(Headers and Disclaimers in Chapter One)

Chapter 14 of 20

After two days in the infirmary Scully understood why Dr.
Otis said her feet were killing her.  Scully couldn't wait to
prop them up.

She returned to the cell, lay on the bunk and
elevated her feet.  In all the work of administering shots,
sutures, exams, weeding out malingers from those genuinely ill,
Scully hadn't the time to reflect on Water's visit or last
night's illusions.

Above her loud sigh of relief she heard snickering from
the door of the cell.  She raised her head to see Laquintia and a
friend standing outside.  Since inmates were not permitted to
visit in each other's cells, they only leaned against the bars
outside and peered in.

"Don't get up.  That such a nice picture," Laquintia said.

"You go to hell for lying," Scully said and swung her legs
off the bed.

"This fool can't read," Laquintia said.

The woman folded her arms in defiance.  "Can read a
little."

"Did you sign up for the adult literacy program here?"
Scully said.

"It full."

"It is full," Scully said.  "Well.  Have you always read 'a
little' or did you once know how to read a lot and have now
forgotten?"

"I ain't like you, Mama.  I never knowed."

Scully bit back a correction and instead said, "Laquintia,
if I can requisition books for you to use, you teach her.  You
read fairly well."

Laquintia grinned.  "If she ain't too dumb, Scully."

"Shut up!" the woman said.  She hung around a minute, then
wandered down the row to speak to another inmate.

"Bernice still ain't happy," said Laquintia.

"I'm sorry to hear it," Scully said.

"She say you won't give none of us our splits."

Scully leaned against the bars and arched her eyebrows.

"When Bernice and Zelda goes to do a job, we all gits a
cut.  We got families live off that.  Now you come and we wanna
know if we still gits to keep part of the money?"

"I don't know of any thing in the works," Scully said.

"Then how cum Bernice and Zelda got they cards already!"

"Nothing happens without me."

"Bernice say we got to all git ready to make sure you gets
yur beauty sleep."

"Bernice," said Scully with a touch of ice in her tone,
"controls nothing.  Not even herself."

Laquintia reiterated. "She ain't happy." Into Scully's disdain
she added, "Jest so's you know."

"Laquintia, how do you get your money?"

"I dunno. It come like magic in my mamma's bank."

"Electronic transfer?"

Laquintia shrugged. 

"Would you please find Zelda for me?"  Scully's forehead crinkled in
concentration.  She walked slowly on aching feet to the sink, found a
washcloth and rinsed it out.  

As soon as Laquintia disappeared Scully picked up Zelda's cards 
on the shelf by the sink and rifled through them.  The cards that 
purported to be advertisements dealt in everything from art to 
antiques to department store sales.  Tuesday was the 12th.  
The last card offered an odd 12 to 23 percent off.  Obviously, the 
robbery must  occur between the 12th and the 23rd.  One card was
antiques and art.  The card before was a stock of white linen
sale.  Another told them to bank on bargains at Virgil's
Department store.  And before that a starving artist's getaway in
Florida. 

The names on the cards were strange-yet oddly familiar.  It would
come to her in a minute.  She replaced the cards in order knowing
there was something in them she had missed.

When Zelda came in, Scully said, "Beauty sleep?"

"Oh, yeah.  I was going to explain tonight," Zelda said.  "I
alluded to it earlier.  Rather important for us not to be
disturbed when we leave our physical bodies.  Moving them,
disturbing them too much could result in-"

"Not coming back," Scully said.  "How did you know I
wouldn't try to wake you one night when you were off seeing the
Bahamas or-or attending the Metropolitan Opera?"

"You were too confused - and since you don't get enough
yourself, you value sleep too much to disturb someone else."

"When the authorities found Michael's body, they moved it,
didn't they? That's why he couldn't find his way back."

"I begged them to leave him alone.  Now he's buried,
decayed -- lost."

"Except when he comes to you," Scully said.

"Except then." She hopped up on her bunk in one jump and
let her legs dangle off the edge.  "As long as we're telling
secrets, tell me how you plan to stop this."

"Stop what?"

"Our robbery of Lipscomb's Auction House.  We have our
window of time.  We have the drop-off site.  We'll get pictures of
the men involved in a few days in department store sales
catalogues, and - woo-wooo -- the ghosts strike again," Zelda
said.

"When were you planning to tell me?"

"When you couldn't stop it."

Scully scoffed.  "Why should I even try?"

"Because that's what you will think you have to do."

