See part one for headers.
See http://www.wonderhorse.net/authorspgs/fran58/stories.htm
for previous parts.

Achilles' Heel
Part Seven
fran58@wonderhorse.net
Mulder slept.

A hazy half-dream flitted across his mind.  Sunny days
disappearing into rain, rain transforming into frogs.  Black
umbrellas, long trench coats, false memories.  A warm hand on
his arm, the smell of clean skin and the sound of a voice pitched
low.  

Mulder drowsed.

Abruptly, he was jostled.  His world lurched.  The sound of
crunching gravel filled Mulder's ears.  He cracked an eye open. 
"What's going on?"

Mulder felt a sudden cold breeze and Marsh leaned over him
shaking his head.  "Should've stayed asleep, Mulder.  This would
have been easier."

There was a pinch to his left arm and the spiny pain of a
hypodermic needle piercing his skin.  Mulder tried to sit up, only
to be pushed down by Marsh.

Mulder shook his dazed head once, trying to assimilate what
had just happened then slumped back into the corner.  He could
feel Marsh hover, then mumble, "Good."

The car swayed and began moving again.  The sound of tires
on concrete played on Mulder's brain, dragging him into an
uneasy sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

A blast of cold hit Mulder in the face.  With effort, he opened
his eyes.  They had stopped again.  The driver's door was ajar
and Marsh was gone.  Mulder reached for the back of the
passenger seat and, wincing, hauled himself upright, trying to
piece together what had happened.  It came back to him in
disjointed images.  Pulling off the road, Marsh leaning over
him, syringe hanging from his hand.

Mulder groggily looked around.  A gas station.  The van he was in 
was parked at a haphazard angle to a bank of gas pumps. 
Mulder doubted that a nozzle and hose would reach the car. 
Not refueling then.  Mulder carefully turned his head.  Marsh
was headed into the convenience store.

Mulder moved slowly, testing his arms and legs.  He glanced
down.  He was dressed in his street clothes.  The ones he had
worn to the hospital.  Easier to explain a passed out buddy than a
man in a hospital gown. 

Mulder turned his attention back to the van's door and to the gas
pump beyond.  It was a chance.  Shaking, he crawled heavily
over into the driver's seat, opened the door and toppled out onto
the asphalt.  He would be partially hidden from anyone in the
brightly lit store. 
 
Mulder fumbled for his wallet with leaden, uncooperative fingers. 
After a millennium, he located a credit card.  Struggling to his
knees, he slid the card through the automatic card swipe on
the closest pump.  A wave of dizziness swept over him.  He
grasped the side of the van for support.  Almost done, he
told himself.  With effort wedged the credit card into a crack
between the gas pump and the pavement that surrounded it.  

Now, all he needed to do was to crawl back into the van before
Marsh noticed him laying on the ground.  Piece of cake.  He
wished he had the time to rest.  Woozy and tired, Mulder
maneuvered himself back into the car.

He had another full minute before Marsh returned.  Thank
God for small favors, he thought, and sank into nothingness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time used to be something she employed to mark her day, to
measure her world, to savor, if she got the chance.  Now time,
was a reminder of how much she had failed, a reminder of lost 
opportunities.  If she could, Scully would gather the weeks and
days of the last few months in her hands and reassemble their
order, change their properties.  Oh, to be able to stretch one
portion out or to condense another.  If she could stir the hours
and minutes together, tweak a second or two, maybe her world
would have remained intact.

There was a sound at the door.  She turned to stare at it, the
slowly moved across the expanse of her apartment.  She
opened the door to Ritter's eager face.  "Any news on Mulder?"
he asked, closing the door to her apartment behind him.

Scully shook her head and continued to pace.  She and Ritter
had done what they could.  It was late, almost midnight, but
Scully found it hard to remain still.  Nervous energy coursed
through her arms and legs

She moved anxiously to the kitchen and reached for the tea
kettle.

"Would you like something?  Tea or coffee?"  She looked over
her shoulder to where Peyton stood, still near the door.

