(Headers and disclaimer on Chapter One)

Prison of Innocents Chapter 2 of 20 


Scully knew she'd been drugged.  Her eyes burned blurry and
her limbs seemed disjointed, like they didn't belong to her.  Her
mouth tasted like burnt leather.  She wasn't frightened; she knew
she was in a safe place, but there was an annoying chirp in the
air.

Her alarm sounded far away and -only it wasn't the alarm,
it was her cell phone.  "Where are you?" It was Ichabod - no, a
man who looked like Ichabod Crane.  Her attorney.  Waters.  Her
attorney's name was Bobby Waters.  No, Byron Waters.

Her head ached and her dry mouth creaked when she spoke.
"Overslept." It was a lie.  She'd been drugged.  She couldn't tell
him that.  He wouldn't believe her and her credibility would
suffer with one of the few people in the world who still thought
she had any.  Yet the unmistakable signs of it dragged on her
body. 

It dawned on her she wasn't in her own bed.  She was in
Mulder's.  She lay naked in Mulder's bed.

She sat up, brushed the hair from her face and tried to
remember how she got here.  The more she tried to recall last
night's events the sicker she became.  An image of Walter Skinner
flashed through her mind.  Beyond that she couldn't imagine nor
did she have time to think before nausea ripped through her.

She barely made it to the bathroom.  She hadn't eaten much yesterday
and the greenish bile that came up was acrid.  Her stomach heaved
again.  She finally collapsed on cool tile under the sink and
opened her swollen eyes.  She realized from what she saw that
she'd vomited before in this bathroom, on her clothes.

She had to brush her teeth; she needed a drink of water.
Struggling to her feet Scully splashed water on her face and
flung open the medicine cabinet to see if Mulder kept aspirin,
an extra toothbrush.  Only aspirin - she took several - and a
dried up tube of toothpaste.  Her head felt ready to explode out
the front of her eyes.  She had to content herself with putting
crusty toothpaste on her finger.  Scully looked at it with
distaste, stuck it in her mouth to rub her teeth and tongue
vigorously.

She splashed her face over and over.  The cool water felt
good on her hot face and it fell across her neck and chest,
spilling down onto the floor.  She frowned, noticing small bruise
on the left side of her abdomen.  From? She couldn't think.
Scully grabbed a towel lying over the side of the tub.  The towel
smelled faintly of Mulder.  She buried her face in the towel and
rubbed hard.  She missed him so much her skin hurt.  Mulder.  She'd
gone looking for him last night.

No, not him.  Someone else.  She had gone looking for someone to find 
Mulder.  That could only be Skinner.  Had she arrived at his apartment? 
She must have.  She noticed another mystery bruise on the inside of her 
right arm.  It didn't look like a needle mark.  It looked more like a
thumb print.

She staggered in her efforts to turn her body this way and that in a 
search for needle entry.  Scully couldn't remember how she came by that 
bruise or the one on her abdomen.  Her mind refused to focus.  Ideas 
and random images bounced off her head like rapid-fire laser lights.

Only one notion remained constant.  Drugs.  Skinner.  A seething
fury began in her toes, burned its way through her loins into her
chest and incinerated the cobwebs in her head.

She wiped off the dark skirt of her suit and examined the
blouse.  Beyond immediate repair, she could see.  She tried on the
jacket without a blouse and decided it would pass if she kept it
buttoned.  Her pantyhose was still in one piece, thank God, but
she'd thrown up on her shoes.  She washed them off in the
bathroom sink, and pulled them on her feet as she waited for the
elevator.

She would kill Walter Skinner.  She would rip him apart
with her bare hands and once they heard the facts no jury of her
peers would convict her.  They might even canonize her.

Where the hell was her weapon? She didn't have one.  Skinner took
it.  That's why she was meeting with Ichabod - no, Waters.  Skinner
took her gun and her badge.  She would kill Skinner.  Saint Dana
of Washington.  It had a ring to it.
*********
"This is what angels look like," one of the survivalists
shouted to Mulder.  The Army helicopter began its descend to the
rendezvous site in the clearing beside them.  He clapped Mulder's
shoulder.  "Hell, I hope not," the man from the Dallas field office,
drawled.  "I had something a little-softer in mind." And he
illustrated with the wave of his hands.  All the men laughed.

Mulder wondered if they were half as anxious
to get out of the woods as he was.  What had he learned
from his month in the wilderness-that he hated eating tree bark?
That your partner could be trusted to haul your ass out of
trouble? That keeping your powder dry was good advice? He
already knew all that.  So he'd learned nothing.  One of the men
punched him in the side.  It had served to reminded of what it was
like to feel accepted.