"No, no," Scully shook her head fiercely.  "I don't believe
that.  I don't have any memory of-of an undercover operation.  I
have no memory of a deal, a plan - nothing."

"People have lots of things buried in their minds.  Things
they can't deal with.  Things they're afraid of."

"I don't believe my purpose is to stop a robbery," Scully
said.

"I didn't say that's what you were sent to do.  I said
that's what you think you have to do."

Scully leaned against Zelda's bunk and chewed on her
knuckle.  "Why would I put myself in such a position? For a
robbery conviction? I can't imagine."

"And you have a vivid imagination," said Zelda.  "What do
you value?"

Scully still fumed.

"I do this because Bernice will have Scott murdered if I
don't.  I value his life above everything else."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why? What can you do about it?" Zelda laughed.  "I only
meant for this to be a one-time deal." She ran her fingers
through her hair.  "I had what I wanted - Scott's college money.
The next time the card came... but Bernice didn't want to quit.  
It was powerful for her.  She has friends, co-workers on the
outside-"

Scully sagged onto her bunk and Zelda said, "What do you value most? 
Until you can answer that, you won't know why you're here."

"Is-is it Bernice?"

Zelda laughed.  "Oh no.  But she likes it.  It-it feeds her.
I took her with me that first time.  She'd been learning to fly.
She was quite capable.  It was a mistake.  A terrible, terrible
mistake.  She's very good and works at it all the time."

"But it changed her."

Zelda nodded.  "She's been trying to teach Angela and,
well, you saw for yourself how that's working out.  I think
Bernice's about to give up and--"

"Then who is it?"

"I don't know," Zelda's answer was tentative.

Scully looked askance.

"I don't.  Bernice and I get these postcards-"

"Even the first time with the-" Scully realized she had no
idea where it had all started.

"The insurance company in upstate New York.  It was so
simple, so easy.  I could even rationalize it.  Who likes the
blood-sucking insurance companies?" said Zelda.  "It hardly
bothered me at all.  The first sin led to all the others: the
theory of Original Sin demonstrated in modern, everyday life."

"A postcard?"

Zelda beamed.  "Right.  In code, of course." She leaned
over, took several off the shelf, and handed them to Scully.

This time Scully saw it immediately.  "Pig Latin!"

"The name of the target - and maybe some pertinent data
about the target -- is always in pig-Latin," Zelda said.  "Looks 
like a misprint or, in some cases, just an odd name.  The ranges of
dates are the prices or sale discounts.  A child could see it - I
picked up on it the first time I saw one.  My mother and I used
to use pig-Latin at home when I was little when we didn't want
my grandmother to know something.  A game.  Something between us
two.  I thought we were so clever.  My mother's diary, her book,
the last thing she touched, inscribed to me, written in pig
Latin--our special language.  Her last present to me."

"You believe your mother is involved?"

"My mother is dead.  I just don't know how."

"Who would know about it, then?"

Zelda seemed to give the matter some thought.  "I don't
know.  And I have considered the question more than once.  I think
now it must be Henry Donaldson."

Scully took a few thoughtful steps then said, "You know
Henry Donaldson was with your mother when she died in Vietnam?"

"I discovered it last night.  With Mulder.  I might have
learned more from Donaldson's file if you hadn't had your mind -
and that boy's hands - on something else! Last night is a perfect
example of why mother said it was dangerous for two women to
occupy the mind of a one man."

Scully was no mood to be teased.  "You knew about Donaldson
and your mother before."

"I never knew his name.  The military never told me."

"Do you also know Henry Donaldson was instrumental in my
incarceration?"

Zelda shook her head. "But I knew he prosecuted Bernice. He
was on her case a long time." 

"Donaldson," Scully said. "He must be
the accomplice who picks up the proceeds from the robberies."

"Not necessarily.  Once I was taking bonds to a drop-off
site outside a brokerage house and I saw someone in the shadows
there.  I didn't think it was a man.  Too small, short-"

"Another accomplice? A stranger? A homeless person?"

"Could have been anyone." Zelda shrugged.  "Just an
impression.  I was a little busy -and in some else's body.
Frankly, I was more concerned that the body I was visiting could
be in danger.  Can't stay outside a mortal body very long or -"

Scully knew or what.

"Turns out that person did me a favor - started screaming
and that warned me the police had arrived.  The police might have
shot me-the body, I mean.  Can't hover very long.  And you can't
at all, Dana.  Not for years."

"I just want to defend myself," Scully said.  "No more -- incidents."

