Chapter 6

The next day, Micheal rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose while wishing he could remember the acupressure points to relieve a stress headache. The other two Immortals sat with him around the coffee table, looking over the blueprints for the Center.

They weren’t having much luck in trying to find a way to get Ann out of there. She was in a well-guarded area, with camera surveillance, numerous walk-bys and the personal attention of Mr. Lyle. The fact that she didn’t move around much made looping the tape that much easier. But the walk-bys were irregular, with an average of about six an hour. Also, getting a semi conscious body through the tunnels would not be an easy task. It would have to be somebody she knew and would trust, cutting the list down severely. Actually, at least two somebodies, if she was unconscious.

It would be easier to snatch her during the transfer, but according to what Miss Parker had relayed from Jarod, that might not happen. Even if it did, she might be. . . damaged by what ever Mr. Lyle had in mind for her. Micheal could feel the cold rage build up in him at the thought. Merely holding her was one thing. Messing with her head and drugging her was something else altogether.

They needed to talk to Jarod and his people. Most likely Mulder and his partner and some of their friends. What did Sam call that group of computer nerds, the Lone Gunmen? They might be the other three. Together they should be able to bring her out safely and quickly.

Pulled out of his reverie by the shrill buzz of a cell phone, Miss Parker reached over and flipped hers open. After a brief conversation she looked at the two of them, a brief smile lighting up her face.

"That was Jarod, they decided they could use our help." She’d long ago stopped trying to figure out how Jarod always managed to find out her cell number. She’d changed it often enough and usually used an alias.

"How generous." Micheal’s dry voice conveyed his opinion.

"They want to meet in a few hours and try to get her out tonight." Miss Parker was relieved no matter what those two said. She didn’t think they could get Ann out short of storming the castle. She’d had enough of dying by violent means.

"Not giving us much time, are they." Adam piped up this time.

"Heaven forbid that we might have plans of our own." Micheal replied, each of the old Immortals having a faintly disgusted look on their faces.

"I guess we’ll just have to drop everything and run to help them." Adam quipped, pulling himself off the floor.

"We could tell them to sod off?" Micheal’s eyes shone with fake hope.

"But that wouldn’t be polite," Adam said.

"But it would be satisfying." Micheal grinned in anticipation.

"Are you two done?" Miss Parker looked at the two of them, wondering if it was just her, or were they really acting like they were twelve instead of twelve hundred plus.

"What?" They answered in unison, their faces exact copies of hurt innocence.

"I give up." She pulled herself onto the couch and snagged the remote, ignoring the two men as she channel surfed. She wasn’t a big TV person, but Adam didn’t even have one at his place and she was wondering what she’d missed. Apparently not much.

***

She was breaking. Mr. Lyle knew she was. The combination of her own messed up psyche and the hallucinogens they were pumping into her were making her malleable. Her blood chemistry was fascinating and they’d had trouble finding the right combination, her body often reacting in ways they didn’t expect. But now they had it right, she was putty in his hand. Well, not quite.

She had started to talk, rambling on incessantly about childhood trivia, replaying scenes that happened years ago as if they were happening at that instant. It was disconcerting to hear half of a conversation, which would break off and start up somewhere else every few minutes.

He could direct things to an extent, but not being too familiar with her history outside of the Center made things difficult. At one point, he’d triggered something that sent her screaming and scrapping at her arms. The haunted sound pierced through the entire section, sending shivers down the spines of people as they walked by. He merely left the room to avoid the noise.

He spent a lot of time in the cell himself, listening to her meandering voice. Every once in a while he’d hear something that made the time worth while. Mostly it was endless day to day routine, but he could occasionally get her to talk to him about some of the things she’d done. During those rare moments, she would almost plead with him, trying to explain her actions. He gently reassured her then asked her about the specific details. He had enough now to black mail more than a few politicians and businessmen with those brief conversations.

But he wasn’t getting what he wanted. She never talked about her time with the Consortium. When he got her to that time frame, she’d start screaming. The few times she didn’t, her eyes blanked out and she shut up. Then she’d start shivering, not from cold, but from all her muscles tensing up at once and shaking from the strain.

He would know soon enough. It wouldn’t take much more, perhaps if they sedated her a touch and removed her more from the situation. He was sure there was something that would have the desired effect. He wasn’t the genius that Mr. Raines was, but he knew a few tricks. And he would get the information he wanted.

Getting up, he left the rocking figure on the floor, wanting a break from the current recitation of a day in kindergarten, mumbled through parched lips. He should remember to make sure they got some liquids in her. She was getting dehydrated.

***

They ended up at Miss Parker’s house. It was closer than the resort Jarod had found and once it was thoroughly swept by Frohike and found clean, it was a safe place to talk. Surprisingly, they all settled quickly into their roles. Scully watched as everyone got down to business, throwing out ideas and picking things apart without egos coming into play. If she wasn’t seeing it herself, she would never have believed it.

