One Link Part I

**
TITLE: "One Link"

SPOILERS: "Emily"  

This story is free for archiving anywhere
with my full permission and gratitude. But please
let me know where so I can brag.


DISCLAIMER: The X-Files series, movie, characters, 
are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen 
Productions and the Fox Network. I don't want 
any credit, fame or fortune from X-Files, I only want 
to write about your show and characters to entertain 
myself and others. 

This story is ficticious. If there appear to be people 
bearing any resemblance to actual persons, it is 
by COINCIDENCE ONLY.

Summary: Mulder is taken hostage and
a woman learns a hard lesson. 

***

One Link.

*

"Jesus Christ!"  Charmine examined the wounds with
an untrained eye. "Fuck." She said. "Son-of-a-bitches."
She muttered under her breath as she tried to bathe
the infected stripes across his back.

Wringing out her bloody rag several times in the now
pink water, she also used it to wipe the sweat from his
forehead.

"Ya' had to follow 'em, didn't ya? Ya' couldn't leave it
alone, huh?" Charmine, chocolate brown skin under
plaited hair kept back from her face with an elastic,
shook her head at the prisoner/patient.

He was a male Caucasian. Currently chained from
shoulders to feet, lying on his side on the unpolished
wood floor in the back room of their little "clubhouse"
as her companions liked to call it. He wore no clothes 
or shoes. They'd stripped him nude, beaten him to within
an inch of his life, trussed him up like a side of beef,
and then left him to think about it.

She was the caretaker, cleaner, meal preparer and
main squeeze of the leader of the "membership", Wolly
(though he hated it and insisted on "Wol'"), and his three
human "heelers" who, between them, managed a brain.
The hobbies of their particular little sorority was crime.

B and E. Drugs. Armed robbery, jewelry stores mostly.
Whatever brought home the bread and butter.

Hostage taking was not their specialty. 

She bathed his face, pasty with sickness. He was unconscious
and had been for many hours. "They worked you over pretty
good, didn't they, "-B.I."?"  that was damn stupid if you ask me,
barging in. Whaddya think? - that they're just a group of
small time operators. They've done bank jobs, -B.I., killed
people." Charmine talked but it was to herself. "Like they
might do to you if you're not careful. You do just like they
say and you might come out of this alive. We've never done
a hostage deal before and now that they've got themselves a 
genuine Federal man, they're tasting to see if it's as good as it 
smells. Lots of money to be had in an important guy like you." 

She saw him shiver, his eyes flickered beneath her icey cloth, but 
still he did not awaken. 

"And you must be someone pretty important, at least to them, 'cause
your good-looking' face is all over the T.V., baby. Alllllll over it."

She took a moment to check if he was feverish by feeling his
forehead, but her hands were chilly from the cool water and the 
thin walls of the unheated room. Placing the back of her hand
against the small of his back, she decided he was. She cupped
a palm over one buttock. "Now, I'm gonna take care of you
as best I can but I 'aint no nurse. So if you're interested in staying 
alive like I'm pretty damn sure you are, you'll do exactly what 
they say and exactly what I say."

She ran a hand down his thigh. "You're one fine looking man.
_Real fine_. And if you're not careful, these type here, they don't
pass up a party if they can help it, you know what I'm saying?"

Her patient, dark hair sticking to his fevered scalp, didn't twitch. 
She checked and saw his chest still moving regularly. "Keep 
breathing, baby. And keep real quiet like I said and maybe you'll 
get outta this."

She gatherd up her rag and pan and left, turning out the
light. The windowless room fell into pitch blackness as she swung
the door shut, turning the lock from the other side.

***
"Wol'" Charmine locked the door on their
guest and entered the living room. It was
littered with beer bottles and old food cartons
on the coffee table. Cigarette smoke and the
smell of shoes permeated the air. "Wol', he
needs some asprin or something. Got a bad
fever."

Charmine came to stand in front of her boyfriend,
in between him and the television that was 
blaring out a football game. "Charm', move, I'm 
trying to watch the game."

She stepped aside but continued. "Babe, the guy
is gonna die. Now don't we want our money first?"

"Yeah, yeah. So go to the store and get whatever
you need, geeeze!" He tossed her a rolled up
twenty.

She pocketed it and grabbed her coat. "Smokes too?"

He nodded, engrossed in a good tackle.

The store, a four block walk, was a corner grocery 
that contained more liquor than groceries but they 
carried aspirin, cough syrup and bandages too. She bought
all three and two packs of Morely's for herself and Wol'.

The store clerk, both owner and only employee was
an old man who did not care for football. Instead the
six o'clock news was playing and a perfectly groomed,
mannequin female was  speaking: 						

"THE LATEST ON A MISSING PERSONS: SPECIAL AGENT 
FOX MULDER OF THE F.B.I. HAS OFFICIALLY BEEN LISTED
AS A MISSING PERSON. AN INVESTIGATION INTO HIS 
DISAPPEARANCE WAS OPENED YESTERDAY, HEADED
BY ASSISTANT DIRECTOR ALVIN KERSHE AND SPECIAL TASK
FORCE AGENT DIANA FOWLEY. FOX MULDER WAS LAST SEEN 
LEAVING THE FEDERAL BUILDING IN WASHINGTON, D.C. THURSDAY
AFTERNOON AT APPROXIMATELY SIX-THIRTY P.M.. WHEN HE
DID NOT REPORT FOR WORK FRIDAY, INQUIRIES BEGAN THAT
HAVE SO FAR TURNED UP NOTHING. THIS NEWS TEAM WILL
KEEP YOU INFORMED IF THERE ARE ANY FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS,
SO FAR THERE ARE NO LEADS."

Charmine listened, gathered up her purchases and left the store,
walking a bit faster. She suddenly felt an overwhelming
sense of dread. 

Hearing it on the television, right on the news, brought it home 
a bit harder. They had a federal agent. An F.B.I. officer whom 
they'd beaten and chained and who could die. If he did, that 
was the same as murder if she remembered the little law she 
had taken. A _federal agent_ was sick and injured and maybe 
dying right now and she was party to it. Wol' and the others
were going to ask for money, except Wol' hadn't even 
made the ransom note yet or devised any kind of plan. Wol' 
was ace at hold-ups, bank jobs (small, neighborhood branches) 
but he'd never tackled anything like this before.

Stupid F.B.I. had to follow Wol' to their base. Moron just _had_
to do his good duty and tail a suspected criminal. He must have 
recognized Wol' from his wanted sheets, which she imagined 
were plastered all over the walls of the F.B.I. building.

Charmine entered the tiny house. "Wol'. We gotta talk."



Wol', her mountain of a man, never-the-less spoke to her 
with affection. Most times, he was a manipulator and used 
his wiles to cajole or convince (along with plenty of romps 
in the hay) his lady. But, sometimes, he spoke with genuine 
affection (at least his brand of it). Besides, it wouldn't do to 
scare her away. Charm' was smart as a whip and a hell of 
a cook too. He didn't want to lose her.