He'd known that once, but he'd lost it in the many
years after "Spooky" Mulder had been born.  He appreciated the
camaraderie of his survival school buddies and found himself
enjoying their company.  They talked of football, baseball,
women, their partners, their jobs.  He hadn't done that in a long
time.  They liked and respected him now.  In a month these men
would probably laugh at any Mulder or X-Files jokes they heard.

They listened politely around camp and a few even seemed to
think his work was worthwhile.  The Texan in particular asked
intelligent questions.  Still, he knew the agents did not
understand how tightly his life and his self-worth remained tied to
the X-Files.  No one did.

Correction, he thought.  One person understood.  Mulder
wondered what had happened in the basement while he was gone.
Idly he speculated on how Scully would handle any anomalies that
might have filtered down the stairs.  He was amused to find he
had no idea - she was constantly surprising him. 

Mulder grinned.  He'd turn up the heat a little.  It was time. 
Somehow he didn't think it would surprise her.

The men climbed aboard the helicopter for the ride to base
full of good spirits and fell silent as the bird lifted off,
each anticipating his return home.  The married ones smiled, the
single ones grinned.  Mulder floundered in the middle.  "How are
the Yankees?" he shouted at the pilot.  The man gave the thumbs
down signal and that broke the tension - the trainees began to
whoop and stomp, reveling in their survival, their freedom.

"Agent Mulder?" A corporal holding his cap down on his
head took Mulder's arm the minute he alighted from the chopper.
The corporal guided Mulder toward the military airport terminal.
When he could speak in a normal tone the soldier said: "I've got
orders to wrap you in cotton and bring you to Washington."

Mulder understood.  He wasn't to communicate with anyone
but this soldier or have contact with the outside world until he
landed in Washington where, presumably, someone would pick him
up with further orders.  "Corporal, could you send someone to the
PX for me? I promise to stand in the shower for the next two
hours."  

The soldier, who'd been downwind of Mulder, grinned.
"Yes sir, I believe you.  What do you need?"

After he told the corporal what he wanted, Mulder smiled
with the first anticipation of his homecoming reception.
He was, therefore, bitterly disappointed and somewhat
embarrassed to find Skinner instead of Scully at the base
airport when he arrived.

He felt ridiculous carrying a fuzzy brown bear under his arm. 
He tried to hide it with his duffel bag.  Skinner gave no sign
that he noticed.  He merely ordered Mulder into the car.

"How was the trip?" Skinner said, nodding to the soldier
who waved them off the base.

"I am tired of picking leaves out of my shorts if that's
what you mean," Mulder said.

Skinner's smile was small and vanished quickly.  They drove
on in silence until Mulder said: "Why the secrecy?"

"We have a situation." Skinner reached onto the seat and
put a thick envelope in Mulder's lap.

Mulder took the envelope.  "What's this?"

"Came up while you were gone." Skinner focused on the
road.

"What's the mystery?" He pulled out the case file and
laughed.  "The names, dates, places are all blacked out," he
said.  "Are you joking?"

"It pertains to a law enforcement officer.  I wanted your
take without any prejudice."

"Do I know this guy?"

"Read the file."

Mulder read.  Finally, he said, "Okay.  Who is this? The
only mystery I see is why this man isn't in custody.
Circumstantial evidence alone it's a slam-dunk embezzlement,
dead to rights on the grand larceny, and little iffy conspiracy.
Is that what you wanted to know?"

"There's been an arrest.  It's not that simple," Skinner
said.

"It looks that simple.  Not an X-File."

"You of all people should know that things aren't always
what they seem."

"This is one for the Stupid Criminals Hall of Fame," he
said and dropped the file on his lap.

"There's another case.  I suspect you'll find this one more
challenging."

"You don't waste any time, do you," Mulder said.  "I still
have dirty socks in my bag."

"I can't wait for you to do your laundry, Agent Mulder.
I'm short-handed," Skinner said.

Skinner was right.  This case was more challenging.  It was
a bank robbery that he'd read about the morning he left, the one
Scully said would be cleared by the time he got back.  The most
interesting aspects of the case were the statements of the two
witnesses: bank guard Charlie Duncan, the victim, and his former
partner Andy Paige, the accused in the robbery.  None of the
stolen bonds recovered, ghostly women, millions of dollars.
Mulder lost his place.  His eyes drooped from jet lag and
exhaustion.