Skinner would never believe that Mulder was actually listening to what was being said and not trying to take over the operation. Nor was he stewing in angst and getting ready to run in there, let the consequences be damned, and get himself killed. She was quite impressed.

She found herself drawn back to the conversation as they started speculating on the type of drugs they might have given Sam. While they could let them wear off, it would be better if they knew what they were dealing with in the first place. There might be long term effects and just dealing with the short term would be difficult enough from what Jarod had seen.

Miss Parker had been digging up what she could and managed to snag a few of the empty bottles that she thought had been used on Sam, but there were no labels and testing would take time. She also had dug up some information about the people Sam had been contracted to as well as her medical files. She’d been treated at the Center for various things and Scully looked over the reports, hoping to glean some more information from them. The blood work made her pause.

Micheal had already passed Mulder the zip disc that had all the information he’d gotten from the first attempt on the Center. While the two weren’t the best of friends, their mutual worry over Sam had them getting along for the moment. They were even deep in discussion with Jarod on the best way to transport Sam once they got to her.

They were planing to go in about six hours, waiting for the earlier hours of the morning, when the call to sleep was the strongest and eyes softly drooped down. It was going to be a smash and grab, with the main precaution being to throw the blame on the Consortium.

With the information Miss Parker had gotten, they should be able to make it seem like they were getting impatient with the run around and had simply grabbed Sam. The money being routed into the Center’s accounts was already being diverted back to its source and should be the only clue they would need to leave.

Everyone was breaking up into their respective clicks, now that the planning was accomplished. The Gunmen had taken over an office, preparing things for the morning and doing whatever else they did. Adam and Miss Parker (Scully wondered if the new Immortal even had a first name) had taken off outside and the faint clang of steal could be heard from their general direction.

Micheal had taken over a couch and was already showing signs of the deep, regular breath of sleep. Scully had a silent chuckle to herself as her partner took over the other couch and followed suit. He could nod off at the drop of a hat, but always woke up at the least sound. Leaving the two men to their sleep she got up and headed over to the kitchen.

The leftovers of supper were still stacked up on the counter. Jarod had come through in the pinch and managed to make up some spaghetti for everyone that was quite good. It certainly was better than anything you get out of a can and was about all that could be made out of the little bit of food Miss Parker had in her house. Nobody really wanted to chance delivery.

Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater she figured she might as well do something about the mess, since it looked like no one else was. Leftovers were scraped into a garbage can and the dishes placed in the dishwasher. It was already empty so she didn’t have to worry about figuring out where any of the clean dishes went.

It didn’t take long and after a few minutes the room was mostly clean with just a pot soaking in the sink. Giving a final wipe of the stove with a cloth, Scully deemed the kitchen clean enough and was about to leave when Jarod walked in.

"You beat me to the kitchen I see."

"Well, it was just sitting here, and since I didn’t have anything better to do I figured why not?" She turned to leave when he sat down heavily in a chair, his movements weary and tired. "Maybe you should try to get some sleep?"

"I will, I just didn’t want to leave a mess."

"You haven’t been sleeping very well, have you?" She winced a bit at the bluntness of her question, glad that her back was turned so he couldn’t see the faint blush that had risen on her cheeks.

"No I haven’t." He didn’t move as she turned back around and headed back into the room.

"If you want to talk about, I have a soft shoulder." She wasn’t sure why she wanted to comfort this guy, but he seemed to bring out the mother hen instinct in her.

"I’m fine," he said, so she turned again to leave, only to turn back when he started talking. "It’s just that I don’t understand it!"

She felt a bit like a top spinning around so she solved the problem by quietly taking a seat at the table with him, and then waited for him to elaborate.

"I’m so worried about her its eating a hole in my gut. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her huddled in that corner shaking. They are destroying her mind! Again! And I can’t seem to step back enough to look at this clearly." There was enough self recrimination in his voice to make Mulder jealous.

"Welcome to the real world." She ignored the affronted look on his face and continued. "Perspective is most often sought after and rarely obtained. By the nature of life, the people we love are too close to us to think about clearly. If something happens to them, you can’t step back, you can only step forward." She half expected a caustic remark thrown back at her, but she received no answer. Jarod just sat there, lost in thought. "You’re doing everything you can to help her."

"It’s not enough."

"You can only give everything you have. After that, you leave it in the hands of God." Having said her piece, she got up and left, intent on finding one of the spare bedrooms Miss Parker had mentioned earlier. She wasn’t tired but she would need to get some sleep before they headed out.

Jarod stayed in the kitchen, eventually getting up and pouring himself a cup of coffee. He absent-mindedly stirred a spoon around the cup, watching the flow and eddies as the liquid slowly cooled. What Scully had said made sense.

He was so used to dealing with circumstances he controlled, at least to some extent. Now he was reacting to events as best he could, not really having time to plan ahead and sort things out. He was a control freak out of control. He chuckled to himself at the joke.

With a slight smile still on his lips, he left the kitchen, the coffee forgotten on the table, and went to find an empty bed. While his mind was still racing, the knots in his stomach had disappeared and a few moments after he stretched out on the covers, his eyes drifted shut and he was asleep.

