Novels The Damascus Files In The Interest of Science Other Stories A Deafening Silence Finding Zuzu's Petals Into The Mystic Je T'aime Knockin' On Heaven's Door Knowing Korena, Korena Matthew 19:14 Nightwing Sweet Dreams Symbiosis A Texas History Lesson This Could Be Heaven,   or This Could Be Hell Timepieces Your Soul in My Heart Other Info About Kat Linkage Feedback   In the Interest of Science Select a chapter Return to Story Index Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Full Text Only Chapter Thirteen Late June/Mid August Unknown location The man was true to his word. We were "taken care of," not harmed. But a prison, is a prison, is a prison. The bars were there, we were being kept against our will. We could not escape. He would not let us go -- not as long as Mulder's body produced bone marrow, not as long as he was alive. So what did we do, with no chance of ever leaving this prison? We went on living. Mulder worked hard, trying to gain control of his new parts, to learn to walk again. He jokingly suggested, we should have waited for a more "in shape" clone. His arm, aside from the fine motor skills, was gaining strength and he was beginning to use it unconsciously. His new legs, however, could not support his weight and he had to struggle to train them to function. I watched him, holding tightly to the bars, his right arm taking most of his weight, but the left, doing none too badly, considering. "Your dragging them. Lift them," I called out. He raised his head, sweat flinging from his sweat-soaked hair, and gave me the evil eye. He just couldn't seem to get the flex motion of a normal stride. In disgust, he lowered himself to the mat, his lower lip protruding in anger. I squatted beside him, offering a towel, which he took without a word and slung around his neck. "It's gotta go faster..." he muttered, as much to himself as to me. "It will," I whispered into his ear. "We've got time." He nodded in agreement and offered me a wry grin. "Better than when I didn't have a leg to stand on." I gave him a warning glance. "No more, Mulder." He took my hand to help get back in his chair. I knew he wasn't going to heed my warning. The wicked gleam in his eye told me as much. "Hey, Scully," he grinned wheeling over to me. I backed away, "I don't want to hear it, Mulder." He followed me relentlessly. "We won't be moving to Vegas, when we get outta here." My pace quickened. "I'm not listening to you." My hands went to my ears and I hummed a tune loudly, trying to drown him out. "Yeah, guess the transplants ruined my career plans for becoming a one-armed bandit." "I warned you Mulder," I spat, hurrying away. He was getting too damned fast in that chair. He caught up with me at the showers. "Hey, Scully." I gave him my sternest look, which he ignored. "Mulder, just get your shower and get changed. I'll meet you at the pool." My words came in a rush as I sprinted through the swinging door. "If they'd done my eyes," he shouted after me, his voice echoing off the tiled walls, "I could be singing 'Tears of a Clone.'" "That's lame, Mulder." I chuckled to myself, dressing for our swim. I grabbed a towel and was heading out when I heard the women talking. I didn't know them. I wouldn't have even paid attention to their conversation if I hadn't overheard Mulder's name being mentioned. "...Yeah and they said she took the clone." I stood still, straining to hear more. "For what?" another female's voice questioned. "I heard she buried it -- as him, her son. It only had the one arm, no legs. Nobody would know it wasn't him." "How sick." I stumbled away, my mind reeling. Mulder was officially dead. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would come looking for him. Or us. He was of course, already in the pool, skimming through the water, doing laps. I moved to the side and stood there lost in thought. At some point he noticed me and stopped. "Scully?" I heard him call and I blindly searched for him through my worried haze. He was right below me and saw my face. Mulder had become an expert at reading me. "Scully?" He pulled himself up to sit on the side and grabbed my hand. I finally noticed him and sank down beside him, my legs dangling in the warm water. I felt his hand on my cheek and turned to face him. "Scully, what's wrong?" he asked panic-stricken. "You're dead, Mulder," I whispered, then proceeded to relate my overheard conversation. "Do you think they told my mother I'm dead?" He put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close, "I don't know, Scully," he murmured, his voice tinged with sorrow. "She's got to be so worried. If you're dead and I haven't gotten hold of her, I know