"I know what Scully says- that the guard shot his partner,
what are we doing on this case, no such thing as ghosts-" Mulder
said.

"Safe to say she doesn't care," Skinner said finally.

Mulder leaned back in the passenger seat, yawned again,
and scratched his stomach.  It felt so good to be clean and full
of red meat.  He fantasized about soft pillows, clean sheets,
Scully, a hot meal, and a 24-hour nap - not necessarily in that
order.  He smiled to think how domesticated he'd become - sheets
wouldn't have occurred to him a few years ago.  A bed didn't
occur to him.  That was her doing.  Before he even realized she'd
done it.  He wondered idly what other cases they had pending,
then considered how little he cared about the answer.  He didn't
care about the files that lay in his lap.  Mulder hardly
recognized himself.  Had to be all that fresh air, he thought.
*****************
When Skinner pulled up in front of Mulder's apartment he
looked up to see a light burning there.  He wanted to say
something, knew he should.  He couldn't.  Initially he felt he
should be the one to tell Mulder about Scully.  He intended to
tell him what he could until he saw the bear.  Scully was right.
Mulder would never believe her guilty.

Skinner knew what Mulder been like before he partnered
with Scully.  He had a feeling that things would be infinitely
worse for a while and he wondered for a moment if Mulder would
even be salvageable.  Skinner had done his best for the man - and
for Scully too, though they might never believe it.  Now it was
up to them.

"I'll remember what you said about this first case,"
Skinner said.  "Keep the files.  Bring them in tomorrow.  Take your
time coming in."

Skinner had to proceed very slowly.

What he really wanted to do was twist Henry Donaldson's neck off his
shoulders.  Why hadn't the man stayed dead? He thought when Donaldson, 
his aide, and his jeep driver disappeared across the Cambodian border 
that was the last anyone would see of him.  And for two years they were
right.  But Donaldson came back - drifting down the Mekong River
in the bottom of a boat to safety.  Now 30 years later he shows
up on the Attorney General's staff.  Skinner's boss again.

Skinner peeled away from the Mulder's curb like a teenager.
****************
Mulder stood at the curb with a small smile and tightened his
grip his duffel.  He took the front stairs of his building two
at a time.  Slipping the duffel bag onto his shoulder he had a smile
on his face that didn't show his teeth, but his anticipation shone
through.

Scully stood at the window overlooking the street; the only light
in the apartment was a desk lamp that had no bulb in it when he
left a month ago.  She had, in fact, been sitting in his
apartment, staring into his fish tank and thinking since an
afternoon visit with her mother.  She listened there to the
silence, the creak of the boards, the slamming of doors in the hall,
and one telephone call.  She let the answering machine pick it up.
It was a man with a Southern accent in an airport or other public
place.

"Mulder? It's Dallas.  Ah, listen, I'm here with some of the other
guys - just heard about your partner.  It's been all over the
news.  Anything we can do, uh, call-Uh-h, bye." Sounded like
Mulder made some friends.  She couldn't say the same.

When she heard a car pull up and a door slam in the street below
her heart jumped.  She instinctively knew Mulder was home.  She
watched him alight from the car with a spring in his step.  He
hadn't called from the airport, hadn't called when he got back
from training.

Skinner drove him straight home, no stops at the
office or her apartment.  Glad to be back too, she thought, and
followed his leap up the front stairs.  What's going on, Mulder?
*****************************
He dropped the duffel just inside the door.

"Scully?" Half-hidden in the shadows, he could only see
she wore dark slacks and a light shirt - and wore them well.  Her
fingers played with the cross on her neck as she did when she
was nervous or thinking.  He was a little on edge himself.

"Home is the hunter.  Thought you might like to see the bear that
wandered into camp." He handed her the stuffed toy.

Scully examined the bear at arm's length.  "Hm-m.  No
external injuries." She came into the full light and the sight
jolted him back a half step.  She looked ravaged: 
thin, sunken dark circles around her eyes, pale, high cheekbones.  
His stomach hit bottom first then he thought: cancer.  

"You look-fit," she said.  "Forest air must agree with you." 

Her gaze wandered to the files under his arm and her lips parted 
slightly in dismay.   Mulder followed her eyes and he knew.

All of it made sense now --the training, the special ride home,
the blacked out file on the corrupt officer.  They were after Scully.

He cursed himself for a fool and threw the folders across the room.
He lost his focus for one minute, relaxed for one second, and they 
had gone for his jugular. 

