From rrusnak@Lconn.com Sun Apr 06 11:08:11 1997 Subject: REPOST Elixir I (1/3) Retreat From: Rebecca Rusnak -------- ***NOTE*** This is a repost of a story I originally sent in a wrong format. I've had so many requests for it that I've decided to send it out again, thankfully, the right way this time. Please do not yell at me for double posting--I got permission! Hello, everyone! This is the first installment in my long-in-the-works trilogy. I started these in January, before the Scully-cancer-arc was even known to me. I've placed these stories in 4th season, after "Terma", but they would obviously have to take place before the events of "Leonard Betts", etc. As always, all feedback is welcome, and I promise to respond to anyone who takes the time to write me. Send all comments to rrusnak@Lconn.com DISCLAIMER: (sung to the tune of "Three Blind Mice") Chris Carter Ten Thirteen They own Mulder and Scully and I do not The can sue me if they want but they won't get snot SUMMARY: Posing as a married couple for an undercover assignment holds more than one kind of danger for Mulder and Scully SPOILERS: Some references to "One Breath", "End Game," and "Tunguska/Terma" RATING: I'd rate this PG-13 with some swearing. Archive it under TR. This is dedicated to my husband, the skeptic to my believer. He is Scully. A special thanks to Miki, whose support and encouragement got me through the terror of my first post. Now, on with the show... (Insert 20th Century Fox music here) Elixir I: Retreat (1/3) by Rebecca Rusnak Upstate New York Jan. 12, 1997 The wind whipped through the bare trees with an eerie whistling. Low clouds scudded across the leaden sky. The weather forecasters speculated daily on the arrival of snow, while proclaiming that the cold was here to stay. At least, Whitey thought morosely, they were right about something. He turned from the window with a sigh and sat in the richly upholstered chair before it. He gripped his hands together tightly in his lap and tried not to look nervous. The blonde secretary behind the walnut desk glanced up at him, then back at her computer. Whitey squirmed in the chair, and the secretary looked up again. This time her lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line before she looked away. he told himself. For a minute or two, the harsh words actually helped, but then his fear began to seep back. After all, it wasn't every day that you walked into your boss' office to tell him you were quitting. Not when you were as far down the totem pole as Whitey was, and definitely not when your boss was the biggest drug runner outside the Mafia. So he was scared. The phone buzzed on the secretary's desk and she looked up at him with a thin smile. "Mr. Courteney will see you now," she said. He stepped through the wood door into a lush office. The furniture was all walnut, and the office was backed by a wall of clear glass windows. The back half of the office was lushly carpeted, leaving the front half tiled with something Whitey thought was marble. Charlie Courteney sat behind his immense desk, beaming broadly at Whitey. His dark hair was perfectly combed, not a strand out of place. A crisp white shirt contrasted sharply with his immaculate dark suit. He worked hard to cultivate a fatherly manner, but right now his smile didn't quite reach his light blue eyes. "Whitey, what can I do for you?" His voice was cultured, warm and pleasant, but Whitey knew how quickly that same voice could hold an edge of steel. He glanced at the two silent men in black behind Courteney. Their faces were emotionless, and Whitey knew if things turned bad he stood no chance against them. He cleared his throat. "Sir, I wanted to tell you that--" he faltered, glanced again at the two minders, and swallowed hard. "Whitey, it looks to me like you could use a drink," said Courteney. On cue, one of the men moved to the office bar, poured three fingers of whisky in a glass, handed it to Whitey, and moved back to his former position. Whitey gratefully took a large swallow of the whisky and felt some of his courage return. "Mr. Courteney, sir, I came to tell you that I'm leaving," he blurted out. Courteney stopped smiling. A look of concern spread across his fine features. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?" Whitey shook his head. "No, sir. I-I've met someone and I--" Courteney nodded, giving Whitey that fatherly look. "Ah, yes, young love. Is she pretty?" he asked.. Whitey's head bobbed up and down. "Yes, sir!" he said proudly. Why, this wasn't going bad at all. His earlier fears suddenly seemed ridiculous. "Well, Whitey, I'm going to hate losing you. Are you sure I can't change your mind?" "I'm sorry, sir," he shook his head sorrowfully. Raising the glass, he began to congratulate himself on a job well done. "I'm sorry, too," Courteney said, as Whitey froze, hearing the change in his voice. The man on Courteney's left reached under his jacket and Whitey dropped his glass. The splintering sound of glass on the tile sounded at the same time as he wet his pants. "No," he breathed, then there was the ugly shock of bullets slamming into his body, and he staggered, and his eyes burned from the whisky fumes, and then a bullet exploded into his head and he fell. J. Edgar Hoover Building Jan. 21, 1997 8:40 a.m. Dana Scully walked quickly down the basement hallway, briefcase swinging at her side. She was late this morning, through no fault of her own. Traffic in D.C., she decided, was God's punishment for allowing the politicians of the world to live in one place.. She paused at the door to her office--her office, even though her name still wasn't on the door. The door was still closed and she frowned slightly, then shrugged. Probably he was stuck in traffic, too. She opened the door, reached for the light switch, then stopped. Asleep in the gloom of the darkened office, face down at his desk was her partner, Fox Mulder. He was still dressed in the suit he'd worn yesterday, although he'd shed both coat and tie. Files and loose papers covered the desktop. A thick strand of brown hair had fallen onto his forehead and he looked younger, boyish, certainly more peaceful than Scully had ever seen him while awake. It was a shame to wake him, but they had work to do. She flipped on the lights, and put her briefcase on her desk. Mulder jerked, then sat up, blinking in the sudden light, looking lost and befuddled. His hair stuck up in a dozen directions, and a paper clip stuck to his cheek. Looking at him, Scully couldn't repress a giggle. "Hey," he said, smiling back at her. With a small plink, the paper clip fell to the desk. He looked down at it, then back at her. "You're laughing at me," he pouted. "I trust you slept well," she said, still smiling. "Actually, no, I didn't," he said, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" "Almost nine," she replied, picking up her coffee cup and heading to the break room. She filled her cup, tossed in some creamer and walked back to the office. In the doorway she bumped into Mulder, sloshing some of the coffee on her hand. "Damn," she muttered, transferring her cup to the other hand and shaking the wet one. Mulder had his coat on and was already halfway down the hall. "Where are you going?" she called. "Home," he answered. "It's awfully hard to impress you with wrinkled clothes and a paper clip tattoo." He tossed her a smile over his shoulder She shook her head. she thought. When Mulder came back she was waiting for him. "Let's go," she said, moving toward the doorway. "Where we going?" he asked, hanging up his coat. "We've got a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner," Scully said, "and we should have been there half an hour ago. What took you so long?" "Oh, you know," he said vaguely, following her down the hall to the elevator. "Skinner? What's he want?" "I don't know," she admitted. "Whatever it is, it can't be good," Mulder predicted darkly. Skinner rose when they entered, and waited until they sat before sitting himself. Not, Scully knew, to intimate that he was their equal, but because he had old-fashioned manners, and in the presence of a lady, you let her sit first. The AD got right to the point. "Judging by the lack of paperwork I've received from you this month, it appears that the X-Files--;" "Sir," Mulder interrupted, leaning forward. "We've--" "Hear me out, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. "You know Bureau regulations require agents to meet certain work quotas to maintain full-time agent status. I am simply not seeing this amount of case reports coming out of the X-Files." He paused. Scully began to get a bad feeling about what was coming. "So I've decided to assign you to a case outside your usual field." He went on to describe how this fell into the FBI's jurisdiction, but Scully barely heard him. She'd been afraid Skinner was going to tell them that he was closing down the X-Files for lack of work, and the sudden release of tension left her feeling much more relaxed. Next to her, Mulder's relief was palpable. "...so you'll need cover identities. The lab folks can take care of that. The local police will be fully informed and aware of your situation. You'll have a special call radio, a sort of panic button', if you will. If anything happens where you find yourselves needing to get out quickly, just hit the button, and the police will be on their way. Any questions?" Scully blinked. She dared not let Skinner know she hadn't been listening, so she shook her head. "Good. You leave tomorrow." With that, Skinner dismissed them. Mulder managed to hide his grin until they were in the hallway. "What? What is it?" she asked. "Scully, I--I have something to ask you," he said. