and dipped his fingers into the
freshly flowing blood.  The blood-stained hand dangled
itself in front of his face for a moment, and then  Miklaus
daubed the blood on Mulder's forehead and cheeks. 
He tapped at Mulder's tightly-closed mouth.

"Try it," the ancient voice grated.  "You'll like it."

Mulder closed his eyes.  (*Scully better find me soon...*)

An unmistakable slurp drew his attention, and he looked
up.  Miklaus was licking and sucking the blood off his
fingers.

(*My blood...*) Mulder shuddered.

Then the unmistakable frisson of hum/buzz that meant
that another Immortal was approaching distracted him
from his own pain and fear.

(*Oh, thank God; that's Matt...*)

+++

Scully was running; the building was huge, and she had
been a long way from the door.  She was shocked
when she heard gunfire.

"Matt?  Is that you?"

"No!  Mulder?"  McCormick was out breath, still running.

If it was not McCormick firing, or herself, the only other
choice was Mulder, and that was terrifying, because the
only thing she was getting from Mulder was pain and
trapped helplessness.  He had not fired a weapon.

(*If Miklaus has his weapon, was he shooting at
Mulder?*) But she knew that was not happening; Mulder
was in pain, yes, but there was no sensation of impact,
no increase in the pain that correlated with the shots.

Suddenly she could feel his terror and his pain and
smell his blood, hear him trying to shout.

("Ray!  Captain Bennett!  Don't!  Matthew!  Look out!")

"Mulder?!"  Scully finally made it to the corner and
whipped around it, her Sig out in front of her, ready to
defend the helpless.

What she saw froze her in her tracks.

Mulder was on his knees, his left hand pinned to the
ground with a knife.  The bandage around his previous
wound hung in tatters off his arm, soaked with fresh
blood.  More blood smeared his face and throat.  He
crouched there, his back to her, fruitlessly trying to get
the dagger out of his hand.  But his other hand was not
working, either.

His pain sleeted through her awareness, and she
dashed to his side.

A few feet beyond where Mulder knelt, Bennett was
standing over a bloody pile of rags that could only be
Miklaus.  As she watched, Bennett bent down and
picked up a sword that had fallen beside the body.

"Scully!"

She looked beyond, to see Matthew McCormick
struggling to his feet, his shirt and jacket bloodstained.

"Scully, stop him!"  McCormick shouted.  "Bennett, don't
do it!!"

She turned her attention back, but then Mulder moaned
and wilted a little.  She dropped to kneel beside him. 
Close enough, finally, to get a good look at him, she
could see that while his left hand was pinned to the
ground with a large dagger, his right wrist looked
broken.  His left shoulder and upper arm were soaked
with blood.  The blood on his face and throat was fresh,
but she could see no open wounds.

"My God... hold still, Mulder." She took hold of the
dagger's hilt and began working it out of the ground. 
Inevitably, it had to move against his flesh, and he
doubled over in pain, moaned quietly.  "Shh... I'll make it
better... just hang on a moment..."

("It hurts, Scully...  God, it hurts...")

"I know it does.  Wait till I get you free."

("Miklaus?")

"Looks like Bennett shot him.  It's over."

Mulder stiffened, straightened just as she pulled the
dagger free.  ("Shot him?  That won't kill him!")

A roar drew their attention; they both looked up,
shocked.

Miklaus came up off the ground with yet another blade,
this one a short sword.  He came straight at Bennett,
but Bennett was already bringing the blade he held
down to sever Miklaus's neck.

Scully could not process this; her Sentinel was bleeding
and her hands were busy wrapping the scraps of his
bandages and his shirt around the wound.

The glimmering silver blade severed Miklaus's head in
a flash of light and the body slumped to the ground,
coming to land on the ground less than a yard from
where Mulder crouched.

The world seemed to hold its breath for a long moment.

The Quickening began slowly as fingers of dim power
snaked their way off the body, hunted a bit, and then
homed in on Bennett.  The Sentinel and Guide watched,
transfixed, as more and more of them emerged, each
brighter than the one before, ribbons of living lightning
slamming into the bewildered police Captain with
staggering force, driving him to his knees.

But it was Mulder who screamed.

Scully was kneeling beside him, aware that he was in
pain.  There was nothing puzzling about that:  he was
wounded, and had a broken wrist.  But when the first
blow struck Bennett, it was
Mulder who crumbled under it.  He slumped against
Scully and tried to bury his head against her body.  She
dropped her arms around him, held him close.

He kept screaming.

When she tried to talk to him, she could not get through
to him.  Agony was a wall between them, isolating him
from her solace, her from her role.  He was rigid,
resisting all her efforts to comfort him, to reach him. 
She tried to raise the barrier of light, but her
concentration was shattered by his distress, and she
could not do it.

He kept screaming.

She never knew how long the nightmare of the
Quickening went on.  When it ended, the wall between
herself and Mulder dissolved and he went utterly limp
against her.  The screaming finally stopped, and she
found the silence terrifying.

("Mulder?  Fox, speak to me.")

But there was no answer.  Her hands went to his throat,
to peel an eyelid back and check for signs of life.

"Agent Scully?"

She looked up blindly; it was Matt McCormick. 
Bloodied and dirty, his eyes wild, he was standing over
her with a Sig Sauer handgun in his left hand and
Micklaus's sword in his right.

"Scully?  Is he all right?"

"No," she said flatly.  "He's screamed all the way
through that light show, and when it ended, he
collapsed.  I can't wake him."

McCormick straightened.  "I'll call you an ambulance." 
He started to back up a few steps, but she stopped him.

"No.  It'll take too long.  Just help me get him into the
car."

"Okay.  Hang on a second."  McCormick turned to study
the other Immortal.  "Bennett?  Ray, sit up.  You aren't
hurt."

Slowly, Bennett looked up at the old Immortal.

"Is... Is..."  He swallowed dryly.  "Was that typical?"

McCormick shrugged.  "There is no such thing as a
'typical Quickening'.  Look inside yourself for a moment. 
Any voices clamoring at you?"

Bennett shuddered.  "Not any more.  It was deafening
there for a while, though.  Terrified women, furious men,
screaming children..."  He swallowed.  "Lots of
children..."

"Those were Miklaus's memories, Bennett; not truly
their voices, just the memory of their voices."

Bennett shuddered, but climbed to his feet and walked,
slowly to stand beside the FBI agents.  "Is he okay?"

"I'll get the car," McCormick told Scully and he took off
running.

"Hurry!" Scully shouted after him.  Then she looked up
at Bennett.  "I don't know if he's all right," she admitted. 
"He's unconscious.  He screamed all the way through
the Quickening.  I think he was hearing the same
screaming you were..."

Bennett nodded thoughtfully.  "He's gotta be a little
fragile. He lost an awful lot of blood."

"And he should have still been out on sick leave when
he got here," Scully agreed sadly.  "He's breathing all
right; I think this is a mental or psychic trauma rather
than a physical one.  You heard voices screaming,
right?"

Bennett nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  Lots of 'em.  Dozens...
hundreds..."

"Well, Mulder's an empath," she explained, totally
aware of the incongruity of Dana Scully explaining, and
believing, even the possibility of the existence of
Sentinels.  "Even before his Sentinel awareness was
awakened, he could extrapolate how people felt,
thought and reacted by the actions they took.  Now..."
her voice trailed off for a moment, then returned,
strengthened.  "Now he probably felt all the pain and
terror of all those dozens or hundreds of people.  Felt it
physically, as if it was his own pain, his own terror."

