The Beginning of Sorrows Part IV

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******

Da 3:4  And, behold, one like the similitude of the 
sons of men touched my lips: then I opened my 
mouth, and spake, and said unto him that stood 
before me, O my lord, by the vision my sorrows are 
turned upon me, and I have retained no strength. 

Isa. 53:4 Surely he hath borne our griefs, and 
carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, 
smitten of God, and afflicted. 

******************************************
****

My sleep was restless, filled with visions of the 
dead and dying. The infirmary was over- flowing 
with hundreds of people as I stood at the head of a 
never-ending line of death.  They were grabbing at 
me, pleading with me to save them, but I couldn't.  
So many people trampled forward that I was buried 
by them and crushed to death.  I woke up gasping 
for air next to Skinner's inert body.

He was sound asleep, his face screwed up in pain, 
and mumbling as if dreaming too. Neither of us was 
going to get any peaceful sleep tonight.

Feeling restless, I pulled on a robe, and walked out 
into the infirmary. Monica and the Gunmen 
occupied one end of the room and Krycek lay at the 
other.  Frohike, Langly, and Byers were sprawled 
across their beds in comic disarray.  Monica was 
curled tightly into a ball, but she seemed deep in 
sleep.

I walked over to Krycek who lay on his back, his 
face relaxed in sleep.  He looked somehow more 
innocent and younger this way, and I found myself 
shuddering involuntarily.

Without knowing why, I sat on the end of his bed to 
study him.  If what he said was true about the virus 
wiping us ou, I wondered how he could sleep so 
serenely now. Perhaps he had no conscience at all, 
feeling content because he could manipulate the 
situation to his liking.

I noticed his good arm was outside the gray blanket 
that covered him.  The bones of his hand were 
delicate and his fingers were long and supple; such 
a contrast to Skinner's broad palms and thick 
fingers.  I reached out to touch the back of his hand 
and my wrist was seized in tight grip.

I looked up to find he was studying me, his eyes 
glittering in the dark.  He was wary, staring at me as 
if I were an assassin come to kill him.  Using my 
arm for leverage, he pulled himself into a sitting 
position, never losing eye contact.

"What's on your mind Scully?"  His voice was so 
soft I barely heard him.

I didn't answer because I didn't really know.

"You looking for information on Mulder?" I 
glanced away, feeling shame crawl up my spine. "I 
thought so."

I refused to look at him even though he increased 
the pressure around my wrist to bruising 
proportions.  "What's the matter?  Isn't the ‘Big 
Guy’ enough for you?"

"Let go," I said between clenched teeth.

He only smiled, believing he had the upper hand 
and enjoying my discomfort. But suddenly the smile 
faded and he released me so abruptly I nearly fell.

"Go back to bed, doctor.  You won't find any more 
answers here." He lay back  and shut his eyes, 
dismissing me.

"Are you lying?"  It was an inane and stupid 
question, but I needed to hear him say it again.

"About Mulder?"

"About everything."

"No.  But you'll never believe that will you?"

"Why are you telling us this? Why are you helping 
us?"

"Because they lied to me and manipulated me the 
same way the Consortium did. If you're successful, 
then they all die and I get revenge."

I thought there should be more to it than that. 
Revenge was certainly a powerful motivator, but 
Krycek couldn't be entirely heartless could he?

"Is there a woman?"

He opened his eyes and a tiny sliver of fear glittered 
behind his lashes. "What?"

"Is there a woman up there you want to find and 
rescue?" I'd been simply guessing, but his reaction 
revealed I was correct.

He looked away and his face fell.

"What's her name?" I asked gently.  Krycek in love 
was a revelation.

"Marita."

"She's up there with Mulder?"

"Yes." There was real emotion in his voice, and I 
thought that few people probably ever saw this side 
of him.

"Is she cooperating too?"

I must have struck a nerve, because he kicked out at 
me with his legs, sending me to the floor.