***

It was easier now. I just sat and watched as the images darted in front of my eyes. I could reach out a hand and swat at them, my hand passing harmlessly through them. Jarod kept coming to see me, asking me questions. It took me a while to realize he wasn’t actually real, just another figure my twisted mind had thrown up. There might have been a person there, but all I saw was Jarod.

Something had changed and I felt like I was floating around. This was much better and things didn’t hurt anymore. Not as much anyway. The dulling of the fires in my blood left me wanting to fly, so I did. Sort of.

Part of me was screaming, trying to figure out what was wrong. This was the part of me that kept the other part babbling about silly things like the sleep-overs I had as a kid. That was the part of me that realized Jarod wasn’t real and that I was still at the Center.

The other part of me was the part flying. It was so free, so happy, so light after the dark and horror of earlier. Now when I watched them, I watched from a distance. I still couldn’t see much and the fire tingled at the edge of my mind, but I could hardly feel it.

Then I crashed.

Crashing hurt.

My stomach twisted, forcing bile into my mouth, but my mind actually cleared a bit. Jarod, or whoever that really was, had left, leaving me to my misery. Muscles cramped. I was too hot, then too cold. The cold metal of the small sink felt like ice, as I pulled myself up, dry retching into it until I simply didn’t have the energy to hold myself up any longer.

***

Mulder woke up to a hand on his shoulder. Scully smiled down at him and told him to go eat something. Glancing at his watch, they had about two hours before they left, so he hauled himself into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the large pot brewing on the counter. It was already half empty.

Several others were already up and Miss Parker had left a few hours ago for the Center. She’d already called and said that things were quiet. Mr. Lyle had left for the night and only those on the actual night shift where left. She’d also hooked up the modem to the Center’s isolated system for the Gunmen.

Cup in hand, he headed to the bathroom to change out of his blue jeans and shirt, into the dark sweats and turtle neck he’d brought. He’d done something like this often enough, he didn’t want to ruin his last pair of half decent black jeans and the sweats were easier to move in.

Serious preparations were already in motion. Weapons were checked, many of which Mulder didn’t want to know where they originally came from, radios turned on and volumes set. This was mostly done in silence punctuated by the occasional sound of someone coming in and getting something to eat.

All too soon, it was time to leave. The three men, black from head to toe, faces included, piled into the van that Scully was driving; Adam followed in a large, black sedan. A few minutes later, they pulled up to the sewer drain that led into the Center.

***

Miss Parker looked around her office for one last time. After this night she would never be coming back and she was glad. But there was also a touch of sorrow at leaving a place she’d spent so much of her life. She picked up her cell phone and called the strange men who’d taken over her office at home.

After a few minutes of conversation they did as she asked, pulling out enough dirt on the Center to close it down. Maybe not permanently but certainly enough for the jackals to set in and rip the pieces apart. They were also going to erase some personnel files while they were at it. Dialing in another number, she waited for the other person to pick up.

"Sydney, how’d you like to retire?" Let’s just say it didn’t take a lot of convincing for Sydney to contemplate a small country practice. Broots decided that a trip to Paris with his daughter would be the perfect way to spend the spring. That taken care of, she called as many Sweepers to her as she could and took them on a wild goose chase for Jarod in New York. She planned to fake her death most messily and leave them there.

Chapter 7

I must have passed out, because I know time had passed from when I dropped to the floor to when I crawled back to the blankets in the corner. I wanted a drink now more than anything, but I didn’t have the energy to go and get it. I was floating again, but not as much as earlier. Just enough to make me nauseous.

Images played around me, passing in and out of focus, running through my life in excruciating detail. From the guy I kissed in kindergarten, to the guy I killed when I was fifteen. I would see Jarod walking down the hall and then Fox would come to tell me about his day at work. I was crying on Mom’s shoulder, happy to see her for the first time in my memory, then I was a little girl sitting on her lap. I didn’t even notice the men walk in the room. I guess they were back with more questions.

"Samantha?" The voice was familiar and sounded like Fox, but I knew he wasn’t there. Just a memory come to haunt me again. "Sam listen to me, we need to get you out of here." Or a dream.

"Sam?" Was that Father? But he was dead, shot by the Center, another ghost. But that wasn’t right, I knew that wasn’t right. I shut my eyes tight against the images that flooded my mind.

I opened them when a hand was placed on my shoulder and another gently pushing the strands of hair out of my face. I licked my lips, not even wetting them as I tried to push out the fog in my head and really see who was there. All I saw was black.

"Sam, listen, I’m going to pick you up and carry you. We need to leave."

"Jarod?" The vague head shape nodded. "You’re not real, nothing is real." I just grabbed a handful of shirt, surprised that my hand didn’t pass through it. "Why can’t it be real?"

"I am real. You’re remembering things too fast, too clearly. Your mind isn’t really handling it well," he said. Was it possible that this was real, not some image my mind dragged up as wish fulfillment?