Ritter walked her to the kitchen and laid a warm hand on her
arm, stilling her.  "Dana.  Come and sit down.  Getting worked
up isn't going to help.  You know it isn't."

Scully sighed.  "I know, but I can't seem to slow down."

"Come on," Ritter tugged on her hand and led her to the couch
and pulled her down.  "Are you hungry?  We could get some
pizza, or carry-out.  I'll even go get it."

"No, thanks, Peyton.  I don't think I could eat anything."

Peyton nodded, leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at
the floor.  "Dana, I know you two were close."  He risked a
glance at her profile.  "But, are you sure pursuing Mulder at this
point is the best thing to do?"

Scully was curled in the corner of the couch.  She sighed and
closed her eyes.  "I know what you're thinking.  I've thought it
myself.  Wondered if I was overreacting, and I've tried to step
back, to look at the situation objectively."  She shook her head. 
"We know now that Mulder was being drugged, and I can't help
but feel that his disappearance... it's not right.  It doesn't feel
right."

Ritter reached over and squeezed her hand.  "Okay.  We'll
keep looking then."  He looked at her earnestly  "I can do this for
you."

Scully's breath came out in soft puffs.  She could feel the night
wrap around her, a murky cocoon.  She stirred and leaned
infinitesimally closer to the man opposite her.

"Peyton, you know that you may be fighting for a lost cause
here, don't you?" She paused, looked down at her hands
twisted in her lap, then up again at Ritter.  "I'm not talking
about Mulder."

Peyton moved his hand up her arm and played with a lock of
her hair.  His eyes held immeasurable longings she didn't want
to see, but couldn't turn away from.  "Yeah," he said.  "I know."

She felt possibilities collide with probability, and abstraction
become potential.
		
~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder shivered and rolled into a tight ball.  He was covered in
sweat and shaking.  His mouth was dry again.  It was too dark
to see much.  If he'd had the energy, he would have cried or
screamed.  He found one of his wrists was handcuffed to the
headboard of the bed he lay on.  With his free hand, he
searched for something with which to cover himself.  His fingers
touched a length of fuzzy material.  A thin blanket lie askew on
the bed, twisted around his legs.  He pulled it up to his chin.

He lay quiet for a while, still shivering slightly.  His head still
hurt and his hands shook, though not as badly as they had at
the hospital. 

He moved his head to the gingerly to one side.  The carpet,
what he could see of it, was a garish green.  The walls looked
insubstantial.  Cheap motel room.  He ought to know, he'd seen
his share.  Unfortunately, the bed seemed sturdy and not likely to
yield to his feeble attempts to rattle any part of the headboard
loose.  A mediocre art print hung above the lone, inexpensively
veneered table.  It stood a few feet from the foot of the second
bed, the one closest to the bathroom.

Dimly, he heard voices and turned his head too quickly.  The
room swam and his stomach lurched.  Mulder took a slow
breath and concentrated on the shadowy figures he could just
make out through the thin curtains.  They moved toward the
entrance to the room.

The door knob rattled and Mulder pulled the blanket almost
over his head lying as still as he could.  The soft whish of a
paper bag landing on a hard surface told him that someone
had probably gotten fast food.

"Okay, cheeseburger for you, fish sandwich for me," Marsh's
voice.

Mulder's heart sank a little with the next words.  "Don't forget
my fries."  Jo.

He felt someone move close to the bed he was on.  "Looks
like Sleeping Beauty is still waiting for his prince."  Marsh
again. 

Mulder's free hand twitched.  Not yet, he cautioned himself. 
Marsh was moving about.  Mulder cautiously cracked one eye. 
The other man had his back to him, only inches from the bed. 
When Marsh turned, Mulder caught the glint of light off a long
silver needle.  Without thinking, Mulder lunged and struck
Marsh with his foot, sending him careening backward onto the
other bed.  Lashing out felt good.  Well, for a minute, anyhow. 
Until the pain and nausea made Mulder's vision swirl.