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that she decided she didn't like. "Okay," she said, a bit uncertainly. To her alarm, he grabbed her hand and dropped to one knee. He put his other hand over his heart and declared, "Scully, will you marry me?" She was too stunned to act for a moment, then abruptly came to her senses. She jerked her hand away from his as if it were burning. "What?! Mulder, get up. What are you doing?" "But, Scully," he protested, standing up. "If we're going to be married..." "What are you talking about?" She looked hastily up and down the hallway. Thank God no one was around to witness this scene. "Didn't you hear Skinner? We're going undercover, Scully. As a married couple." She wanted to slap the smug smirk off his face. "I'm just getting into character." Scully closed her eyes. This was definitely *not* good. Jan. 22, 1997 10:37 a.m. EST Married. She couldn't believe it. She stole a glance at her partner--no, her husband--she'd have to remember that. Mulder was asleep in the seat next to her, his seat pushed back and his long legs stretched out in front of him. The airline stewardess was coming down the aisle, checking on her passengers, and she caught Scully's eye and smiled. "Do you or your husband need anything?" "No, thank you. He's fine. We're fine," Scully said curtly. She looked again over at him and was relieved to see he was still sleeping soundly. So then. She opened the case file on her lap for the tenth time since takeoff from Dulles. The first page was a black and white photograph of a handsome man: Charlie Courteney. Long suspected by the FBI to be a drug runner, he hid any suspicious activity behind a completely respectable front. He owned a string of hotels and bed-and-breakfasts across the Northeast. No one was sure which business was the front, or if they all were. Only recently had new information come about that provided some solid leads. In addition to his hotels, Courteney owned and operated a marriage retreat in upstate New York. Wealthy couples from all across the country came to the posh locale known only as Retreat. For several thousand dollars, couples whose marriage was in jeopardy traveled to Retreat, stayed a week and went back home feeling like newlyweds. Until now. A woman in Tacoma, Washington had contracted a lawyer, wanting to sue Retreat, claiming the week's stay had not only *not* improved her marriage, it had destroyed it. In putting together his case, the lawyer discovered that the woman was being blackmailed by Retreat. The lawyer was no fool. Having learned through his research that Charlie Courteney was not somebody you messed with, he advised his client to drop the case and contact the federal authorities. Which she had done. So now Scully and Mulder were on their way to Tacoma to interview this woman. And then they would head to Retreat, to check in as a married couple in need of help. Married. Scully glanced at Mulder again. This was not at all the kind of case she needed right now. For the past few weeks she had been wrestling with herself, with her feelings. Lately things had been different between them. Ever since his return from Russia, Mulder had seemed--changed. He touched her more often, took advantage of any opportunity to stand close to her. He had always struck her as a needy person, but of late he had seemed to require even more. More of her. She had been unsure at first how to react to all this. She'd been angry at one point, annoyed at how selfish Mulder was, always putting himself and his needs before her, and using her for whatever it was she could give. But she couldn't stay angry with him for long, and she had found her attitude thawing. And gradually she had begun to realize that she enjoyed the newfound closeness between them. Enjoyed, but at the same time was vaguely distrubed by it. She had examined her feelings for him once before, years ago. That terrible time he had been in the hospital after they had found him on the ice, when they hadn't known at first if he would live. Faced with the prospect of him dying, she had been forced to be honest with herself. Yes, she had strong feelings for Mulder, possibly even love, but they didn't belong in what was a strong relationship, both professionally and personally. So she had hidden the truth behind a wall, locked the door, and forgotten. Until recently, when she found that the secure barrier she'd placed over her heart wasn't as secure as she had thought. And now they were going undercover, as a married couple, and she didn't know if she could handle it. Bad enough that the small touches between them would have to become overt and more numerous. Worse was having to act in front of everyone--the loving wife to the Retreat staff and the lying agent to Mulder. But worst of all was the dread of having to share a room together, and having to participate in "marriage counseling" that would focus on their sexual life together. Scully blushed just thinking about it and squirmed in her seat. She shook her head to clear it, then looked over at Mulder. He was mumbling something in his sleep, and one hand suddenly clenched into a fist. His head thrashed to one side and he whimpered. Instantly Scully leaned over and shook him, trying to wake him from his latest nightmare. He opened his eyes with a gasp, and for a moment stared at her wildly, then seemd to recognize her and he calmed. "Hey," she said, rubbing his arm. "You were having a dream." She didn't say again.' "Yeah." His voice was thick. He rubbed a hand across his face, then stood up. "I'll be right back." She watched him head down the aisle toward the back of the plane. When he came back the old Mulder was in control again. "Miss me?" he grinned at her. Then he noticed the open case file on her lap. "So what do you think of our case there?" Scully flipped back to the picture of Courteney. "He's blackmailing this woman with a video of her nude and--and having sex with another man. She claims she was drugged. We know this man deals drugs and now we find he's blackmailing innocent women. He's a ruthless businessman who got to the top of the hotel industry by buying out or eliminating his competition. He--" "Wait a minute, Scully. What do you mean by eliminating'?" "Doesn't it strike you as odd that every competitor Courteney couldn't buy off either died or became seriously ill and while in hospital decided to sell out?" "Yes," Mulder replied matter-of-factly. "I just wanted to hear you say it." There was an odd tone to his voice and Scully looked up at him suddenly. "Scully, this case could very quickly turn dangerous. I would hate to see anything happen to you." His hazel eyes stared intently at her. she thought. If anything happened to her Mulder would blame himself. More guilt to carry around. "I have to be your wife, Mulder. What could possibly be more dangerous than that?" she asked with a teasing smile. To her relief the apprehension left her partner's eyes. "I guess I shouldn't ask if you want to elope, then," he said. "Go ahead, ask. Maybe I'll surprise you," she teased. The laugher died in her throat as she saw his expression change. Oh, God, now she'd done it. She waited for him to do exactly as she'd said, and ask her to come away with him. If he did, she had no idea how she would answer him. Instead he gestured to the file. "Let's go over it again, shall we?" Gratefully, she nodded. Tacoma, Washington 3:25 p.m. PST The front door opened to reveal a short, rounded woman. She was dressed in a light-blue uniform-style dress and was obviously a servant. Mulder held up his ID folder. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI. We're here to see Mrs. Williams." "Please, come in." The woman led them through the foyer to the living room. Probably they call it a parlor, thought Scully. "Mrs. Williams will be right with you. Can I get you anything?" They shook their heads and the woman left. "Mulder, my whole apartment would fit in this room," she breathed, looking around. "Better leave government service, Scully, if you want to live like this." They both turned at the sound of footsteps. Trudy Williams came in and sat down on one of the brocaded chairs. Her fabulous hair and makeup and elegant clothes concealed the fact that she was actually quite homely. She gave their ID's only a cursory glance, crossed her legs and laced her hands together in her lap. She regarded them coolly. "Let's get this over with." She spoke bluntly, but couldn't quite hide the tremor in her voice. It's all a facade, Scully thought. She's embarrassed and scared and hates having to talk to us. "You know I am being blackmailed by Mr. Courteney," Trudy Williams said. "He demands ten thousand dollars a month or he will share his--," She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Or he will show the tape to my husband." Scully was about to speak when Mrs. Williams went on. "What he doesn't know is that I have already shown my husband the tape. That is why he left me." "Where is your hsuband, Mrs. Williams?" Scully asked. "Dale is in Hong Kong. On business. *Extended* business." "Mrs. Williams, I know this must be difficult for you, but could you tell us exactly what happened to you?" The older woman closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.. Flint gray eyes stared into Scully's blue ones. "I know you're going there, probablyv posing as husband and wife. So I'm telling you all this for your own benefit. It's bad enough that it happened to me. I don't want it happening to anyone else." From the corner of her eye Scully saw Mulder turn to look at her, but she refused to look away from Mrs. Williams. "There was a formal dinner, served in the dining room, for all the couples. Afterwards the ladies and men separated, each going to a separate room for the evening's entertainment. I don't remember anything past dinner." The woman dropped her gaze. "When I woke up, I was in my room, in my bed with my husband beside me. I thought that I'd just gotten drunk. Until I saw the tape." Trudy Williams looked up. "You have to understand. I would *never* sleep with someone other than my husband. That's why I know I was drugged." Her voice, her eyes implored them to believe her. "What was your hsuband doing all this time?" asked Mulder. "He says he and the other men had a casino night.' Drinking, gambling. Dale was hungover the next morning and didn't remember anything he'd done." "Thank you, Mrs. Williams--" Mulder began, but Trudy cut him off. "Something you should know since you're going there. They have security there at the highest levels. And I think our rooms were bugged." Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. The futher they got into this case, the less she liked it. End Elixir I: Retreat (1/3) Elixir I: Retreat (2/3) by Rebecca Rusnak Outside Buffalo, New York Jan. 23, 1997 3:40 p.m. The blue rental car pulled off to the side of the road. "All right, Scully," Mulder said, turning off the engine. "We need to talk." Scully looked up. "What do you mean?" she asked. "We're going to be arriving at this marriage retreat in less than an hour, and we still haven't talked about how to do this. How we are going to pull this off. We've got identities created for us by the FBI lab, and we've got to bring them to life." Mulder forced himself to stop. He was babbling and Scully was looking at him strangely. But, dammit, this was awfully difficult. Having to pretend to be Scully's husband was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Not because he couldn't imagine it--but because he could, all too well. "Okay," Scully was saying. "Let's start at the beginning. We met--how? At work?" "No, that won't work. Not if I'm a psychologist. You know--violating patient-doctor privileges." He grinned at her. "Unless you want to be my overworked and underpaid secretary." Scully glared at him and he caught his breath. Those blue eyes... "We met at a medical convention," she said. "Won't work. You're the only MD here, *Doctor* Scully." "All right. Fine. Whatever. Some friend introduced us at a party. Now I teach pathology at the University of Texas, and you--" "Work at an adult video store," Mulder said, unable to resist.. "Mulder! This is serious. You were the one who drove off the road, insisting we talk about it." She seemed disturbed by something and it wasn't too hard to guess what. "Are you thinking about what happened to Trudy Williams?" he asked gently. "No," she answered quickly. Too quickly. "That won't happen to you, Scully. I won't let it. I would never let someone hurt you." She nodded. "I know, Mulder." He paused a moment, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two items. He handed her the first one, a small black plastic instrument that looked like a radio. "That's the panic button' Skinner told us about. If it looks like our cover is blown, all we have to do is punch that button and the local police will be on their way. Skinner said they have promised full cooperation with us." Which was unusual enough to be notable, as local police and the FBI did not always get along. Scully inspected the radio, then tucked it into her pocket. Along with their guns, it would have to stay hidden in their luggage during their stay at Retreat. Mulder frowned slightly as he opened up the second item, as if this was not something he looked forward to. "Okay, Scully, if we're going to be married, we have to go all the way." He looked up at her in time to see her eyebrows arch as she stared at him. Sighing heavily, he pulled a gold band out of the box and held it out to Scully. "Til death do us part," he said dramatically. Scully gaped at the ring as she slid it on her finger. The diamond had to be at least two carats, and was probably more like three. Her brain raced, trying to calculate the value of the stone on her finger. Mulder sighed again as he put on his own wedding ring. "I can feel that old ball and chain already." He sneaked a peek up at Scully and was unsurprised to find her glaring at him. "Hey, you know I'm just kidding," he protested. "I don't think you're a ball and chain, Scully. In fact-" "Better not, Mulder," she warned, cutting him off. He could tell by the dangerous gleam in her eye that he should shut up, so he merely chuckled and started the car again. Retreat 4:26 p.m. Retreat looked exactly as Mulder had expected. A sprawling house set amid lush green lawns, surrounded by acres of forest. He drove up the winding driveway slowly, taking it all in, memorizing it for future use. "Sure is alot of security for a getaway, " Scully remarked. To enter Retreat, they'd driven through an open wrought-iron gate that undoubtedly closed and locked at night. A guard shack stood beside the drive about fifty feet from the gate. An armed guard had given them a sticker for their windshield, then waved them on. Mulder had counted two phones and half a dozen video screens in the security shack. A camera was mounted on the back corner of the shack, monitoring all who came and left, and their transactions with the security officer. "I guess if you're a famous drug dealer you can't have enough security," Mulder said. They pulled up to the house and immediately a uniformed valet came up. "Here goes nothing." Mulder parked the car, popped the trunk, and turned off the car. He and Scully got out and retrieved their luggage from the trunk. Mulder held his hand out to the valet. "Sam and Diana Freeman. Pleased to meetcha. Where do we go now?" The valet extended his hand uncertainly and Mulder pumped it up and down. The valet jerked his head in the direction of the house. "Registration is in the front lobby," he said. "Thanks, son." Mulder dropped the Taurus's keys in the valet's still-outstretched hand. The man started to get in the car. "Wait a minute, honey. Where are you taking our car?" Scully imitated a Texas drawl with a vicious perfection. Mulder bit his lip to keep from laughing. "There's a garage out back," the valet said vaguely. He got hastily in the car and drove off, deciding he'd had enough of this loud, vulgar couple from Texas. They headed up the front steps and into the spacious lobby. A pretty young woman sat behind the front desk. She smiled at them. "Good afternoon and welcome to Retreat!" "Good afternoon!" Mulder boomed, feeling slightly ridiculous. Surely not everyone from Texas acted this way? "Sam and Diana Freeman." The woman shuffled through some papers, then held out a manila envelope in triumph. "Here are your brochures, schedules, welcome letters, etc. You're in Room 23. Upstairs, down the hall to your left. Dinner is at eight o'clock and I just need you to sign