By this point, I didn’t care. If I was completely nuts, it was better than being stuck in the Center. I gave myself over to the illusion, feeling myself be picked up and clutching desperately to the handful of shirt I’d latched onto.

***

Jarod was horrified at how light Samantha felt. She wasn’t a stocky person, but she’d had a lot of muscle hidden on her frame that made her heavier than she looked. Now she was dehydrated and probably hadn’t eaten much considering the state she was in. He could feel her swallowing convulsively against the jolting she was getting. He lifted her up through the opening, easing her grip off the handful of shirt she was still hanging onto as he passed her off to Micheal.

They hadn’t run into that much trouble yet, but that didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t over until it was over. Sam was mostly dead weight, but at least she wasn’t fighting them. That would have put a quick end to this foray. He pulled himself up into the vent and they started crawling through the space. Sam was currently draped across Mulder’s back, making it difficult for him to move quickly, while Micheal was bringing up the rear.

They made it out of the air vents into the storage room in which Jarod had earlier confronted Miss Parker. Angelo was in the shadows, waiting for them. He looked over the strange men with Jarod, trying to decide if he liked them or not. The tall man holding the woman was her brother, they both had the same intensity though hers was hard to see, dimmed beneath the confusion of her mind. The other man, the shorter one; there was something about him. Angelo left his hiding spot and ventured over to them.

"Angelo, what are you doing here?" Jarod was glad to see the man but he was also worried about getting out of there in one piece. He could hear the Sweepers making their way to the room. The saving grace was that there weren’t that many of them and they were checking out everything as they worked their way through the hallway.

Angelo simply walked up to them, the need to satisfy his growing curiosity overriding his usual reticence. He decided he would go with them, the Center was no longer safe for him. He knew that on an instinctual level and he knew Jarod would help him. The others he would have to find out about. He slid in front of the group, leading them through a slightly easier route to get to the vehicles waiting for them.

Jarod had taken Sam from Mulder, cradling her carefully against him as they went through the corridors. He didn’t know this route, but he trusted Angelo and knew that the man was helping them. He could see the questions in Mulder’s eyes and the only reason Micheal stuck with them was because Jarod was carrying Sam. But soon they were in the familiar drain and racing their way away from the increased noise of the Sweepers behind them. They still hadn’t managed to lose them.

Scully had the door open and waiting for them. They all jumped in and Jarod was surprised when Angelo joined them. He hadn’t expected the empath to leave the Center as Angelo always seemed to become overwhelmed whenever he left his familiar haunts. But Jarod was happy to see him leaving.

Moving to the back seat, Jarod place Sam on it. He eased her down, her legs still curled up against her stomach. He had to brace himself as Scully took a corner. When he turned to go, a hand lashed out and buried itself in his jacket.

He eased the death grip off his jacket, but sat down on the floor of the van, leaning against her seat. Her eyes, red rimmed and blood shot, looked at him with utter disbelief, as if she expected him to fade away. They also kept darting around, off to the side and back again. Again a hand reached out and hesitantly touched his shoulder. He reached up and placed his hand over hers, letting her know he was real.

***

Angelo turned around in his seat, looking at the man sitting behind him. His eyes searched the face of the man they called Micheal. He was familiar. Something about him made Angelo glad he was there. That was why he had continued to follow Jarod, to be near the strange man.

There was a hardness there, a cold anger that seeped out of the eyes, making his whole face seem like granite. He was worried about Sam. He finally realized that he was being watched and his gaze turned to Angelo. His eyes softened a bit and he gave the empath a brief smile. Angelo grinned back.

"Hello Angelo."

He bobbed his head in reply. And turned back around in his seat, the grin still on his face. Scully glanced over at him, enchanted by the expression she saw. She found herself smiling back. Things had gone surprisingly well; they weren’t even being followed anymore. Another thing Skinner would never believe. If they ever told him.

Chapter 8

I slept for the first time in a period too long to count. The lull of the road and the feeling of Jarod’s hand was enough for me to let exhaustion take over and my eyes soon drifted shut. There were no dreams, no visions and most of all, no memories. By the time I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the van anymore.

My eyes flashed open as I woke, expecting to see gray walls and visions of the past dancing in front of my eyes. Instead, though my head felt stuffed with cotton, the walls were soft white and my eyes saw nothing but the walls. I just lay there, absorbing the soft feel of the sheet draped over me, my eyes flowing over all the details in the room. I was home. Well, Mom’s house.

This was Fox’s old room; the blue curtains kept out most of the sun and there were pictures sitting on the desk. There was a book case against the wall filled with books, mostly hard cover, but some paperbacks were stacked in a pile on one of the shelves.

I shifted forward, drawn to the books. At the edge of the bed, I didn’t even try to sit up, I just pushed my feet out of the blankets and slid to the floor with a slight thump. That alone jarred me and I sat on the floor waiting for my heart to slow from its pounding in my chest. I crawled over and pulled the top book off the pile of paperbacks.