"I know, baby, I know. We got to make a decision. Me n'
the boys have been talking and we figure it'll go this way..."

He explained, in detail, his little get rich quick operation. 
Charmine listened, nodding and making the called for: "You
are the man, baby! You are MY man!" 's, but her heart
pounded with a nameless dread. Her eyes saw Wol's rugged
though not without attraction face but in behind she was seeing 
the face of the F.B.I. agent, lying on his side, white and shaking
and maybe dying.

Murder. If he died, it meant murder. A dead agent and twenty-five 
years in prison. 

Wol' seemed to sense her apprehension and perhaps her
tiny spark of sympathy for their little federal money maker
and so said the called-for things back:

"It'll be all right, baby-doll. He'll get home. As long as they 
pay us the money, nothing's gonna happen to him."

He could see the relief in her eyes. 

"Now, why don't you go fix us, and him too, something to eat
and maybe give him aspirin or whatever you got for him,
and then we'll all sit down and plan this out so there's no 
foul-ups."

Charmine, feeling a bit more relaxed about the whole thing,
bent to her tasks.

***

Next Day. TASK FORCE MEETING, (A.D. Kershe presiding):

"Settle down people. Settle down. Please take your seats."

Kershe gave the assembled agents a moment to settle and
the quiet chatter ceased. 

He stood at the front of the large meeting room, surveying
the two dozen agents seated at the horseshoe table.

A.D. Skinner was there along with Agent Scully and many
others from several departments. "Thank you for coming			
on such short notice. As you may have suspected, there
has been a development in the disappearance of Agent
Mulder." Kershe nodded to Walter Skinner who stood, clearing
his throat to better be heard. "At four A.M. this morning, a
recorded ransom demand was received by Washington
D.C. Police Department Precinct 35."

All sat forward as he pressed a button on a set-up tape
player. (It looked like a stereo system any teenager would covet):

"WEEEE HVVVV ANGGNNN MLLLDDRRR. ONNN MILLLNNN. SMLL
BLLZZZZZ. WEEE WLLL ONNNNTACT OOOU."

Skinner stopped the tape. "For those of you who haven't listened
to it a dozen times, the message is as follows: "We have Agent
Mulder. One million. Small bills. We will contact you"."

Skinner looked over to Scully's pale face. She was hiding her 
shock, and her worry, well. Before anyone was given the
opportunity to speak, Skinner continued.

"Clearly, our "missing person's" is now a kidnaping. To lead		
 the task force in the safe recovery of Agent Mulder,.." 

Scully wondered why he paused and also why he nervously
glanced her way.

"...your attention, please, on Agent Fowley."

Skinner sat down quickly, avoiding Scully's gaping eyes as
Diana Fowley rose from the crowd and took her place at
the whiteboard beyond the head of the table.

She spoke:

"Agent Mulder's family has already been contacted, and though
they are not without means, it will take Mrs. Mulder some time 
to raise that kind of cash. We think too much time. So it is up
to us to formulate a workable plan once the kidnappers have
contacted us again. In the interim, we have had the recording
analyzed and a few tenuous conclusions have been reached:

"One. The message was recorded at double speed and then
slowed down to one third in an amateurish attempt to disguise
the male voice. This suggests the perpetrators are new at this sort
of thing. Kidnaping is not "old hat" to them and that may give
us an advantage when the time comes. Second. That they 
took almost thirty hours to contact us could suggest hesitancy,
that perhaps the kidnaping wasn't planned out ahead or that 
they're afraid of the possible consequences should things turn 
sour from their point of view. Third. That they are demanding a 
million dollars from a family that might not be able to come up 
with it suggest to us that they are unaware of Agent Mulder's 
personal financial status which, again, suggests they have little 
knowledge of him and in choosing _him_ as a hostage for ransom 
may mean that it was spur of the moment. Or there could be other 
factors involved that we are thus far unaware..."

"What _factors_?" Scully piped in.

Agent Fowley looked at her with a set face, cool and controlled.

"We know Agent Mulder has...unusual priorities regarding his job
and it is not beyond the range of speculation that this may have been
a private investigation he was conducting that for some reason 
turned bad."

Scully sat forward, not believing her ears. "Are you suggesting Agent
Mulder was involved in something illegal? Based upon what evidence?!"

"We're not suggesting anything, Agent Scully, but we will leave no
unturned speculation here, if it means it will assist us in his safe
return." Kershe cut in before an argument could erupt.

Scully sat back, fuming but silent.				

Fowley resumed her discourse. "Third. The perpetrators stating
they will contact us again seems to suggest that they have not yet
planned their modus operandi to its conclusion. This also suggests 
an amateur at the helm and, once more, we hope this will give us 
an advantage."

"These "amateurs" as you call them, have _already_ succeeded in 
doing two things." Scully spoke again.

All ears turned to her.

"They have succeeded in kidnaping and disappearing with an
experienced federal agent and they have succeeded in that they 
now hold his life in their hands."

Fowley made no comment.

Kershe stood. "Thank you Agents. Until they contact us, we have
no course of action but the usual protocol. Canvassing and the media. 
Agent Fowley will hand you your assignments. You are all on alert 
status so be ready to fly at a moment's notice. Dismissed."

Agents lined up to receive stapled sheets; quickly thrown together
street by street duties.

Scully intercepted Kershe. "So that's it?" She accused, almost
disrespectfully. "We just sit around and wait?"

Calmly, Kershe said, "What would you have us do, Agent Scully?
We will be taking every step we can in the meantime. We'll canvass the 
areas near his home and his usual route to and from work. We have his
picture all over the airwaves and the prints..."				

"I want to be on the recovery team." She asked. Tried not to make it
sound like
a demand. Tried not to sound desperate and afraid for him.

"Of course."

She'd expected an argument along the lines of "no, you're too close, it
could impair your judgement, yad-da-da-ya-da-da"...not immediate 
agreement.

"Thank you sir."

Kershe sighed, gathered his notes and spoke without anger. "Agent
Scully,
I am in no way a Mulder admirer er, I don't bow under the spooky legend.

But he's in my department. That makes him my agent and responsibility.
The 
welfare of my agents in any situation is always my first priority.
Therefore, I 
will do what is within my power to get him back safe and unharmed.
Personal 
feelings don't come into this."								

"Yes, sir." She suddenly felt ashamed for thinking, as she just had
again 
not thirty seconds ago, that Kershe would have been only too pleased 
to see Mulder turn up dead and be out of his hair for good.

***

"Hey. F.B.I. man." Charmine knelt down beside him with a glass and
three aspirin in her palm. "Come on, these'll make you feel better."

When she came in, she'd seen right away that he was awake. But he
still looked bad. And, after nearly two days peeing on the floor and
no access to a toilet, he smelled bad. 