here." She pushed a registration book at them. Scully signed "Diana Freeman" and handed the pen to Mulder. He had barely begun to sign when Scully kicked his shin. Abruptly he stopped and looked at her curiously. "Look what you're doing," she said in a dramatic whisper. He looked back at the book and his heart nearly stopped when he saw what he had written. A big capital "F", followed by a pen mark that trailed into nothing where Scully had kicked him. "F" for Fox. Oh, shit. The receptionist was looking at them strangely. He couldn't believe it. Not quite five minutes into their first undercover assignment and he was already blowing it. Scully as usual came to his rescue. "You are embarrassing me." She spoke in that same stage whisper, as if she didn't want the receptionist to hear. Mulder forced himself to laugh. "Well, looky here! Here I am thinking I'm in the boardroom or something. Guess I forgot you need a *real* signature." He squeezed "Sam" in front of the capital F and scrawled something that could be "Freeman" after it. The receptionist handed him the envelope and room keys. "Enjoy your stay," she said. They thanked her and headed up the wide, curving staircase. Twin hallways split off to the left and right. Following instructions, they turned to their left. Room 23 was half a dozen rooms down. Mulder unlocked the door and they went in. The room was big, but seemed smaller with all the furniture in it. French doors led to a balcony overlooking the front of the house. A door to the right opened on a bathroom that they shared with the room next door. A large bowl of fresh-cut flowers stood on a round tabe near the center of the room. Mulder put down their suitcases and strode across the room to the French doors. He unlocked them and stepped out onto the balcony. Scully followed, closing the doors behind her. "What was that all about?" She kept her voice to a whisper, afraid they would be able to hear them even out here. "What were you thinking?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know." He squinted up at the sky, where low gray clouds promised snow. "We have time to explore the grounds before dinner, if you want," she said. "I imagine we won't have much free time after tonight." Mulder agreed. "All right. We'll unpack, then do some investigating." He led the way back into their room. While they were out walking it began to snow. Beautiful, enormous white flakes drifted down from the sky. The snow covered the ground, and the silence seemed to grow until speech was impossible. Mulder glanced over at his partner; the thoughtful, pensive look on her face matched his own mood. Maybe it was the nature of this case, or the simple fact that they were walking through gently falling snow, but Mulder found his thoughts turning inward. How long had it been since he had taken a leisurely walk, how long since he'd reflected on the beauty of nature, how long since he had allowed himself to relax? Too long, he realized. And initial impressions showed that starting a potentially dangerous case did not seem to be the best opportunity for relaxation. Yet, here he was. Admittedly Scully's presence helped. By himself, he would be restlessly prowling, brain racing for solutions to the case, relentlessly driving himself forward. But not now, not with Scully beside him. Right now he was content to walk beside her, lost in thought. He wanted to reach out, put a hand on her back, lift a strand of copper hair, just touch her. Lately he had found himself needing to touch her, to reassure himself that she was there. Since that time in Russia, lying helpless and alone in a dark prison cell, he had made a vow to himself, that he would finally admit his feelings. Admit them to himself, and to Scully. Yet he found that he couldn't. For too long he had successfully hidden his feelings. Concealed them beneath a sarcastic, wisecracking facade. He had thought he could do it, could go alongside Scully without revealing his true emotions. After all, he had been doing it all his life. Why stop now? He'd long ago realized two things. The first was that he loved Dana Scully. The second was that there was nothing he could do about it. Declarations of love had no place in the relationship he and his partner had. FBI regulations prohibited relationships between partners, and he'd been content with the strong friendship he and Scully had. Except now that friendship was being tested to the utmost, and he wasn't sure he would pass. Beside him Scully sighed softly. He glanced over at her. "Penny for your thoughts." She shrugged. "It's just so pretty. It's too bad it all belongs to a drug dealer and possible murderer." "It may be pretty, but it's also cold. Let's head in," Mulder said. Scully followed him willingly enough. They walked in silence for a while, heading back toward the house. Then Scully cleared her throat and stopped walking. "Um, Mulder, we haven't yet worked out the sleeping arrangements." He paused beside her. He'd wondered when she would bring the subject up. "What do you mean?" he asked, giving her an innocent look. "Mulder, you know damn well what I mean. I've thought about it and since it's not fair for you to have to always sleep on the couch, I thought we'd take turns." "Wait a minute. Who says I'm sleeping on the couch?" "We can't share a bed, Mulder." "Why not?" He flung the question at her as a challenge, a mocking light in his eyes while he waited to see what she would say. Her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted, but nothing came out. Suddenly Mulder was afraid where this was heading. "All right, all right. That was a stupid question. You don't have to sleep on the couch, Scully." "No," she insisted. "We can take turns." "We will not. Besides, I'm used to sleeping on the couch, remember?" "But Mulder--" "No, Scully. I'll take the couch, you take the bed. That's final." "All right." She gave in meekly. Feeling quite satisfied with himself, Mulder resumed walking, completely missing Scully's small smile of victory. Dinner that night was a casual getting-to-know-each-other affair. Mulder and Scully played their roles perfectly and by the end of the evening the other couples were convinced that Sam and Diana Freeman were nice folks. A little too loud, perhaps, but still quite likable. That night while Scully slept soundly in the king-size bed, Mulder tossed and turned on the too-small couch and wondered how he'd gotten suckered into this. Jan. 24 7:21 a.m. Scully awoke the next morning feeling quite good. She yawned and sat up, only to see Mulder glaring at her from the couch. "What?" she asked, suppressing a giggle. His hair stood up crazily and he wore an adorable pout on his face. "What is it?" She yawned again. "Well, I'm glad one of us got some sleep," he said sarcastically. Scully raised a finger. "Don't start with me. We discussed this yesterday." "You tricked me! If I had known--" "Oh, stop whining, *Sam*. You sound like my brother's kids." Scully hoped he wouldn't slip and forget their cover. "I am not whining," he sulked. "Yes, you are," she said cheerfully. She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. In a flash Mulder was off the couch, a determined look in his eye. They stared at each other for a moment, then both agents raced to be the first to the bathroom. Scully didn't stand a chance, of course. Mulder's long legs carried him to the door way ahead of her. He ran into the bathroom, turned around, stuck his tongue out at her, then slammed the door shut and locked it. "Now you're *acting* like my brother's kids!" she yelled at the closed door. When no answer was forthcoming, she crawled back into bed to wait. 9:42 a.m. After breakfast they all trooped into the front parlor. There were half a dozen couples visiting Retreat this week. They arranged themselves around the room, watitng for the day's first scheduled event. Charlie Courteney himself was going to personally greet all the couples--as Mulder put it, "bestow his blessing upon us." The handsome man who walked into the room looked exactly like his photograph in the file. Scully watched as he made his way to the front of the room. He walked with a lithe grace, and not a little swagger. He obviously was full of self-confidence. There was an undefinable magnetism, or presence to the man. Her sister, Melissa, would have called it an aura. Scully felt a pang of grief thinking of her sister. Melissa would have known right away that this man was evil. Yet the rest of the men and women in the room looked at Courteney with a mixture of awe and adoration. "Welcome to Retreat. I am Charlie Courteney, and I want to begin by thanking all of you. You have plenty of ways to spend your money and your time, but you have chosen to come to me. It is an honor to have the opportunity