It was a copy of Farmer in the Sky, by Heinlein, obviously much read. The corners were folded, and the pages yellowed, but in my eyes it was new. Mom had gotten it for his tenth birthday. She’d wrapped it up in dark paper and left it on his plate at breakfast. Fox came down the stairs and rushed in, his T-shirt just pulled all the way down and his feet bare.

I was already at the table, barely able to look over the edge of the table with a plastic glass of orange juice in my hand. He looked at the package on the table and almost ripped into it right away when Dad came down the stairs. Dad looked at the disarray of Fox’s outfit and with a tolerant smile, shook his head and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Fox sat at the table and carefully opened the package, his eyes going big as he saw what it was. I asked him what he got and he ignored me, already reading the first chapter.

A sound from behind me snapped my head up and around to see Fox, not even close to ten years old, standing there.

"Are you okay?"

"You got this from Mom, on your birthday." I said as I lifted up the book on my lap. My voice sounded like a gravel truck but I got the words out.

"You shouldn’t be trying to walk around by yourself. Jarod said you need to sleep things off a bit more." He knelt down beside me, holding a hand out that I ignored.

"How long?" It grated out but the words hurt as I tried to talk.

"He didn’t expect you to wake up for at least another eight hours." His reply wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted to know how long I was out of it.

"How long has it been? How long was I at the Center?" I had to swallow a few times to get it all out but the more I talked, the easier it became.

"We got you out early this morning. You’d been there for about a week," he said. With the first three days in the Center fairly clear in my mind, that made about 4 days lost in a mental fugue.

"It’s weird Fox. I can remember things now, but it overwhelming. It was all coming at once, all jumbled up together. I know what happened to me now Fox. I wish I didn’t." My voice was down to a whisper.

"Come on, let’s get you back to bed." This time, he just put a gentle hand under my arm and started to pull me up. I was weaving and my legs felt ready to collapse.

"I’d rather have a shower." I was in something clean, but my scalp itched and I knew I wasn’t smelling all that fresh.

"When you can stand up without falling over." He had a point. I was hanging on for dear life to Fox’s arm, scared at how weak I was.

"Then something to drink." I sat on the bed, automatically pulling my legs up and hugging them. My throat was so dry, it felt like it was sticking together.

"That can be arranged. What do you want?"

"Just water." I couldn’t drag up the thought of anything but water sliding down my throat.

"Coming right up."

"Is Jarod still. . . " I had to stop because my throat was seizing up. I wanted to think it was because I was so thirsty, but I knew that wasn’t it.

"He’s downstairs, asleep on the couch." While Fox wasn’t pleased about the question, judging by the expression on his face, he finished his thought anyway. "He only fell asleep an hour ago. He was sitting with you till then. Let me get you something to drink."

With that he turned away and I could hear him as he went down the stairs. I pulled the blankets over my legs and leaned against the headboard. My mind was so full, I just closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything. Instead I thought about Fox, Father and Jarod coming for me. Father I expected, and Fox was a given. Why had Jarod come? How did he know in the first place? Why did I care? Why did he care? But when he came, all I could think was that he could banish the nightmares if only he were real. And he was real and he banished the nightmares.

Fox was back so soon, I suspected I dosed off for a minute or two, but the glass of juice in his hand was almost enough for me to jump off the bed. If I could.

"I know you asked for water, but I thought since there was some apple juice in the fringe, why not." He handed me the plastic glass. It was one of those giant, plastic movie cups and full to the brim. I had most of it downed in a few seconds, a little dribbling down my chin in my haste. I savored the last few mouthfuls though, letting it trickle down my throat, easing some of the ache there. "Do you want some more?"

"Sure." I replied, sleepily. I was sliding down the head rest and pulling at the blanket. Fox leaned over and tugged the edge loose that was caught, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

"I’ll leave it on the bedside table." He was at the door when he turned around, his face full of worry. "How are you feeling?"

I mumbled something in reply, already mostly asleep. I could see him in the doorway and just as he left I spoke up.

"Thanks, Fox." And then I was asleep.

***

As far as Micheal could tell, they had pretty much gotten away clean from the Center. There were no guarantees, though. Miss Parker had called them earlier in the day and asked Adam to head over to New York with a change of clothes. She was going to take a dive off a building where the Sweepers were sure to see. After that, she would leave the Center behind her completely. He didn’t blame her one bit.

She also told him about the information that the Lone Gunmen retrieved from the Center’s system. It was enough to shut down the company down in the least and at best could send most of the main players to jail for many years.

It wasn’t enough for what they did to his family, but it was a start. When the Center took his son, he swore all of those involved would die. But as years passed, he decided seeing them ruined and letting them know that he did it, was more. . . satisfying.

Then he met Sam and priorities changed. He’d lived long enough to not to feel guilty over transferring his need to care for someone to her. He still loved his wife and son, and now he loved her too. And he could help her. So he did.

