TITLE: Life on the Edge IV: Cuts Both Ways 
AUTHOR: Kate Rickman 
classification: S, A, MSR 
rated: R 

Summary: Scully Strikes Back--She, Mulder, The Gunmen and AD Skinner collaborate
to turn the tables on Old Smoky. 

*** 

"She's hemorrhaging!" The doctor shouldered Mulder aside, grabbing 
the rails of Scully's gurney, and pushing her out the door. Two 
nurses ran with him, one stabilizing the IV pole and the other 
leading the way, sweeping pedestrians and swinging doors from their 
path. 

=Ten thirteen AM= 

Mulder turned from where he sat contemplating the morning sun, dim 
through the tinted glass of the window. The doctor, wearing green 
scrubs spattered with blood, came back through the swinging doors, 
scuffing along the hall, his shoulders hunched. A cap dangled from 
one finger as he smoothed his hair back with the other hand. 

"Mr. Mulder," the doctor dropped into the next chair, pulling off his 
mask to disclose a serious expression. "There's a problem." 

"Problem?" His heart sank right through the linoleum floor. 
--Scully? The baby? Scully and the baby?  Oh, God.-- He buried his 
face in his palms and covered his eyes, as if by not looking he could 
keep the bad news at bay. 

The doctor paused a moment before he made his report. "Your wife 
lost a lot of blood, but she's fine. She's going to be fine." 

Mulder's heart leapt at his words, then plummeted when the doctor 
continued. "But there's a problem with the baby." 

--God, no. Not the baby. This will kill SScully.-- In his panic, 
he neglected to consider how loss of this child would hurt him. 

"The baby was delivered by C-section an hour ago. He has a mild form 
of a birth defect called spina bifida, Mr. Mulder. It's serious-- 
life-threatening, even--if not attended to, but the surgery to repair 
the defect is reliable and the outcome is usually very good." The 
doctor waited a moment. "Your son's malformation is very small. One 
or perhaps two surgeries at the most, should repair it completely." 

The information slowly percolated through Mulder's grief and he 
looked up. "Surgery?" 

=Two weeks ago= 

"William." 

Mulder shook his head. "William is boring." 

"It's a good, solid name. It's my father's name, your father's name, 
and your middle name, in case you've forgotten." 

"That's good enough reason not to use it." Mulder replenished their 
drinks, handing Scully a goblet filled with milk. A clear chime 
filled the room as the edges touched each other in a salute. 

"OK" Scully snuggled into the sofa next to him, pulling the afghan 
more securely into their laps, sipping her milk. "Then, what about 
Fox?" 

Mulder threw back his head and laughed. "I can say from personal 
experience that it's positively *painful* to go through life named 
Fox." 

"Then what about William?" Scully finished her milk and set the 
glass aside, propping her feet on the coffee table. The hem of the 
afghan fell back to reveal tips of two electric green socks. 

"You're stuck on that, aren't you?" 

"Nobody was ever teased to death for being named William," she 
reminded him. "It can be shorted into a variety of nicknames--Will, 
Bill, Liam...Billy, Willy." She chafed his arm gently with her 
fingertips. 

"Not *Willy.*" 

"Well...one of the others, then. He can choose." Scully leaned up 
and brushed her lips against his mouth. 

"You're not playing fair," Mulder leaned down and tasted milk, taking 
a good, deep drink of it as he moved his mouth across hers. 

"So we've agreed on William, then?" She murmured against his lips, 
the gusts of her breath ticked his face. 

"Ummmm" was all he could say, distracted by Scully's fingernails as 
they lightly scraped the back of his scalp, sending goose bumps down 
as far as his feet. 

"Then what about a middle name?" he whispered into her ear, teasing 
the delicate fleshy lobe with his teeth. --Two can play at this 
game.-- 

"S-s-s-s-scully," she stuttered with a little gasp, laughing, sitting 
back at a safe distance. 

"William Scully Mulder." Mulder's pulse hammered in his ears, 
punctuating each name. "That does have a certain ring to it. Good. 
Solid. Reliable. Traditional." His lip curled a bit on the last 
word. 

"You say *traditional* as if it were a curse, Mulder," Scully wrapped 
her arms around her knees and regarded him through smiling eyes. 

"Well...we're anything *but* traditional, Scully. Name one thing 
about us that's traditional." 

"We're married." 

"It was a beautiful wedding, wasn't it dear?" he snorted, remembering 
how The Smoker had produced a pre-dated marriage certificate ready 
for him to sign. 

She thought again. "We go to church together on Sundays." 

Mulder had been attending Mass with her since her return, more to be 
there as physical support than out of any religious conviction on his 
part. "Yes, but I don't inhale." 