to serve you." He's pretty smooth, thought Scully, toying with the garish diamond that was her "wedding ring". "And yes, I do mean it when I say serve," Courteney continued. "You folks have come here for an important reason--each other. That is what the Retreat staff is here to do--serve you so you may devote your time to that most important thing: each other. "I created Retreat several years ago when I realized that a couple needs to create time for themselves. In today's busy, high-tech world, too often it's the people who get lost. For those who want to find themselves and their mates again, Retreat is here for you. We have an impressive track record in helping people, as I re-learn constantly by the grateful mail I receive from couples who have benefitted from Retreat's healing atmosphere. I only hope I hear from some of you in the future. "You may feel free to visit me in my office here on the first floor at any time. My door is always open. "And now may I introduce one of Retreat's finest." Courteney paused and extended a hand to a young man who'd been standing at the back of the room. He came forward and Courteney put his arm around the man's shoulders. "This is Kevin. He will be your guide on this morning's tour. He's very good at what he does, and I leave you in capable hands." Courteney flashed them a smile and left the room. Scully blinked, feeling like a spell had just been broken, and suddenly wondered if they should have applauded. The man certainly had style. Their tour guide, Kevin, took over. He asked them all to "line up, please" and "follow me." Mulder stood up and bent over to whisper in her ear. "I kept waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of his hat." Then they were at the back of the group and moving out of the parlor. 10:30 a.m. "As you can see, Retreat offers a wide varity of nature trails. Due to the snow, I won't take you down any right now, but please feel free to do so at your leisure." Kevin the tour guide pointed at the woods. "If you were to follow the signs on the trails you would eventually come out on our picnic area. This being January, you'll probably have the place to yourself." The young man smiled charmingly. Scully shivered as a gust of wind lifted her hair. She and Mulder stood near the back of the group. The had been taken on the tour of the house, and were now standing on the edge of the lawn where the woods began. Snow fell steadily downward. So far the guided tour had shown them nothing exciting, but then, Scully hadn't expected much. They would be hiding all the things she and Mulder needed to know. Now Mulder nudged her elbow. "He's got a gun," he whispered. "What?" "An ankle holster." Mulder coughed slightly and straightened up. He ambled a few steps away from her and pretended to study the trees as they were covered by the snow. Scully walked around to the other side of the group until she had a clear and unobstructed view of the tour guide. She peered closely and saw how his trousers flared slightly above the ankle. She caught Mulder's gaze over the heads of the group and nodded. She was chagrined she hadn't noticed, but then, Mulder himself wore a gun that way and he knew what to look for more easily than she did. She was about to head back toward her earlier position when she heard a faint crackling hiss, followed by a voice coming from near the tour guide. He glanced down briefly at his hip, frowning, although he never stopped singing Retreat's praises. Scully looked closely at his bulky winter coat and decided he could have a radio in there. "Are there any questions?" Kevin the tour guide paused for two seconds, then turned. "Now if you'll follow me--" "Wait, I have a question," Mulder called. Kevin turned back to the group with a barely concealed frown of annoyance. "Yes?" Mulder pointed to a tree. "What's up in that tree?" Scully stared forward, squinting, then saw what he was talking about. "That," the tour guide said with pride in his voice, "is a camera. It's part of our security system. We have some of the best technology here at Retreat. Several years ago," Kevin continued, "Retreat experienced an attempted burglary. Mr. Courteney has since taken steps to make sure that it doesn't happen again." Some of the couples began glancing nervously at each other. "Is the camera watching us?" asked an older woman nervously "In a way. It's an infrared camera. It reads your body heat. Right now all the camera sees is a big splotch of heat. That's us." The tour guide looked smugly satisfied. "Now, moving on--" Mulder, by her side again, leaned in. "Security at the highest levels," he said, echoing Trudy Williams. "He's got a radio," Scully said. "Good job, G-woman." Mulder looked thoughtful for a minute, then smiled crookedly at her. "What?" she asked. "Better hope we don't have to make a getaway through those woods." 1:10 p.m. Their first counseling session met after lunch. Two other couples, also looking nervous, Mulder and Scully, and the Retreat counselor all gathered in a large airy room on the first floor. Like their tour guide from the morning, the staff member had a discreetly hidden radio, although Scully could see no sign of a gun. The counselor was talking about sex and Scully studiously stared out the window at the falling snow. This was what she had been dreading all day. she thought. Yet her traitorous thoughts kept going back to Mulder, and what it would be like... "When a couple begins to neglect their marriage, one of the first things to go is their sexual life together," the counselor was saying. "I can look at each of you and judge how long since you and your partner had sexual relations. For example, Sam and Diana, when was the last time you had sex?" Scully's gaze snapped back to the counselor. She could feel her cheeks burning, and she could think of nothing to say. She was afraid to look at her partner, and the silence drew out. The counselor made an encouraging gesture. "Sam, tell us." "Sex?" Mulder choked on the word. "We *don't* have sex," he said emphatically. Scully groaned. So much for blending in. "What we do," Mulder continued, "is make love." Now it was Scully's turn to choke. She looked at Mulder incredulously, unable to believe he had just said what she thought he said. There was a smirk on his face and her fingers itched to slap him. How dare he! But to her surprise the counselor grabbed the bait. "Ah! Sam brings up an excellent point!" He droned on, and Mulder leaned over. "Saved ya again, partner." He grinned and ducked away before she could smack him. End Elixir I: Retreat (2/3) Elixir I: Retreat (3/3) by Rebecca Rusnak 6:09 p.m Scully stood before the floor-length mirror and sighed. She usually enjoyed dressing up, but the undercover nature of this case perversely made her feel like everything she did was on display. The formal dinner tonight was not something she was looking forward to. Mulder's image appeared next to hers in the mirror. "Scoot over," he said. He expertly knotted his bow-tie, leaving it nestled snugly against his throat. Finished, he stepped back. "How do I look?" He spread his arms and pirouetted for her inspection. Scully smiled. His brown hair was carefully combed, except for the stubborn lock that fell onto his forehead. His hazel eyes smiled down at her, awaiting her answer. In his tuxedo he looked more like a GQ model than a federal agent. "You look like a rich Texan," she said. "What about me?" Mulder's eyes darkened and a strange expression crossed his face. Then he smiled brightly. "You look beautiful," he said sincerely. Scully felt a warm flush of pleasure. She was surprised at how much Mulder's opinion meant to her. She looked again in the mirror, trying to see herself as he must. Unlike her daily business suits, the white silk dress she wore was feminine and alluring. The dress had three-quarter length sleeves and buttons down the bodice. Her hair shone against the thin material and Scully decided she passed muster. She turned to Mulder. "Well, let's get this over with, shall we?" They headed down the hall toward the marble staircase. At the top of the stairs Scully paused. "Mulder, let's just do dinner," she said softly. The evening's entertainment called for the ladies to prepare the ballroom for dancing after dinner, but Scully wanted no part of it. Having to laugh and charm her way through dinner suddenly seemed bad enough, but spending half an hour with giggly, half-drunk women while they got ready for a dance... It was enough to make her shudder. Mulder seemed to share her sentiments. "We'll make an exit after dinner, okay?" Scully sighed, relieved. "Okay." Together they headed down the stairs. 