Now he could pay the Center back as well. He figured that releasing certain parts to the media, let the frenzy build up for a little while and then start feeding bits to the police. Maybe a bit to the FBI as well. Some of the financial information should find itself at home with the IRS. A few words in the right ears of the Mafia would take care of the remnants that escape prosecution. We can’t forget the foreign investors either. The Center double crossed just about everyone at some point in time.

Maybe when this was all done, he could sleep without seeing the mental image of his car exploding with his wife inside. And perhaps his son will find rest, wherever his body lay. Pulling his thoughts away from an area still painful after all these years, he got up and left his chair in the living room, wandering to parts unknown.

The Mulder house was quite large. A porch ran the length of the front and the yard in the back was huge with a large tree dominating one corner. There were enough rooms to house just about everyone and to give Mrs. Mulder credit, she didn’t bat an eye lid when they all descended on her at the crack of dawn.

She took one look at her daughter and everyone’s disheveled appearance, then bustled them all in the house. Once everyone was settled, she spent the next four hours in the office pumping Mulder for information. Micheal thought it amusing that even Mulder’s mother called him Mulder.

Jarod stayed with Sam, watching over her to make sure that she was fine and to assess what all had happened to her. At least that was why he said he was keeping vigil at her bedside. Micheal let his lips slide into a sad smile. Jarod was just punishing himself for his earlier behavior. Call it penance.

Scully called her boss and said that she was still down with the flu and then went home to complete the illusion. She told Mulder that if he didn’t call her when Sam woke up she would take her revenge on his couch. Mulder went pale and promised to keep her filled in. The Lone Gunmen eventually called, saying they were back at their place and anytime they wanted to pick up the info they got a hold of, they could stop by and pick it up.

Micheal went out the back door and regardless of the slight chill that clung to the spring afternoon, sat down in a chair. Angelo was outside with him, sitting under the tree and poking at the blades of grass. He shrugged his shoulders against the unfamiliar weight of Jarod’s jacket and then went back to his studies. When the empath got up and moved towards the trunk of the tree, Micheal’s curiosity got the better of him and he went to see what Angelo was looking at.

Before he got very far, Angelo turned away from the tree and ran towards the ancient Immortal. He skidded to a halt in front of Micheal and with solemn eyes, reached forward to lay a hand on the his cheek. Angelo’s eyes bulged a little at first before they closed and an intense look passed over the little man’s face.

Micheal just stood there, not sure what to do or think. He knew that Angelo was special, that the Center had twisted him into the creature he’d become. He’d seen the man give information about people just from touching something they owned. So he waited.

After a minute, Angelo’s eyes fluttered and opened. His eyes were glassy and he just wandered back into the house, leaving Micheal more confused than before.

***

Jarod’s eyes snapped open to the noise of a door closing. Now that he was awake, he felt as stiff as a board and he had that mucky, not enough sleep but it will have to do for now, feeling. He got up, stretched out the muscles in his back and went to find a bathroom. Heading down the hall a few minutes later, he felt more human. He had needed the rest, short as it was.

When Mrs. Mulder had come in and seen him nodding off at Sam’s bed side, she suggested he could use some sleep. Realizing that the kink in his neck was not going to get any better sitting in a chair trying to nap, he took her advice and flaked out on the couch.

Heading to the kitchen for something to eat, he kept an eye out for whoever else was around. The place sounded deserted, so he just rummaged around in the fridge. Giving up on the fridge he started in on the cupboards.

Settling for a bowl of cereal, he quickly bolted it down. He wanted to see how Sam was doing, but he was also reluctant. Last night she was still out of it; how would she react to his presence when she was with it? He squashed the feeling that it would be simpler for all involved if he just moved on. That’s what got him in this mess in the first place.

Putting his bowl in the dishwasher, he went up the stairs and headed to the room Sam was in. Easing the door open, he saw her asleep, still curled up around herself but her face was relaxed and her hand wasn’t twisted up in the blanket anymore. She shifted a little at the noise of his entrance, but apparently the call to sleep was stronger than the call to wake and her eyes barely fluttered.

He sat in the chair he’d earlier put near the bed, stretching his legs out and leaning his head against the wall behind him. He should have thought about that earlier. It was easier on his neck.

Chapter 9

This time, when I woke up, it was a more gradual thing. I rarely do that, usually going from sleep to alert in the time it takes my eyes to open. Now I sort of faded into awareness, hearing the muted noises from downstairs first and then opened my eyes to the dimmed light from the window. I was still thirsty, but I was warm and comfortable and not so thirsty as to want to disturb the cocoon of blankets I was wrapped up in. The noises in the background quieted for a bit and I could hear the sound of breathing from right beside me.

So I blinked my eyes a few times, to clear the last of the sleep from them, and looked at the man sitting beside me. He looked tired. He also looked very asleep. This gave me chance to again reassure myself that everything that happened, actually happened. It also gave me a chance to look over one of my rescuers.

