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Title: High Praise Summary: Mulder and Scully discover the whereabouts of a child missing for almost two years, but they're not the only ones looking for him.
Rolling Hills Nuclear Power Plant A swirl of smoke wafted gently above the grizzled face as he looked through a blood-stained window at the reactor room within. He detected no movement within the room, yet he was sure that the person he sought was still there. Alive. The boy. Gibson Praise, who could be their savior or ruin them all. He intended to take no chances that the child would fall into the wrong hands. He nodded to the men beside him. They were clad in Class 4 hazmat suits, and had only been awaiting his approval to enter the room. Raking radiation detectors in front of them, they fanned out to search the full expanse of the reactor room. The coolant chamber belched and hissed in front of them, and they exchanged glances through plastic face plates, and approached cautiously. The gauges in the main control room indicated that there had been a contaminant introduced into the core chamber, and as they gazed downward, breath shallow in shrouded hoods, they saw, draped in the liquid, long strands of some unknown fiber. The men split into two groups, one attempting to pull the strands from the chamber, the other following a trail of damp splotches to the connecting door for the control room. Opening that, they followed the spots through another door, bringing them to the #4 storage room. Or what was left of the #4 storage room. Tanks and barrels lay helter-skelter, and the back wall was only partially intact. They stepped outside easily through the oddly human-shaped hole and met another group of workers who had just discovered the same hole during a search of the building's exterior. What they now realized were wet footprints extended a few hundred feet into the parking lot behind the reactor building, and then dried little by little, until they were left with nothing to follow. There was a group of reporters in the lot beyond the security fence already, so they were relatively sure nothing had escaped in that direction in the last few minutes. NRC inspectors had their crews combing the woods beyond for radiation traces, so whatever had left the prints was gone now, if it hadn't been seen by them, either... Returning to the reactor room, they saw their colleagues standing in a half-circle, as if cornering something. Had the creature returned? As they approached, they saw that this was not the case at all. In the corner of the room, surrounded by the masked men, a child sat calmly. He appeared untroubled by their appearance - in fact, he appeared more resigned than worried. One of the men radioed their discovery to the "Man with the Morleys", as they had come to know him in his time here. They ushered the boy back through the room and the hallway beyond, to the main control room where he awaited them. The boy stood, unafraid, in front of the man he knew wanted to kill him. "Where did it go? What does it intend to do?" the smoking man asked him. "I don't know," the boy replied. "You do know. You'll tell me eventually, if you don't tell me now." The men hustled the boy to a black Town car parked in the back lot, and watched as he and the smoking man settled into the back seat. The driver pulled away, out a secured gate, avoiding FBI, NRC and media alike, and its taillights faded into the distance.....
Washington, D.C. The sound of locks snapping open kept Mulder and Scully company as they waited wordlessly outside the door of The Lone Gunman's "publications office." Frohike spared them a quick smile as they finally entered, leaving the bleak and misty night behind them. He ushered them over to the monitor on the desk. "We knew you'd want to see this, Mulder," Byers explained as he and Langly joined them. "For sure," Langly agreed. Mulder and Scully watched the text scrolling on the screen before them. It was written in the aftermath of the "incident" at the Rolling Hills nuclear power plant, many months before. "This guy emailed us yesterday," Frohike explained. "After we checked his credentials, we checked out his story." "It rings true," Byers added. "We think he's legit," finished Langly. According to the screen in front of them, Gibson Praise was alive, and their informant knew his current whereabouts. Scully jotted the pertinent information down, and nodded once to Mulder. Thanking Mulder's cohorts, they jogged back up the steps to the street, and their waiting car. Driving toward downtown D.C., Mulder acted as navigator, letting Scully know where to turn and when they were nearing their destination. They were looking for a parking spot when a sleek black limo pulled up to the curb ahead of them. Three men left the vehicle. Scully slowed and pulled into a spot well behind the limo. They watched and waited, few words exchanged, until the men came back out. With them was a young boy. There was no mistaking who this must be - the Consortium wasn't in the habit of randomly abducting children. Realizing they were too far away to intercept the men here, Scully slipped the car into gear and prepared to follow them. After the men had bundled Gibson into the back seat, the limo pulled out into the sparse late-night traffic, and Scully pulled out a couple car lengths behind. The men in the limo were certainly in no hurry, and why should they be? They walked the streets invisible to law enforcement, or quickly released with apologies if a rookie cop was foolish enough to pick them up for anything. Stopped at a red light, with Scully and Mulder still a few cars behind, the back door to the limo flew open. Gibson leaped out and took off down the street. Two of the three men jumped to follow the boy, leaving the last to squeal away from the curb, ignoring the traffic signal, following the flight of the boy. Gibson dashed into an alley as Mulder and Scully flew out of their own car, close behind the two men who had already given chase...