8:10 p.m. Mulder stifled a yawn. He squirmed in his chair, trying to get more comfortable. The man next to him finished telling his raunchy joke, and the other men laughed. Mulder discreetly glanced at his watch, while feigning a loud laugh. Five minutes until he and the other men would all file into the ballroom and join their spouses. Five minutes until he and Scully could make their escape. At last a tuxedoed staff member came into the room. A white handkerchief peeked out from his breast pocket and a cummerbund wrapped smoothly around the man's waist. Clearly the staff here took their jobs seriously. The men walked into the ballroom, which was now lavishly decorated. Elegance fought with kitsch as flower arrangements were reflected by glittery mirror balls hanging from the ceiling. The women were laughing and glowing with pride at their handiwork. Mulder looked around for Scully but did not find her. "Excuse me." He stopped another staff member in formal dress. "Have you seen my wife? Red hair, white dress?" The man shook his head and Mulder glanced around again. Maybe she was just in the bathroom. Except that Scully had wanted to retire early, and he couldn't imagine her not meeting him so they could leave. After five minutes he began to grow worried. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Where was she? She had been quiet at dinner, and he wondered if she had already gone to their room and skipped the decorating. After all, she hadn't had any desire to attend the dance. He walked up to one of the women. She stood with a drink in one hand, the other possessively on the arm of a man Mulder knew was not her husband. He deliberately wiped the frown off his face and forced himself to smile. "Pardon me, but have you seen my wife?" he drawled in his worst Texas accent. The woman shook her head. "Diana? No, she left after dinner. She didn't even help us decorate." The woman's scarlet lips turned down in a pout. "She left? By herself?" That sick feeling grew stronger. He knew what the woman would say even before she said it. "Why no, she left with one of the servants." Mulder turned away from the woman, missing her pitying smile. He was sick with dread. They had taken her. Scully. She was in danger, and once again he had done nothing to stop it. Dammit, he shouldn't have left her alone for so long! But truly he hadn't thought half an hour enough time for anything to happen. The cold knot of fear twisted in his stomach. If they did anything to her... He ran up the marble steps, the drunken laughter behind him growing faint. Quickly he ran down the hall and unlocked the door to their room. "Scully?" He didn't care that they would hear him call his "wife" by this strange name. A hasty glance around showed she wasn't there. Mulder went across the room to the closet. He reached inside his coat pocket and fingered the "panic button" that would send a call to the local police station. Making a decision, he slipped it into his pocket. Then he pulled his gun from his coat. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but he would do whatever it took to find Scully. whispered a voice in his head. He shook his head fiercely. No! This time he would not be too late. He'd find her. But where? He had to think. All the rooms on the second floor belonged to the guests. The first floor was being used for entertainment purposes, and they would want to hide their activities. That left the third floor, which according to Retreat's brochure was where the staff lived. He opened the bedroom door and poked his head out into the hallway. No one. Taking a deep breath, Mulder sprinted down the hall. The door at the end of the hall was locked. He glanced around once, then kicked the door open. The steps here weren't marble, nor was the bannister highly polished. In fact, the whole stairwell was gray and drab, merely utilitarian. He darted up the stairs and slowly opened the door at the top. The hallway was poorly lit from a few light sconces set in the walls at varying intervals. Most of them were burned out, but in the dim light Mulder could see frayed carpeting and stained walls. Obviously Retreat had different standards of living for its staff. He moved along the hallway, gun raised, listening for voices. Only a couple of the rooms showed a crack of light under the door. At the first one of these he pressed his ear against the door but heard nothing. Silence lay behind the second door, too. Behind the third door, though, he heard a masculine voice. Mulder leaned hard against the wood and strained to make out what was being said. The man's voice remained a frustrating murmur, and Mulder held his breath, not wanting even that small sound to interfere. Finally, he could make out words "Yeah, that's it. You like that? Wanna take that off?" The man's voice was coaxing, low and pleasant. Mulder felt his blood run cold. Even if it wasn't Scully in there, it was still some innocent woman and he had to stop it. Tentatively he tried the doorknob and was unsurprised to find it locked. Not that a locked door had ever stopped him before. One swift kick forced the door open and he rushed in, gun up and ready, shouting, "Freeze! Don't move!" He kept the gun trained on the male occupant, who looked up, startled, and then reached for his own cleverly concealed weapon. "I said freeze!" Mulder shouted, moving forward, putting the gun in the man's face. And all the while the horrible scene was indelibly printing itself on his mind's eye. His cursed memory, which would never let him forget what he saw. The centerpiece of the room was the enormous bed in the middle of it. The bedcovers had been turned back invitingly, but the thing happening on the bed was not warm and loving. Scully lay back on the bed, limbs sprawled, red hair gleaming against the crisp white pillows. The hem of her silk dress was bunched up around her thighs and the buttons of the bodice were halfway undone, nearly exposing her breasts. Her eyes were half-closed and there was a dreamy expression on her face. A video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, ready to record the night's events. "Give me the gun," Mulder ordered. The man shrugged and handed it over. "Sit on the edge of the bed and put your hands in your lap. Do it!" The man did as he was told with a mocking smile. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, sneering. Mulder longed to punch the guy out but he didn't have time for indulgences. "Stay put or you're dead," he said coldly. He walked over to the bedside lamp and unplugged it. Using his pocketknife he cut the cord off the lamp and used it to tie the would-be rapist's hands behind him. He plucked the handkerchief from the man's breast pocket and stuffed it in his mouth. Only then, satisfied that he wouldn't give any more trouble, only then could Mulder look at Scully. She lay quietly, that same vague look on her face, blissfully unaware of what had just happened. Mulder hurried to her side, fighting the panic that threatened to choke him. "Scully, wake up." He shook her shoulder gently. Her head lolled to one side and she made a small "mmmm" sound, but did not open her eyes. "Scully!" Mulder shook her harder. "*Dana*, come on, wake up." He couldn't keep the urgency from his voice. There was no telling how long before somebody figured out what was going on, and then they'd be on the run. At the sound of her name, Dana's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Mulder, confused and uncertain. Her lips moved but nothing came out. "Scully, can you hear me?" he asked anxiously. She nodded slightly, and he sighed with relief. "Listen, Scully, you've been drugged. You were going to be the next blackmail victim." Her eyes widened at his words. "Mulder--" she started. Her voice was slurred but at least she was speaking. Dazed blue eyes darted around, trying to make sense of it all. "It's all right, Scully. Nothing happened," he assured her. "But we have to get out of here, and fast. They may be already looking for us. Can you sit up?" She nodded again, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried. But she only succeeded in lifting her head before letting it fall back wearily. Mulder bent over her, concern written on his face. "It's okay, Scully. Take it easy. We'll go slow." He put an arm under her shoulders and carefully propped her into a sitting position. The front of her dress gaped open and Mulder sucked in his breath. His brain screamed at him to look away, for God's sake, don't take advantage of her, she's so vulnerable right now. But it was hard; he was only human, after all. Either she followed his gaze or the sudden cool air on her flesh alerted her, but Scully suddenly realized she was nearly hanging out of her dress. She gasped and her face turned as red as her hair and she brought her hand up to cover herself. Mulder gallantly looked away as she fumbled with the buttons of her dress. "I'll get your shoes, Scully," he said, moving away. She was already humiliated, there was no reason to further embarrass her. He rescued her shoes from the floor and checked on the man sitting on the edge of the bed. Satisifed that he wasn't going anywhere, Mulder turned back to Scully. She had buttoned up her dress and was attempting to stand. Her legs were wobbly and with a frustrated sigh she sank back onto the bed. "Give me a minute," she muttered. Mulder handed her the gun he'd taken from Retreat's amateur photographer. "Here, take this. We have to get out of here tonight. *Now.