That's what the patrolman who found my body said. The coroner called to the
site agreed.
When Scully identified my body, she cried. Even Skinner looked shaken as he
led Scully out of the morgue.
I can't speak or move. I don't think I'm breathing. I'm deadalive. And I'm
terribly afraid.
What happens when they perform the autopsy?
I've broken into FBI installations dozens of times. Never to visit the
morgue.
The last time I was in this room, I was Agent Krycek, boy fibbie. And I
almost lost my lunch while both Mulder and Scully smiled.
Neither one is smiling now. Well, Mulder's not, I can tell.
He certainly looks dead. His skin is pale, his body cool to the touch.
Eyes closed, no heartbeat, no breathing.
For the first time since Tunguska, and the second time in my adult life, I
want to cry. But there's no time for tears. I have a job to do.
If the information provided by the rebels is correct, I have a life to save.
Please, Mulder, be in there.
I need you. "Oh, Mulder..."
Someone's here. My visitor is stealthy, moving in near silence. A hand cups
my left cheek. I can't quite physically feel it, but my mind makes the leap.
The joy from this simple human contact is overwhelming. Please, somehow,
know that I'm here...
"Oh, Mulder..."
Alex Krycek.
There is sorrow, regret and longing in that voice. A dark, husky voice that
has taunted me so often in my nightmares, more often in my fantasies.
Whenever I am with Alex, I feel completely alive. If my body would allow
it, I would choke on the irony of my situation. I can go utterly mad now.
The only thing keeping hysterics at bay is the heat in Alex's touch, his
fingers gently skimming my cheek.
Then he says the words that drive away my despair. For the first time in
forever, there is a connection, there is hope...
"Mulder, I hope you can hear me. It's me... Alex. I'm going to take you
somewhere safe... they can bring you back, Mulder. You have to be strong,
just a little longer. I swear, Mulder."
I believe.
There's no way to know if my words were heard, but I feel better.
I quickly dress Mulder in the sweats I brought with me, then throw a sheet
over his still form. Forty minutes later, I'm pulling out of Quantico, with
Mulder in the trunk of my car. If... when he recovers, Mulder will hit me
for that. When he recovers, I'll let him.
I've missed his sarcasm. His drive. The strength and warmth as he lands
another blow. The intensity of passion shining in his brilliant eyes. The
catch in his breath as I planted that all-too-honest kiss on his cheek...
I learned from most of my early mistakes. Hide in plain sight. Be near the
action. Take chances. That last chance brought me a Tunisian vacation, but
it eventually led to the smoking bastard's death. Now I'm going to take the
greatest chance of all. I'm gonna tell Mulder everything. And I'm gonna
make sure he survives it. No matter what.
I never thought riding in a car trunk would be peaceful. The rhythm of the
tires in endless motion is constant and soothing. So, of course, it must
end. The car slows, pauses, then a turn. Finally, nothing. A car door opens,
is quickly closed. Steps. Keys. The trunk is opened.
"Mulder, I'm taking you into a medical office located in DC. No tricks, no
games. No doubt you're feeling scared and abused right about now. I know
what it's like to be helpless, Mulder. All I can do is talk you through
this. I'll explain everything that's being done as it happens, and why it's
necessary. Afterwards... once you're back, we talk. About aliens,
conspiracies and evil men. Finally, you take back your life."
It's funny, I really should be afraid, but I'm not. I'm happy in the
knowledge that Alex is an inventive, cunning agent with a keen survival
instinct. He has a plan, and while Alex Krycek and plans usually have an
unnerving effect on me, this plan is to save me. I'll take whatever
miracles I can get.
A comfortable warmth runs through my mind as Alex carefully lifts me from
the trunk. I wish I could open my eyes and see him.
As we leave the garage and enter the building, my brain goes into overdrive.
It really is a medical office; I assimilate voices, complaints of aches and
pains and grumbles over extended waits for doctor visits. I only have a few
moments to filter this information, as Alex swiftly moves down another
corridor, all voices fade away as he continues on.
"Mulder, it's not safe to be around others. I'm taking you to see someone
you consider a friend. He has a... a practice here, and I think he can help
you."
Alex takes a left turn, slows, then gently places me on a bed. He leaves his
hand on my shoulder. Again, without quite feeling, my brain registers this
as reassurance.
"Mulder... the man that is with me in this room is Jeremiah Smith. I hope you
remember him."
Remember him? There's nothing wrong with my mind, I quickly internally
visualize images of my various meetings with Smith. Jeremiah Smith. Rebel.
Healer.
Healer.
"Mulder, it is me... Jeremiah. I would have liked us to meet under better
circumstances, but here we are. I will do what I can, Mulder. I hope my
abilities, along with the medical information Mr. Krycek obtained
from... various sources, lead to your complete recovery."
"What I intend to do is inject you with a small dose of nanocytes. This
needs to be done to re-start those bodily functions in stasis. Once started,
I start the healing process. Once you are safely healed, the last step is to
deactivate the nanocytes."
I want to run so very badly, just run, on and on, no destination, no search,
just away. The shapeshifters experimented on me, tortured me, then tossed
me aside without a second glance. Just another specimen that didn't produce
the desired results. I have no desire to be injected with alien technology,
handled by alien hands, even ones that have helped me in the past. The panic
is overwhelming, filling every brain cell, washing over any rational
thought.
Then Alex kneels down, his face drawn close to my left ear.
"Mulder, it must feel cruel and completely overwhelming to you, but it has
to be done. I promise, I'll be here the entire time. I'll talk to you and
hold onto you, encourage and support you. And when it's over, you'll be
well, you'll be able to kick my ass, then kick it some more."
With Alex's words, most of the panic retreats to the deeper recessions of my
mind. At least I've regained some measure of control.
There's nothing I can do. It will happen, now. My only option is to
concentrate on a positive outcome. On being able to breathe and feel, and
see and touch. To be human, alive and whole. To live.
Resurrection and Redemption I
by Ann H
For the first time in months, I feel no pain. Of course, I am dead.