For the thousandth time, Scully cursed the career choice that led to her living life in the dark, both literally and figuratively. She couldn't see a foot away from her face, even with her flashlight held in front of her. Not that the journey she'd joined had been unrewarding, but sometimes a private, lucrative medical practice looked damned appealing. How many times had she asked herself why she stayed with Mulder, in his Quest for the Truth? In truth, she could not see herself anywhere but by his side now. By her choice or by his, it didn't matter. Both had tried at one time or another to break the ties that held them together, usually attempting it for what they felt was the good of the other. Always they had been drawn together again, by fate, by whatever force bound them as surely as chains. She stumbled over some boxes carelessly thrown in the wet alleyway, and cursed again. Where the hell had Gibson gone? And where the hell was Mulder? They'd split up a few blocks back, and now Scully wasn't sure she could even find their car again. She paused in the middle of the rain-dappled alley, trying to get her bearings, then headed off on her original course again. Dim lamplight puddled in front of her, as the alley dumped into the street beyond. Scully skirted the building to her right, and decided to stay on the street, where she might have some slim chance of seeing anything. A movement caught her eye, and she squinted in its direction. A child? "Gibson! Stop!" If the child heard her, he gave no indication of it. Scully ran in his direction, nowhere near catching him, surprised at his speed. If he had been "the real deal" mentally, he had seemed almost physically slow, possibly challenged in some way. He certainly didn't look challenged now. He was a good block away and widening the gap between himself and Scully. The boy disappeared around a corner, and Scully panted as she tried to reach the intersection before he made another turn. Trench coat whipping around her legs, she sprinted around the corner - Gibson was almost at the end of the block already, and Scully felt her calf muscles protest at the abuse. Movement tickled her peripheral vision, and she felt a rush of air sweep by as the black limo whipped out of the alleyway she had just passed, and on toward the running child, who was unaware of it. "Gibson!" Scully yelled again. Again the boy ignored her call, kept running, quite literally, she was sure, for his life. Scully pushed herself to reach Gibson, knowing there was no way in hell she'd beat the car there. For his part, the boy ran aimlessly on, neither toward - nor away from - the car. Still a half block away, Scully yelled hoarsely, knowing it was futile, but knowing she would be too late to do anything more. As the boy - and the car - neared the intersection, a blur of color drew Scully's attention. Time slowed, and the events that followed played out in slow-motion, as they would for countless nights thereafter. That blur was Mulder, sprinting as even Scully had never seen him before. Still running herself, she heard him call Gibson's name, with no more response than she had received. In order, the three objects - two of them dear to Scully - reached the same exact point in space. First, Gibson - directly in the path of the speeding car - then Mulder, midair, throwing himself at the boy - then the black limo. Barely a squeal of tires - certainly no brakes had been applied - a muffled groan - and the car was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared. Silence fell over the street, as Scully rushed toward them. Gibson lay across the curb, dazed but not apparently seriously injured. His feet trailed into the street, just beyond the outstretched hands of Mulder, who lay motionless in the street. "Mulder!" Scully fell to the ground next to them, visually assessing Gibson's condition. Her heart was in her throat as she knelt next to her fallen partner. Running a shaky hand to his neck, she searched for a pulse. Fast, thready. But at least there. She pulled out her cell phone and called 911, glancing at the street signs to give the paramedics their location. Gibson was struggling to sit up, and Scully spared herself a moment to insure that he was, indeed, alright. He looked scared, tired, but very much alive. She unsnapped her holster, in case the smoking man's men made another attempt on the boy. They were certainly sitting ducks. Well, two sitting ducks and a... "Mulder, can you hear me?" Scully needed to make contact, to let him know she was there with him. She needed to see the light in his eyes. To know that he was still here with her, as well. A low moan reached her ears, and she rested a hand on his chest, and one on his forehead. "Don't try to move, Mulder. I'm right here." She felt him relax beneath her hands. He always did. She ran her hand softly across his chest and stomach, her clinical mind probing his injuries, her heart needing only to maintain contact. She felt him wince when she reached his abdomen. "Sorry. I'm sorry." She replaced her hand lightly near his shoulders, a tear sliding from her eye. Pulling her trench coat off, she laid it atop Mulder, to keep him warm, to