Jarod’s hair had grown and was now a little poofy. I liked it that way. He also had a smudge of black in his hair line which might explain why I couldn’t see any faces last night. At least, I think it was last night. People think blacking out a face is only something they only do in movies, but it does a lot to disguise features, without the bulk or bother of a ski mask. Some subtle highlighting can change the appearance even further.

He wasn’t in the black clothes of early, having changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. It reminded me of the time I first took him to the Dojo. That seemed like a life time ago, before everything hit the fan and Joe died. There was more strain around his eyes now. It hasn’t been easy for anyone I guess.

I shifted a bit, stretching a leg out and clearing a hair out of my face. I was going to have to do something about that mess. Maybe I would cut the lot off. Nah. I guess I was feeling better though. My head was even more clear. I had to giggle though, as I realized that I could look straight up Jarod’s nose. Maybe my head wasn’t all that clear after all.

I just laid there and watched the rise and fall of Jarod’s chest for a while. He looked like he needed the rest. I eased up, trying to be quiet, and looked longingly at the glass of juice on the other side of Jarod. Oh well. I’ll have something to drink later. At least I was feeling better.

I sifted through the jumble my head had become. There was so much in there, so many memories, images, ideas, details, emotions. It was different. It was like a part of me had opened up, that I hadn’t know was there. Of course that’s exactly what did happened.

But there was so much of it. I didn’t even know what all was in there yet. It was all messed up in my head; the order was all wrong, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. I didn’t know if that was normal or if that’s just the way the memories resurfaced.

I looked back at Jarod as he shifted and his eyes fluttered a bit. Suddenly I was scared. Well, not scared exactly, but my heart started pumping and I wondered why had he come. He’d made his. . . displeasure at me more than obvious the last time I saw him.

So why was he here? Did he come because Fox called him, or because Father needed somebody with more inside information than what we had? I couldn’t understand it. Why was he waiting here now? He’d been a doctor, and Scully couldn’t be here. That had to be it.

I took a deep breath, willing my heart to stop pounding. I was an obligation to him, a patient. Nothing more. By the time I raised my eyes to look at his, I felt calmer.

"How are you feeling?" He looked at me with concern in his eyes. Like any good doctor, I told myself, who would come and break you out of an underground research center that you were dumb enough to let yourself get caught in.

"Okay." Short, sweet and to the point. Impersonal.

"Any headaches?" He got up out of his chair and sat in front of me on the bad, lifting my chin up so he could check my eyes.

"No. Just feels like my head’s full." Yup, he was just here to make sure I wasn’t going to go bonkers from everything.

"Thirsty?" His hand on my forehead checked my temperature, while the other reached out for my wrist.

"I thought you’d never ask." I pulled my hand out from where it was still buried in the blankets and gave it to him.

After a few seconds of feeling the beats (I really hoped my heart wasn’t still racing) he reached beside him and gave me the glass of juice, which I eagerly gulped down. About halfway through, I paused for a breath.

"I think thirsty was an understatement." He looked me over with something in his eyes that I couldn’t really place. Worry maybe. Why was he worried? I hid my continuing confusion by raising the glass up and finishing off the juice. If I kept this up, I’d have to find a bathroom soon. "You’re pretty dehydrated, and you need to eat something, but other than that you should be okay."

"Why can I remember now? I thought you said that wasn’t possible." And there were some things in my head I didn’t want to remember. I held the glass on my lap, trying to fascinate myself with the movie advertisement printed on the plastic, cause I didn’t want to see what was in Jarod’s face now.

"I don’t know."

"It’s not to bad. Most of it. I can remember growing up and there were some good times."

"And some bad," he said, knowing exactly how I felt. I shivered at the images that flashed through my head. Fire and pain were the most prevalent.

"Some bad." I repeated.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He put a gentle hand on my leg. Okay, that was taking this professional concern a bit far for me.

"No." I let a definite edge slip in the word.

"Maybe later."

"Oh you’re sticking around this time?" Can we say unresolved feelings of abandonment? Nope I’m not bitter, not at all.

"Yes, I’m sticking around."

My eyes snapped up to his. I hadn’t really excepted an answer to that. "Why?" I asked, before I had a chance to stop myself. He didn’t answer my question right away, instead his eyes broke from mine and shifted uneasily around the room.

"I thought you might need some help for a while."

"Why do you care?" I snapped.

"Why wouldn’t I?" He sounded hurt by my attack but I didn’t really care.

"You sure didn’t last time."

"That’s not fair." He snapped at me this time.

"Why, because it’s true?" I was starting to get mad and I really wanted to get out of there.

"I’m sorry. You’re right, it was wrong of me to leave as I did." His voice went soft and his eyes returned to mine, filled with something I wasn’t used to seeing in him. Doubt.

"Well, I survived, as I no doubt will this time, so take your misplaced sympathy and take off. There’s nothing holding you here." I’d had enough. My mind was spinning and my adrenaline was racing. I flung my feet out from under the blankets and stood up, making it halfway to the door before a wave of blackness passed over me. I crumpled, but someone caught me before I hit the floor.