The papers made a series of fluttery noises in
the silence and scattered across the floor.  He wanted to take
her in his arms and tell her over and over how sorry he was,
that he didn't know.  His muscles ached he wanted it so badly.
She looked to be hanging on by her last thread of dignity.  The
comfort and reassurance he wanted to bring would only please him
and break her.

So he didn't move.  He stood there clenching his teeth, seething. 
"What's going on?"

Her shoulders lifted and fell.  "Anything they want,
apparently." Her voice sounded strong.  She appeared to be all
business; the bear caught in the crook of her arm was an
incongruity.

"As you probably read, I've been arrested on
charges of grand larceny, embezzlement, and conspiracy.
Signatures forged.  Witnesses bought and paid for.  Since leaving
the bureau I've been working with a private investigator to
crack some of their stories.  He's thorough, but not imaginative.
My brother Bill's choice." She smiled without mirth.

"Langly coaxed some words off a sheet of 24 pound, all cotton fiber
official government stationary that you'll find interesting.  And
there's a blank VHS tape.  Messenger service delivered it to
Frohike from me.  I don't remember sending it.  Messenger's gone."

For the first time she seemed to notice the bear in her arm.  "Not
much, actually." The fish tank air filter gurgled in the stillness.

Her control slipped a little and Mulder couldn't be sure if she
was talking to him or the bear.  "I always thought justice moved
slowly.  On the other side, it moves fast, very fast."

"Why didn't you find me?"

"Byers and Frohike flew to Seattle and spent a few days
hiking around.."

"We were in deep.  We even got lost - a first in that
program by the way," he said.

 "No convenience stores to consult?" A flash of the old
Scully blazed by, flickered, and went out.

"Skinner could reach me."

"He's protecting you."

"I don't need anyone protecting me from you-" Mulder
kicked his duffel bag across the floor with a vicious grunt. "-or
anything about you."

The bag twirled across the wood floor; his words spun in
the air.

Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound.

He sighed, looked to the ceiling for inspiration.  "Sorry.  I'm 
sorry - never there when you need me."

She laid a hand lightly on his arm.  After a few deep breaths he 
covered it with his own.  He grasped the bear's ears, eased it out 
of her arms and tossed it on the couch. "That's supposed to be a 
souvenir, not a substitute," he said, pulling her into a hug.

Scully slipped her hands around his waist and laid her head
against his chest.  He could hear what he knew must be the hallmarks of 
this ordeal-- emptiness relieved only by sweaty outbreaks of blinding panic 
- ease out of her in a long, low sigh.  His body close to hers felt solid, safe.

"We've been in worse places." His voice resonated through his chest. 

"Lackluster, Wyoming comes to mind," she said.

"Frayser, Minnesota."

"Rabbit Hutch, Ky."

"Oh, yeah, a lot worse places," Mulder said.  He drew her
down beside him on the couch and waited.  They sat in identical
poses, hands folded, touching knees, touching shoulders.  She
told him what she knew, what she suspected - but he wondered if she 
could bring herself to say the worst of what she feared.

"I seemed to have lost time again," she said.

"Sounds like a normal reaction," he said.  When she didn't
say anything, he added: "It's not an alien quickie.  That would
be my last thought."

"That was my first," she said.

"Scully!"

She surrendered her first real smile.  "Until the a few days ago I 
wasn't sure.  Then I knew.  They drugged me.  Two weeks after all this 
started.  I was sick.  I attacked Skinner the next day..at a hearing.
I accused him-nearly assaulted him.  I don't know why.  I must have 
had a reason."

"Skinner's not the bad guy," Mulder said.

"I'm inclined to agree.  How can you be sure? You're always
so sure of him."

"It's logical."

"Logical?" One of her eyebrows shot up.

"Skinner has nothing to gain and everything to lose by
all this."

"I thought so too, at first."

"He put me on the case, and he may have pointed me in the
right direction." Mulder said.  Scully looked confused.  Mulder
nodded toward the scattered papers.  "That's not just your file.
It's that bank robbery.  The suspect says he is possessed by-"

Scully groaned.

"-Skinner must think they're related," Mulder finished.

"That case -that's diversion," she said. "It's nothing." 

His pulse picked up -- his body's unconscious testimony that it wasn't 
nothing.  He decided to drop it and come back later.  "You said you
were missing time.  Those blank times..do you think you were
hypnotized?"

"I believe we've been through the question of hypnotism before. 
I can't --" 

"--because a post-hypnotic suggestion could lead to-"

"Successful hypnosis is voluntary process," Scully said sharply.  "Nobody 
can hypnotize you against your will.  And before you say it, no one
can give you a post-hypnotic suggestion that compels you to do
anything against your nature.  I can promise you that prison is
against my nature."