she must think I'm dead, too." My voice broke as I took my logic the next step further." This proves he's never going to let us go." "I know." The worst part of our incarceration, was that we were forced into realizing Mulder was no more than a lab rat to our captors. They were constantly taking something out of him or from him -- bone marrow, blood, skin cell scrapings, even semen. It devastated him to be treated as a specimen and it pained me to watch his hurt. Days seemed to run together and time really had no meaning except in its passing. We kept busy, but it all soon became a blur. The one thing I do remember from those weeks were our conversations. We did have some very interesting talks. "Mulder?" "Hmmm?" he was almost asleep, his arms and legs wrapped around me. "Ever wonder if all this is part of a plan?" "I know it is, the black-lunged, son of a..." "No, I mean God's plan. I mean I don't think we'd ever have gotten together --not like we are now, if you hadn't gotten hurt." "So it was God's plan to make me into third base, so we could get together. Nice plan." He was silent for a while, considering my question. "Maybe it was for me to learn a lesson. You know, to suffer to learn from my sins." "What were your sins, Mulder?" I thought I knew what was coming. I knew Mulder wore his guilt over his sister's abduction like a shroud. He surprised me. "Pride," he replied softly. "My biggest sin was pride." I raised up on my elbow, straining to read his expression in the darkness. "Pride? How so?" I doubted the reasoning of his answer. In most ways, Fox Mulder was one of the most insecure people I'd met. His tortured childhood had left him doubting his worth throughout his life. Pride. I didn't think so. "I thought I didn't need anybody," he explained, "and I always knew what everyone else needed. If the world would see life my way, then everything would be perfect. You don't get egos much bigger than that, Scully." He did have a point. "And what happened to you was your penance?" "Well, pride kind of goes out the window when you have to have somebody hold you up so you can take a crap. I needed somebody for everything I did. And I found out it didn't kill me to need somebody." The night was quiet once more as we both mulled over what had been said. He was the one that spoke first to break the silence. "Maybe you're right, it was God's plan to get us together." "Maybe?" By late July, Mulder had gained enough strength and control to be able to get around with the aid of a walker. His mobility did cause a problem, because being upright caused his back injury, lying dormant these many months, to flare up again. Heat and massage did help, but the more active he became, the worse the pain got. His new doctor was the Smoking Man's lap dog and his skills, unlike Joe Williams', ran exclusively to research. Why did they care if walking was becoming unbearable? They could still get what they wanted from him if he never left his bed. My frustration was growing. He pushed himself so hard, he felt he had to be ready if we ever got the chance to escape. But once again, his body had turned against him. By mid August, each step was unadulterated agony. My nerves had frayed to the point of snapping and my demands for treatment for him were loud and constant. The staff stayed away. Any help he got came from me. Until that one day, when help finally came. August 18th Location unknown I watched Mulder as he shuffled across the floor to the bathroom. He tried to hide his pain, but it was there, so easily read in his face. He started to go inside, but turned at hearing me move angrily to the door. "Where are you going?" His tone was sharp with worry. "I have to do something!" My frustration came out in tears. Mulder stopped and hobbled over to me and seeing his painful approach, made me cry all the harder. "I'm just going to go talk to him. Maybe he'll listen. Please, I have to do something!" I repeated, almost in hysterics. Mulder wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. He murmured, soft words of comfort. My sobs were playing out when the knock at the door came. It opened before we had a chance to speak. His embrace tightened and I was stunned silent when our visitors came into the room. It was Teena Mulder, with the Lone Gunmen in tow. Go to Chapter 14 DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" and its characters are owned by FOX and its related entities. All rights reserved. This website, its operators and any content on this site relating to "The X-Files" are not authorized by Fox. No copyright infringement is intended. This site created and maintained by Wasatch Design and Consulting.