*~*~*~*~*~*
Connected
by Lovesfox
*~*~*~*~*~*
lovesfox@rogers.com
 
Headers in Part 1
 
***
 
Part 12 of 12
 
Epilogue
 
Lynchburg General Hospital
Lynchburg, VA
Tuesday 4:30 PM
 

His mouth was as dry as the Sahara, and tasted worse than 
anything he'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing.  
With a grimace of distaste, Mulder shifted uncomfortably, 
and pried open eyes that felt glued shut.
 
He did not recognize his surroundings.
 
As panic rushed in at full force and speed, he suddenly 
remembered everything -- meeting Dr. Kushov, the abandoned
warehouse, mind-reading with Scully...
 
Lunging upwards from his supine position, he cried out 
hoarsely.  "Scully?"
 
A face he recognized filled his vision as an equally familiar
voice spoke.  "Mulder, relax, you're okay."  Byers.  The
dapper, bespectacled man patted Mulder's arm, the gesture 
somewhat awkward.
 
Heart pounding like a racehorse, and eyes no doubt wild and
unfocused, Mulder searched the countenances of the three 
friends ringed around the bed he lay upon.  Belatedly he 
identified his location as a hospital, even as frantic fear 
had him demanding, "Where the hell is Scully?"
 
"Easy, big fella," Frohike stepped closer and held up his
hands in a peaceful gesture.  "She's here, Mulder.  In a
room just down the hall.  Skinner's with her."
 
Slightly mollified, though still unsettled, Mulder heaved
out a huge breath, and fell back against the rough pillows.
He was feeling somewhat light-headed and nauseous, but
refrained from telling that to his companions.  "She's 
okay?" he asked, staring intently at Frohike, demanding 
utter honesty.
 
"You're both okay, Mulder," the little man replied, gaze
straight and unwavering.  "Little worse for wear, but as
far as the docs can tell, there's no lasting damage."  
His face scrunched up suddenly, eyes shifting away and 
back nervously.  "Can you still read our minds, Mulder?" 
he asked, curiosity and wariness both evident.
 
Mulder hadn't given their mind-reading ability a single
thought, and shrugged his shoulders, strangely unconcerned 
-- he was anxious to see his partner.  "It's doubtful, 
Fro."  Taking a slow, deep breath, he eased upright once 
more, pushing at the bedding that covered him to his waist.  
"I need to find Scully," he stated, and swung his now-bare 
legs over the side of the bed.
 
"Whoa there, Mulder," Frohike exclaimed, backing away
and shooting a look at the other two Gunmen.  "You should 
let us get the doctor before you try anything."
 
Mulder shook his head, already sliding his feet to the
ground.  "I can manage."  The cold sweat that had broken
over him was not evidence to the contrary, he tried to
convince himself.  Nor was the weakness of his limbs.
 
Byers looked worried, and somewhat inclined to bolt.
"Mulder, I have to concur with Frohike.  Let me go get
your doctor."
 
"Byers."  Mulder clipped the word out.
 
The dapper man swallowed audibly.  "A wheelchair, at least?"  
Byers turned his head, found Langly standing silently a foot
away.  "Find a wheelchair, Langly.  Fast."
 
Mulder had to admit he'd never seen Langly amble that
quickly before.  He would not admit that the wheelchair
was a damn fine idea.  Plastering an accepting look
on his face, he leaned his butt on the edge of the 
mattress -- a move he hoped did not concede any weakness
on his part, but more a sign of impatience.  "Do I have 
any clothes?"
 
"Um, you were brought in wearing hospital scrubs," Byers 
replied.  "I think Assistant Director Skinner had them 
taken as evidence."  He paused and then said, "I can go 
get you some after we take you to Agent Scully."
 
Mulder nodded absently, his mind preoccupied with sudden 
memories of the testing procedure he and Scully had gone 
through. 
 
Langly returned then, entering the room backwards and
towing a wheelchair with him.  Clearing the door, he spun 
the chair around with a deadpan, "Somebody call for a taxi?"
 
It took a few minutes, but at last Mulder was settled into 
the wheelchair with a blanket wrapped around his lower half 
for a modicum of dignity.  Langly held the door while Byers 
had the honor of pushing the chair, and Frohike played 
look-out, peering both ways down the hall before signaling 
the all-clear.
 