"Go back to bed Scully before Skinner wakes up 
and kills us both. And if you tell anyone--"

"I won't say anything." 

I picked myself up and went back to bed. I slid in 
behind Skinner as quietly as I could, putting my 
arms around him in a reverse spooning position.

"Did you find out what you wanted?"  His deep 
voice startled me, and he tensed in my arms.

"I have what I want."  I wondered how much he had 
heard.

"No, I don't think you do."  He sounded sad, almost 
vulnerable and I felt pain for him in my chest.

"You're never going to believe that's it's you I want, 
are you?" Mistrust cut both ways, and I felt as 
frustrated as he did.

"Not as long as Mulder remains a martyr in your 
heart.  There's not enough room for both of us."

"I love you both.  You can't ask me to forget all 
that."

He turned over and looked at me with anger in his 
eyes.  "I'm not asking you to forget.  I'm asking you 
to put it in the past where it belongs."

"How can I put it in the past when I haven't 
reconciled the present?"

He sighed and got up, putting on his coat and 
glasses with exaggerated slowness.  He paused at 
the door and spoke without turning around.  "You 
won't be happy with me as long as you continue to 
believe you could've been happy with Mulder.  I 
can't compete with a ghost, Scully."

"I'm not asking you to."

He turned and looked at me over his shoulder. 
"Aren't you?"

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me 
cold and alone.  I felt like something inside of me 
had died.

******************************************
***********


I woke late the next morning and found the 
infirmary empty.  I wondered why no one had 
bothered to wake me, and dressed quickly. A 
growing fury that they were deliberately leaving me 
out of the planning process hastened my 
movements.

Just as I started to leave, Childers walked in.  He 
was dressed in his uniform, but had the hood of a 
dark jacket pulled up over his head. He stood in the 
middle of the room looking around as if he'd never 
been there.

"Childers?"

He fixed his eyes on me and I saw recognition, but I 
also saw something else: a deadness in his eyes as if 
his personality had been removed.  My heart started 
beating faster and I retreated backward toward my 
room.

I didn't have to see green blood to know this was a 
bounty hunter. I pulled a cart of steel canisters over 
in front of him and tried to shut my door.  He 
pushed the cart aside, crushing the containers 
without effort.
	
We struggled with the door, but I was no match for 
his strength.  The door burst inward sending me 
backward onto the bed.  I turned over and crawled 
to the top.  Just as I was reaching under the mattress 
for my gun, he grabbed an ankle and pulled. My 
arms flailed out, trying to grab onto something, and 
fell against a tray I kept a few bottles on. I lifted it 
and swung it at his head with all my might, sending 
the bottles to shatter on the floor.
The tray seemed to make little difference, barely 
slowing his progress. He picked me up like a rag 
doll and put my neck in a powerful grip. He began 
to squeeze with both hands until I saw stars 
swimming before my eyes. He was killing me. I 
was going to die.

The world began to go black, but he suddenly let 
go, and I fell to the floor amid the broken glass.  
Before I lost consciousness, I saw Childers dissolve 
into a steaming green puddle in front of Skinner's 
black boots.  And then there was nothing.

******************************************
**


I saw flashes of light and heard a voice I 
recognized, but I couldn't move or speak. I felt light 
as air, separated from my body, and a burning pain 
inside my head and throat. A peaceful darkness had 
descended over me and I accepted it gratefully.

But suddenly I was slammed back into my body and 
the blinding pain returned. Dimly I heard Skinner's 
voice close to my ear.

"Come on Dana, breathe. Breathe for me, please." 
His voice cracked with emotion.  I struggled 
weakly, realizing he was performing CPR. With his 
next breath, I began to cough violently.  Air seared 
along my throat and lungs as I gulped, bringing 
fresh pain with it.