She realized as the words formed that this was exactly
what had happened, and the knot of terror in her throat
loosened a little.  If it was some kind of psychic shock, it
would hopefully wear off when he was warm and safe.

McCormick left Bennett behind to interact with his own
police department regarding the body.  He had Bennett
help get Mulder into the car; Mulder was still
unconscious, and the amount of
blood he was losing from that slash down his upper arm
continued to worry her.  Scully slid into the back seat
beside her partner and helped McCormick strap Mulder
in.  Then he floored the car and smoked the tires getting
them out of there and onto the main roads  so they
could make decent time to the hospital.

Mulder was still unconscious when McCormick's
summons brought out a couple of orderlies with a
gurney, and they got him out of the car and into a
treatment room.  McCormick waited until they had him
settled.

"I'm going back to the crime scene, Scully.  Bennet's
going to need some help explaining it.   If you need me,
you'll have to call from a pay phone."

She turned, puzzled, keeping one hand on her partner
while the admitting nurse took his vital signs down for
the beginning of the history.  "Why?"

He shook his head, smiling grimly.  "Your cell phone is
almost certainly fried.  So is his, and Bennett's.  Mine
was in the car, so it's safe."

Scully just shook her head wearily thinking of yet
another set of expense reports that included two cell
phones.

"Miss?  We need a history, here.  Can you tell us what
happened to your friend?"

Scully glanced at the young resident, and stifled a
smile.  "Thanks, Matt.  I'll call the Task Force when
we're done, here.  Someone will come and pick us up."

He nodded.  "Take care of him," he instructed.

"Count on it."

McCormick lifted a hand and backed out beyond the
curtain.  Scully turned back to the young resident and
started reciting the pertinent data.  She did not try to
explain Sentinels, Guides, bondmates or Immortals. 
She just told them that there had been a struggle with a
multiple murderer; the suspect had done significant
damage to Mulder who had been the first officer
attacked.

All the while they talked, her left hand held Mulder's, and
her right hand stroked lightly up his undamaged left
forearm.

"Thank you, Agent Scully.  We'll have someone in here
to look at that arm directly."

"Thank you."

("...Scully...?") So faint it was only a whisper in her mind,
it was still unmistakably Mulder.

("I'm here,") she assured him, bending to hug him lightly. 
("How do you feel?")

("...hurt...")

("Yes, you got hurt.  Again.  You're at the Emergency
Room at Powers.  Again.  You're going to get poked
and prodded and stuck and x-rayed and stitched 
again.  Then we're going back on leave.  What do you
think about spending a couple of weeks on a black
sand beach in Hawaii?"

He did not answer her.  Instead, he began to tremble.

("Mulder?  What's wrong?")

("...too many people...") he whimpered.  ("...too
many...")

He was starting to curl up into a tight fetal ball.  She
placed her hands on either side of his face and gently
turned his head to face her.

"Look at me," she said intensely.  "Look.  At.  Me!"

He faced her, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused. 
("...who...?")

That terrified her.  ("I am Dana Scully.  You are Fox
Mulder.")

There was a flicker of awareness in his eyes. 
("Scully...") he whispered, relief clear in his tone.

("Yes, me.  Say your name.")

("You're Scully.")

("Right.  Say your name.")

He blinked.  ("Name?")

("Say.  Your.  Name.")

He opened his mouth and then closed it.  The grey fox
that was his spirit guide walked up the edge of the bed
and settled down beside him.  The fox stared intently
into Mulder's eyes, and he sighed.  The fox touched his
nose to Mulder's, then rested his chin on Mulder's
throat, closing his eyes.

It was only then that Scully realized that the grey fox and
her Fox had eyes that were the exact same shade of
hazel.

("Fox?")

The Sentinel and his spirit guide sighed in unison, and
Mulder slowly let himself relax.

("Mulder?  Are you okay, now?")

He nodded, and rolled his head over to study her
expression.  She relaxed when she saw the clear
recognition in his eyes.  ("God, that was awful...") he
breathed.

("Don't think about it now,") she advised.  Neither of
them noticed that the grey fox was gone.

"Agent Scully?"

She looked up and saw the same senior resident who
had stitched up Mulder's elbow.  Dr. Hengerer looked
quite frazzled, and Scully bit her lip.

"Doctor?  Please tell me you've been home at least
once since we saw you last."

Leo Hengerer grinned at the petite Fed who had been
so insufferable about how he had treated her partner. 
"Yes, Dr. Scully.  I went home, had a real dinner and
slept with my wife.  Do I pass?  You going to let me
touch him?"

She ostentatiously moved half a step to one side, so
Hengerer could see Mulder.  She did not surrender her
touch on her partner, though.

"Hi, Doc."  Mulder's voice was barely there.

"Hello, Agent Mulder.  So, what did you do to ruin all
that good work I put into you yesterday?"

"Caught the bad guy."

Hengerer nodded.  "Good.  Now let's take a look at the
damage, here..."

+++

It took far longer to escape the hospital this time.  The
sword cut on Mulder's upper arm was worse than the
earlier one around his elbow; it required three layers of
stitches, and most of the stitches in his elbow had to be
re-done.  He was whisked away into surgery as soon
as Dr. Hengerer got a good look at his injuries.  He had
received a unit of blood as a precaution when they
repaired his elbow the first time; this time he needed
two.  While he was under the anesthetic, they x-rayed
his left wrist, diagnosed transverse fractures of both the
radius and ulna, set the bones, put a temporary splint on
it.

Because the dagger had gone completely through his
right palm, it was x-rayed from every possible angle.  It
was most thoroughly cleaned, something the doctors
considered imperative when Scully admitted that the
hand had been pinned to the earth.  She was glad he
was under anesthetic for the process; it even looked
painful.

When the surgery was done, and he had been released
from recovery, Scully was so tired she felt like a walking
corpse, herself.  She sat with him while they evaluated
his hand for muscle and tendon damage.  Although the
x-rays had shown that there were no broken bones, they
made Mulder prove that his range of motion and
dexterity in the hand were unimpaired.  The exercises
made the bleeding start again, albeit slowly, and the
pain made Mulder snap at the doctor.  That made
Scully even more protective, and she snarled when they
tried to admit Mulder.

("You were shocked when they wouldn't admit me last
time; today you're snarling because they want to?")

("We're both too tired to maintain a shield, here, and
you can't handle the pain and fear of this many patients
hammering at your mind,") she growled at him.  ("I want
to get you back to Chazz's ASAP.")

He sighed.  ("God, do I want to be there...!") He was so
fried that he did not even flinch when yet another needle
plunged into his arm.

"All right, Agent Mulder.  Your luck is holding; there's no
muscle or tendon damage to your hand, and no broken
bones.  That's your tetanus booster.  That's as good as
you're getting," Hengerer stepped back and disposed
of the syringe in the sharps box.  He gave Scully the
scrip for more antibiotics.  "Get him out of here, Agent
Scully; he's cluttering up this ER.  Cast room is down
that hall.  Use the wheelchair; he's mighty wobbly."