He struggled to raise his head enough to swallow the aspirin with a few
sips of water as she held the glass to his lips for him. "Whew. You're
ripe, -B.I. you need a bathe."

"Well, take these chains off, and I'll go home and have one."

She twisted a lip, a hint of a smile. "Hah. Not on your life. Wol' would
have
my head."

"Then I guess you're stuck with a stinky hostage." 

Her expression fell into neutral and he had the sneaky impression that 
he had just said something that disturbed her.

"I could have Wol' come in here with the garden hose and spray you
down."

"Pass." He said but thought, garden hose, grass, yard. A house,
somewhere.
They'd moved him during the time he was unconscious. After he'd followed
three dark figures slipping out of a car parked in an alley beside an
jewelry 
store, far back from the lighted street. Saw those three figures slip in
a bolted,
iron-barred side door through the use of portable blow torches (with
filters to
dim the glare of the hot blue fires).								

Me and my civic mindedness, he thought.

"Looks like I'll have to do it myself." Charmine said.

He looked up at her, frowning.

"Give you a bath." She clarified.				

"Don't fucking lay a finger on me." He said.

She stared and he could see the stone center of her heat to a molten
red.
She grabbed his jaw in one surprisingly strong hand and squeezed. "Don't
you talk to me like that, classy-ass! I'm the one who's gonna keep you
alive.
I do whatever I damn well please. You get me!? As long as you're here, 
I'll do whatever the hell I want with you." 

She let go. "Or I'll tell Wol' what you said and then _he'll_ do
whatever the 
hell he wants. Now, do we understand one another?" Her anger had quickly
left but her eyes still glowed with after burn.

His already bruised jaw ached with renewed purpose. He nodded.


 "...Because I don't trust her!"

Skinner sighed and pushed himself back from his desk.
"Agent Scully, you and Agent Mulder are no longer-"

Scully stamped her foot once, hard on his carpeted
office floor. "Don't give me that "no longer under
your direct orders" crap, sir, with all due respect.
Agent Mulder has saved my life on more than one 
occasion - and yours! So don't sit there and hide
behind the rule book. Your are his friend.-"

"I am also his co-worker and as such I answer to the same
authority he does." Skinner stood and stared her down.
Then he turned away to the picture window. "What is
it about Agent Fowley that's got your hackles raised?"

Scully crossed her arms, looked at the carpet. "I just
don't trust someone who suddenly appears back in his life,
and all of a sudden, he's out of the X-Files and on jerk duty.
She pretends to care about him.."

"And he bought it, isn't that right? That's what bothers you.
Mulder trusts someone else."

"This is not personal, sir."

"Like hell." Skinner decided to steer the conversation to
more productive lines. "Scully, Fowley's the expert. She's
spent years in negotiations with every sort of government
official and pond scum. If someone can get Mulder back 
safely, she can."

"We don't know anything about her. Her record is classified."

"She's been acting a liaison between the United States and 
Iran, so that's not surprising."

Skinner saw her give in ever so slightly and admonsihed. "Look. 
We may know next to nothing about her, but she knows her job. 
Let her do it."


She nodded. "What about these kidnapers? What will they do, do
you think?"						

Skinner sat down, ready to resume work. "I'm not the expert, Scully."

***

"In a hostage situation, how many days, after the kidnaping,..."

Scully was having a hard time getting her question out to Diana
Fowley's five foot seven inches of Professional in Charge demeanor.
she gathered her thoughts and tried again, "After how many days, 
usually, will they go before..."

Diana understood. "...before they harm him?" She made her voice
sympathetic. 

Scully managed a tiny, tiny nod.

"It varies. We should demand to speak to Fox or demand irrefutably
proof that he is alive and unharmed before we agree to any exchange
or series of exchanges."

"I see." Scully cleared her throat. "And what is the percentage of
those who are returned alive in a given similar situation."

Diana sat at her desk, straightened papers. "The longer they...stall,..
the more days that go by where they refuse to let us speak to him,
of give any proof of his well being, the greater the chances are
that..."
She left the rest unspoken.

Scully nodded again, once, even tinier. "Thank you."

"Agent Scully." She called after Scully who was at the door, the exit
door to her and Mulder's old office. Their office that together used to 
be their domain and purpose. Scully turned to face her.

"I will do my best. If I have anything to say about it, there'll be no
errors
made."

Scully, as she left,  supposed she should have felt reassured. 

***

"Just lie still and this'll be easier on both of us. Like I told you, I
aint'
no nurse."

Mulder lay as still as stone as she soaped up his arms, back, front,
legs
and then squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation as she did the same to
his groin area.

Finally it was done. He'd felt exposed before, he felt vulnerable and
helpless even more so now. Fuck her and her Ivory soap! At least the
dirt and urine stink had kept her eyes and hands off him. She'd taken to
looking at him more closely than was comfortable and he cursed all
B movie directors for thinking that trussing a naked person up in rope
or chains could ever be portrayed as erotic! He'd never buy another XXX
vid' as long as he lived!

His bruised and marked back burned. His side ached and the floor was
as cold as a skating rink.

"How about some fucking blankets?" He snarled the next time she came in,
this time with a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"You gotta eat something." She announced.

"All the better to vomit it up, sweets." He commented. He wanted to
provoke
her and fuck her and her threats.

"You'd be sleeping in it all night." She warned and he huffed. 

"Look, my side hurts like hell, I can't feel my legs anymore. I need to
sit up
at least." He asked in a poor imitation of nice.

"You'll have to anyway, to eat."

Charmine placed the bowl and spoon within arms reach, and two hands
cupped under his armpits, helped him sit up and then bum walk back
to the yellow stained, papered wall. Little daisies.

He grimaced as the rough wood slivered his buttocks. "Fuck!" And bit
his lip with the newly introduced stings.

Charmnine ignored him, scooping a spoonful of soup and he hated himself
for eagerly swallowing it. He hadn't eaten for three days and nothing to
drink since the night before. 

"Wol' won't let anything happen to you", she said. "As long as we get
our money."

"What money?"

"The millon we're asking for you."

Mulder knew how it worked within the F.B.I. The Bureau didn't put up
wads like
that, even for one of their own. That left his mother, who, despite the
Mulder
holdings, couldn't get her hands on even half that much in cash. But he
kept
that information to himself. They thought his family had money and he
would
Let them keep on thinking that because he was their ticket to riches.
Expose that
ticket as useless and they might just decide to toss him out with the
trash and run.

"You'll get it."

"We'd better." Charmine watched him chew the little bits of veggie
squares.

"Who's Wol'?" He asked.

"My husband. Well, my almost husband. And the leader, the brains."

Mulder was sure she was overestimating her intended but again kept it to
himself. "Why are you with him, I mean these guys, you don't seem the
type-"

"What "type'?!" He had ignited some deep, old anger in her. "The "type"
that
doesn't get involved in crime? How many suites extort money everyday?
How
many who dress like you were dressed, order foreclosures and
repossessions,
leaving people with nothing and no place to go?!"