"Careful."

I opened my eyes and looked at Jarod, his face hovering in front of me. So much for stomping off in a fit of pique. He helped me back up and over to bed. Sitting on the edge, I let my breathing ease and the spots clear from my eyes.

"Why do you care? Why are you here?" My eyes started getting blurry and I had to blink a fair bit to get rid of the moisture in my eyes. When he didn’t say anything, I just kept talking in a rush, the dam I’d carefully built up starting to break. "I understood your leaving. I don’t understand why you came back. You should be out helping people who deserve it. Not me. I’m not worth . . . "

"Hold it right there. You are every bit as deserving of help as anyone else."

"Then why did you leave?" I whispered. Unable to tear my eyes away from the weave of the blanket.

"Because I was. . . I didn’t know how to deal with the emotional baggage you represented." His voice was harsh with self recrimination and I could hear him shifting back and forth on his feet. I didn’t even want to think about what it would take to get Jarod to pace.

"So you left." I took a deep breath and a bit of understanding filtered through the windmills of my mind. "That actually sounds familiar. I’ve done my fair share of high tailing it."

"I was wrong. I should have tried to help you instead of getting on my high horse and. . . "

"Judging me out of hand." I finished his sentence and watched his expressive face go through about a thousand emotions at once.

"Um, yea." He stopped rocking and looked at me, his eyes still doubtful.

"Maybe I should get Scully in here to document this. Jarod actually admitting he made a mistake." I grinned a little to take the sting out of the sentence.

"I’m a Pretender, not perfect." Jarod dead panned. If it wasn’t for the light in his eyes I would have thought him shocked.

I couldn’t help it and at first a little giggle escaped. Jarod also seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face and then I cracked up, starting a belly laugh that had me realizing that my stomach muscles were a lot more sore than I thought they were.

"Not fair," I gasped, an arm clenched around my stomach, "Laughing hurts."

"Easy there." Jarod helped me lie back down.

"Don’t you ‘easy there’ me. You guys keep this up, and you’ll spoil me for life." I hated being mothered.

"There’s nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it," he said, reprovingly.

"Yea well. . . "

"Yea well nothing. You’ve been through hell and you need to take it easy."

"Yes mother."

"That’s right. Right now you have enough surrogate parents to make sure that you get the rest you need."

I groaned when I realized he was right. Fox had already started. Father was never a big one for coddling a person, but he could be as mothering a person as anyone I knew and now Jarod was in the mix. I was pretty sure Mom had set up a menu for me that included anything I ever expressed a liking for. For a brief moment I thought about my nice, little, quiet cell in the Center.

Which pulled me back into some of the not so nice memories that surfaced there. I knew they were memories, but I could still feel the phantom fire running through me. A shiver ran up and down my spine but I took a deep breath forcing my hands to stop trembling. I opened my eyes, and Jarod was looking at me, concern back on his face.

"It was just one of the not so nice memories." I looked away, still not comfortable with the concern on his face.

"It must have been pretty nasty to give you that much of a reaction from the memory."

"It was," I admitted.

"Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?" He asked me gently, probably trying to get me talk about it. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

"Maybe later. Right now, I want to get something more to drink."

"Already?"

"You’re the one who said I was dehydrated." I kept a sweet smile on my face as I said that, just to tease him.

"Well, it’s not something to drink, but it’s close." Mom walked in right then with a bowl of soup on a tray.

"I can handle something to eat too." I looked it over as my stomach decided food would be just as acceptable as something to drink. Jarod stood up from his seat on the bed, rubbing his eyes as he did so. "Maybe you should get some sleep of your own, Jarod."

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were getting more glazed over as he stood there.

"I’ll be fine. Besides, Mom can take up the vigil. Go get some sleep. In a bed."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘yes mother’ but he left the room and hopefully made his way to one of the guest bedrooms. Mom sat in the chair beside the bed, watching as I dipped my spoon into the soup. Normally I’m not a big soup fan, but this smelled good. It triggered an image of me, about seven or so, sitting in bed and Mom bringing in a bowl of soup. I smiled at the thought.

"So, Mom, how’s Betty Johnston doing?" I let Mom start filling me in on the details of Betty and the other women of her bridge club, adding some of the details she didn’t write about in her letters. It seemed silly, but I got to know Mom more through listening to her talk about others than in the stilted prose she used whenever she tried to talk about the past. Leaning against the head board, the empty bowl on my lap with Mom finishing her update on the lives of her friends, I was content, happy to let things just be.

"Oh, your poor hair. Let me get a brush and we can work out some of those tangles." She took the bowl out of my hand and in a few seconds was back with a brush. She sat at my side and as I took out the elastic that failed at holding most of the mess in place, I saw the tears welling up in her eyes. "It’s getting so long. I always loved sitting with you and brushing it out every night."

"I know Mom." I looked up at her and for the first time, could actually remember doing things like that. That made it easier to deal with the other things my mind had thrown at me. I wouldn’t give up those happy moments for the world.