Scully helped Mulder get dressed again, and took him
to the cast room.  They waited there for more time than
he could estimate, then a harried first-year resident
came in, glanced at the x-ray, and grabbed the stack of
supplies.

("Let the kid do his job, Scully,") Mulder warned her
when he felt her gearing up to snap at the young man. 
("Any moron can do casting; he's on someone's shit list
already.  Just let him get
done with  it.  It isn't rocket science.")

Once the cast was done, she ordered Mulder back into
the wheelchair and took him out to the waiting room. 
She parked Mulder near the exit doors, and studied her
partner.  He was leaning against the wall, his eyes
closed.

("Don't go to sleep.")

("I'm exhausted...")

("Just hang on a little while.  I'm going to call for a ride.")

("Better hurry.")

She hurried toward the phone bank.  At the sound of her
heels clicking on the tile floor, he opened his eyes to
watch her.  He frowned.  ("Scully?  Cell phones?")

She kept going.  ("I tried 'em, but Matt was right.  The
lightning show fried 'em.")

He relaxed again, closing his eyes.  ("Skinner'll have a
fit.") Then he shuddered, hunching his shoulders,
hugging himself for comfort.  What she remembered as
a dramatic light show he remembered as a short stop
in the waiting room at the entrance to Hell.

("Hey.  I told you not to think about that stuff,") she
admonished him.

("You brought it up,") he pointed out, trying to sound as
normal as possible.

("Never mind that.  And Skinner's just glad you weren't
more badly hurt, Mulder.  He called three times while we
were here, and he said he'd come pick us up.")

("The Boss is playing chauffeur?  How you rate!")

("Not me,") she sent him a grin.  ("Matt and Bennett got
back a couple of hours ago.  They've been polishing up
a halo for you; the sainthood has to be co-signed by the
Pope, so it'll take a couple of weeks.")

He lifted his head and stared across the room at her. 
("You're kidding, right?")

("Nope.")

("Damn...")

He did not exactly fall asleep, but he drowsed
exhaustedly against the wall.  He had time, early on, to
be happy that Scully had had the foresight to set the
brakes on the wheelchair; that mean it was not going to
slide out from underneath him and dump him on the
floor.  Echoes of the Quickening ebbed and surged,
and he expended a lot of energy fighting it down.

"Agent Mulder?"

Groggy, a little confused about where he was and why
he felt so wretched, Mulder looked up and saw Skinner
looking down at him.  He tried to scramble to his feet,
and could not find them.  He nearly fell backward, but
Skinner caught him by both wrists.

The tug on the freshly-set bones under the still-damp
cast wrung a cry of pain from him.  Startled, Skinner let
go, and Mulder went down.  He hit the floor hard and
just curled up around the cast, fighting not to cry.

("Mulder?  Mulder, it's all right... I'm right here...")

He did not answer her, and she glanced worriedly up at
Skinner, then back down at her partner.

("Mulder?  Are you all right?")

("Leave me alone... all of you... please... just leave me
alone...")

That agonized whimper terrified Scully, and she knelt at
his side, tried to roll him a little onto his back so she
could see his face.  ("Mulder?  Fox, it's me...")

He shivered, and leaned into her hands a little, trying to
strengthen the contact.  ("Dana...?  Dana, make 'em
leave me alone?  I'm so tired I'm sick, and no one will
fuckin' leave me alone!")  He moved a little, and
moaned as he flinched away from the pain.  ("And it
hurts so much... I just want it to stop, Dana!  I just need it
to stop!")

He stopped vocalizing then, but Scully could see his
memories surfacing: days uncounted and weeks untold
of pain and darkness, with no hope and the heart-deep
grief of knowing that everyone he loved was lost to him. 
Over it all, making it worse, was the  pounding weight of
all the pain and grief of the population of the hospital. 
Scully took a deep breath and built a barrier around
him.  Then she looked up at Skinner.

"Would you get Dr Hengerer for me?  Tell him I need a
week's worth of injectable Valium and a dozen
syringes.  I'd get it myself, but if I let go of him, I'm going
to lose him.  He just hit the end of his rope."

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully."  Skinner looked extremely
upset.

"Not your fault, sir.  He was just more damaged than we
knew."

"Nick and Chazz are out in the car, waiting for us,"
Skinner offered.

"Good," she nodded.  "That's going to help.  Now go
get that Valium, will you?  I want to knock him out before
he retreats all the way back to twelve years old and
catatonic."

Skinner flinched, then turned away and hurried inside on
his mission.

Dr Hengerer required more information and Scully gave
him a censored history to justify the scrip for a sedative. 
When a nurse brought it to her, Scully took the syringe
and did the injection herself.  She watched as Mulder
fought the drug every step of the way, but finally had to
yield.  When he was limp in her lap, she looked up to
see Hengerer frowning worriedly.

"Maybe we should admit him..."

"He's going back to Chazz Dolan's place as soon as
we leave here," Scully growled.  "He needs peace and
quiet and solitude.  Staying here would kill him."

Dr Hengerer studied her for a moment and visibly
refrained from pointing out that there were good
reasons why no doctor should treat a family member or
close friend.

"Dr Dolan has a small dispensary on site," he said
quietly.  "If you need more Valium, or if the two of you
decide he needs something stronger, you can get it
from her."

"Oh, all right.  Thank you, Dr Hengerer."

He lifted a hand and left her there on the floor.  Under
her direction, Skinner picked Mulder up and put him
back into the wheelchair.  Scully helped hold his limp
body into the seat while Skinner pushed.  As they
approached the glass doors, Scully could see Chazz's
familiar van waiting at the curb.

("Nick!") she called.

Lermontov came at once, scrambling out of the van and
limping over to meet them in the doorway. "Ohmigod,
what happened, Dana?  What's wrong?  All I could hear
was nightmares, and Fox crying; he couldn't hear me at
all..."

"We need to get him back to Chazz's ASAP," Scully
explained.  "I'll explain everything on the way."

"Okay."

+++

They discovered, once they got back to Chazz's, that
Valium could not hold Mulder for long.  While he never
quite woke up, that did nothing to inhibit his nightmares. 
Every time the sedative started to wear off, he would
start to scream.  It did not matter which of them got to
him first, but nothing sufficed to calm him but physical
contact with one or the other of his bondmates.

Finally, they alternated holding him for the rest of the
day, but when faced with the idea of retiring for the
night, neither wanted to split the night.

"Besides," Scully sighed, "it would disturb him.  He
knows when we switch."

"Does he?" Nick asked.  "I can't tell.  He's just...  It hurts
to see him like this."

"He will heal," Scully assured him.  "This is
psychological, Nick.  I'm not exactly sure what's wrong,
but time, peace and quiet can probably heal it."

"It's a big bed, Dana," Nick said softly, hesitantly.  "We
could put him in the middle."

She glanced at him, and then looked away,
embarrassed.  "I'm sorry, Nick.  I know I'm being
irrational about this."

"I'm not that man you remember."

"I know you aren't, Nick.  When we are sending, I can tell
that.  But sometimes, when you walk by, or if I only catch
a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye... then it
startles me for a moment, because I don't expect to see
Krycek.  I don't ever want to see Krycek ever again,"
she whispered, shivering.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered.