"A few."

"Yeah. And maybe more than that. You and your family money and your
education. Where'd you go, Harvard? Princeton? Well, I'm not just some 
stupid, uneducated gutter-snipe. I went to business school. But just try
and 
get a bank loan when you're a single black woman! It can't be done, you
hear 
me? Wol' came along just as I was one step from living on the street,
all right?! 
He's been nothing but decent to me!"

"You don't have to explain your actions to me. Just to the judge." He
said. It
was probably the wrong thing.

She grabbed his balls tight. 

Yup. Wrong thing to say.

She gripped tighter. He bit back a yelp and broke out in an instant
sweat. Clawlike 
fingers pinched. Razor nails dug in. He had to literally bite his tongue
to stop from 
squealing in pain.

"You shut your mouth, fancy ass. That's a real sweet instrument you got
there,
real pretty. Be careful or I might get the urge to bite it off!"

She released him and he collapsed to his side, panting. His genitals
throbbed.  

The pain was almost too much to bear but, in the end, it was worth it.
She
was talking to him. They were exchanging information. Communication, 
of a sort.
 
Eventually, she'd tell him something he could use to get himself free.
Maybe.
It was a risk but worth a try because he sure as hell wasn't going to be
going
anywhere by doing zilch.


***
ONE LINK Part II

***

But after another twelve hours of intermittent "conversation",
he'd had enough of butt cheeks on fire, frozen feet and
headache. The problem was, he really had no workable plans
on how to get himself out of his current situation.

On top of that he was feeling sicker by the hour. Infection, he 
supposed. Hunger. Cold. The companionship. Anyone of the 
above got the blue ribbon as far as he was concerned. 

Mulder was about to have another go at loosening the chain's
tight hold around his upper body when the door opened
again and his caretaker, and the only member of the Glee Club
he'd so far seen up close, entered, bringing him a blanket.

"It's supposed to get pretty cold tonight. Figured you might need this."

Genius, he thought, but what he muttered was, "thanks." Trying
to make his response grateful, he only succeeded in sounding
weary. He was that, after all.

Concerned over his even paler complexion, Charmine felt his forehead.
"You got that temperature back. Shit." She left and returned with
two acetaminophen tablets and another glass of water. "Here. Take
these."

Mulder frowned as he swallowed. "Why do you give a shit what 
happens to me now?" He really was curious. And he hadn't been lying
with his comment about her not seeming the type. She just didn't fit in.

"'Cause we gotta keep you alive so your mom will have a nice Hannuka 
this year with you back home eating kosher brownies as usual."

"You assume a lot about me but you actually know fuck all."

"Yeah? Well, I think I know your, to use your favorite word, "type"
pretty
well."

"Is that a fact? And what is my "type"?"

"Ohhhh, rich Jew daddy meets rich Jewish mommy and they have a
sweet little Jew boy. Nice house. Private school. College. Money.
All the opportunities there for you to grow up and become a nice,
groomed, well mannered, educated Jew white man who punishes 
us bad guys. How's that sound?"

"My father was Scottish."

"How about the rest?"

"Mind if I take a stab at you?"

"Hah! yeah, sure, go ahead."

"Harlem mother. Maybe a street walker, maybe not but single. Daddy cut 
out after the fun part was over. Public schools where the main
recreation
was sniffing glue and graffiti. But baby girl's ashamed of momma, so
earns
extra money any way she knows how to. Saves it up. Leaves home.
Waitresses, hooks, whatever, to earn enough to educate herself 
in something practical like Veterinary Assistant or Interior Decorating.
Or 
maybe you went all the way and got yourself a diploma in Business
Admin'. But having, if you'll pardon the expression, not the Jew look, 
you found all the same doors closed just like before, 'cause all they
see when you enter their office is a gutternipe black bitch who's
trying to pretend she's white. How's that?"

Charmine's hand drew back and slapped him so hard on his left cheek, 
his ears rang. "What son-of-a-bitch taught you to be such a bigoted 
asshole, huh?!"

Cheek hot and burning, "Same one that taught you."

Charmine didn't move for a second. "You think you're smart, don't you?"

"Smarter than you."

"Oh? Is that right?"

"Yeah, because you're believing all that crap good old Wol's been
feeding
you."

"What are you talking about?"

"They're going to kill me, don't you know that?

"Bullshit. Wol' said-"

"Wol' lied. There's no way in hell they're going to let me out of here
alive."

"Why?"

"Because I can identify you. And maybe Wol' too. And this place."

"Once we get our money-"

"He'll take the money just the same of course, but I'll be dead. My good
old rich, Jewish mother will be eating her kosher brownies all by
herself."

"How do you know he's lying. You don't know him at all."

"No. But I know the "type", I'm F.B.I.."

"_I'm_ part of them and you said I wasn't the "type"." She pointed out.

"I know."

Charmine stared for a few seconds and then quickly left the room. The
lock turned as usual.

Mulder renewed his struggle with the chains, cursing their clinking.

***

TASK FORCE MEETING. 3:20 A.M., DAY FOUR:


Diana Fowley held the floor:

"As you may have guessed, our second contact from the Perp's
arrived a short time ago, thank you all for responding so quickly.		
Unfortunately, this call told us little more than the last one. It
came to a night desk Sargent at Precinct 29, the same as before. A
recorded message, in fact, the same recorded message as before."

"Why would they do that?" One Agent from the back asked.

Fowley shifted her position to see him, looking passed and over
Agent Scully's head, who sat front and center. "We are		
certain now that these are amateurs, at least at the crime of
Kidnaping. They have no plan and the crime was spur of the moment.
Beyond that... they may be planning out the circumstances of the 
delivery of the ransom as we speak..."

"Why are they calling local police department precincts and not the 
Bureau?" Another asked.

"Again, we feel it is because they are unsure of themselves, hence
afraid. They probably believe that all calls to the Bureau can be 
automatically traced. Too many Dragnet reruns" Her attempt at
humor received a few chuckles.

Scully thought it was time for anything but humor. "This isn't funny.
Agent Mulder was taken four days ago and we have no idea if he
is even alive."

Fowley looked straight at her. "We are doing everything possible
under the circumstances, but we need one relevant fact to
go on before we can act. We will just have to be patient and hopeful
for the time being."

Scully looked away. The "Expert". And there were sitting around drinking

coffee and chatting about what might be done whenever. Perhaps
she was being unfair, but she couldn't help but feel anger. Hatred even.

She hated the situation, she hated doing nothing and most especially, 
she hated Diana Fowley for standing up there, talking calmly and
smoothly
as glass all about a missing  and possibly dead man she used to be
involved 
with. Maybe even in love with. All once upon a time of course.

Scully felt fear as well. 

Four days and counting.