I began breathing rapidly, coughing and shaking 
with the effort.  Skinner's face was pressed next to 
mine, and I felt wetness on my cheeks. Ghostly 
sounds like sobbing were emanating from him, and 
I wondered whether the dampness I felt were his 
tears.

The effort of staying conscious proved to be too 
much, and I slipped gratefully into oblivion.

Sometime later I heard voices, but my eyelids 
refused to open. The voices sounded angry, like an 
argument was brewing.

"Now they know I'm here. No one is safe."  
Krycek's harsh tones filled the air.

"And how do they know it?"  Skinner's voice was 
accusatory.

"I don't know.  The only person who knew I was 
planning to leave was Mulder."

I moved restlessly at the mention of his name, and 
Skinner was instantly at my side.

"Scully?"

My mouth opened and tried to form words, but a 
hissing squeak came out in the place of sound. 

"Don't try to talk. You're safe now."  His hand was 
gentle on my cheek, his lips close to my ear. 
Another hand stroked my forehead gently, coaxing 
my eyes open.

Skinner's craggy face filled my vision and the look 
of anguish on his face tore at my heart. Hot tears 
welled up and spilled onto his hand.

"Don't cry Scully, please don't cry," he begged.

I thought he was still angry with me, but I could see 
now the anger had been replaced with grief and it 
frightened me. I lifted a hand and pulled him close.

"Hold me, " I whispered in his ear. 

I found myself enveloped in the heat of his chest 
and arms, my face pressed close to his heart. He 
rocked me gently back and forth while I continued 
to cry. I almost died. I almost died. I almost died, I 
repeated over and over in my head.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said against my hair. "I 
shouldn't have left you. I promise I'll never leave 
again."

 He sounded eaten up with guilt, and I wondered 
whether either one of us would ever be free of it. 
But I felt safe for the moment in his arms and 
drifted back to sleep.

***********************************
I woke to find the Gunmen and Monica standing 
over me. I'd been having a nightmare, and must 
have shouted out loud. Their faces wore lines of 
pain and concern.

"I—I've died and gone to Republican hell."

They laughed in unison, and I was gratified to see 
the lines crinkle into smiles.

"Hey, sleepy head," Monica said, laughing. She 
looked and sounded much better since last night, 
and I wondered what had wrought the sudden 
change.

"We were starting to think you'd never wake up," 
Langly's voice teased me.

"Yeah, must be nice to lie in bed all day," Frohike 
made a snorting sound.
Byers, of course, only smiled.  No words were 
necessary to convey the happiness I saw in his face.

I sat up slowly, feeling pain in my back and neck 
from the near strangling. Blackness swam before 
my eyes and it took a few moments to adjust my 
equilibrium.

"You okay?"  Monica asked.

"Yes.  I need to wash my face." My voice was 
coarse and breathy. A strange throbbing pounded 
through my head, and my eyelashes were matted 
from crying.

Standing was a harder chore than I expected. I 
wobbled on rubbery legs for a moment, and all three 
Gunmen rushed over. It was strange to be the object 
of so much scrutiny, but I couldn't help smiling at 
them.

"I'm fine."  Fine, fine, fine echoed in my head.  It 
was an old lie.

I finally made it to my room, and noticed that the 
chaotic mess created by my struggle with Childers 
had been cleaned up. In the bathroom I turned on 
the water and gasped at my reflection.

The tell-tale signs of strangulation had left their 
ugly mark. Petechial hemorrhages in the whites of 
my eyes bore mute testimony to the amount of force 
that had been used on me; blood had literally burst 
out of the capillaries and into the tissues. Bruises in 
the shape of hands stood out on my white skin.  
Each individual finger could be seen clearly in 
muted hues of purple and red. Sometimes I hated 
being a pathologist.  

I splashed frigid water over marks that no amount 
of scrubbing could remove. I'd be a very visible, 
walking reminder to the danger we now found 
ourselves in. Shivering and alone, I wondered 
where Skinner was.