* I'm going to get our things. You stay here and watch Mr. America's-Worst-Home-Videos." He left Scully sitting on the bed, holding the gun up with a shaky hand but a determined eye. The hallway was still empty and Mulder closed the door behind him quietly. Either they didn't know yet what had happened, or they had set a trap and were waiting for him to walk straight into it. Well, he wouldn't find out just standing here. He stole down the hallway, opened the door at the end, and stepped down onto the stairs. Only to come face to face with another staff member. He recognized this one--Kevin the tour guide. Only now both his radio and his gun were out, in full view. The younger man stopped, halfway up the stairs, and for a moment he and Mulder just stared at each other. Then they both moved and Mulder fired, sending Kevin toppling back down the stairs to lie in a crumpled heap on the landing. The radio squawked, a male voice asking what was going on. Oh, shit. With a curse, Mulder turned on his heel and ran, back up the stairs and down the hallway, not caring who heard. He burst into the bedroom he'd just left. "Scully! Come on!" She looked up, startled. "Mulder, what--?" "They're on to us, Scully. Come on, we gotta leave *now*." He went to her side hastily. Putting a strong arm around her waist he pulled her up until she was standing with his help. He glanced at her. "Okay?" She swayed slightly, but nodded. With Mulder's arm protectively around Scully, together they left the bedroom and moved down the hall, mercifully still empty. When they reached the stairs and the dead body, Scully tensed. "So much for a clean getaway," she said softly. They moved on to the second floor, and Mulder suddenly stopped, making Scully bump into him. "What?" she asked. Mulder pointed to the steps leading to the ground floor. "Who knows where that will take us? Better to go out the front. Can you sing, Scully?" He smiled mischievously into her puzzled gaze. "This is what I love about these undercover assignments, Scully. You get to do things you normally wouldn't." He stuck his gun into the waistband of his pants and placed Scully's arm around his middle, hiding the gun in her hand under his tuxedo jacket. Then he pushed open the door to the second floor and lurched out into the hallway. Another young couple was standing in front of their door and they turned at the sudden appearance of the two agents. " Scuse me," Mulder bellowed, then belched. "We cain't find the Gawddamned bar!" Beside him Scully erupted in a fit of giggles, probably at his awful accent, he thought wryly, but her nervous laugher helped lend a touch of authenticity to this dreadful scenario. "Go down the stairs," the man said, pointing down the hall. "The bar is down there. You can't miss it." There was a faint sneer of contempt on the man's face for what he obviously considered a drunken couple. Mulder wondered briefly what the guy would do if he could see their guns, then decided against it. Moving in a drunken stagger, he headed off down the hall, taking Scully with him. Her unsteadiness was unfeigned, however, and he kept a careful grip on her. As they reached the marble front staircase, he burst into song in a slightly off-key tenor. "Ohhh, what do you do with a drunken sailor, ear-ly in the morning?" Scully convulsed with laughter again, then gamely joined in as they lurched down the stairs. Despite the lunacy of their situation Mulder felt a pang go through him. Drugged and frightened, she still backed him loyally. Again. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to his left, glimpsed a staff member talking into his radio, and continued the turn, all the way around until they were facing the opposite direction. He let his song fade out, then headed for the parlor. Scully stumbled and he hitched upward on her waist. She gained her feet again and they crossed the parlor, weaving unsteadily. Behind them a voice called, "You there, stop! Turn around!", and Mulder started running, dragging Scully with him. He hit the French doors with his free hand outstretched, and they popped open . Letting go of Scully, he jerked his gun out, spun around and fired at the oncoming man. Without waiting to see if he had hit or not he grabbed Scully's hand and they ran out into the cold night. Scully could never remember being so cold. Even that case with the worm, in the Arctic, she hadn't been this cold. Her teeth chattered and her body shivered convulsively, making the ache in her head double in size. Her legs felt numb, even as she continued to move forward. Forward to where? Why was she running? Her mind was too confused, too blurry to provide any answers. Her foot hit something; abruptly her forward motion stopped and she was simply falling. Something soft cushioned her landing, soft but cold. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision and drew in a gasping breath. A face suddenly hovered over her, hazel eyes full of worry and concern. "Scully, are you okay?" Mulder. She began to remember where they were. Retreat, in New York. The last thing she clearly remembered was eating dinner, and somehow they had gotten outside. Outside where there was already two feet of snow on the ground, with more falling right now. Mulder had taken off his suit jacket and put it on her, but the wind still seemed to drive right through her. She shivered again with the cold. "I--I'm okay," she ground out between chattering teeth. Mulder helped pull her to her feet, that worried look still on his face. "We can stop and rest, Scully, if you need to. I'm sorry I made you run, but we had to get some distance between us and the house." She was not quite sure yet of all that had happened, but she knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good. There was no time to stop and rest, she knew, no matter what Mulder said. But she also knew he blamed himself for her condition and the fact that they were on the run in 20-degree weather with no coats. So even though they couldn't afford to, he had offered to let her rest here. She looked around. Where was here? They were in what looked like a forest, with snow-covered trees surrounding them. They seemed to be on a path, where the snow covering was only an inch or two--obviously the path had been cleared earlier today. There was a blue sign on a tree trunk proclaiming that Retreat was "this way" and the picnic area was "that way." Scully suddenly realized where "here" was. "Scully? Do you need to rest?" Mulder asked again, with a faint note of rising panic in his voice. She gave herself a slight shake. "No, I'm--I'm all right. How do we get out of here?" Mulder pointed off to her left. "If we follow this path it will let us out by the front gate." She nodded. He'd looked at the map earlier and had committed Retreat's layout to memory. He said they were on the right path for escape and she believed him. Her head throbbed with sudden pain, and she closed her eyes. So much had happened... She raised her eyes and looked around the woods again. "How did we get here?" The question suddenly made her remember another time, years ago, only the second case she and Mulder had worked on together. Watching him move unsteadily to the car and get in, turning bloodshot and confused eyes on her. She must have looked at him the same way he was looking at her now. Mulder's concerned look deepened, then the lines in his forehead smoothed out. He held out a hand. "Come on. I'll tell you while we walk." Scully hesitated only slightly before taking his hand. "Remember talking with Trudy Williams? How she was blackmailed?" Scully nodded, then stopped walking as realization dawned. She looked up at Mulder, horrified. Had they--? "No, they didn't," he answered her unasked question. "But they tried. They gave you some kind of drug to make you drowsy and uncoordinated, so you'd go along willingly. That's why you're feeling sluggish and dizzy. That's why you're unable to remember." He put a hand on her back and they started walking again. "Why are we running through the woods when it's snowing out?" she asked. "Did they find us out?" Mulder nodded. "I think so. I was headed down to our