Smiling, she offered her trump card, taking his hand in hers and 
pressing it against the swelling that held their child. "We made a 
son together." 

"Oh yes," Mulder said as he pulled her into his arms, "we did that." 
--With a little help.-- He slipped the roobe from her shoulder and 
buried his face in the hot sweetness of her neck. 

=Three fifteen PM= 

Mulder paced, he drank coffee, he chewed on his lip until it bled, and 
he made desperate bargains with a God he didn't know while the sun 
rose over the top of the hospital and drifted down the other side. 
Still no word from the surgical suite. 

"Mr. Mulder." The voice came from behind him. *That* voice. 

"What do you want?" Mulder lay slumped across a chair, still wearing 
the loaned scrubs from the night before. He spoke without looking up. 

"I came to see how the baby...and his parents...were doing." 

Mulder surged from a slouch to his feet in a single smooth movement, 
rage instantly banishing his fatigue. He shoved The Smoker hard 
against the wall, watching his head bounce against the cement with 
great satisfaction. "You. Know. How." Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. 
"We're. Doing." Two more bounces and Mulder suddenly released him, 
stepping back, raising his palms in the air. 

The Smoker, off-balance, slipped down the wall and onto the floor 
where he lay crumpled and unmoving. 

For a moment, Mulder considered kicking the sick old bastard. He 
stood there, foot itching, and glared at him, watching him struggle 
to sit upright. Instead, he surprised himself by offering the older 
man a helping hand to his feet. 

"I won't say *thank you.*" The Smoker brushed down his suit, then 
pulled a crushed pack of cigarettes from one pocket. He tapped a 
cigarette from the pack, replacing the unused portion in his pocket. 

"No smoking...Smoky." Mulder gestured at the sign. 

"It's just a ritual, Mr. Mulder." He rolled the cigarette lovingly 
between the palms of both hands. "I understand Miss Scully--Mrs. 
Mulder--is doing fine. How is the baby?" 

"He was...is...your creation. You tell me." Mulder's voice shook 
with emotion. Anger. Grief. Fear. 

"I'm just as shocked and dismayed at this turn of events as you are, 
Mr. Mulder." He hung the white tube from his mouth and worked his 
lips around it hungrily. 

Shocked, Mulder threw a glance at the older man. Blinked. True 
regret lay over the craggy lines of The Smoker's face. --What in 
the hell is going on here?-- 

The Smoker fidgeted with the unlit cigarette in his hand, nervously 
turning it over and over. "This never happened to any of our 
hybrids," he said softly, watching the tube as he tapped it against 
the palm of his other hand. 

The sudden hot wave of understanding swept through Mulder and left 
him shaking. 

"We'll need to study this..." 

"You'll stay away from my son," Mulder bristled dangerously, poking 
him in the chest for emphasis. Then he turned on his heel, walking 
rapidly down the hallway toward the nurse's station. 

=Three forty-five PM= 

"William?" Scully struggled to form the words through the drugs 
that saturated her brain. Her hand waved awkwardly in the air, 
fingers reaching. 

Mulder threaded his fingers through hers, clasping her hand between 
his. "It's Mulder." He brushed damp tendrils of hair from her 
forehead, smoothing them, tucking them behind her ear. "Mulder." 

She shook her head weakly, licked her lips with a dry tongue and 
tried again. "William...how...where...OK?" 

Mulder studied the ceiling tiles. 

"Mulder." 

He forced himself to meet her eyes. "He's going to be OK, Scully." 

"Going to be?" Her eyes began to clear rapidly. 

Mulder leaned toward her and, in a hushed whisper, told her about 
their son, his surgery, the high likelihood that William would 
recover completely. "The doctor said the first surgery went really 
well." He had met the surgeon at the nurse's station, just out of 
the OR. The news had been highly encouraging. 

"First?" her voice trembled. 

Mulder nodded. With a second surgery, it was likely that William 
would eventually be able to walk and run like any normal child. 
"Depending on how he heals, they'll probably go in again next week. 
Then he'll be fine. We can take him home in another month." 

"Fine?" she worked her brain awkwardly through the drugs. 

"Yes. He'll be fine. He just needs to heal." Mulder brushed the 
tear from her cheek with his fingertips. "You need to heal." Her 
eyes fell closed. "We need to heal." Her eyes opened again, 
traveling around his face. Then, "Why didn't you tell me about the 
problem with the pregnancy, Scully?" Mulder rubbed the back of her 
hand with his thumb, his voice deceptively soft; inside, both anger 
and disappointment swirled in his gut. "Why can't you trust me? 
Why can't you let me help you?" 