I changed clothes and tried to make myself more 
human.  Using my scarce supply of makeup, I 
attempted to hide some of the bruises, but 
succeeded only in intensifying the color. I touched 
the back of my neck where the chip would be, and 
again felt a strange throbbing sensation.  It 
stimulated a deep memory that I couldn't seem to 
get at; something from long ago that kindled a sense 
of longing.

Monica was the only one left in the infirmary when 
I emerged. She looked up from some papers 
scattered out before her.  "Feeling better?"

I nodded absently and walked over to the window.  
Night had fallen, and the clear sky was full of bright 
stars. The longing sensation tugged harder, 
beckoning me to go outside and walk toward them. 
Only Monica's startled voice kept me from opening 
the door.

"Scully!" I turned around to see her with my coat 
and gloves.  "You'll catch your death of cold out 
there without these."

I took them from her and started toward the door 
again. 

"Where are you going?  Skinner's office?" she 
asked.

"Yes," was all I could say before the need to leave 
over took me again. She nodded and sat back down.

"I'll wait here for you.  We need to go over some of 
the old records for people who could be infected 
like me. Skinner has an idea that might work, and 
maybe it'll save us, save me."

I ignored the plaintive tone in her voice, and opened 
the door, never losing sight of the stars.  One in 
particular twinkled with a brightness that signaled 
something deep inside me. Come home it said.  
Come home.

I walked toward the north fence, barely noticing 
that a portion of it was damaged, and bloody 
footprints shown against the bright snow.

I paused for a moment, contemplating the bizarre 
pattern.

"Childers," I said, feeling my human self return a 
little with the knowledge that he must have died 
here.

But the star called me, and I crawled through the 
fence when one of the sentries' back was turned. 

"Home." 

I was going home.


******************************************

Cold.  I was so cold. Colder than DC in winter. 
Colder than any time I ever spent at the camp.  
Colder than Antarctica. Cold.

I trudged through snow drifts that engulfed my legs 
and lower body, numbing them so I couldn't feel my 
feet anymore. I stumbled several times, but 
somehow managed to regain my footing again and 
start northward once more.

A sensible side of me warned I was going to freeze 
to death, but it was a distant sound, drowned out by 
the persistent force drawing me onward. It was an 
old feeling I'd listened to before.

Once or twice I turned back toward the camp, even 
though it was miles away. My heart, the only thing 
stronger than my head, reminded me someone there 
was missing me, loved me, would die for me.

I stood looking back and tried to remember his 
name.

"Sk--Skinner."  I felt a momentary flash of pain 
when I said his name, and felt my lower lip tremble.  
But I tamped it back down against the cold, and 
turned forward.

Night turned to day and then to night again, and still 
I walked; never resting until I got to the meeting 
place.

On the second night I faltered and couldn't get back 
up.  My legs, exhausted and aching, refused to 
cooperate this time. I struggled like a turtle on its 
back to no avail. I managed only to turn over on my 
stomach and stare down into a valley.

Through my wind-tossed hair I saw people gathered 
in shivering bunches outside a wooden cabin. They 
wore ill fitting clothing and looked as if they'd just 
stopped what they'd been doing to come here, as I 
had done. Suddenly a bright circle of light enclosed 
them.  They stopped shivering and stood waiting 
expectantly.

I screamed loud in agitation against the wind.  I was 
supposed to be with them.  I'd come so far, so far 
and I couldn't be among them.

The light grew brighter, a noisy hum engulfed them 
and they all disappeared.  Then there was nothing at 
all but the sound of the wind. I howled again in 
frustration, feeling alone and afraid.  The 
unrelenting force guiding me here was gone.  It left 
my body cleanly as if I'd shed a skin, leaving me 
open and vulnerable.

"Skinner," I whispered. "Skinner, I loved you."  
And I allowed the cold to envelop me.