"Well, you've got some exercises to toughen up.  In a pinch
you could fly - provided you could apply pressure points and he
was a, well, suitable host.  I wouldn't try anything - or anyone
- ambitious just yet," Zelda said.  "Practice, Dana, practice.  If
you want to come with us, practice."

Scully stopped pacing and closed her eyes.  "I-It's a terrible
responsibility."

"You're still afraid of it."

"A healthy fear," Scully said.  "Mingled with a degree of disbelief."

Finally Zelda said, "There's something I haven't told you.
Something I've known for a long time.  I should take a third on
this next trip." 

Horrified Scully said, "Me?"

"Sure can't be Angela. We could do the job with two, but that would put
us -- and the men we've chosen to invade -- at risk. Bernice's solution
is to kill the third guard. I can't do that. Come with us, Dana."

"No." But she felt a tug, a pull on her to agree.
Intuition.  Aloud she said, "How is this going to help?"

Zelda shrugged.  Her legs swung back and forth on the bunk.

"About the split?"

"Oh yeah.  The families of the women in the pod - all 12 -
get some help from these robberies.  Besides the college fund,
Scott has a trust- so he won't be a financial burden to you."

Scully put her hands on Zelda's knees.  "I would never
consider your son a burden.  You have my promise.  I will keep him
safe until you come for him."

"You can't give your heart to him if you believe I'll come
and take him away," Zelda said.  "I won't come for him, Dana."

"Someday." Scully's hands gripped Zelda's knees.

"I said he was yours and that's what I meant.  You have
Yahweh's Hand on you.  I could see it when they brought you in.
On the day you know I've told you the truth, remember your
promise."

Scully began a thoughtful pacing of the cell.  Zelda
resumed swinging her legs back and forth and humming an absent-
minded tune.  Then she glanced at the clock in the corridor and
slipped off the bunk.  "Oops.  Time for my soap," she said.  "'Like
sands through an hourglass'.."

Scully bit her knuckle, lost in thought.  She was missing
something.  Something Mulder would see.  Something that Mulder
needed to know.

Gradually it dawned on Scully that what she wanted most, what
she valued most -- was the one thing she shouldn't have:
communication with Mulder.
***************
"I'm beat," Clare Otis said.  She dropped a pen on her desk
and rubbed her eyes.  "What did we see, half the population
today?"

Scully plopped down on a chair next to Dr. Otis.  "We've
got a possibly appendicitis -- and one tonsillitis I wouldn't
send back to the population just yet."

"Did you give the tonsillitis an antibiotic?"

"She needs one, but I have to have the key to the medicine cabinet," 
Scully said.  She watched carefully as Clare logged off her computer, 
unplugged the mouse and put it in the desk drawer.  Scully had been
observing Clare Otis log on and off for several days and now she 
thought she had the passwords and codes memorized.  "And you have to 
leave word that I'll have to give her another injection during early 
morning clinic."

"Okay.  Here." Clare tossed her the medicine cabinet keys.
She watched as Scully unlocked the door, selected the medicine
and stood back to allow Clare to see everything she was doing.
Clare seemed to appreciate that Scully honored the need for supervision 
and didn't make the situation too awkward.

Scully disappeared behind a curtain and presently emerged
with a used syringe and empty vial in her hand.  She tossed them
away and peeled off her latex gloves to dispose in the biohazard
waste bin where Clare could observe.  Seeing everything was in
order, Clare picked up her things and started to leave. 

Scully waited until Clare cleared the first door before she called,
"Dr. Otis.  Your keys."  She held them up.

Clare tossed her a key chain through the bars.  "Lock them
up in the desk drawer.  I'm running late."

Scully unlocked the drawer and hastily dropped the keys into the drawer.
Before she closed it she ran her hand over the drawer lock, stuffing it
with yellow gummy stic from her finger and preventing it from
catching when she closed it.  She walked the key chain to the doctor.

"Why aren't you tired?" Clare grunted as she accepted the
keys through the bars.  "Must be nice to be young."

"If it's alright, I'm going to check in on curtain four
once more.  I think she's more scared than sick, but--" Scully
said.

"I'll leave word.  Don't be too long," Dr. Otis said.  "Oh..
you won't be here tomorrow.  You have to go to Washington."  Clare
groaned.  "Amazing how quickly I got used to having you around.
See you in a few days.  Good luck."

"Thank you," Scully said.