keep him from getting too cold as his body reacted to his injuries with shock. A small trickle of blood made its way from the side of his mouth, and Scully pressed her fingers to his neck again, more alarmed now. She felt the thready pulse, barely moving against her finger. She leaned closer, placing her ear near his nose and mouth. She heard and felt nothing. Scully placed her mouth over Mulder's and held his nostrils shut with finger and thumb. Breathing her life into him, she watched his chest rise and fall, then paused to see if it would continue unaided. It didn't. Another quick check revealed that his pulse had failed as well. "Mulder! Stay with me!" Scully's mind went into medical-mode as her heart beat wildly within her chest. Well-versed in CPR, she methodically gave five thrusts with her hands, and then filled his lungs with her breath a second time. Again his cheeks puffed out and back in, and again his chest was still after her breath had left it. "You're - not - gonna - ditch - me - now," she chanted as she pushed her hands together on Mulder's diaphragm, willing him to breathe, willing his heart to start so that hers would not stop. Sparing a few moments to see if he was responding, her breath came in short pants as she felt for a nonexistent pulse, listened for a breath that was not there. Darker blood now ran more freely from Mulder's mouth, and something from her medical training told Dana Scully, MD, that she was losing her patient. "Dammit! No!" As the day's earlier rains began again in earnest, Scully let her clinical mind completely run her administration of CPR, even as her spirits sank, and her hair hung in red rivulets atop her shoulders. "Ma'am!" Vague voices, seemingly far away, invaded Scully's thoughts. "Ma'am, we'll take over now!" Blinking, Scully looked up to see paramedics settling in beside her. She was barely aware of them pulling her hands from Mulder. Somehow she found herself still beside him, as it should be. Dimly, she heard one of the paramedics tell the other that the patient was breathing, and she released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Disjointedly, Scully watched as they slipped an oxygen mask over his bruised face. She was reminded of the ER in North Carolina, after Mulder had taken a bullet through the leg. She remembered watching his face then, the pain squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled for breath. He had been awake, that time, if not aware. At least this time he was spared the pain. He lay limply on the street now, his lips an alarming shade of blue. One paramedic did compressions while the other readied the defibrillator. Scully's coat was long gone, and now Mulder's was thrown open and his shirt buttons popped as they readied him for the paddles. She felt like she was watching a film back in early med school, as they placed the paddles on his chest. She heard one of the paramedics recite the level they were set at, then "clear". Not wanting to watch but unable not to, Scully saw Mulder's upper body arch spasmodically, then settle back onto the ground. Scully pinned her eyes tightly closed. She felt the shock run through her own body, just as if it had been administered to her. "We've got a pulse." How simple those words were. How often had she heard them - said them - and how much more did those words mean hhere, now? Scully turned to ask Gibson to come with them to the hospital. He was gone. Just like that. "Where's the boy?" Scully asked one of the paramedics. "The boy who was just here - where is he?" The men exchanged glances. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We didn't see any boy. Just you and your boyfriend." Despondent, she climbed in after them, not bothering to correct their faux-pas, not wanting to delay her partner's treatment any longer. She had been so obsessed, so focused with Mulder's life that she had lost Gibson. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought what might befall him now. She punched in Skinner's private number on her cell phone and let him know what had happened. Asked him to search for Gibson.
D.C. Regional Medical Center Scully sat beside Mulder's bed in ICU. He'd come through the surgery to staunch his internal bleeding, and that was under control. The fractured ribs would have to heal themselves. No concussion this time, wonder of wonders. He had some bruising around his cheekbones -where they'd met the asphalt, no doubt, Scully reflected angrily -and he looked pale and frail, but she'd certainly seen him looking worse. Other than that, his injuries were pretty much covered up by the stiff hospital sheet and lightweight blanket that spread across his lean form. The standard IV was inserted in the top of his hand. Scully wondered that he had no scars on his hands, as many times as they'd been used as pin- cushions for IV starts. She slid her hand into his unencumbered one, as so many times she had before. But part of her still worried about Gibson. Skinner had agents scouring the downtown area they'd left. No traces of the boy had been found. She eased back into the chair - as much as its design would allow -and settled in for another bedside vigil...