"No, I'm sorry, Nick.  I know you were as victimized as
Mulder and the rest; as much as I have been.  And
you're right:  seven or eight hours of uninterrupted
contact with both of us is probably exactly what he
needs."

+++

Nick showed up for bed wearing nothing but a battered
pair of sweats cut off into shorts.  Scully, even attired in
her usual business-trip blue silk pajamas, felt exposed. 
Mulder, naked and still sedated, was in the middle of
the king size bed that Chazz had in all of her 'guest
rooms.'

Nick climbed in, totally unselfconscious, and sprawled
beside his bondmate, his arm thrown casually across
Mulder's chest.  Mulder turned his head toward his
bondmate.

Scully bit her lip, turned off the lights, and climbed in on
the other side.  She deliberately stroked Nick's hand
where it lay on Mulder's chest.

"Thank you, Nick.  This would be so hard without you."

He watched her settle her head on Mulder's shoulder. 
"We haven't ever really had time to talk, have we?"

"About what?"

"About my relationship with Fox.  And Alex's with Fox."

"Do you remember Alex's relationship?" she asked.

"I don't really remember much of what happened when I
was Alex... bits and pieces... it like a vaguely
remembered dream..."  he paused.  "... or nightmare. 
What can you tell me?"

"He was assigned as Mulder's partner when the X Files
were closed and we were split up.  Alex helped the
Consortium kidnap me.   They kept me for three
months."

She could feel Nick's shock.  "What did they do to you?"
he whispered.

Scully went on to fill in some of the gaps in Nick's
memories.

There was a long moment of silence.  "Bojemoi!" Nick
whispered.

"Yeah.  What you said," Scully grinned at him wanly.

He chuckled.  "Okay.  Any questions you want to ask
me?"

"How did the bondmate group relate to one another?"
she asked promptly.  "I know him, and I know what I am
for him.  But I don't know what I am to you, Nick, and I
don't know what you are to me.  I don't know how to
relate to you."

"Not sexually," he said at once.

She blushed.

"Maybe if the six of us had stayed together into
adulthood, we might've begun a group relationship,"
Nick admitted.  "But I don't think so.  Certainly part of
the reason against that happening would have been that
Fox and Samantha are siblings.  It wouldn't have been
appropriate for us to exclude one or the other, and it
certainly wouldn't have been appropriate to include
them both!  But our pair-bonds were very tight.  We
were never tempted to stray.  Sex without the bond is..."

"Bestiality," Scully nodded.  "He told me that."

"Sometimes it can just be physical relief," Nick added,
nodding.  "I don't know if Molly or Anni ever indulged
outside the group.  I don't think Molly did because we
were inseparable.  Anni had opportunities after Fox
was sent to England, but I doubt that she ever did."

"You think a woman's sexual need is less intense than a
man's?"

Nick licked his lips.  "The two of you fantasized about
one another for years; did you cat around on him?  He
didn't on you."

She forced herself to maintain the eye contact.  "No, I
didn't.  Even not understanding, no other man I met ever
compared to him."  Then she swallowed hard.  "But you
had a relationship like this, once before, didn't you? 
Had it and lost it...?"

He nodded.  "Just like Fox did.  I knew I had lost a
bondmate when Annaliese died...  I just didn't know who
it was.  We've accounted for everyone; that's how we're
sure that Samantha and Kyle are still alive.  We would
feel it if either of them died.  We would know."

She shuddered.  "That's something I don't ever want to
know."

"I don't want you to ever know it, either," Nick said softly. 
"There isn't anything worse than that; feeling half of
yourself die."  He shuddered.

"Nick."  His eyes weren't focused.  ("Nick.")

He looked at her, startled.

"We're here."

He blinked back the tears.  "I've just been so alone for
so long..."

"You aren't alone anymore."

He reached across Mulder's still form, and brushed the
tears off her face.  "Thank you, Dana."

"I'm still not too clear on a lot of what we are to one
another," Scully said slowly, "but I think we all need
each other."

Nick nodded slowly.  "You were what kept him sane
while they had us, Dana.  You were all he had to talk
about.  And it helped me, too, to hear the flunkies in the
lab talking, to learn that there are more Project kids out
there somewhere.  Now I have hope that I may find
someone, some day, to fill the hole in my heart where
Molly was."

"We're going to find everyone, Nick," she promised, her
voice low but  intense.  "And once we do, well, then,
we're going to burn the entire Project right to the
ground."

"I am so with you on that!"

+++

They talked for a while longer, but both were exhausted,
and sleep came quickly.  With all three in physical
contact, there were no nightmares for anyone; just
disjointed moments of happiness and an overriding
feeling of contentment.

Morning came far too soon.  Scully woke up to find that,
apparently without waking, Mulder had pulled her close
and tucked her under his chin.  This was familiar, and it
made her feel a lot better.

 ("Mulder?")

He did not really answer her; he was not really awake. 
But he nestled closer.

Scully smiled gently.  ("Let me up; I gotta pee.")

Again, this was their pattern; he teased her about
having a hydraulic alarm clock that always got her up at
six in the morning, and she teased back that at least
she had learned to go back to
sleep after responding to it.  His grip on her loosened,
and she slid out of bed.  The toilet was only a few steps
away.  But when she stepped out of the bathroom and
looked up at the bed, a dark head raised up from
behind Mulder to study her with dark eyes.

*Krycek!*  She shuddered.  "Sorry, Nick; I just did it
again."

He nodded slowly.  "I could tell.  I'm glad you're not
packin' heat right now."

She smiled wanly, climbed back into bed, and leaned
on Mulder's body so she could reach Nick.  She kissed
him lightly, chastely.

"Thanks, Dana."  He waited until she was snuggled
back into Mulder's arms, and then he slid out of bed. 
"I'm getting up.  Want me to bring you breakfast in
bed?"

She was already almost half asleep.  "Not for a few
hours..."

"Okay, Dana.  Just call me when you're ready."

"Deal.  Thanks, Nick."

"You're welcome, Dana."

Nickie came down the stairs slowly, dejection showing
in the slump of his shoulders, the expression in his
eyes.

Chazz watched him and frowned slowly.  "Nick, what's
wrong?"

 "I've got to do something about what I look like, Chazz. 
When her eyes are closed, Dana can accept me as
Nick Lermontov, but when she opens them or when
she's not expecting to see me, I'm still Alex Krycek, the
man who murdered Fox's father, who assisted in her
abduction, who may have killed her sister.  I wonder if
plastic surgery would work?"

Chazz smiled slowly.  "How about we start with
something a little less drastic?"

Nickie looked puzzled. "What?"

"Come with me." She grabbed Nickie by the hand and
led him into the back of the house where she worked on
the dogs. She pushed him gently into a chair and then
gathered everything she needed off various shelves. 
"Okay, first off, we wash your hair. You have trouble with
that, don't you?"

"It's hard to do a lot of things one handed," he told her
frankly.

"Well, you should to talk to Rollie about that."

Nick frowned, confused.  Tyler worked on movies and
television shows.  "Why?"

"When he's not making terrible TV shows and movies
or trying to improve things over here, he and Angie do
research for the Limb Institute of New Jersey. You'd be
amazed at what they've been able to accomplish. From
the way Fox described it, that prosthetic you used to
wear is about twenty years out of date."