"What the hell?"  Marsh sat up and rubbed his side.  "That was
stupid, Mulder.  Now I'm just going to up the dose."  His gaze
flicked over to Jo.  "You're going to have to inject this while I
hold him down."

Abortive heroics aside, Mulder didn't have much fight in him. 
His spirit was willing, but his flesh was definitely weak.   He
struggled feebly while Jo pressed his arms down to the bed. 
The sting of the needle, and the lifeless black hollow of
drug-induced sleep soon claimed Mulder.

~~~~~~~~~~
 
Mulder's hand hurt.  His wrist hurt, too.  He had a raging thirst. 
It was several moments before he could place where he was. 
When he did, he wished he hadn't.  His arm was stiff and sore
from being held too long in one position.  

He lay still for a bit, listening.  He could detect no sound or
movement in the room.  Everyone must be out.  He slowly
struggled into a semi-sitting position to ease the strain on his
arm and wrist.  Slumping against the headboard, he
massaged his aching limb with his free hand.

A figure sat in a chair tilted toward the wall, gun resting on one
knee.  "Go ahead and eat.  Jo left that for you," Marsh said.

There was a saran-wrapped sandwich and a glass of water on
the bed stand next to him.  Mulder ate hungrily, and found that his
stomach didn't protest as much as he thought it would.

~~~~~~~~~~

The pink and white neon of the motel sign bathed the car in
glaring light.  Scully, parked in the shadows on the far side of
the lot, checked the plates of the van against the plate
number she had obtained for the vehicle belonging to Marshall
DeYoung.  A match.

The motel office was dark, and proved to be closed and
locked.  There was a doorbell marked 'Ring for Service' that
Scully pressed, to no avail.  Turning, she surveyed the parking
lot.  There were few cars, and only 12 units that she could
see.  She walked back to her car, thinking how to best
approach the situation.

Scully slid into the driver's seat and reached for her cell
phone.  She had left messages for both Ritter and Skinner,
telling them that she had a lead on Mulder's whereabouts,
and that she would contact them later, when she had more
information.  As her fingers touched the hard edge of the cell
phone, the door to number five opened.  Two figures emerged,
locked the door, and walked out into the parking lot and under
the motel sign.  Jo and Marsh.  They stopped for a moment,
then turned and continued on foot down the road.  Scully
recalled a bar and grill not too far from the motel, in the
direction from which she had come.  Her fingers stretched
again toward the cell phone.  It trilled sharply.  Scully jumped.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully, just where the hell are you?"

"I'm at Jerry's Just Dropped Inn off State Route 600, not too far
from Madisonville in Virginia."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then a
light huff.  "Any news?"

"Yes, Sir.  I just now saw Josephine Sartini and Marshall
DeYoung leave the motel.  They're on foot.  I was going to try
to raise you and Ritter again before checking it out."

"You think Mulder's at the motel?"  Skinner's voice was tinged
with concern.

"I don't know.  I hope so."

There was another pause on the other end of the line.  Scully
could almost hear the decisive nod before Skinner said, "All
right.  Do what you need to.  I'll see if I can reach Ritter.  
With or without him, I'm on my way.  I know this may be a moot 
point, but, be careful."

"Yes, sir.  I appreciate your help in this.  My main concern right
now is making sure Mulder is okay."  If he'll let me, she added
silently.

Scully set the phone back on the passenger seat.  She forced
herself to wait a full five minutes before reaching into the glove
compartment for the compact set of lock picks she had brought.

She hesitated for a long moment before exiting the car, almost
afraid to find Mulder was indeed behind door number five.  He
might resent her intrusion.

Scully exited her car and skirted the shadowed fringes of the
parking lot.  She stopped on the brink of the pavement that ran
in front of the plain motel room doors.  Each had a yellow
light hanging over the number that marked them.  So much for
remaining hidden, she thought.

The door to room number five had a long scar stretching
diagonally from the top of the door to nearly the bottom.  It was
an old injury, dark with age and rounded at the edges.  She
stopped at the door knob and twisted it carefully.  It was locked,
and she could detect no sound.  