Her eyes drifted closed and she breathed deeply for a few seconds. 
"I didn't want to worry you," she said after a few seconds. 

"We could have worried together," he stressed the last word, 
"supported each other. That's what it's all about...now...especially 
now, from now on. Promise me you won't shut me out like this 
anymore. Promise me." 

Pause. "I won't, Mulder." 

"Promise." 

"I promise." She turned her face into the pillow, never having 
reopened her eyes. 

=One month later= 

"Frohike, it's me. Let me in." Mulder rapped impatiently at the 
metal door, glancing up and down the empty alleyway. 

Locks rattled up the side of the door as they were released from the 
inside. A sliver of Langley showed in the thin wedge between door 
and frame. The sliver looked nervous, his eyes not quite meeting 
Mulder's through thick black glasses. 

"Come on, man," Mulder stepped forward, pushing at the door. 
Confused. "Let me in." 

Langley shot a look over his shoulder then stepped back. Mulder 
slipped through the and into the dim interior, then stopped. Byers, 
Frohike, Scully, and AD Skinner stood in a semi-circle around a 
computer. Four guilty expressions turned on him. 

"Well, well." Whatever it was, he knew he wouldn't like it. It 
smelled like a conspiracy, and the odor wasn't coming just from the 
Gunmen's den. Mulder stepped up to the computer. The screen went 
black as Scully touched the mouse. 

"What is it?" Low, dangerous. 

AD Skinner spoke, a bit too quickly. "We're working on a way to get 
the...carbon-based nanoparasites out of my blood." 

Mulder nodded. He knew what Skinner meant. He also understood some 
of the nanobiology, since Scully had explained it to him while she 
recovered in the hospital. She had never managed to explain how she'd 
learned about it, covering that part with a lot of hand waving, 
something about *during her captivity.* He also knew in his gut that 
Skinner's carbon problem wasn't the whole story. 

Byers distracted him. "We've found a way to partially aggregate the 
particles, making them large enough to see." 

"If we can see them then we can use an apheresis strategy to 
selectively pull out particles of that size." Scully stepped in 
with more of the story. 

Mulder looked from face to face to face. --What are they not telling 
me? There's something too pat about the way they're drawing me into 
this, the way Skinner is *suddenly* cooperative and in league with the 
Gunmen. It doesn't add up.-- There was no reason for them to 
hide this from him, and they certainly were hiding something. "What 
aren't you telling me?" 

"Uh...nothing," Byers protested. 

--Yeah right, Byers. You each might as weell have a big scarlet *G* 
pasted on your foreheads for those guilty consciences you're 
nursing.-- Mulder tried another approach. He played along...for now. 
"So, what's the plan?" 

Scully, Skinner and the Gunmen fell over themselves to explain how 
they would go about cleaning Skinner's blood of the nanoparasites. 
Mulder stood back, arms crossed over his chest and watched the dog and 
pony show, complete with computer-generated graphics and enough 
hand-waving to keep the flies off a large carcass. Four pair of eyes 
watched him expectantly. 

"So when do we start?" 

=Later That Afternoon= 

They trooped into the small clinic and found everything ready and 
waiting for them. Marjorie Hopkins, a friend of Scully's from Medical 
School, ran the clinic with the help of several nurses and a few 
technicians. She led them to a small room, crowded with two apheresis 
units and their associated paraphernalia. 

"It's all yours, Dana," She swept her arm dramatically around the 
cramped room. Her eyes darted from Langley to Frohike to Byers to 
Skinner to Mulder. "No one is booked for the rest of the day. 
Terence is here to help you set up." Terence smiled tentatively. 

"Thanks, Marj." Scully gave her a quick hug. "We'll be as quick as 
we can." 

"Just don't leave any dead bodies behind when you leave," Marj joked, 
knowing that dead bodies were always a possibility in Scully's line of 
work. 

"Just the little gray ones," Mulder called out as Marj left the room. 
Terence smiled even more tentatively, each hand clasping the other 
securely. 

Frohike and Langley attacked the machine, opening the back, attaching 
a small black box to the mechanism. Byers explained the procedure to 
Mulder and Scully. "Unfortunately, we don't have a clue about the 
command strings sent from the palmtop to the nanoparasites. We can 
fire a broad spectrum of radio frequencies at it and still not hit the 
right sequence of variables. However, we've experimented with 
Skinner, here, and found that crude blasting of high-range frequencies 
has some effect on the particles in his blood, causing them to 
aggregate slightly. So we've rigged a filter for the apheresis 
machine, a loop, where separated plasma--containing the unaggregated 
nanoparasites--is subjected to a concentrated, high-frequency beam. 
The particles should aggregate and the heavy aggregates should 
sediment out of the plasma." 