rooms to get our things when I met someone in the stairwell. I had to kill him, but he had a radio and I think that alerted them. We got here by running across the lawn and dodging some bullets." He tossed her a crooked smile. "Not exactly my idea of after-dinner entertainement." "Are they following us?" "Probably. Remember the tour, that guy bragging about their high-tech security system? I hope all those infrared sensors aren't picking us up." "Wait a minute, Mulder. In this cold, on an infrared screen, we'd stick out like sore thumbs." "Yeah, but for the snow. It's a good insulator, in addition to what's falling." Scully looked up. "But it's tapering off," she said. "Then we'd better hurry. I had to hit the panic button' Skinner gave us, so the local police should be on their way." They trotted on through the woods, and the snow gradually stopped falling. Scully tried not to think about how cold she was. Mulder's jacket helped a little, but her legs were still bare. She knew her partner must be freezing in just his dress shirt, but he said nothing about the cold. At last they reached the edge of the woods. Up ahead, the guard shack sat beside the snow-covered driveway. The black front gate was closed. As they watched, a dark car drove up from the direction of the house and stopped in front of the gate. A tall figure got out and went into the guard house. After a few minutes, a shorter figure left the house and got into the car. The black gates inched open and the car drove off. "Now or never, " Mulder said. He looked at her. "Are you up to this?" Scully nodded She was exhausted and her head beat out a merciless drumbeat of pain, but she could not let Mulder do this by himself. She drew her gun, the one that had belonged to Retreat's resident rapist, as Mulder did the same. He looked at her again and she nodded, and they were up and running through the snow toward the guard shack. Keeping low, they ran to the back of the small building where they paused to catch their breaths. "Okay?" Mulder looked at her questioningly and she gave him a slightly dazed grin in response. The run had done her in more than she wanted to admit. They stood up and Scully followed Mulder closely as they headed for the corner of the building. She saw the figure step forward as they came around the side, but could do nothing. She saw him swing his arm, saw the butt of the pistol smash into the side of Mulder's face, knocking him against the guard shack where he crumpled to the ground without a sound. Her brain screamed at her to move, but her body was still sluggish to respond, and by the time she got her gun up it was too late. "Freeze! Federal agent!" she shouted. "Put the gun down!" Standoff. Courteney had hauled Mulder to his feet and he stood now with the agent in a chokehold, gun pressed against his temple. Blood streamed down Mulder's face from a gash on his forehead and he hung limply in Courteney's grasp. "Put your weapon down, Agent Scully, " Courteney said. She gasped as she realized what he had said. "Oh, yes. I know who you are. Now put your gun down." Scully's mind raced. All FBI agents received training in Hostage Negotiations at the Academy, but Quantico suddenly seemed very long ago. "All right. All right, just don't hurt him," she said quietly. Mulder stirred and groaned, bringing his hands up in a feeble attempt to loosen the pressure around his throat. Courteney jammed the gun harder into his temple, and Mulder froze. He dropped his hands to his side and slumped forward. But his eyes locked on Scully and she could read the message there. "Okay," she said. "I'm putting the gun down. But you won't get away with this, Courteney. The police on their way here right now." "Maybe so," Courteney said. He took a step back, dragging Mulder with him. "But I told you to put your gun down, and you still haven't." His finger curled around the trigger. "No!" she cried. "Okay, just don't shoot him." She lowered herself to her knees, letting her gun lie flat on her palm. She watched Courteney closely, but she was acutely aware of Mulder's stare. Courteney smiled. "My dear, do you really think I am a killer?" Scully leaned forward slowly, the gun in front of her. Her eyes met Mulder's and something passed between them. Without warning Mulder reached up with both hands and yanked down on the arm encircling his neck. Courteney stumbled forward and his gun hand wavered slightly. It was all the time Scully needed. Still on her knees, in one smooth motion she brought the gun up and fired. A look of surprise came over Courteney's face as the bullet entered his forehead, then he dropped to the ground. Mulder fell with him, but rolled clear as soon as they hit the ground. He knelt over Courteney's body, breathing hard. Scully lurched to her feet, keeping her gun out. "You okay?" she asked Mulder. He nodded, then looked up at her, his face unreadable. She knew she had just beaten incredible odds. Not only was she emotionally charged from recent events, but she was still overcome by some strange drug. She suddenly realized that in her state she could just as easily have killed Mulder, instead of Courteney. Weak with reaction, she swayed on her feet. Lights came up over the hill then, bathing them in the sudden glow. The local police, she realized. Mulder raised his head wearily. In the bright light Scully could see the blood on his face. "Here comes the cavalry," he said. He turned to her and gave her a lopsided smile. "Suppose there will ever be a day when we can step back and let them handle this stuff?" He waved a hand at the corpse. The cars had pulled up now and people were heading towards them. Scully leaned in. "I'm surprised at you, Mulder. What fun would that be?" J. Edgar Hoover Building Jan. 28, 1997 Dana Scully stretched in her chair and sighed. Typing up field reports was never fun. At least her current task was easier than Mulder's. He was hopelessly buried in a sea of receipts, trying to file an expense report. She glanced down at her left hand and idly wondered if the wedding rings they'd worn for their disguise were on the expense report. Amazing how it had taken only two days for her to accept seeing a ring where she had never expected to see one. "Dammit!" Mulder swore as a pile of receipts fell to the floor from his desk. He got down on all fours and began combing through the mess angrily. Scully laughed softly and Mulder looked up. "What?" She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. A lock of brown hair fell onto his forehead, partially obscuring the white bandage there. He looked so handsome Scully sucked in her breath. She still couldn't believe how close she'd been to killing him. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally she said, "You look like the lone survivor of an out-of-control ticker tape parade." Mulder smirked at her. "Thanks a lot. Wanna help me here?" She shrugged innocently. "Sorry. I've got my own report to write." She had started typing again when a knock on the door made her look up. "The hell with it," Mulder grumbled, tossing a fistful of white slips back to the floor. He got up and opened the office door to reveal Agent Pendrell. Scully sat up straighter and put on her best blank expression. She suspected Pendrell was in love with her and she wasn't entirely sure what to do about it. Now Pendrell shouldered his way past Mulder, ignoring the tall agent. He carried a file folder in his hand and had eyes only for Scully. He stopped in front of her desk. His hand restlessly squeezed and relaxed on the folder. "I have your lab results, Agent Scully," he said, his eyes boring into hers. Oh, yes. She had had a blood sample taken on the night of their dramatic departure from Retreat. The drug in her system had not seemed familiar to her, so she had wanted it analyzed. On Mulder's suggestion they had also had the sample tested for illegal drugs. Perhaps Courteney had been coming up with some creative uses for his product. She looked up at Pendrell. Something about the way he stared at her set off alarms in her head. "What is it?" Mulder came up to stand behind her. "What did you find?" he asked. Pendrell cleared his throat. "We--um. There's something odd about the sample you gave us, Agent Scully." He cleared his throat again. Scully felt her chest contract suddenly, making it difficult to breathe. Something was wrong here. She was absurdly grateful when Mulder's hand came up to rest on her shoulder. Pendrell paused. "It's nothing any of us have ever seen, or heard of. It's not organic. We don't know what it is. "Agent Scully, that substance in your blood, whatever it is, it's alien." To be continued in Part 2 of this trilogy, Elixir II: Replay Well, what did you think? Are you on the edge of your seat waiting for the sequel?