She knocked on the door.  "Mulder?"  There was no answer.  In
the distance, a dog barked.

Scully reached into her pocket and curled her fingers around
the lock picks.  Breathing deeply, she knelt.  The concrete was
hard and cold beneath her knees.  She hesitated briefly,
and leaned her forehead against the door.  A small noise made
her stiffen and turn.

"Well, Dana.  Fancy meeting you here.  I would have thought
you would be at home, all tucked into bed by now.  Won't your
partner worry when he finds out that you aren't sleeping safe
and sound?"  The silken voice could only belong to Marshall
DeYoung.

"My partner is in there," she answered.

"Ex-partner," Marsh replied.  "We came back because I forgot
my wallet.  Funny how things happen, isn't it?"  His voice was in
her ear and he spoke softly.  "I'd be careful just now if I were
you.  I've got your ex-partner's gun in my pocket.  Why don't
you put both your hands on the door where I can see them?  Jo
will just make sure you don't have anything dangerous on you,
okay?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Her head throbbed and she didn't have the strength to open
her eyes. The rigid chill she associated with concrete or metal
pressed against her back.  Tires hummed on pavement, and
Scully fought back a wave of panic.  Her breath came faster
and she could swear her heart beat double-time.  Duane Barry,
bright lights and pain flashed across her consciousness.  Not
the trunk of a car.  Please, not the trunk, she thought.  She
stifled a whimper, and abruptly there was someone next to her. 
A forehead pressing gently against her shoulder.  The figure
made a slight sound.  Mulder.  Gagged, Scully assumed, like she
was.

Relief that she was not alone flooded through her, and
feeling so, so tired, she leaned ever so slightly toward his
warmth and drifted off.

~~~~~~~~~~

They left the vehicles hidden in some brush and stumbled
through blackness and over tree roots.  To Mulder, the march
through the darkness seemed to last hours.  He was not
thinking very clearly, however, and couldn't be sure.  He tried to
pay attention to where they were and the direction in which
they were headed.  Jo walked ahead of him, flashlight darting
along the little used path.  Scully was immediately behind him. 
He could hear her stumble occasionally.  Like him, she was
probably still half-drugged. Marsh brought up the rear.  Both he
and Jo carried backpacks.

They approached a mass of boulders.  Still gagged and cuffed,
Mulder slipped on some loose rock.  He pitched forward and
tumbled to the ground.  Pain shot up one leg.  He was dragged
back to his feet by an unsympathetic Marsh.

Dawn was approaching when a cabin appeared suddenly in a
small clearing.  He and Scully were bustled inside to the rear of
the building and pushed to the floor.  Another prick of a needle,
and Mulder's eyelids dropped.

~~~~~~~~~~

The room was small, maybe 10 feet by 7, she calculated.  The
walls were rough hewn wood, the floor and inside wall of
greying, uneven two by four board.  One hand was cuffed to a
metal ring that had been driven into the wall.  Her gag had been
removed.  Thank God for small favors, she thought.

In the gloom, Scully could just make out Mulder's drawn face
under his untamed hair.  He was cuffed to wall like she was, on
the opposite side of the room.  The lone, tiny window in the room
didn't provide much illumination, and it was difficult to make out
the details.  He was still unconscious.  She was beginning to
worry.  He should have come out of his drug-induced sleep by
now.

The knob of the door rattled.  Marsh pulled it open slightly and
peered into the room, Scully's gun in hand.  He moved along the
grimy floor toward her, causing puffs of dust to wobble in his
wake.

"Hey, Jo, come here -- bring the gun."  Marsh called softly.  Jo
appeared behind him.  "Watch them.  I want to make sure that
Mulder is still really out and not faking it."

Marsh moved slowly into the room.  With one booted foot, he
nudged Mulder roughly.  When Mulder didn't move, Marsh
crouched down and lifted on eyelid.  Apparently satisfied Mulder
wouldn't be moving soon, he moved back toward Scully.