As they wheeled down the hallway, Mulder asked the question 
that had just occurred to him.  "Where are we?"
 
Byers answered.  "Lynchburg General Hospital."
 
Virginia again, Mulder mused.  Before his subconscious could 
delve into the merits of Their operations in that state, 
Byers slowed the chair and then stopped at Room 122, where 
Frohike stood off to one side.
 
Langly darted in front and without ceremony pushed the 
oversized wooden door open.  The action revealed a suit-clad 
Skinner standing beside the hospital bed that contained an 
awake and apparently unharmed and alert Scully.  
 
Who was staring towards the door, staring at him, expectantly.  
Mulder got an uncanny feeling she had known he was there.  
Perhaps vestiges of their mind-reading were still lingering, 
he mused.  Though as of yet, he himself had not caught a stray 
thought from a single soul.  He wasn't sure yet if he was 
disappointed or not.
 
Relief immediately washed over Scully's features -- relief 
that he knew had to be mirrored on his own face.  "Mulder," 
she said, and there was a wealth of meanings behind that one 
word.  Solace, empathy, comfort.
 
"Hey, Scully," he replied nonchalantly, though that was the
complete opposite of how he truly felt.  Which was something 
he was uncomfortable expressing to her with the presence of
their audience.  He followed up with, "Fancy meeting you in 
a place like this," and a flashy grin.  A moment later her 
lips quirked up in an answering and understanding smile, 
albeit a small one.
 
Skinner snorted, shifting to stand with his hands on his 
hips.  "Then I suppose you'll be happy to know that you two 
hold the record for most losses of cell phones and weapons," 
their boss shared sarcastically.
 
Mulder aimed a mocking smile at Skinner before wheeling
himself over to Scully's bed.  Her right hand lay palm-
down at her side, and he immediately covered it with his,
secure with that kind of contact in front of Skinner and
the Gunmen.  He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, meeting 
her gaze to murmur, "You okay?"
 
She nodded once and quietly responded, "Just a little off,
probably from whatever we were knocked out with.  Skinner
told me they haven't got the analysis of our blood work back
yet."
 
"Same," he told her, and they shared a moment of commiseration
and togetherness.  He then turned his head to take in the 
four men.  "So how did we end up here?"
 
Skinner's jaw muscles had started to tic, and he indicated 
the Gunmen with a jut of his chin and a somewhat disdainful
wave of his arm.  "I'll let these three...start."
 
The deliberate pause had Frohike bristling, but the little 
man kept silent, while Byers turned pink-cheeked.  Mulder 
wondered at the story behind their reactions and said, 
"Spill it, Frohike."
 
Instead Langly began.  "We happened to catch the grab on 
our cameras," he explained, his voice raising slightly as 
he warmed to his tale, his features animated.  "We got 
ourselves together and followed you in the van for hours-"
 
"Without immediately calling the police or myself," Skinner 
interjected, his tic more pronounced.
 
This revelation did not surprise or bother Mulder.  With
the Gunmen's distrust of any government faction, it was
SOP for them, and actually expected.
 
Langly gulped, but did not reply.  Stepping back to lean 
against the wall by the door, he crossed his arms over his
chest and looked away, chastised.  
 
Byers took over from the lanky Gunman.  "We were concerned 
about losing the panel van you two had been thrown into," 
he explained slowly, his voice apologetic, "and following 
it was our primary focus."
 
Mulder nodded, the gesture slightly impatient.  He was
eager for the Gunmen or Skinner to get to the details of 
how he and Scully had gotten from the unknown facility to 
their current location in the hospital.  Glancing quickly 
at his partner showed she wore an _expression of similar
sentiment.
 
Thankfully Byers sped up his narration.  "However, after 
we had been following the van for about two and a half 
hours, a decision was reached to contact Assistant Director 
Skinner."  Mulder was able to decipher that Byers had wanted 
to call Skinner from the beginning, but his two cohorts 
had been against doing so.
 
"The switchboard had difficulty reaching me," Skinner
interjected then, and it was his turn to look embarrassed,
and a little angry.  "Contacting and marshalling the efforts 
and resources of the Richmond field office proved more 
difficult than expected.  It seems they had several covert 
operations in progress."
 