***											


By the time the rest of the household was asleep, Mulder had succeeded,
by many gyrations of torso and arms, in slipping the chains down to
waist level.
Amazing what eating almost nothing could do in so short a time. He'd
lost
at least six or seven pounds and on his lean frame, it made a world of
difference.
when he'd felt the chains loosening up the third day, he was careful not
to come
across as hungry anymore. Less food, less mass, more room to maneuver
out
of his metal bonds. If he could stand, gravity might help him a bit.

Mulder pressed his back to the wall behind him and gathered his cuffed
together ankles under him as best he could. Then, using leverage and
sheer
muscle power, he slid up the wall, his sweaty back sticking to the
wallpaper,
pulling his skin as he went.

Upright but dizzy, he leaned back for a moment to catch his breath and
get used to being vertical again. Four days with almost no food had
helped
with the chains but not his strength. He panted, his lungs congested
from 
forced inactivity. 

Mulder straightened, taking a tiny experimental step. Stopped. The
chains
were looser but the damn clinking of them sounded deafening in the eerie
silence of the night. He did not want those in slumber to wake up. But
this was also his only chance, he felt, and it was now or never. He
sucked in
his gut and jumped up and down a bit in place to encourage the chains to
slip further down his abdomen. They obeyed and ended up gathered on
his hips. His hands, though still cuffed individually, were now free to
move around and he briefly stretched his arms, feeling things pop as he
did. Quietly but as quickly as he dared, he hooked thumbs under the
chain
links and pushed to get them further down.

He almost had them over his hips and on their way to the floor when the
lock
turned and the door opened.

Charmine stood looking at him in shock. She drew a tiny gun from her 
pants pocket and aimed it at his mid section. "Where the hell do you
think 
you're going?" Though she looked mad enough to spit nails, she
whispered.

"To the Prom." He answered, furious at himself for not succeeding. He
almost 
screamed inside at his failure. His one chance had just left with a
sneer. "Where
do you think?"

"Sit down!" She whispered, gesturing with the gun.

"No."

"What?! Are you nuts. If Wol' finds you like-"						

"What?" A voice behind her, from the doorway. A large white male entered
the room, dressed in frayed briefs and a tank shirt. "If Wol' finds
what?"

Wol', the source of many of her discussions with her prisoner, was made
plain.
His face was displeased. He had the look of a man used to getting what
he wanted
and hurting others to get it if that was called for. Wol' took the gun
from her hand.
"You're too compassionate, Charm', but that's one thing I like about
you."

He aimed and pulled the trigger.

Mulder fell as the hot metal burned into his thigh. Warm blood trickled
out of the 
hole, and cooled on his skin.

Wol' calmly gave the weapon back to her. "That'll hold him. Better take
care of
his leg, Baby-doll, and re fasten those chains too. We don't want to
lose our ticket
to paradise."

Charmine nodded numbly and watched the blood drip to the floor,
congealing there
into a tiny saucer. The room smelled unfamiliar to her. Metallic. Recent
gunfire and 
iron blood smell.

Her first time smelling such things. 
 
That word started playing in her mind again:

Murder.

*** 
**

Charmine tore a sheet that had seen better days
and wrapped Mulder's leg up. When he groaned
and his foot began to turn purple, she had to loosen 
it and re wrap. She checked her handiwork. Blood
oozed through and stained faded puppy-dog heads. 
Unsure of what else to do, she lifted his head and
jammed two more aspirins in his mouth not remembering
the water until he rolled his tongue out and tried to spit.

"Shit." She muttered under her breath, putting the glass to			
his mouth. 

Mulder heard her, swallowed and spoke through the pain. 
"You've never seen anyone shot before have you?"

She didn't answer, tilting the glass so he would drink it
all.

He tried, though much of it spilled out the side of his mouth.
"Well, let me inform you, it hurts like fuck." 

Charmine's face was drawn and tiny lines of tension had
appeared around her eyes and mouth. "He had to do it."
she said, trying for that tone that said conviction and faith
and this-is-okay-this-is-okay-everything-is-still-okay! 

But the F.B.I. agent was still bleeding and she kept wondering
at how in hell anyone's body could hold so much of the 
stuff. "Why isn't it stopping?" she asked him because there was 
no one else to ask.

"You've been watching too much television." He croaked. 
He was felling dizzy, tired and sleep or unconsciousness 
was pretty well a given when the colors in the room began
fading to greys. He let his eyes droop.

She shook him in a tightly controlled panic. Charmine's 
emotions were swirling,  a tiny tornado of question
and doubt whipping around inside her. "Hey! Wake
up." She shook harder when he didn't. "Jesus Christ! Don't
you die on me, you bastard!"

Mulder couldn't resist the consciousness, however fleeting, 
her rough handling encouraged and he opened his eyes again.  

"You don't get it, do you? They're going to kill me anyway."
He whispered and fell back into darkness.

***


"Charm', we're off to deliver the notes. Should be back by
morning."

"Okay, baby." She answered absentmindedly, not even
turning around to look at Wol'. 

He watched her cleaning the wound of their hostage with
mild interest for a second and left with his three partners
in crime. 

Charm's hands shook. The wound was red and swollen and 
whenever she touched it or the area around it with her
warm rag, he flinched and moaned in his sleep. 

She tossed aside the rag with disgust. He looked bad. She
could see the veins through his cheekbones. Even his lips
had lost their color. "Jesus."

Wol's boasting of their "big score" was looking more and
more like a one way ticket to twenty-five to life if F.B.I.
died. Did they execute people in D.C.? She didn't know.

"You scared?" He whispered to her.

Charmine gulped. He was awake and it was the first time 
she'd seen his eyes in over twelve hours. "Fuck. I thought
you were dying on me, I thought for sure..."

He looked at her from red, watery eyes in a face the color
of skim milk. "I am. I am dying, Charmine? That's your
name, right?" Every word was exhausting. Each breath
hurt.

"Yeah. Yeah. My mother liked "Carmine" but she said I was
her "little charmer" who could get whatever she wanted.."
she caught her breath up, sucked in with a good, clean 			
memory plucked from among dozens of soiled.

"It's nice. Re-....real unusual." He choked out between 
coughs. 

"You ain' gonna die." She stated. 

He tried to shift position and cried out. 

Charmine reached out to help but stopped before touching him
as he gave up the struggle and settled back on his right side.

"How much does it hurt?" She asked. Her eyes were wide
and frightened.

"Like it hit my bone. Like half my leg's been shot off. Don't
suppose you have anything stronger than aspirin?"

She shook her head. And she had no money either. Wol' always
took care of that.

Mulder gasped. His little attempt to get more comfortable and ease
not only the agony in his left thigh but the whole numbness of his 
right side had increased the discomfort of both. "Charmine. You
know what's going to happen?"

She answered with a shake of her head, eyes focusing on his
wound, seeping a watery discharge and his face, dry and
pinched with pain.