He looked at her.  "You can make things easier on yourself,
you know."

"Oh?" she asked.

Marsh nodded.  "We don't want to hurt either of you, we're..."

"...just interested in the money," Scully finished for him.

Marsh smiled at her.  "Exactly.  And you can help us."  He
crouched down several feet from where she sat, balancing on
the balls of his feet and spoke quietly.  "Jo figures he has funds
squirreled away in obscure places."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Maybe not," Marsh smiled.  "But I bet those friends of his do. 
And I bet that if you called them, they would tell you what we
need to know."

A sudden shaft of sun pierced the gloom.  The light filtering
through the tiny window lit the dust motes soundlessly swirling
around Marsh's head.  His hair gleamed gold.

"What friends?" she asked.

"Come on, Dana, you know who I'm talking about.  Those three
guys."

"What makes you think that they would give me any
information?" Scully asked.

"From what Jo said, and what I saw the time I met them, I'm under
the impression that they think highly of you," Marsh answered.

"They do?" Genuine surprise colored her voice.

Marsh stood abruptly.  "Think about it.  You get the information
we need, you get your freedom and a cut of our take."

Scully studied him.  "What happens to Mulder?"

"Mulder stays in one piece.  He'll be poor, but unhurt.  We just
want the money."

Scully glanced from Marsh to Jo, who remained silent, gun
clasped in both hands, in the door.  "How much money?"

"How much money would you get?"  Marsh asked.  Scully
nodded.  "Well, initially, we were going to split it three ways. 
Me, Jo and Wendell.  I guess we could cut you in for..." He
looked at Jo.  "...10 percent?"

"Ten percent of what total?" Scully asked.

Marsh flicked his eyes at Jo again.  Other than a thinning of her
lips, she didn't move.  "You don't know?"

"No," Scully replied, her voice surprisingly steady.

Quiet filled the small room.  Scully watched as Marsh shifted
his weight from his right foot to his left.  Finally, Jo broke the
silence.

"At this point, we figure the total is about eight hundred
thousand.  Not including what we think are several hidden
accounts," said Jo.

"And all I have to do is make a phone call?" asked Scully.

"You have to get the information we want.  Then you get paid,"
said Marsh.

"Exactly how are you going to pay me?  Write me a check and
send me on my way?"

Marsh laughed.  "Not quite.  You'll have to stay here, of course,
until all our plans are complete.  We'll set up a bank account
for you somewhere."

"And you'll let Mulder and me go?" she was skeptical.  "Just like
that?"

"You'll just have to trust me, Dana.  After all, we'll find the
money eventually.  It'll just be faster and easier this way.  The
quicker we get what we want, the quicker you get out of here. 
All *you* have to lose, really, is a little dignity."  
He stepped back toward the door, watching her expectantly.

Scully nodded slowly and ran a dry tongue over her lips.  "I'll
think about it," she said.  "Mulder can't know, okay?"

"Fine with us."  He turned toward the door.

"Before you go, there's one more thing," Scully said.  "We
could use some ice for Mulder's ankle if you've got it."

"We don't have ice.  I'll give you some pain killers."

"Anti-inflammatories.  And something to wrap around his ankle,"
she said firmly.

Marsh nodded once and closed the door.

When they had left, Scully leaned back against the rough wall
of the room and closed her eyes.

"So, you're selling me out for a quick buck?"  His voice was
gritty and rough.

Scully scooted forward as far as she could.  "You're awake.  Good. 
I was worried.  You've been out a long time."

"Yeah, I'm awake.  Barely."

Mulder pulled himself up.  He took in the room, the turned toward
the wall where a chink in the slat board let her see into the other
room.  "Well, this is convenient."

"What's out there?"  Scully asked.

"Not much.  A card table, a cot and a sleeping bag on the floor
are all I can see.  Marsh and Jo over near the door, so it should be
okay if we keep our voices down."  Mulder turned back toward
her.  "So, are you going to call the Gunmen?"  He asked.