*****************************************

It was the second time in three days that I'd died.  
The same peaceful warmth and floating sensation 
wrapped me in its arms. I looked down and I was 
high above my body.  I felt no pain, no regret, and 
knew this time I'd be successful in death if not in 
life.

I saw a large man come over the hill and pause over 
my body.  He pulled me into his arms and wailed to 
the sky as I had done. I wondered if he'd just missed 
going too.  He sounded so sad, so mournful, like the 
sound of skin ripping apart.

I didn't want to leave, but the cares of my life 
overwhelmed any good I thought remained there. 
Love didn't conquer all, only me.

But I did stay. He picked me up gently and carried 
me down to the cabin. Through the fog of cold I 
slowly became aware of his movements.  He 
stripped me of my wet and snow-clotted clothing. 
When he removed his parka I could see it was 
Skinner. He sat in front of a fireplace, pulled me up 
against him and wrapped the warmed parka around 
us both.

I heard the sound of a flare igniting and the sharp 
crackle of wood being consumed inside the hearth. 
As heat invaded my frozen limbs, they protested 
against the renewed blood flow. Pain burned along 
iced nerve endings making me moan in protest. He 
never said a word, only held me closer, waiting for 
revival.

I regained enough strength to burrow into his chest 
and nuzzle past the buttons of his Henley shirt. Fine 
hair scratched at my frigid nose and cheeks. He only 
made a yelp of protest when I reached under his 
shirt to warm my hands, but tolerated the 
discomfort silently. Large hands held my feet which 
resisted reheating, and throbbed in pain when they 
reluctantly did.

Inside the darkened confines of Skinner's parka and 
body I began to shake violently. My shiver response 
had finally started in sluggish recognition of my 
hypothermic state. Why was everyone so hell bent 
on making me live when it was this painful?

Time passed in shaky jerks and starts. He didn't 
redress me, and I irrationally suspected it was 
because he could touch me as much as he wanted 
and I wouldn't protest.  But of course it was done in 
the pursuit to save my life and limbs.

I always woke when Skinner left me to do 
something. I trembled with fear at his leaving, but 
he always came back. When he reached to hold me 
again, I burrowed as close as possible, trying to 
insinuate myself into him. Inside my sluggish brain 
another warm spark ignited.  I loved Skinner 
because he always came back. He was more faithful 
than anyone I'd ever met.

Sometime later, I found my dried clothing back on, 
and the sound of voices nearby. I was on a pallet in 
a back room, covered in warm blankets that I 
recognized from camp. I sat up and saw bandages 
on my hands and feet.  Burning pain licked along 
the ends of my fingers and toes. I wondered whether 
I'd lose some of them.

I struggled to a sitting position and grabbed hold of 
a log jutting out of the wall. I hauled myself up to a 
standing position, but fell flat on my face with the 
first step. A startled oomph was forced out of me, 
and the owners of the voices I'd heard came in.

It appeared the plot schemers from base camp had 
moved here. Skinner, Doggett, Monica, Krycek, and 
the Gunmen were surrounding me in a semi-circle.

Skinner bent and picked me up with a displeased 
look on his face as if I were a naughty child who'd 
gotten up past bedtime. He held me easily by my 
waist so we were at eye level. Concern hid itself in 
his eyes, and I knew he'd put me back so I used a 
cheap ploy. Looking at him with desperate pleading 
in my eyes, I touched his face.  He melted under the 
touch, and I marveled that I could have the 
influence to soften such a hard man.

Forgetting our audience, I pulled him close for a 
hug. I heard the embarrassed shuffling of feet as 
they left us. Only Krycek remained to leer at me 
over Skinner's shoulder. His face told me he knew 
exactly what I was doing even if Skinner didn't.

"Let me come out and sit with you," I whispered in 
his ear.

"I don't think—" he began.

"Please."

He looked away, contemplating the wisdom of his 
decision. With a grunt, he swung my legs up and 
carried me into the other room.  A riot of papers, 
diagrams, and hastily wired computers lined a table.  
He sat down amid the chaos with me in his lap.