When she awoke some time later, she was shocked to see Mulder's eyes looking into hers. She could barely make out little sounds that he uttered, and she pressed her head closer to his. "Sc---- Scu----". Deja vu. She had heard the same thing from his nearly-frozen lips on the ice in Antarctica. Right before he passed out beside her, right before she took him into her arms to lend him what little warmth she possessed. "What? Mulder, what?" "Shoulda used the cr- crosswalk again." Scully almost laughed. How many times had Mulder's deadpan humor surfaced when he was near death? It was a relief to hear him sounding like the man she knew. Like the man she loved. Like the man she knew loved her, in a way much deeper than simple romance. She spooned a few slivers of ice into his mouth, and he swallowed and continued with a little stronger voice, "Is Gibson ok?" Scully's face fell, and she shook her head. "I don't know, I just don't know." At Mulder's quizzical look, she explained. "Mulder, I checked Gibson and he had no serious injuries. Then you - you stopped breathing, and I couldn't get a pulse. When the paramedics arrived, Gibson was gone. I just - I lost him. I'm sorry." "No-" Mulder's voice was weaker, and Scully leaned in once more. "I'm sorry", he continued. "I know you wanted to save him as much as I did. Don't blame yourself for what happened while you were helping me." Scully sighed, and ran her hand through the short hair Mulder sported these days. He would accept the guilt for this incident, she knew, as indeed he claimed blame for everything negative had that happened while they pursued the truth. "Skinner has search teams out right now, but they haven't found any sign of him." she offered. "I'm not sure they will," Mulder interjected, his voice growing lower, his eyelids slipping almost shut. Scully looked at him questioningly. "He knows what they're thinking, Scully. If he doesn't know who he can trust even with his gift, it's likely no one will find him." "I hope he's ok," Scully said sadly. "M - me too." Mulder's eyes finally slid shut, and his hand went limp within hers. Scully gently rubbed the back of Mulder's hand as it lay within hers, and leaned her head back against the uncomfortable plastic chair.
Epilogue Several days later Having settled Mulder from the hospital into his apartment, Scully opened her own Apartment door and dragged her weary body into the welcoming warmth inside. She threw her keys on the kitchen table, opened the refrigerator door out of habit, then closed it. She sensed a presence in the apartment - God, she really needed to have the locks changed again - and pulled her gun from its holster. In dark corner, a waft of smoke caught her attention, as did its creator. "What the hell are you doing here?" she kept her voice even, dark. "I thought perhaps you'd like to thank me," came the reply. "Thank you? For what?" "For deciding not to pursue your partner - or the boy - for the time being." "What are you talking about?" "Does the code-name "Rattler" mean anything to you?" Indeed it did. That was the informant who had provided the Lone Gunmen with the information about Gibson's whereabouts. The smoking man watched as realization dawned in Scully's eyes, and then flashed a nefarious smile at her. "This was never about Gibson!" Scully realized suddenly. "You knew we were following him! You knew!" "Certainly," the smoking man replied. "Gibson was a pawn who had outlived most of his usefulness. Mulder was a worthy adversary who needed to be eliminated. Why not use one to accomplish the eradication of the other?" He spoke matter-of-factly, betrayed no emotion, if indeed he felt any. It appeared that his talk of having a special affection for Mulder as well as Scully had been just that -talk. He had, in fact, supplanted the information to the Lone Gunmen, under the guise of a trustworthy informant. It wasn't the first time he'd used someone else's email to convince another of his legitimacy, and it probably wouldn't be the last. "Well, it didn't work," Scully breathed slowly, deeply, lest her emotions dictate her actions. "No, it didn't. I should have assumed that you would be able to keep Mulder alive until paramedics arrived. You've always had these feelings for this man, though you deny them to yourself," the smoking man answered. Scully sighed, her fists balled at her sides. "Have you found Gibson? Have you killed him?" "No, no, that part of your plan worked as well. He is on his own for now, until you - or I - find him." "You can't always win, you know," Scully mused. "Evil doesn't ultimately win out over good. It didn't this time." A crack of a smile around his cigarette. "Agent Scully," a circle of smoke enwreathed his grey features. "There is always a next time'." -fini-
Dedication: As always, to Fox's Vixen (now Bobby'sSlut :), my best friend ever and soulmate cyber and IRL. And for Girlassassin, whose wonderful support, friendship and feedback keeps me writing even when she's the only one besides Vixen who reads it. :) Thank you! Author's Notes: No beta-reader used - all typos are my own. I'm not a nuclear technician, so please forgive my lack of knowledge herein. :) I'm not a doctor or an EMT, either, so any please overlook all the medical blunders. I had to rewatch "The Beginning" in researching this fic, and it's one of my least fav of eps, mainly because in the episode, all the UST of FTF was DOA. <g> The line about Scully being so obsessed - so focused with Mulder comes from how we at atxf like to describe ourselves to "normal people". :) The code name "Rattler" was a vague reference to "Cobra" in "En Ami". <g>
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