Mulder intuited that there was going to be some serious
backlash from these occurrences.
 
Byers spoke again.  "The van finally reached its destination
approximately four hours after you had been grabbed, a 
non-descript, unnamed building on the outskirts of Lynchburg.  
They entered through an underground garage, and we deemed it 
prudent to establish our post a block away.  We kept the place 
under surveillance for some time before deciding to attempt a 
breach as there was no sign of the FBI."  
 
Here Byers paused, looking at Frohike, who was studiously 
staring at his feet.  "We managed to get Frohike inside, and 
he was able to tap into Their surveillance system, enabling 
us to determine that you were both alive and apparently 
unharmed.  But he was nearly caught and had to retreat."
 
"Not long after that, we detected movement inside," Frohike 
stepped forward.  "Serious movement.  As in the rats were 
deserting the ship."  Chin lifting pugnaciously, his stance 
became both defensive and indignantly proud.  "With still
no sign of the FBI, we decided we had to make a move."
 
Langly left his place by the door to join Frohike, a bounce 
to his step.  "In short, the cavalry arrived too late," the 
Gunmen said gleefully.  He sobered though when he said, "We 
found you and Scully lying unconscious in an empty room, 
and called 9-1-1."
 
Mulder experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach at
Langly's last words, and his voice was tight when he asked,
"The building?"
 
"Completely empty, Mulder," Skinner replied.  "Evidence
Recovery teams are still sweeping, but it seems unlikely 
they'll find anything.  It looks like your kidnappers 
cleaned house."
 
Scully's voice was wry as she asked, "And I suppose They
got clean away?"
 
"Did you expect any less, Scully?" Mulder snapped in his
frustration and anger, and was immediately remorseful for
taking it out on her.  He sent an apology with his eyes, 
which she accepted with an infinitesimal nod.  Turning to 
Skinner, he asked, "When can we get out of here?"
 
"I'll go get the Doctor," Byers said, before Skinner could
reply.
 
***
 
Two Days Later
 
JEH Building
Washington, D.C.
Thursday 9:45 AM
 

Scully could literally feel the tension radiating from
Mulder's body as they rode the elevator down to the 
basement.  They had both been silent since leaving 
Skinner's office, though she would categorize her silence 
as being contemplative, while Mulder's was more explosive 
in nature.
 
Her assessment was correct -- after he politely gestured
her into the office, his anger erupted.  Despite her 
expectation of such an action, the slam of the door 
still made her flinch.  
 
Without comment, she took her seat, placing the file
folder she had been carrying down on the blotter before
her, and watched as Mulder proceeded to stalk to his desk 
and stand there with his hands on his hips, breathing 
heavily.  A moment later one of his feet lashed out and 
kicked the garbage can across the room, sending crumpled 
wads of paper skittering and spinning over the tiled floor.
 
"Goddammit!" he roared, and cleared the surface of the
desk with one sweep of his arm.  Some sense of restraint
had kept him from including his computer and keyboard
with the remainder of the items that had graced his
blotter and now lay scattered at his feet, and she was
thankful.  Having to explain the destruction of a PC
would not have been the highlight of her day.
 
She really wasn't sure if the day was going to have a
highlight, to be honest.  Tired, despite an enforced 
twenty-four hours of rest after being released from the 
hospital, she also was not quite fully recovered from 
their ordeal.  It was tempting to just get up and go, 
to grab Mulder's hand and drag him out of the office.
 
Mulder's burst of angry energy ended -- with a heavy
sigh, he dropped into his seat and met her gaze.
"Sorry," he muttered, waving his hand in the air to
indicate the results of his explosion.  But a second 
later he was bouncing up out of his chair to start 
pacing.
 
"Nothing, Scully," he gritted out on the first return
pass.  "Again we're left with nothing."  He kicked at 
the balled up papers in his path, hands raking 
repeatedly through his now spiked hair.  "Not one damn 
shred of evidence."
 
His anger and frustration were starting to stir hers 
anew -- she had tamped her feelings down before they
could do much damage back in Skinner's office, after
reviewing the report from the Evidence Retrieval team
in Lynchburg.  The team that had found zero evidence
at the location where she and Mulder had been found.
 