"Psychosis-inducing drugs?"

"That's what I suspect.  I'm having trouble identifying it.
There are some, not many that can be ingested without taste.  Of
those, fewer still that produce these symptoms.  There are no
needle marks -- that I can find."

"Did you do a full drug screen right after these..episodes?
Blood work? Urine test?"

"My attorney discouraged it," she said.

"So what did you find?"

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.  "Nothing.  All
the tests returned as expected.  I even did a hormone test and
all that showed were markedly increased levels of testosterone.
That worried me at first.  But as it developed, it was nothing.  I
did a re-test a few days ago and all hormone levels were back to
normal."  She smiled to herself, then at him in a curious manner.   

"Scully?"

"There would have to be way of administering these drugs
that I wouldn't notice-or recall.  How is that possible?"

Mulder grinned.  "You attacked Skinner? Leave any marks?"

She rolled her eyes.  She turned to him and he realized they were so close
her nose was almost touching his face. He should have moved away; she
should have. He was clean-shaven. She leaned over just a little closer 
and touched his cheek as though inspecting the sharpness of his razor.  
His mouth nearly watered at what - logically - came next.  She dropped her 
eyes and rubbed her lips.  Now she looked embarrassed.  Scully would. Hormones
or not, it would rankle her to appear as randy as an adolescent in heat. 
Her cheeks colored as evidence of Mulder's theory.

Mulder put the bear in her lap.  "Hey, don't worry."

"I've assembled what I've got in files on the desk.  I
don't know what Skinner gave you.." She glanced at the scattered
papers across the room.

"Ideas mostly," Mulder said.

"You haven't said a word about demonic possession, body
snatching, doppelgangers, transcendental states, or the
possibility that I'm guilty of these charges."

"Some ideas are so far-fetched they aren't worth
discussing."  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and nodded.

Mulder thought he saw a genuine smile waiting to break out.  His
fingers under her chin turned her face up to him to be sure.  Her
eyes shone, then faded into something dusky and sensual.  Mulder
had the distinct impression he was about to get luckier than a
man deserved.

Scully's lips closed on his and her fingers slid between
the buttons of his shirt.  Mulder moved to bring her closer, but
the bear lay wedged between them.  Scully didn't notice; she
appeared too preoccupied with his lips, his teeth, and his
tongue.  Her other hand wandered up his back, a fingertip teased
his spine.  Mulder's entire body sprang to life.

"I did miss you."   

"I noticed," he said, bending to take her mouth again. 

"I have to go." One minute she was afire in his arms, the
next she was gone.  "I have an errand to run." She strode to the
door and paused long enough to fling back: "Welcome home,
Mulder."

He sat on the couch stunned. Smooth line -"I noticed".  He 
nearly smacked himself in the head.  He couldn't have handled that 
worse.  The brown bear beside him agreed.  "Shut up!" Mulder growled.  
He slumped back on the couch into something hard.  He'd
stabbed himself in the ass with the corner of one of Scully's
medical school textbooks.  When he flung it on the floor, several note
cards fell out.
***********************
Odd pieces of paper floated off the bed.  Mulder lay
squirming uncomfortably between the sheets.  He wasn't enjoying the
comforts of a civilized bed as much as he expected.  He had, in
fact, just finished going over the material scattered across his
apartment when he heard a scrapping noise outside.  It didn't
recur so he dismissed it and tucked the bear under the
sheets next to him as an afterthought.

Scully generated a lot of paperwork - she appeared to have written 
down everything she saw or heard in the month-long course of her 
investigation.  Her attention to detail was, as always, impressive 
and this time, excessive.  He saw a connection immediately between 
what was happening with Scully and the ghost in the bank guard's story.
He wondered why she hadn't mentioned it.  Surely Scully would
notice the same thing he did --unless she hadn't seen the second
file.  Or, unless her mental state had been compromised.

He didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking.  He had just
made a grab for another pillow on the bed when he heard the
apartment lock catch with a sharp click.  It was after midnight.

Mulder only had time to register a faint perfume on the
pillow in his hand when the intruder propelled him into action.
He pushed back the covers and grabbed the gun on the nightstand.
In the living room he heard rustling, a crack at the coffee
table, followed by a sharp "shit!".  He eased cautiously to the
bedroom door and peered into the dark.  His eyes took a moment to
adjust.

"Scully?"