"I think you know me better than that."

"Theoretically."  He was struggling to sit up now.

"You better lie back down.  You're bound to have residual
effects from the drugs they gave you.  You may start to
experience withdrawal symptoms again." Scully's voice was dry
and somewhat detached.

"Oh, joy," Mulder mumbled.  He fell heavily to the floor.  His
white t-shirt was grey with grime.  "You know, you might call
the Gunmen to buy yourself some time.  There's a code word
we've worked out.  You could use that.  They'd know something
was wrong, then.  If Skinner hasn't figured it out already."  He
glanced up at Scully.  "He's been keeping pretty close tabs on you. 
He probably knows you're MIA."

Scully nodded.  "He knows I was at the motel where you were. 
He'll find my car there, unless Marsh and Jo moved it."

"No doubt he wants to bring his little lost Sheba home."

Scully scowled in the gloom.  "Whatever they gave you sure
hasn't helped your disposition any."

Mulder grunted.

~~~~~~~~~~

Scully had been allowed to wrap Mulder's swelling ankle and she
had insisted he take the ibuprofen Jo had left for him.  He spent
most of the day elevating his ankle as much as possible to keep
Scully from nagging him.  

Jo brought sandwiches at one point and an armed Marsh
escorted them one at a time to the outhouse.  There were only two
blankets, one apiece.  Scully shivered.  The floor was hard and
cold under her shoulder.  The night was thin and wintry.

The bitterness of betrayal hovered just outside her periphery. 
Bitterness that she struggled with.  Bitterness she tried to subdue. 
It was not easily quelled, however.  The more she tried, the more
it surged to the surface.  Scully reminded herself that Mulder had
been the victim, not she.  That he had been manipulated and
drugged.  She told herself that she was where she was because of
her own carelessness, not Mulder's.

Still, forgiveness was slow in coming.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wendell blew in the next morning like a thundercloud.  Mulder
pressed his face to the opening in the wall.  The voices were
quarrelsome.  He could see Marsh, standing tense in the other
room, and Wendell just beyond.

Wendell's voice was a low, angry hiss.  "I risked my job!  I'm in
it as much as either of you.  I won't be pushed aside."

"Hey, no one said you weren't," Marsh said.

"You were planning something."

"Nothing that concerns you."

"That's what I'm afraid of."  Wen's voice was tight with anger.

"Look, Wen, Jo and are just deciding what to do when we leave
this place.  You always knew that she and I had planned on
getting out together.  No one is trying to cheat you."  Marsh
sounded reassuring, parental.

"Maybe I'll just come along, then."

Marshall laughed harshly.  "Uh-uh.  No way.  This is our time,
mine and hers.  Don't even think about it.  Got it?" Marsh
leaned over the other man, pushing too close, one hand
clenched.  Wendell backed up, clearly frightened.

"Yeah.  I got it."

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder sat in the cold, dusty room and waited.  The voices
were too quiet, and he couldn't make out many of the
words.  He and Scully were still prickly with each other, but now
that she had been removed from the room, he felt odd, as if an
integral part of his scaled-down world had disappeared.  

He wished he could hear and see what was taking place on the
other side of the wall.  As it was, he would have to rely on
Scully to give him an accurate portrayal of events.  It wasn't
that he didn't trust her, it was just that she wasn't the one with
profiling experience.  He was, and it grated on him to be left
sitting alone in the dark.

The sound of the door opening jarred Mulder from his thoughts. 
Scully walked into the room, handcuffed hands in front of her.  Jo
cuffed her to the ring on the wall.  The door was closed and
locked behind her.  She looked annoyed, Mulder thought.

Pitching her voice low, she said to him: "I still think that we
should just wait until one of them is alone and get them to come
to the room.  Between the two of us we..."

Mulder cut her off.  "You're kidding, right?  We're handcuffed. 
Besides, when did you get so Clint Eastwood?"

"And when did you get so cautious?"

Mulder blew out a breath.  "The idea here is to gain Marsh's trust. 
I'm in no shape to be jumping on people and crashing through