"There's going to try and collect the money first and if they can't,
if something scares them off, then they'll kill me and flee the 
state. I've seen how these go down. Without proof that I'm alive
and well, the Fed's won't hand over a nickel. Has Wol' said anything
to you about how they're going to deliver me?"

Again, she shook her head.

"That's because they're not going to. You want to know the percentage
of kidnaped victims who are returned alive _after_ the money's
delivered?"

She wanted to but couldn't say anything. Her voice box had 
locked up and she couldn't make a peep.

"Thirty-seven percent." He panted with the effort of speaking. "I don't
know about you, but I don't like those odds." 

She nodded, not in agreement of anything, just a nod. From fear
and anxiety, Mulder thought. 

"Let me go. There's no way in hell they'll let me live but if you let
me go, you're all still home-free. Otherwise, it's murder."

She looked sharply at him. Shock now, not just fear or worry. Terror.

"Are you afraid of Wol'? What he might do?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. He's taken good care of me, but he's-"

"Not always "understanding"?" Mulder nodded back. Gain her trust,
get her talking, get her to see him as a real, human being with a name.

"By the way, my name's Mulder."

"I know. It was on your I.D."

"Right. All you have to do is loosen these chains and I think I can
make it. I can go out the back way, up the alley. Wol' can come home
and find me gone and you sleeping...just loosen them a little. One link,
that's all..." He urged.

She blinked, sweating in the confines of the room and the pressure
she found herself under; the indecision. But Mulder could see she was
thinking about it. "One link, Charmine. One link and I'm out of your
sight."

She swallowed. Closed her eyes, struggling with it. 

Looked at his thigh, un bandaged because he couldn't take the pain 
of the wrap. Dry smears of blood down his leg from her initial quick 
clean up. The bullet hole was so swollen it was raising and puckering 
the surrounding skin until the whole thing resembled a volcano. A 
volcano gurgling out a bloody discharge that wouldn't quit no matter 
how many times she wiped it away. 

Charmine leaned over him. 

Nodded. 


***
**

Scully and Skinner hovered over Fowley's computer screen,
reading where she indicated with a long, painted nail.

"Here. There have been a number of gang robberies in the D.C. 
area over the last six months, most are lone perpetrators
or groups of two or three and, though they have not been 
apprehended, most are suspects known to the police. Except
for these," she pointed to the bottom of the screen, "each time,
these were committed with a group of four persons including the
one driving the escape vehicle. All bank robberies and jewelry store
heists. No petty crime or neighborhood B & E's. And all within a 
radius of six miles from Agent Mulder's apartment complex."

Skinner straightened. "So they might have Mulder but there is
no way to know for sure that they _do_ have him. And that 
also still leaves us with no known location and an area of one 
hundred and forty-four square miles to cover door to door."

Diana nodded, her eyebrows raised in a helpless shrug. "But it's
our only theory based on what our profiles tell us about the nature
of the kidnapers, that they are local and new to the hostage game." 

"So what was all that about Agent Mulder being somehow involved 
in illegal activity?" Scully asked, Fowley's backhanded implication 
still stuck in her craw.

"I only alluded to Fox's unorthodox investigation methods. They have
steered him into trouble on previous occasions."

"I see." Scully still didn't back down.

"You forget, Agent Scully, Fox and I used to work together on the 
X-Files. I know a little bit about him too."

Scull softened  her tone a bit but she wasn't through. "If Mulder
had found himself in any dangerous situation or one he perceived
as dangerous, he would have called for back up. The police or
me or someone."

"Unless he wasn't able to, or was taken by suprise." Skinner pointed 
out.

Scully licked her lips.

"And there is no record of any such call or even one like it received
by nine-one-one-or any precinct."

"Given what I know about Mulder, I for one find that exceptionally 
unlikely."				

Fowley had never been called a liar before with such finesse.

***

Mulder, with help from Charmine, finally shed the heavy chains
and staggered to his feet by crawling his way up the wall, but 
his leg was agony itself and walking was a clear impossibility. He, 
panting and sweating, felt the salty droplets trickling down 
between his buttocks and making his privates itch. 

He remembered he was naked. "C-can I huh..have muh-my clothes?" 
Talking hurt.  His thigh throbbed with each heartbeat. He trembled 
and that hurt too.

Charmine retrieved his pants and a shirt. She tried to lift his leg,
the injured one, to place his bare foot inside one pant leg and 
dropped it when he screamed. Then he screamed some more when 
his foot hit the floor, sending lancing knives through his thigh muscles

and down the nerves to the very tip of his toes.

"Sorry." She whispered. "Shit, I'm sorry." She saw his eyes water. 
"Now what?"

"I'm not going to make it," He gasped out, "Not by myself."

"What am I supposed to do about it? I can't _carry_ you!"

"I don't know." Mulder rested the side of his head against the wall,
rolling it to distract himself from the worsening throes in his shot-up
thigh. That pain was becoming the center of his universe. Before long, 
nothing else would be as real. "I don't know. I,...I have to sit down."
 
"No!" She moved in to grab him before he could slide back down
the wall. "Shit." She held onto him, arms around his chest and
looked around. There was one up-right chair in the room. "Can
you stand another ten seconds on your own?"

He nodded once.

"Okay. I'm getting that chair and you're gonna sit in it and you're not
gonna move. You got me?"

"I gotcha." He repeated.

She let him go and he stayed standing, though relying heavily on the 
wall to support him. Charmine grabbed the chair, slid it under him and
Mulder sank gratefully down onto it. 

"Okay. You stay there. Don't fall asleep and - Jesus - don't fall over!"
She walked to the door.

"Where're you going?"

She looked back. "I gotta see someone. I'll be ten minutes."

He closed his eyes and leaned back as she left. 

One link, he thought to himself; repeated it in his head. One Link.
Almost 
everyone has one.  That one link or dent or tiny hole of rust you can
wedge 
yourself into. Or poke an idea through until it becomes part of them,
widening 
them out, sometimes to your way of thinking. 

Charmine had that tiny figurative link and he had found it. Then she 
had helped him break his literal ones. Now she was his link to an
escape.

He had been right about her, she didn't belong, in this dilapidated 
house full of iron chains, she was the weak link and she'd freed herself
from their hold. Long enough to really _see_ him and save his life.
Maybe
she'd also be the link to turning in her former crime partners. He hoped
former, for her sake.

Mulder concentrated on breathing and staying alert and it was getting
harder
to do every single minute that she was gone.

***

Charmine got him to the car with much struggling. "Who...who's car?"
Mulder groaned as she helped him lie down on the back area of an
older compact station wagon. She'd lowered the back seats so he could
stretch out on it like a bed. It smelled of diapers.

"My friend Allysa's. She asked no questions and I promised her I'd have
it
back by six AM. That gives us exactly eight hours to get you somewhere."

Mulder frowned. "But we don't need that much time. There should be a
hospital
near by."

"I aint' taking you anywhere nearby. You think I'm gonna walk into a
regular
hospital with a missing F.B.I. Agent hanging off my arm? What d'you
think
they'll think?"