Nick looked at her, shocked. No one except Fox ever
talked to him about his lost arm.  "Well, I didn't have
much of a choice.  It's hard to get good service when
you're an international assassin," he commented a bit
defensively.  "The medical coverage sucks."

Chazz smiled sympathetically. "Well, that doesn't mean
you can't do anything about it now.  Talk to Rollie.  I'm
sure he'd be more than willing to help. The strides that
have been made in prosthetic limbs over the past few
years are nothing short of amazing."

Chazz was so enthusiastic, it was hard for Nickie to be
mad at her. "I'll think about it. Now why are we out
here?"

"Well, you said you wished you looked different. Has
Dana ever seen you blond?"

The idea was startling.  "No, I don't think so.  I think Alex
was always dark.  It kind of fit the image, if you know
what I mean?"

 "Well, then, first things first." She gestured, and he set
the chair back against the sink.   She then put a large
plastic sheet over him.  They negotiated positioning
quickly and he was grinning at her when she used the
hose to wet his hair.

He nearly purred as she massaged the shampoo into
his scalp.  (*I'd forgotten just how good it feels to have
someone else do this...*)

She followed up the shampoo with conditioner and then
towel dried his hair.

"Okay, Nick, sit up."  She turned toward the counter
alongside the sink, and only then did Nick see the array
of scissors, combs and clippers.

"I thought you were a psychiatrist?"

"I also raise dogs and show some of them and I do all
of my own grooming."

He jerked around sharply. "I'm not going to end up
looking like Francois, am I?"

Chazz laughed. "No, nothing so drastic... although buzz
cuts are all the rage..." she hinted.   "Your hair would
look 'plushy' that way."

"Thanks, but no... I know what I look like in a brush cut. 
No, thanks."

"Well, we've got a bit to work with, here; your hair's nice
and long.  Whatever kind of dye were you using on your
hair? It's really damaged."

He shrugged helplessly.  "Probably whatever I found
first whenever I needed to do it; I don't remember any
professional, or even semi-pro help," he grinned at her. 
He looked into the wall mirror and actually studied his
hair for the first time since his release from the train car. 
"Why does it look so weird?"

"Usually this look has the black on top and the blond at
the ends.  You've got blond roots showing.  Very blond,"
she commented.  Chazz then picked up a pair of thin
sharp shears and a comb and proceeded to trim off all
the black ends, allowing them to fall to the floor. Then
she set to work styling the pale honey-gold hair that was
left.

Twenty minutes later, Nickie looked at himself in the
mirror and, for the first time in more years than he could
count, he saw himself, Nicolai Lermontov, staring back
at him from the mirror.  Tears filled his eyes.  Chazz
was right:  he really did not look like Alex Krycek any
more.

"How did you know this would work?"

Chazz shrugged.  "Hair color is one of the greatest
defining characteristics in our looks. Change the hair
color and people you know will look twice before they
realize it's you. Alex was dark,
Nickie is light.  You really are two different people;
maybe this will help Dana see that."

Nickie, still rather bemused at the change, just stared
back at her reflection in the mirror.  "Maybe it will."

+++

Dana woke up to bright sunlight falling across the bed,
and the unmistakable trembling in Mulder's body that
meant he was crying again.

("Sshhh...I'm here, love.  It's all right...")

There was no real answer; he cried himself back to
sleep wrapped desperately around her.  She lay still,
stroking his forearm with her fingers.  She drowsed,
letting herself fall asleep again, and was startled when
there was a gentle tap at the door.

"Dana?"

It was Chazz.

"C'mon in."

She entered slowly, but her peaceful expression faded
as she studied Mulder's pale tear-streaked face.  "Has
he regained consciousness?"

Scully moved just far enough out of his grasp that she
could sit up.  He snuggled into her lap but did not
awaken.  "No, Chazz, I don't think he has," she
admitted.  "He's stirred a bit and he's cried himself
back to sleep twice.  But that's all.  It's not a zone-out
because I can't wake him up.  I really think it's
psychological; none of his physical stressors were
sufficient to cause anything like this."

Chazz nodded.  "But if he doesn't wake up in the next
six or eight hours, we're going to have to start an IV and
a catheter.  He's  already been fifteen hours without
fluids."

Scully had to agree with that; she had not counted up
the elapsed time, but Chazz was right.

"Has this downtime been at least peaceful?" Chazz
asked, already sure she knew the answer.

Scully snorted.  "Hardly.  He has nightmares, Chazz; he
always has.  And he has more material for the
Technicolor kind than any three people you know."

"So you don't think the nightmares are part of the stress
from this most recent incident?"

"Of course they are!"  Scully laced both hands through
her hair, working out the worst of the knots.  "But since
he wasn't shocked back into catatonia by the
Quickening that Miklaus caused, I'm confident he'll deal
with it and come back."  She stopped and stared guiltily
at Chazz.  Her guilt changed to bewilderment when
Chazz did not ask what a Quickening was.

Chazz noticed right away.  "Ooops.  You weren't
supposed to say anything about that, were you?" she
commented with a grin.

"No, my informant said that he wouldn't voluntarily out
any other Immortal."  Scully got a speculative look on
her face.  "Hmm..."

"We'll talk later.  It'll probably help Mulder deal with the
Quickening to talk to someone about it, anyhow.  Don't
worry so.  If he's not out of it by dinner we'll hook him up
to an IV so he doesn't get dehydrated," Chazz said
firmly.  She studied the pair before her for a moment,
and then stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. 
"What kinds of dreams is he having?"

Scully frowned.  "I don't know."

"Those first few days you spent at my house," Chazz
was thinking hard, "you immersed yourself in his
dreams, and you kept him from having nightmares. 
Why can't you do that now?"

"Do you think I haven't been trying?!" Scully snapped. 
"What I've learned is that while I'm in charge of the
Sentinel/Guide relationship, as bondmates, he's the
one in control.  He can insert
himself into my dreams, or allow me into his.  Right now,
I'm having trouble getting him to hear my physical voice. 
I can't get through telepathically at all."

"That sounds very much as if he's trying to protect you
from whatever horror he had to endure," Chazz pointed
out.

Scully stared up at her.  "The bastard's ditched me
again!" she realized.  She looked down at her partner
and feigned a slap across his face.  "Damn you, Fox
Mulder!  You promised no more ditches!"

He shuddered.

Scully gasped; he had heard her speak.  "Yes, I'm
annoyed!"  She followed up her advantage at once.
"We're partners, you said.  Bondmates.  Two halves of
a single whole.  I'm so important to you that you insist
that when I die you'll follow!  Well, I'm not letting you go
alone, either, Mulder!  If you leave me, I'll die.  Do you
hear me?  If you don't come back to me, I'm going to
die..."

He definitely could hear her; his respiration rate went up
noticeably, and he moaned.

"C'mon, Mulder.  I want you with me.  I'm all alone,
Mulder.  Where are you?  Come back to me..."

He surfaced with a gasp.  "Scully?!"

"Right here," she assured him.  "Settle down.  Breathe,
Mulder.  In, hold it, out, hold it, in, hold it..."  She talked
him through his disorientation and distress, ceasing
only when he sighed.

"Thanks, Scully.  I was drowning."

"You were asleep," she contradicted him hesitantly.