It was a relatively simple matter to time the rotation of
the infirmary cameras, unlock the desk drawer and access the
computer.  When the camera swept the area the guard only observed
Scully next to the desk pouring over a chart.  He could not see
the mouse had been reattached and the monitor was on.  

Scully logged on with Dr. Otis' passwords and numbers, then signed 
Into her email account.  Hurriedly she wrote to Mulder: "12th to 23rd.
Lipscomb's Auction House.  Donaldson."

She had scarcely scrapped off the yellow gum from the lock
and secured the desk drawer when the night officer strolled
through the infirmary.

"Doc says you shouldn't stay late," he said.  His eyes
roved the office, clearly showing his distrust of Scully and his
belief that she shouldn't be here.  "What are you doing?"

"Charts," Scully said, swallowing hard.  Her heart raced.
"I had to finish them.  Who's checking on the patients tonight."

"I am.  There's a problem, you'll be the first to know.
Let's go," the officer said.

She hid the residue from the yellow gummy stic in her
palm.  Just before they left the infirmary the officer gave her a
perfunctory frisk and let her go.
***********************
A disinterested guard in a sweat-soaked blue uniform
helped Scully out of the prison van into the garage for the
Washington jail.  The stuffy burnt oil and trapped carbon
monoxide smell reminded her of the FBI parking garage the
morning Mulder left.

She'd been thinking about forests and wilderness training when she
walked in to work that day.  The day Skinner called her into his
office and suspended her.

Her feet were chained together; her sore wrists and
feet secured to her waist through a loop on her leather belt
restrain.  The belt around her waist was too tight and pressed
under her diaphragm, making it necessary for her to take small,
shallow breaths.  Scully mentioned it once to an apparently deaf
prison guard who was riding shotgun, then resigned herself to
suffer in silence.  

She paused after getting down from the van to
straighten the ankle chain.  Even so she would be ridiculous
hobbling along.  She did not dismiss this as procedure, instead
understood it as part of the continuing attack on her spirit.
She recalled with dismay how well it had worked earlier.

Before taking that first awkward step she felt a wave of heat as
though she stepped under a heating duct.  Searching for the source
she saw Mulder gazing down from the second floor observation room.

He was clenching his jaw, she could tell even from that
distance.  She stared at him a moment letting his open affection
wash through her, wishing he wouldn't watch, then walked
straight through the garage into the intake area.  Before the
door to the garage closed, she glanced up again; Mulder had
vanished.  She wondered if she ever really saw him or if the damn
belt so constricted her oxygen she hallucinated.

Mulder, are you here? Now?

"This way," said the guard behind her and nudged her to
the left. 

Scully's sudden look into the observation room sent Mulder
ducking behind a pillar.  He hadn't meant for her to see him, but
he wanted to catch a glimpse of her.  He wished he hadn't.  It
maddened him for her to be weighted down, chained like that.
Even worse, he felt tears of angry frustration rise in him that
he could not burden her with.  Her upturned face, searching the
garage, then the room for him, looked the same.  She seemed
better.  Mulder straightened his suit jacket and left for the second
floor men's room.

Scully sat in first floor receiving for almost an hour, presenting
the very picture of forbearance she did not feel.  She watched the
marshals, jailers, and sheriffs shuffle paper, process other
prisoners, and drink coffee.  She presumed she was waiting to be
called to reception, to the room where inmates could have visitors.
The summons never came.  She was almost relieved.  It would be very
difficult to speak to Mulder of mundane things right now.

She let her mind wander.  Hers would be the first hearing on the
docket the next morning.  She would wear her own clothes.  Silk
blouse, stockings, heels.  Amazing that such a thing could
lift her spirits.  Wearing the clothes of a free woman, the person she
was inside, in her head.  She decided to practice what Zelda had taught
her and discovered her cellmate was right: it was hard to learn but 
easy to forget.
*********************
The conference room Scully had been led to by the court officer
seemed out of the way.  But it was large.  Huge, in fact, compared to
other lawyer/client cubbyholes she'd passed as a marshal led her down
the hall.

The federal marshal left her alone to wander around the room for a
moment, gaze out the large window cover with a heavy mesh screen,
touch the old wooden chairs.  The room had no pictures or posters;
the only thing worth looking at was the intricate design in the
oversized ornate heating vent in the wall overhead.

But, the room had been painted recently, Scully gave them points 
for that.  Still, there was a musty odor that hung in the air.  She
walked around idly,listening to the rats scratching in the walls and
vents, appreciating the feel of hose, heels, a skirt and blouse.  
Comfortable,businesslike clothes that hung loosely on her but suited 
Scully, fit her mood.