"They think that you rescued me from some bad guys 'cause that's what
I'll
tell them."

"Sorry, baby, but I'm not gonna risk being questioned. Wol' finds out I
helped you and he'll break my neck. And Wol' won't be back 'till
morning,
so we got just enough time."

"Please, Charmine, I'm not going make it that long."

"Yes you will, 'cause I'm gonna help you."

She climbed in the driver's seat, locked all the doors and started the
engine.
She checked - the gas gauge was on the full mark. 

***

When Wol' and the gang returned only six hours later to find Charmine
and their money maker gone, Wol' kicked holes in whatever walls had
still been intact, cursing a violent streak. "Fucking bitch! I'll kill
her!" His 
three helpers prudently stayed out of his way until his temper meter
dropped
to a safer level. 

Wol' grabbed his coat, his money, his cellular phone and the keys to the
car. "Let's do it!" He barked.

***


"Mrs. Mulder received the first delivery call twenty-five minutes ago. 
We have an agent dressed appropriately acting as stand in for Mrs.
Mulder.  
We anticipate the royal run around and every one of you should be
listening 
with open channels for instructions from either myself or Director
Skinner
who has volunteered to lead ghost car Two. I'll be in car One along 
with Agents Scully and Moody. Car Zero has our stand-in Mrs. Mulder.
Do NOT follow Car Zero closer than one block behind, we don'
want to spook them. And don't do anything without our signal to
one or both vehicles: "Advance" or "Abort." Any questions?"

When none came, the teams divided up.

"Mrs. Mulder is waiting anxiously in an undisclosed D.C. location. Let's
get her son back safely and bring our own home." Skinner encouraged.

***

Wol' spoke into his cell. He made his voice high and whiney, having,
now, 
no tape recorder on hand to alter it:

"You'll find a note rolled up and stuck in a men's room toilet tank at 
Guido's on Seventy-fifth. That'll tell you where to go next."

He hung up before they could respond with demands to talk to the
hostage. "Fucking bitch." He muttered.

***

Charmine drove, eventually leaving the city behind and entering
farm-like
suburbs with stretches of road in between. Parkland. Picnic areas.
Family
oriented landscapes where she supposed only nice things happened. Dusk
was falling and the little houses in the distance stared lighting up
from
within. Night was minutes away.

She was tired. Charmine pulled off the road and up to an Outhouse by
a few trees and a picnic table. By the time she used it and returned to 
the car, it was night. 

Opening the back hatch to check on her passenger, "Hey. You awake?"

Mulder, curled up and sweating with fever, stirred, but just barely.
"Are 
we at a hospital?"

"No. Not yet. I told you, I can't take you to any regular hospital."

"Where then?" He could hardly speak. Didn't move.

Charmine didn't answer. Car lights approached, she couldn't tell who 
or even what kind of vehicle but she crawled into the back with Mulder, 
casually and unhurried, but her heart pounded when she saw a large
figure exit the vehicle. He was wearing a hat.

"This area is closed at this time of night, ma'am." The unmistakable
authoritative voice of a Highway patrolman.

"Oh." She feigned ignorance and cuddled up next to Mulder. Charmine
saw his mouth forming words. No sound but she playfully put her hand
over Mulder's mouth. His lips were trying to form the same word over 
and over, though he was now too weak to make himself heard: Help.

"Sorry, officer, me and my man were just taking a rest stop." She
flashed
a costume ring she usually wore on her left ring finger. Thank god
she'd slipped it on this morning. "We just got married." Charmine leaned
over a put on a great show of kissing Mulder on the lips. She turned
back to the cop. "He's a bit tipsy, so I got drive all night now." She 
pretended to be annoyed.

"Well, just move along then, ma'am. Goodnight."

"'Night officer. Thanks!" she waved and pretended to kiss Mulder again.
Damn fine lips for a Fed. She licked her own and whispered, "Sorry
baby, but I am not going to jail."

***
Charmine drove until she reached her destination.

Leaving Mulder in the car, she walked up to the
front door of the tiny house with the front flower garden
and rang the bell.

A short, stout woman opened the door and peered out.

Charmine caught a glimpse of grey hair and yellow-spotted
complexion.

"Yes?" The wrinkled face asked through the crack. "Can I
help you?"

It was the right house. She knew from the letters. "Is		
this 731?"

"Yes. Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm,..I'm l-looking for Edith Chamney. I was told she
lived here."

"No one by that name here. When was this?"

"About, maybe five years ago now."

"I've lived here for four. I'm sorry." The door creaked shut.

Charmine returned to the car but sat, not starting the engine.

Mulder groaned and shifted, moaning. "Charmine. Please..."

She didn't hear him, filled with her own thoughts instead. "This 
was my mother's house. She always told me, if I ever changed 
my mind, to come and live with her. She must have wrote me a 
dozen times telling me that. She used to be a nurse."

Charmine cried. "I just always thought she'd be here I guess.
She must have gotten sick, maybe moved, I don't know."

"Charmine,..I'm feeling really bad. I thi...think I'm dying...please.."

Charmine came out of herself and looked back over her shoulder at
him. She'd thrown a blanket over his shoulders. It was very late now, 
passed eleven and she did not know what to do or where to take him.

"I'm sorry, F.B.- Mulder. I can't go back now, and I can't take you 
to a hospital. This is the end of the line for me." She spotted a phone 
booth about a block down and drove to it. "But I don't want you to 
die like maybe my momma did and maybe like I might."

***

Skinner's cellular rang. It was his personal line. "Skinner.' He
barked into it. He listened, hung up and quickly dialed out again. 

It rang once on the other end.

"Scully." Tight and quick. Worried partner.

"I just got a call. We think maybe we found him." Skinner said. 

***

Charmine half carried, half dragged Mulder over to the white stuccoed
wall behind the building she'd decided she was as far as she could go.
She did not want him to die and, using the blanket from the back
of her friend Allysa's car, she covered him up, leaving him sitting up
against the rear entrance wall by the Large Animal Hospital's back 
door.

Then she used the phone booth and made a collect call, identifying
herself as Agent Mulder's anonymous nursemaid.

When she was done speaking, in fact she'd hung up on the woman's
ear when she began asking too many questions, Charmine went back
to Mulder and crouched down beside him. "I gotta go, baby. Think
you'll be all right here 'till they come for you?"

He nodded, shivering in the cool night air but happy that she was
leaving 
him behind. He might not last until rescue came but he wasn't going to 
tell her that. "Yeah. What are you going to do? Wh-where'll you go?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Too late to go back to Wolly, maybe,
I don't know." 

"One link." he croaked out. "Just that one link. Break it, Charmine.
Start over. 
Clean."

Charmine kissed him once more and this time it wasn't pretend. "I don't
suppose you got a girlfriend?"

He smiled a little. "No. Well, yeah. Yeah I do. Sorta'."