He shuddered and sat up so he could scrub at his face
with both hands.  "I was drowning in other people," he
elaborated.  "Too many memories of too many
people... and 'way too much emotion involved in all of it. 
Mostly pain and terror... and a lot of anger.  I lost me
and I couldn't find you."

"I was right here," she frowned worriedly.  "Nick and I
have been careful to keep one or the other of us in
physical contact with you every moment."

Mulder frowned and shivered.  Scully pulled the blanket
up over him.

"What?"

"Some of the nightmares were my own," he admitted in
a low voice.  "I dreamt that Krycek came back,
kidnapped you and Nick, and was torturing you both to
punish me."

 Chazz and Scully traded worried glances.  Mulder's
word choices and tone seemed to indicate that he was
thinking of Nick and Alex Krycek as two totally separate
beings.

("Nick!") Scully called, discovering that she needed his
help.

("Dana!") He acknowledged the call at once.  In a
moment, the bedroom door was flung open and Nick,
resplendent and confident in his new haircut, came
unhesitatingly into the room.   "Hi, Fox!"  He sat down
beside his bondmate and hugged him tightly. 
"Welcome back!"

Mulder returned the hug, burying his face against Nick's
neck.  "Why did Alex hate me?" he asked, through a
throat suddenly clogged with tears.  "We were
partners... he was a good man!
I liked him!  I thought he liked me... but he helped abduct
Scully, and I think he killed Duane Barry and tried to
frame me for it.  He killed my father and Dana's sister... 
How could anyone change so dramatically, Nick?  I
liked him!  He was a good man, and then, suddenly, he
was a monster!  I don't understand..."  He wilted against
Nick, crying quietly.

Nick looked at Scully over Mulder's shoulders.

"He knew I was startled by you looking like Krycek,"
Scully said quietly.  "But he was so hammered by all the
different people from the Quickening that he doesn't
remember the truth."

"Dana, you didn't hear what he just said!" Chazz
interrupted.

Both Scully and Lermontov turned to stare at her.  Even
Mulder was listening.

"He has always found Krycek an enigma; some part of
him recognized his bondmate.  For one bondmate to
conspire against another... against a bonded pair...? 
How much does that threaten your sense of reality as a
bondmate?  For you, Mulder, it is especially disturbing
because, as a profiler, you're supposed to be an expert
in understanding people's motivations, their behaviors... 
I'll bet every profile you ever tried to write on Krycek was
utter crap; not because you don't know your business,
but because Krycek was a puppet.  He was the
bondmate, but he was also Spender's puppet.  Nothing
Krycek did came from one motivation, and the doubled
and tripled motivation levels confused Krycek as much
as they did you."

"So every contact with Krycek undermined Mulder's
self-confidence?" Nick asked hesitantly.

"His self-confidence, his faith in the sanctity of the
pair-bond connection... his ability to profile, to function
as an agent..."

Mulder was listening, his eyes wet and fastened on
Chazz's face.  When she faced him directly he had to
fight not to quail away from her searching gaze.

"I was afraid that if you ever really looked at me you'd
see all the way down to what's left of my soul."

Scully could feel him trembling.  ("Shhhh...") She moved
closer, and she and Nick sandwiched him between the
two of them.

"Fox?" Nick spoke up hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Alex did like you.  He didn't understand why, but he did. 
He hated the orders he got that meant that he had to
hurt you... but he could not disobey  They did something
to him:    drugs, maybe; something.  And remember,
he's dead, Fox.  Let him rest in peace."

"Dead?"

Nick turned a little, shifting to get more comfortable, and
the stump of his left arm became visible.  Mulder froze
as the memories of Nick's life since Molly's death
suddenly cascaded.

The emotional bombardment hit all three bondmates
none of them knowing where which memory came from,
and they collapsed into one another's arms, sobbing.

Chazz let them cry for a few minutes.  As Mulder's
exhaustion began to catch up with him, the other two
began to calm down, as well.

"I thought you said you didn't remember being Alex?"
Dana asked, wiping the tears off her face with her
palms.

Nick shuddered once from head to foot.  "I don't!  I
swear!  I just...  I just remember feelings.  Sometimes, I
can see a couple of seconds of a scene.  I remember
killing a tram car operator, but I don't know why, or when
it happened."  He shuddered.  "Alex was a monster..."

It was Chazz who spoke up.  "No, he was an imposed
personality," she said quietly.  "You'll remember more
and more of what he did, I suspect.  Because your
subconscious will want to integrate Alex's memories to
fill in the empty spaces, to account for the empty time. 
You had to be functioning at some level as Nick or Alex
would never have been able to pull off the masquerade. 
Too much of human functioning is subliminal and
non-verbal for them to have taught Alex everything he
would have needed to know.  You had to do a lot of the
day-to-day, minute-by-minute functioning:  things like
ordering food in a restaurant, how to walk through a
crowd on the sidewalk or in the halls, driving a car...
dealing with people face-to-face.  Alex took total control
and did the things that Nick would not do: kill and hurt
and kidnap."

Chazz stopped, and watched Nick's face.

He considered what she had said, and slowly relaxed
as the truth of it sank in.  Eventually he looked up at her. 
"How did you know?" he asked.

She shrugged, smiling faintly.  "This is what I do, Nick. 
As Mulder says, I unscrew people's heads and put them
back together again so they can function."

+++

Mulder recovered quickly after that.  He got up and let
Scully stand him in the shower and scrub him down. 
Nick brought him clean sweats, and they escorted him
to the table, where Chazz had heated up more of her
marvelous chicken noodle soup, and, this time, fresh
hot corn muffins.

While they ate, Matthew, Duncan, Amanda and Methos
showed up, interested in seeing how Mulder was doing. 
Mulder looked up.  "Okay, which one of you is it?"

"He's quick;  I'll give him that," Matthew commented to
no one in particular.

"But not too quick," Amanda commented.  "Why do you
think it's only one of us?" she asked over her shoulder
as she followed Chazz and Scully into the kitchen
leaving the men at the table.  Scully helped Chazz load
the dishwasher while Amanda looked through Chazz's
freezer to see what they could make for dinner.  She
was impressed and amazed at the contents.

"You've got more stuff here than we do at the loft."

"You're not feeding Rollie, the Bumbershoot boys and
Laddey most nights!  I made them start buying
groceries  I was going broke!" Chazz told her with a
grin.

+++

Jim and Blair arrived in time for dinner, as did Rollie,
who came across from the farm house carrying Teddi
because he did not feel like cooking and knew that
when there were people in residence, Chazz always
cooked more than was needed.

After dinner, Rollie took Teddi back home to put her to
bed early; she had been crabby and out-of-sorts all day. 
Blair tagged along; Rollie had received a package from
his adopted family in Docker River, and Blair dearly
wanted to look over the magic and luck charms that had
been sent for Teddi.

Everyone else gathered outside and the patio, with a
fire in the grate, was a quiet and comfortable place. 
Mulder and his bondmates were asleep together on the
thick soft cushion they had pulled off the papasan chair. 
They looked like a pile of puppies; Scully was curled up
inside the curve of Mulder's body, her head actually
pillowed on Nick's belly, while Nick's was pillowed on
Mulder's thigh.

Methos was sitting on the ground nearby, a small
collection of Orca Ale bottles accumulating around him 
The others were talking quietly about what had
happened over the course of the last few weeks.  What
Methos was perceiving, from his position in the
shadows, was that the group of strangely assorted
friends who had become what he privately had been
calling his Clan, had adopted the trio of waifs from
Washington DC.