Except for the handcuffs around her wrists she would almost imagine
herself waiting to interview a suspect herself.  She expected Byron
Waters any moment and began reviewing the list of things she wanted
him to relay to Mulder.  

So it surprised her to find Henry J.Donaldson standing in the 
doorway with the marshal.  His briefcase
dangled by one finger; he held nothing else in his hands.  He
regarded her as he would an old, trusted friend.

"There you are! What are you doing up here?" Donaldson
turned to the marshal.  "I have to speak with this prisoner
alone."

"Sorry, Mr.  Donaldson.." the marshal began.

"Don't worry, John.  I'll take full responsibility."

Scully stood motionless.

"Thank you, John."

The marshal sighed and left the room with a glance back at
Scully.

She waited until the door closed before she said, "You've
made them all think I'm an axe-murderer."

"How do you know you're not?" Donaldson said.

"Sir?"

He gave her a pleasant smile.  "Please.." He pulled out a
chair and motioned for her to sit down.  

She approached warily, but took the seat he offered.  He 
leaned against the arm to regard her.  "I understand you've
had a bad time of it.  I'm sorry.  However, your service is of 
the highest caliber.  Rest assured you, Agent Mulder and the 
X-Files will work unmolested, under the protection of the 
Attorney General's office from now on."

"Yes sir," Scully said.

"So, I take it you've had some luck, then? What is the next target?"

Scully's face grew hard.  "I'd like to know something."

Irritation flitted across Donaldson's face.  "Certainly."

"What happened to Zelda Deschamp's mother?"

Donaldson grabbed her arm at the elbow and she felt his
thumb pressing in on her.  "Dana, that is not your errand," he
said.  She felt the tension go out of her limbs.  She relaxed,
then caught just the merest hint of something - cruelty, panic,
self-satisfaction, pity -- behind those green eyes.  "Dana
Scully, you have an errand to run."

She tried to push out of the chair.  Her arms and legs refused to 
move.  She closed her eyes and began the defensive exercise Zelda 
taught her, hoping she was not too late. The pull of his voice and 
her conditioned response dragged on her ability to focus.

"Open your eyes, Dana."

They fluttered without her consent.  His voice came now
from far away, wreathed in a bright, greenish light.  He repeated
her name over and over and she fought to keep from succumbing.

"I'll take your oral report, Agent Scully."

"Yes sir."

"I congratulate you on your success.  The next target?"

She told him everything - time, date, place, people-- hearing the words 
come from a place deep within her mind.  She concentrated on releasing 
the fear, the hate, the dread.

"Agent Scully, your mission is almost complete.  Your service is 
appreciated.  As before, you will not recall this conversation."

"Yes...sir." The words stumbled out of her mouth.

Scully fixed on Mulder.  She visualized his face, the touch
of his hand on her shoulder, the crinkles along his cheeks when
he grinned.  She remembered his habit of chewing sunflower seeds,
his boyish grin, his 2 a.m. telephone calls that woke her from a
sound sleep and propelled her out of her world and into his.

"Do you understand, Agent Scully?"

"Sir.."

"You will wipe this all from your memory.  Tell me you
understand your instructions."

"I understand..."

She focused on her mother: the texture of her hair against
Scully's face when they hugged; the laughter when wind whipped
it out of her mouth in winter; her quiet resolve that brooked no
disagreement; her sweeping devotion to her daughter.  Scully
would want to know what happened to her mother.  She had to ask
something.  For her mother, no, Zelda's mother.  For Zelda.

"Sgt. Amelia Peterson -- what happened to her?"  The droning
repetition of her name faltered.  "Zelda is still searching."
Donaldson gave a horrified, high-pitched squeal and backed
into the conference table.  He doubled up as though stricken with
severe abdominal pains and collapsed across the table, groaning.

He uttered a few moans of agony, fell into silence, then picked
up a stammering chant of Scully's name again.

"No-" Scully's eyes closed, gray clouds in pillowing puffs
closed again.  From somewhere door hinges screamed.

"Are you alright?" Donaldson said as the marshal swung the
door open.

Waters stormed in behind him, his face a bright red.
"What's going on here?" Waters said.  "Just what the hell is
going on?"  He stared at Donaldson, then Scully.  "You okay, Miss
Scully?"

"She looks sick," the marshal said.

Waters flung his arms out in exasperation.  "I repeat --
what the hell is going on here?  Why is this man even in the same
room with my client?"