"Sorta'? Isn't it working?"

He shivered. "Um, n-not sure. I don't know...I,..th...think so."

"I get it. You know for sure but she's ...what? Got a heart all in
chains?"

He shrugged. "Don't know..."

"You love her?"

Another nod.

"Figures." She squeezed his hand in hers once, stood and walked away. 
"Take care of that fancy ass of yours." She called back over her
shoulder,
climbed into the tiny car and drove off.

"You take care of yours." He whispered and passed out. 

***

When next he woke, it was to the luxurious feel of a mattress, clean
sheets
and blankets and the glorious haze of painkillers. He floated on a warm 
cloud to consciousness. Sky blue eyes appeared out of the white and
smiled 
down on him. "Hey." 

Angel's voice, he thought. Must be. "Hey." He said back, his throat dry
and scratchy.

The angel brought him tiny sips of water. 

"Mulderrrrr...? Are you still dreaming?" The Scully not Angel asked.

"Umph,..no. No, I'm awake."

"You gave us quite a scare for a while." She admonished with kitten 
tender tones.

"When?"

"All the time, actually. Nice to have you home."

"Charm' okay?"

"I guess I'd say it's intact?"

"No, no. Charm'. Is she okay?"

Her voice faded for a moment as she addressed someone beyond his
hazy line of vision. "Do you know who he's talking about?"

Scully's voice came back. "Mulder, you were found unconscious two
hundred miles from D.C., sitting behind an Animal hospital. Do you
have any idea how you got there?"

"Yeah. She helped me escape."

"She? Charm' helped you? Was she with the people who took you?"

"To begin with. Then she helped me."

"Do you want us to find her?"

"No. She broke the link. She's free."

The room fell more into focus and he tried to form his thoughts
into something less like choppy waves and more like calm running
water. "Did you catch the guys?"

Scully, seeing he was looking right at her. "No. When we found out
that the "John Doe" - you - turned out to be _really_ you, we sent half 
the team after you. The other half tried to play out the delivery
scenario to the
end, hoping to apprehend the kidnappers but something must have 
spooked them. They broke it off."

He sighed. "How's my leg?"						

"You needed surgery and you have a raging infection in the muscles.
A few more hours and it might have entered your blood stream and
we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Lucky in war." He emphasized the third word.

"I guess." Scull rubbed his chest a little. "There are marks on your
chest, sides and across your back that look like they were made by
chains. Is that how they ...?"

"Yeah. Kershe will want a full report when I'm through eating
disgusting hospital food."

"Mulder, one thing we all want to know is: what happened?"

"Oh, how did I get in over my ass? I observed suspicious
activities and followed the bad guys. They were busting a jewelry store.
I followed them back to their base. Called it in-"			

"-Called it in? You called for backup?"

"Yeah, Scully, there were four of them. I may be impulsive
but I'm not stupid."

"What happened when you called it in?"

"Twice by the way, I called for back up twice."

"And..?"

"And I heard sirens and saw, I thought, a cop car so I busted 
in...and then nobody came in after me. No cops showed. I 
must have mistaken a fire truck for the Cavalry. Now that 
_was_ stupid."

Scully tucked he blankets around his shoulders and kissed his
head. "Get some sleep. I'll be back soon."				

"Where you going?" He asked her retreating back. "Hey!" Mulder
called after her, trying to bring a leer into his voice, "I wanna
'nother smooch!"

***

Scully strode into Fowley's office like a soldier going to war.

She stopped before the taller woman. "Mulder called it in.
He called for back up - twice - and none came."

"That's shocking news. Then the local police must have made 
an unfortunate misjudgment."

Scully nodded. A "I got your number" nod. ""Unfortunate 
misjudgment"? I''ll say, Mulder almost died because of someone's
unfortunate misjudgment. And do you know what I think? I think
it was yours. I think it was your very own, well thought out
misjudgment. I think Mulder's cellular calls were being monitored
and I think those two calls were re-routed."

"That's a very serious accusation, Agent Scully. Upon what do you
base it?"								

Scully pulled out a compact cellular phone. "I have Mulder's phone,
we found it under the couch of the house Mulder told us about.
How about I take it to the labs and we find out what kind of tampering 
has been done to it?"

"You'll find nothing and even if you do, that isn't proof, it's just
wild conjecture."
								
Scully nodded, rocking on her heels. Then she drew back her left
and planted it square on Diana Fowley's jaw. A sharp crack was
heard and Fowley staggered back.

Scully shook her hand. It hurt and felt great all at the same time.
"Then I guess we'll just have to consider that _my_ "unfortunate 
misjudgment"." 

Scully turned to leave but Fowley's voice stopped her. "Striking
a fellow Agent is grounds for dismissal. I could bring you up			
on charges."

Scully cooly stared over her shoulder at her, still half turned
away towards the exit. "But you won't." 

Fowley rubbed her jaw, her exterior still controlled but her eyes
furious.

Scully ignored both. "I've got my eye on you, Fowley. And not only
me. If I see on Mulder so much as a suspicious looking scratch, I'll 
be calling in my own dogs and they will SNIFF. YOU. OUT. What 
do you suppose are the odds they'd find a pack of Morley's tucked in 
your bra."

***

"Mulder." Scully took his hand. She was glad to have found him
sleeping soundly, free of pain.

His eyes fluttered open. "Scully. How long have I been asleep?"		

"Only a few hours."

He looked over at the pitcher or water. Scully got him a small
cup full and he drank thirstily.

"Tell me about this Charm' woman" she asked.

"I told you, she helped me escape."

"Why?"

"She fell madly in love with me of course."

"Mulder, be serious."

He exhaled. "Um, she was with them. But she wasn't the type
to be, you know what I mean. I saw it right away." He looked
around the room. "No Diana?"

Scully decided not to pull any punches. "No. She hasn't showed."

Mulder seemed to take that in stride. "Must be finishing up the
case."

Scully resigned herself to the sad fact that there seemed to be 
things which her partner never saw at all.

"Why did Charm' help you, Mulder?"

"I think she was sick of the whole thing. I think she got scared
and decided to break the link."

"You keep saying that. You keep talking about "links"."

"Well, it's just a metaphor for freedom or loosening up or
making a change. Even bit by bit, but you have to break the first 
link and then the rest will fall away."

Scully realized, by his softened expression, (contentment, she 
decided) that his words were implying something.

"I like that Mulder. That's eloquent. So she helped you with your 
links and you helped her with hers." She squeezed his hand hard
as she spoke. His eyes were fighting to stay open.  "Are you going 
to sleep on me?" She teased, touched his hair softly, ran a thumb 
over his cheek. 

"No." His lips mouthed.

He had been very close to death, she thought, when he was found. 
If Charmine hadn't helped him, if she hadn't taken the chance, 
if she hadn't risked herself...

She would have liked to thank Charmine.


"One link, Scully." He whispered and slept.

***


The End.