"How are you feeling, Scully?" Doggett asked 
softly. I realized they were all looking at me as if I'd 
been abducted and returned again.

I smiled broadly to allay their fears.  "Could be 
worse."
The joke fell flat.  These were tense times for us all 
and my disappearance must have unsettled them 
more than I thought.

"I'm fine, really.  I missed my appointment."  I 
looked at Skinner to confirm that he'd seen the 
space craft and told them about it.  He had.

"Did you see how many were taken?" Monica 
asked.

"Yes. Maybe twenty five or more."

"They're accelerating things."  Krycek's voice 
sounded ominous.

"Do we have less time?" Doggett asked.

Krycek nodded. "I know they didn't plan to round 
people up until the final stages of departure."

"Then we need to keep going," Skinner said, 
gravely.

I remained quiet while they planned and discussed 
their assault on the alien encampment.  There was a 
rough diagram of a large facility and various doors 
with locks, cameras and sentries marked on it. A 
centralized and heavily guarded area was labeled 
‘LAB.’  It was this room they apparently planned to 
invade.

It became apparent they were divided on how attack 
the place.  Doggett and Skinner were for an all-out 
battle.  Get the other partisans in the area to form a 
united front. Bomb it.

Krycek and the Gunmen thought stealthy, secret 
invasion was a better choice.  Jam communications, 
short circuit computers, cameras, and kill by 
surgical assassination. Steal the vaccine and leave 
before detection.

Each side had valid points. Monica remained 
carefully neutral. I remained neutral as well.  
Whatever they were planning had to be done soon, 
and I wouldn't be in any shape to participate no 
matter which method they chose.

They argued back and forth for hours, neither side 
backing down.  Krycek was afraid physical assault 
would kill innocent people and destroy the vaccine.  
The others probably assumed he was speaking of 
Mulder, but I knew better.

Doggett and Skinner said the signs pointed to the 
aliens pulling out soon, and no amount of stealth 
could save us if they took the vaccine with them. 
They also argued that even if they failed, they 
would be going out fighting and maybe destroy as 
many of them as possible.

Either proposition was imminently dangerous and 
carried the potential for disaster.

In the early morning hours they called it a night and 
everyone bedded down to sleep.  The tiny back 
room was left to Skinner and me.  I curled as close 
to him as possible, relishing the closeness and 
warmth.  

"Thank you," I murmured into his chest.

He pulled me away from him, scowling.  "For 
what?"

"Saving my life again."

He snorted in dismissal, as if I should have expected 
him to traipse across half a state to find me. But he 
held me closer, resting his chin on my head and 
stroked my face.

"I can't lose you. I won't lose you again." 

"I won't leave you even if you find Mulder alive."

"No?"  His voice tried to be forceful, but it was 
thick with emotion.  I realized he'd been waiting for 
me to say it.  It wasn't enough to just show him.

"NO."  I made it as firm as I could.

"Even if he wants you back?"

"He never 'had' me to begin with."

He laughed then, his deep voice chuckling with 
delight.  Of all the responses I expected from him, 
mirth was not one of them.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I owe Frohike ten bucks."

"You had a bet on who I'd choose?"  I was angry 
now.  A bet cheapened my feelings and mocked the 
love I felt for him.

"No just how long it would take for you to tell me."

"Oh?"  I still wasn't satisfied.

"He said you'd tell me in bed tonight."

"And you?"

"I said you never would."  He sounded sad again.  It 
seemed no amount of love would convince him, and 
no words were sufficient.

"What would it take for you to believe me?"

"Time, Scully.  Nothing but time."

"I love you, you know."

"Yes, I know. I love you too, but I'm afraid it won't 
be enough."

"It's enough Skinner.  It's enough."

I drifted off slowly, wondering what the morning 
would bring.  I hadn't long to wait.

******************************
end part 4