Donaldson waved his hand as if it were of no importance.
"She said - she said she had information for me that could be
vital in stopping a planned robbery of a federal facility.  On
behalf of the prosecutor I came to offer a reduced sentence in
return for this information.  I-I realize I was out of line
speaking to her without her attorney, but as she used to be law
enforcement..."

"You bastard!" Scully breathed.  Her nausea and headache
nearly made it impossible to speak.  She opened her eyes, fixed
on a spot in the ceiling and began the mental gymnastics of
thought and form that Zelda explained.

"I don't believe the government should oppose an insanity
defense, Mr.  Waters.  I find your client seriously disturbed!"

"I think that's enough, Mr.  Donaldson," Waters said.  "Your
actions thus far are grounds for censure - or even disbarment."

"I'm not worried.  But if you want to talk deal, let's
talk."

"Let's," said Scully, head swimming.  "Vacate the plea.  I
want a trial on the original charges and an immediate bail
hearing."

Even Waters regarded her as insane.

"Ah, Dana," he began.

She stood, leaning on the table as close as she could get
to him.  She bore into his eyes with her own.  "Let me go, Mr.
Donaldson.  Now.  Tonight," she said.

A sheen of perspiration appeared on Donaldson's forehead
and upper lip.

He swung his attention to Waters with a see-what-I-mean
express on his face.  "Down the hall for a moment," Donaldson
said.  "I took a chance, a big chance that might cost me my job.
It-it, well, let me explain."

"Step outside, Mr.  Donaldson.  Let me make certain my
client is okay."

Donaldson nodded to the marshal and they left.

Waters threw his briefcase on the table, snapped it open
and pulled out a white handkerchief.  He handed it to Scully and
said, "In case you sneeze or need it for something else.  This
room is, well, it's drafty."

"Thank you," she said.

"Can you stand alone?"
She nodded, her breathing coming easier now and without
headache or nausea.  She felt better.

"You'll need it if you stand near drafty vents," Waters
said.  "I'll be right back - as soon as I deal with Mr. Donaldson
and I want a full report on what he said to you."

Scully nodded, following his eyes as he stared at the
heating vent in the far corner of the room.

"I think you'll want to read some of these motions before
I file them.  I'll be back in, oh, six minutes," he said and
swung his wrist up to check his watch.

She stared at the door after he closed it behind him.  What
had happened?  Donaldson could do what Zelda did.  That much was
clear to her now.  Her stomach rolled and her head rumbled.

Scully stumbled over to the heating vent and sat down
under it.  And Zelda or Zelda's mother's name caused a big
reaction in Donaldson - had it or was that a dream? The marshal
came back in to monitor her.

"You okay? You look real pale," the marshal said.  "You
want a drink?"

She nodded and put the handkerchief to her nose and mouth.
The marshal handed her some water and that's when she heard the
unmistakable thunk of the vent cover hitting the carpeted floor.
She poured water into the handkerchief, dropped the glass,
grabbed a breath and pressed the wet cloth to her face.

Mulder.

The marshal drew his weapon and looked up as a gas
canister and fell onto the carpet.  It was the last thing the
marshal saw before he collapsed.

Scully stood on a chair, dropped the handkerchief and made
a jump for the lip of the vent.  She caught the lower rim.  Her
hold slipped just as two familiar hands grabbed her. The cuffs pulled
and tore at her wrists. The residue of the gas and bungled mind-meld
left Scully disoriented; the world spun.

Lying on his belly, arms outstretched, Mulder hooked his
foot around the corner of the shaft for leverage and yanked her
into the vent.  Once she was inside he unhooked a mask off his
belt and shoved it toward her.  She slapped it over her mouth and
began to breathe sweet oxygen.  Mulder's eyes came into focus.
She wanted to smile. He banged an elbow getting the handcuff keys 
out of his jumpsuit pocket.

Mulder inched backwards into the main line of the vent
shaft and she followed.  The strain of their locomotion against
the metal made the vents echo a plong, blonge noise.  After the
first short branch, they made better time - it was downhill.
Scully crawled after him on her stomach, propelled by
gravity and her elbows and knees.  

Mulder turned another corner and she started after him, but he 
stopped her and indicated another branch.  She nodded to show 
she understood.  She could see crinkles around the mouthpiece of 
his mask and understood he was smiling.  She crawled away down 
the opposite shaft, flushed and breathing heavily.  She didn't 
have far to go.  The second vent cover she encountered had been 
loosened.  She began to climb out.

"Agent Scully!"