She had to bite back the words he had flung at her in
her hospital room.  His sarcastic, "Did you expect any
less, Scully?" still grated, even though she knew he
hadn't meant to direct them at her.
 
Taking a deep breath, she held it for several seconds
and then exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself.  
Despite that effort, there was just the slightest snap 
in her voice when she paraphrased, "Mulder, it's 
happened before, and as you so eloquently put it the 
other day, we shouldn't expect any less." 
 
Her words stopped him in his tracks.  Or perhaps more
accurately, they deflated him like a popped balloon.  
And the look on his face was priceless -- a combination 
of startlement, confusion and annoyance.
 
Making his way to the desk, he sank into his chair with
a heavy sigh.  This time his apology was genuine, the
tone colored with his embarrassment at his behavior.  "I 
didn't mean to take my frustration out on you, Scully."
 
"I know, Mulder," she told him.  "And believe me, I
understand and share in that frustration."  She put a
slight emphasis on the word 'share', to remind him that
they had both been affected.
 
The wry quirk of his lips told her he'd caught the
intentional rebuke.  She smiled back, and that particular
matter was over.
 
But Mulder wasn't ready to let the whole thing go just
yet.  Leaning forward, he snatched up the file folder
that lay in front of her.  The one they had gone through
in Skinner's office, that contained their hospital reports, 
including the results of their blood work.
 
Paging through it, his index finger stabbed down on one 
particular report.  "Unidentifiable substances," he read
out loud, and then shoved the file towards her.
 
Understanding that he needed to talk everything through,
she acquiesced to his silent request, and picked up both 
of their blood reports.  Perused them again, despite the 
fact she had gone over them, and the reports from their 
blood work taken at the FBI lab, several times each.
 
"Hemoglobin, hematocrit, platelet counts all normal," she
murmured, scanning the test names.  "Both our leukocyte
counts -- the number of white blood cells -- were slightly 
elevated, but not alarmingly."  
 
Scully paused to glance at Mulder, who had a questioning 
look on his face, and explained, "Leukocytes aid in the 
neutralization or destruction of invading microorganisms.  
It's possible the leukocytes were trying to fight off 
whatever we were injected with -- the unidentified substances 
found in our blood."  Looking at her partner again, she 
tacked on, "Which were quite minimal."
 
"Proof of a sort," he mumbled, swiveling his chair to one
side and staring off into space.  "Proof that in the end
means nothing."
 
Scully nodded, though he could not see the gesture, and 
returned the reports to the file, closing the folder.
Mirroring his pose somewhat, she leaned back in her own
chair and contemplated the ceiling.  Getting the hell out 
of the office right then was sounding like a better and 
better idea.  No destination in mind, just out.
 
"Scully," Mulder said suddenly, and rather loudly in the
quiet office.  "Let's get the hell out of here.  Go
somewhere...anywhere, I don't care.  Just away from the
office."
 
Her chair snapped forward, the sound like a firecracker,
and she was sure she had paled to the color of parchment.
 
"What?" he said semi-defensively.
 
Blinking rapidly, Scully continued to stare at him, mouth
agape.  Faint worry lines creased his face, and she tried 
to explain.  "I was just...I..."
 
"What, Scully, what?"  He rose to his feet, clearly uncertain
and a little shaken.
 
"I was just...thinking the exact same thing."
 
Mulder sat down again and they studied each other intently 
for several tension-filled seconds before shaking their heads 
and laughing nervously.  "Just a coincidence," they muttered 
together a moment later, and they both blinked in surprise
before shrugging it off, physically and mentally.
 
At least a minute passed before Mulder spoke, his voice musing.
"Scully, despite what happened, you and I have always had a
rather intense partnership, wouldn't you say?"  
 
She didn't respond, knowing it was more a rhetorical question, 
and he continued.  
 
"We've somehow attuned ourselves to know what the other 
is thinking, to be able to predict each other's moves and 
responses, to anticipate each other's needs."  His smile 
to her was a little crooked, his gaze warm.  "It's pretty 
amazing when you think about it, really.  Almost like we
were somehow linked, that we're..."
 
Scully finished the sentence with him.  
 
"Connected."
 
***
 
THE END
 
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