(*Plus, Matthew McCormick is a sort of kissing
cousin,*) Methos decided, (*since he's Mac's friend and
Carl's, but those three... Those three do grow on you. 
So much pain, and so much love, radiating out to affect
everyone around them who isn't completely
headblind...*)

The parallels between his own relationship with Duncan
and Amanda, and Mulder's with Scully and Nick, were
not exact, but there were echoes: he needed their
support to feel safe.  Mulder
needed Scully and Nick to feel whole.

(*And Nick, at least, seems to need Fox and Dana as
much as Fox needs them...  This is so weird...!*)

His ruminations were interrupted when the puppy pile
stirred and unfolded.  Without apparently waking up
either of the men, Scully freed herself from their
embrace and stood, yawning.

"Dana?"  That was Chazz, alerted by the movement.

Scully lifted a hand.  "We're okay.  I just need to hit the
head.  Can I bring anything out?"

Chazz looked around, but everyone seemed content.  "I
guess not."

Scully nodded and turned, obviously still sleepy, and
padded lazily into the house.   Methos, watching the
men she had left, saw them shift a little, making
themselves comfortable, but neither of them woke up,
as far as he could tell.

No one else was paying any attention.

Then, abruptly, the atmosphere changed.

At the far end of the patio, upwind from the fire, where
he had been talking with Duncan,  Jim Ellison stood
abruptly, turning toward the house.  "Sonofabitch !"

As he started to run, both Mulder and Lermontov rolled
apart, scrambling to their feet, running toward the
house, eyes wide with panic.  Neither wasted any
breath on speech.

Reflex shoved Methos to his feet, and he followed them,
knowing that Jim was right behind him with the dogs
yapping at their heels.

Lermontov crashed through the doorway, with Mulder a
step behind him.  Powerful hands grabbed Nick's shirt
and yanked, slamming him headfirst into the wall.  He
collapsed, unconscious.  Mulder skidded to a halt and
turned to face the foe.  He froze in shock as he
recognized one of the Alien Bounty Hunters.

"No!" he screamed.  "Not again!  Never again!"  He
attacked, not caring that he had no weapons, needing
only to avenge years of pain and degradation.

Methos was shocked; he recognized the foe, as well. 
Without the need for any conscious thought at all, one of
his omnipresent daggers was in his hand.  As the
unnamed enemy bent to choke Mulder, Methos leapt
and shoved the blade into the back of the huge man's
neck.

Mulder fell as the ABH's grip failed.  He rolled aside, his
breath rasping in his throat, as the body crashed to the
floor where he had been, and began to corrode at once.

"Get back!" he tried to wave Methos back, not wanting
the other man exposed to the toxin any more than
necessary.

Methos retrieved his blade, shaking off the worst of the
green goop, hissing at the nasty smell.  But before he
could respond to Mulder, Jim hurdled them and kept
running most of the dogs following him.  Mulder
scrambled to his feet.

("DANA!!!") He could tell she was still alive, but she
was not answering him, and all he could imagine were
things too horrible to contemplate.

Outside, on the front lawn, another ABH had an
unconscious Scully thrown over his shoulder and he was
running at a fast trot for a van parked on the side of the
road.  Jim, on the other hand, was flying, motivated with
the rage of a Sentinel seeing another pair separated
and a Guide threatened.  He hit the bigger man at
shoulder height and took him down hard.  Scully's limp
form fell to the ground and rolled a few feet away.

Mulder's brain was cranking at a thousand miles an
hour, jazzed on the adrenaline of terror and combat.  He
had noticed that the alien blood toxin had not affected
Methos in the least.  He did not know why, but the fact
was undeniable.  So he turned to glance at Methos, who
was passing him because he had still not regained his
full strength.  He slowed down, knowing that he could
not keep up with the others.

"Don't let Jim breathe the blood fumes!" he screamed
after the racing Immortal.

Methos did not bother acknowledging that.  "Jim," he
called as he approached the scene of the struggle. 
"When I take him, grab Dana and get out of range!"

"What ?!"  Jim began to protest, but there was no time.

Methos jumped onto the ABH's shoulders, the
already-stained dagger lifted to strike.  "Jim, damn it,
duck!"

Jim just obeyed; he rolled away, taking Dana with him
as he went.  The moment he was clear, Methos
plammed the second ABH.  When he stood up, the
green goop was eating into his jeans and his sneakers
were ruined, too.  Hastily, he stripped off the affected
items.

Exhausted, Mulder dropped to his knees beside
Scully's motionless form.  "Dana?  Dana?"

Jim sat up, still panting a little.  "She's breathing.  I think
he choked her unconscious."  Even as he spoke, Scully
stirred.

Weakly, she tried to sit up.  Mulder pulled her up
against his body and rocked her, his eyes closed, tears
running unashamedly down his face.  He was focused
on her so tightly that he never noticed the others as they
came running up until Amanda's voice cut through all the
confusion.

"What's going on?  What happened to Nick?"

Startled, Mulder looked up; Scully straightened.  Then
they stared at one another for one horrified moment.

"NICK!"  They were on their feet in a heartbeat, their
hands still tightly clasped, and they ran back to the
house.

Jim, who had been backing away from the stinking
puddle of green goo soaking into the lawn, looked up
as Methos cursed under his breath and took off after the
bondmates.  Jim followed.

When Methos entered the house he found that Chazz
had had Duncan carry Nick over to the couch so she
could examine him.  The rest were all clustered around
the spot where the other ABH had dissolved.

"Get further away,"  he warned as Jim came up to join
him.

"What the hell happened to your clothes?" Jim 
commented as he and Methos stared at the hole in the
hardwood floor that went through to the basement in
several places. "Chazz is going to have seven  fits when
she sees this!"

"Sees what?"  Chazz growled, alerting to the mention of
her name.

"How's Nick?"  Methos asked, trying to divert her, if only
momentarily.

"He'll be fine, barring a probable headache.  I repeat: 
Sees what?"

Jim backed away and let Chazz  to see the ruin of her
kitchen floor.

"My floor!" she gasped.  "What the hell did this?"

"Demon."  "Alien."  Methos and Mulder answered
together.  They turned to stare at one another.

"Demon?"

"Alien?"

Mulder spoke first.  "We call them the Alien Bounty
Hunters.  They're one of two or three different alien
races that are currently battling on and over Earth.  How
did you know enough to plam  it?"

Methos glanced over to where MacLeod and
McCormick stood in the doorway and the youngest
Immortal shrugged and answered.  "I trust him, Duncan. 
And they already know about us."

Mulder shrugged.  "I figured at least two of you were
Immortal, I just didn't figure that all of you were," he
commented, pieces of the puzzle finally falling into
place.

Methos sighed.  "I learned how kill them over four
thousand years ago."

Matthew saw the look of skepticism on Mulder's face
and grinned at him.  "I told you nothing much could harm
us, at least not permanently.  And I did say we were
Immortal."