doors even if we did manage to get out of these cuffs.  And, I'm
not sure how much my ankle will take yet.  I think that the way we
planned is better."

"And we all know how good your judgement has been lately,
don't we?" Scully muttered.

"If you have a problem, why don't you say something?"

Scully let out a short laugh.  "I think I just did."  Scully 
shook herhead.  "I'm sorry, Mulder, that was uncalled for."  
She slid off herknees and onto the grey floor.  "Undercover 
work is not my forte, it never was.  Trying to get Marsh to 
think I'm going over to the dark side.  I don't know if he's 
going to buy it."

"I think you underestimate yourself, Scully.  It may not come
easy to you, but I've seen you skirt the truth with the best of
them."

"Well, that's a great endorsement."

Mulder sighed.  The last thing they needed was to be at each
other's throat's.  He glanced at her.  "So, Scully, don't
you think it's a bit cliche to be held captive in a remote cabin in
the woods?"

She looked at him sideways, pursing her lips.  Apparently
deciding to play along, she said, "I'm going to add ironic to that,
since they're using our own weapons to keep us in place."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"Mmm.  Yes, I did.  I also noticed that they are using our
handcuffs and that we're up the proverbial creek without a
paddle."  She twisted around and looked up at the window. 
"We're in the mountains, somewhere."

Mulder settled more heavily against the wall.  He was
experiencing tremors again and felt better propped against
something.  "Not much for ambience.  Next time I want a better
room."

"What do you think they are going to do with us?" asked Scully.

Mulder sighed and lay back on the wood floor.  His still too-thin
face fell into shadow.  "I know what they want with me.  You
just got in the way.  The original plan was probably to keep me
out of circulation for a few days while they cleaned out my bank
accounts.  I don't think this cabin figured into original plans. 
We're here because they didn't know what to do when you
showed up."

Scully closed her eyes briefly.  "I'm sorry about that.  I thought I
could get into the motel room without detection.  It was
careless of me to not notice they had come back.  I've been
touchy, I know.  And that's part of it."

With effort, Mulder pushed himself away from the wall and
leaned toward her.  "What's the other part?"
                                 
Scully studied the floor.  "I'm a bit aggravated with you.  
I keep telling myself I shouldn't be but, I am, anyhow."

"I really can't blame you."

She looked up at him.  "Mulder, you were being drugged and
fed lies by people who you thought you could trust.  I can't
imagine what it was like."   She dropped her eyes again.  "But,
on some level, I resent the fact that you didn't even seem to
give any credence to what I was trying to tell you.  I thought
that, given all we've been through, I deserved more than to be
brushed off like a telemarketer disturbing your dinner."

"And you did, but, I couldn't tell up from down.  I really
thought you and Skinner were trying to purge the X-Files in my
absence.  I was utterly convinced you were up to something. 
Ritter's presence didn't help."  Mulder paused.   "So, tell me what
happened out there."  He jerked his head toward the outer room.

"We talked.  I told Marsh that I would give calling the Gunmen
a shot.  Jo didn't seem too happy about it, I'm not sure I
convinced her entirely.  Marsh seemed okay, though.  We're
going to make the call from my cell.  They have my cell phone,
too, by the way."

"When?"

"Soon," Scully relied.  "Jo was agitated.  They're discussing
something.  They should be coming to get me shortly."

"I'm surprised that neither one of them brought up the fact that
the call might be traced," Mulder mused.

"Jo did.  They debated a bit about whether or not the Gunmen
could do that.  I don't think either of them really understands
what the Gunmen are capable of.  Jo seems to think that they
aren't much of a threat."

"Okay," Mulder nodded.  "You'll need to work in the code word
we have set up.  You'll need to make them understand,
somehow, that they need to provide some information to you,
so things look good."

"I've got to work 'rhapsody' into the conversation," Scully gave
a short laugh.  "Oh, no problem."

End Seven