Methos sighed.  "I found that killing them that way
worked just as well as taking their heads and didn't
cause nearly as much damage to any mortals that might
be in the vicinity.  I lost an entire village the first time I
fought them.  Then I hunted a pair of them on and off for
the better part of a century before I caught up with and
beheaded one of them.  I found his partner strangling
one of the elders of that village.  I stabbed him in the
back of the neck because I couldn't take his head
without killing both of them and there hadn't seemed to
be as much of the fumes when I took his head as when
we just wounded him.  It worked and the elder lived.  I
remembered it when I saw them again."  Methos
shrugged.  He had seen a lot in his fifty centuries of life. 
"Demon, alien, they're all the same.  They all want to kill
you and to tell you the truth, they're not as bad as some
Immortals I've met."

"Beheading would work," Mulder said thoughtfully,
glancing at his bondmates, who were sitting together on
the couch.

"Yeah," Methos nodded again, "but they bleed more
that way and that green shit is painful even to an
Immortal.  If you pith them, they hardly bleed at all."

"Plam."

"Pith, plam, whatever.  If you sever the  spinal column
where it attaches to the brain, they don't bleed much
and they die.  Back then, I thought they were a demon
form of Immortal.  You couldn't feel them coming, and
you couldn't kill them easily without  endangering
everyone else."

"That still doesn't answer why there's no body and why
whatever that is ate though my floor!"   Chazz growled.

"Their blood dissolves into an acid that reacts with air,"
Scully replied, her voice a bit scratchy.  "If you're
exposed to it, it can cause significant physical damage
and a very painful death if it
isn't treated immediately.  If you plam them, there's little
or no blood loss and the bodies just melt."

"Ding, dong the witch is dead!" Methos mumbled to
himself.

Mulder nodded.  "Pretty much.   Even though there was
little blood loss, I suggest that we close the door to the
rest of the house and open all the windows in here.  We
don't know what extended exposure to the body
remnants can do to a person."

Methos stared down at the mess for another moment,
then went into the pantry and came out with a box of
baking soda.

Mulder laughed.

Methos shrugged.  "It probably can't hurt and might
actually work on neutralizing this stuff.  Go on, get
everyone out of here."

"Don't forget the basement.  It's probably started to etch
the concrete down there."

"What am I going to tell the insurance company?" 
Chazz wondered.

"Nothing.  I'll make sure it gets fixed," Mulder told her. 
"He was after us, it's our fault it happened.  We'll leave
as soon as we get our stuff together.  If they've traced us
here, you could still be in danger."

"Now that we know what's going on, we can set a
guard.  You're in no shape to go anywhere.  In fact, you
should be in bed!"

"Chazz, these guys can..."

"I mean it!" she glared at him.  "Go find your cohorts
and get some sleep.  Obviously, Adam can cope with
this, and I don't want to hear you taking any more blame
on yourself.  It's not your fault.  Go on, or I'll unscrew your
head but good!"

Knowing she was perfectly capable of doing just that,
Mulder held up his hands in surrender and went through
to the other room in search of his companions.  Before
he left though, he had one more comment:  "If you set
guards, set two.  These guys can become anyone."

Left behind with Methos and Jim, Chazz allowed worry
and puzzlement to appear on her face.

"I wish I knew what the root of his guilt complex was."

McCormick came into the room on the tail end of this
statement, shut the door behind himself.

"Try a set of parents who allowed him to be
experimented on from before his birth and then blamed
him when his sister was taken by the same people.  His
parents knew all along what had happened to his sister
and they still blamed him."

Chazz looked puzzled.  "How do you know that?"

"I was talking to Skinner.  The three geeks haven't found
out a lot yet, but they've found out that much.  There was
a loose leaf notebook in the pile of computer stuff that
Mac rescued from
the train car.  One of the techs that was holding Mulder
and Nick had been with the program from the beginning
and had kept *all* the memos he'd ever been sent and
apparently some that he acquired from other sources
as well.  Skinner said he had skimmed through it and it
was a study of a nightmare.  He definitely does *not*
want Mulder to see it but I think  it would be a good thing
if you did."

"He hasn't asked me to be his therapist.  In good
conscience, I can't..."

McCormick sighed.  "I'll talk to Mulder.  He's going to
need help working through this and it seems like the
Immortals are perfect to help him against the aliens. 
He's been fighting so long with only Scully for help, he'll
probably struggle against us joining in, but he needs
help and at least we believe him."

"We do?"  Chazz asked suspiciously.  She turned to
Methos.  "I hate to say this, but I need a bit more proof. 
The only person to corroborate his story has a
none-too-great a grasp on reality
himself."

Methos made a face at her.  "I know it really does
sound crazy, but you have evidence in front of you.  And,
crazy or not, we might want to remember that Mulder
suggested we not stand around in this room.  Mac and I
can take care of this tomorrow.  Once we have
everything that's been contaminated out, Rollie and the
boys can repair your floor and the lawn where we killed
the other one."

"What about my lawn?!" she cried.

Chazz ran through the house and she followed Methos
to the spot where the other ABH had fallen.  Sitting
there on the lawn about twenty feet away were several
of the dogs.  All of them growling but none of them
getting any closer to the spot.   Duncan was standing
over it.

"Which just goes to show you that the dogs have more
sense than any of us," Chazz commented wryly. 
"Duncan, can you and Adam can take care of this while
I take the dogs back to the kennels?"  She noticed that
there was not as much damage to the grass and earth
beneath it as there had been in the house.  "You know 
we should try to figure out why it did more damage
inside.  You killed them the same way, right, Adam?"

"Yeah, I did."  Methos circled the ground carefully then
looked further down the drive.  "You know, we really
should do something about that van, too.  Make sure
there isn't a tracking device in it or anything like that."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Jim asked as he
joined them.

"Drive it far away and send it off a cliff," Methos
shrugged.  "Check to see if there's anything that can tell
us anything on the way."

Jim looked unhappy.  "Road trip."

"Yup.  If we leave now, we can be back by morning." 
Methos grinned mirthlessly.  "I'll follow you in my van." 
Go tell Blair where we're going."

"I'll get Rollie, too," Jim commented.  "He's more likely
to spot anything in the van than I am.  And that leaves
Duncan, Matt and Amanda to play guard here."

Methos nodded.  "Makes sense.  Ten minutes."  He
turned to Chazz.  "And you thought Immortals were
strange," he commented.

"Adam, ever since I met you it's felt as if I fell down the
rabbit hole after Alice.  I never know what's going to
happen next.  She shrugged.  "At least I'm not bored
any more."

"Were you?" he asked as they started slowly back
toward the house.

She considered a moment how to answer.  "Yeah, I
was.  It was getting to be routine to treat police officers. 
I treated one successfully, so they sent me a couple
more.  Before I knew it,
most of my practice was cops.  I actually started up the
Therapy Dogs as a way of getting some diversity."

"Are you sorry you met us that day?"

"No!" she exclaimed.  "If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't
have met Angie and Rollie, and if I hadn't met Rollie I
wouldn't have found someone I could love," she
answered seriously.  "Having Rollie is worth anything
that might happen, believe me.  I never thought I'd find
someone.  No one ever seemed right. I finally figured
out why: I kept looking at normal, but  I was waiting for
weird."

Methos laughed.  "Well, stick with this crew and I can
promise you all the weird you can handle!"

As they approached the house Blair met them in the
doorway.

"Chazz?  What happened  to the floor in the kitchen?"



END OF ANCIENT EVIL
CHILMARK PROJECT PART 4.