"Should." 

Byers shrugged. "Yeah...should." 

Frohike stood, dusting his hands against the seat of his pants. "It's 
our best shot." 

Langley darted a look at Mulder, tucking a spare box into his pocket. 

Within a few minutes, Skinner, dressed in hospital scrubs, reclined 
on a lounger with large needles stuck in both arms. Sensors taped to 
his chest monitored his vital signs as his blood flowed through the 
machine. Scully stood near the machine, monitoring both Skinner and 
the progress of the apheresis. Mulder bent to scrutinize the fluid in 
the collection bag, looking for carbon particles. 

Suddenly, the monitor went berserk, its displays flashing randomly, 
alarm sounding, beeping wildly. Mulder jumped back. The monitor 
recovered its composure, settling down into an orderly pattern. He 
watched it for a moment, then returned to Scully's side. Again, the 
monitor went off-scale in all parameters. He stepped back and it 
immediately functioned properly again. He looked Scully in the eye. 
Her face was mottled with the sheer white of panic and the deep red 
of embarrassment. He followed her eyes to the pager on his belt. 
Carefully, he removed it and set it aside, stepping up to the monitor 
again. Nothing. It recorded Skinner's vital signs reliably. "OK. 
What gives?" 

The audible report from the monitor was the only sound in the room. 

"Byers?" Mulder placed his bet on the Most Likely to Crack. 

"Gee..." Byers darted a look at Scully, then tried to look innocent. 
He maintained a guilty silence under Mulder's scrutiny. 

"So, Langley...what's going on, man?" Victim Number Two. 

Victim Number Two glanced quickly at Scully, then Byers, then studied 
his tennis shoes carefully. "Glitch in the monitor, I guess." 

--Yeah, sure.-- Then, "Scully?" Softly. 

"Yes, Mulder?" Her voice was light...and worried. 

"What do you know about this?" He showed her the pager in the palm 
of his hand. 

The need to protect him and the desire to help him warred across her 
face. 

"It's not just a pager, is it?" 

Pause. "No." 

"So what is it, Scully?" He demanded, a harsh edge to his voice. 
"What game are you playing with me" --this time?-- he added to 
himself. 

She took a deep breath. "It's a frequency jammer." 

"And what are we jamming, Scully?" Frustrated, he wished he could 
shake the little bits and pieces of the story out of her in one heap 
instead of prying them out, one at a time. 

"Output from a palmtop computer." Her response came more quickly 
this time. 

"And that would..." He rolled his hand at the wrist, voice trailing 
off, urging Scully to continue. 

"...cause the nanoparasites in your blood to aggregate and kill 
you." The words came out in a rush. She averted her eyes, looking 
at Byers and Skinner instead. 

Shock. Fear. Anger. "So you were just going run around protecting 
little old defenseless me from all the big bad guys in the world?" 
he gritted out. "Who gave you sole responsibility for my life, 
Scully?" 

No answer. 

He took her arm and turned her to face him. "I want those things out 
of my blood now." He stooped to look directly into her averted eyes. 
With a finger under her chin, he turned her face toward him. "Now." 

He tore off his elegant jacket, throwing it carelessly across an empty 
chair. His tie followed in short order and he rolled up his right 
sleeve, exposing a long muscular forearm. "Do it now." 

Scully looked over at Byers with a *see, I told you he'd get 
hysterical* look on her face. 

Byers looked back, wearing an expression that plainly said that he'd 
rather be anywhere but here right now. Nonetheless, he spoke to 
Terence, who hovered over AD Skinner. The technician nodded and 
turned to prep the other machine. Langley dropped to his knees 
behind the machine, producing the spare black box and a small set 
of tools. Mulder threw himself into the lounger and extended his 
arm belligerently. 

"Mulder." Scully touched his other arm lightly as the technician 
found a vein and pierced it with the sharp end of the needle. Mulder 
averted his face, pretending to watch Terence with great 
concentration. He saw Scully bite her lip, tears welling in her eyes 
before he turned away. He heard her take a deep breath and try again. 
"Mulder. He made me promise not to tell. He threatened me...us...the 
baby." Still, Mulder didn't look at her, didn't speak. She moved to 
one side as the Terence made the connection to Mulder's other arm, 
then watched quietly as the thin red line of his blood flowed through 
the machine, from one arm into the other. He watched her watch the 
flow of his blood for several minutes. Then she looked up. "Can we 
talk?" 

"Can we?" he threw the deeper meaning back at her. 

"Yes." Softly. 

Mulder closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the 
lounger, and spoke. "It's non-negotiable, talking." His eyes flicked 
open, searching her face. It was pale, jaw set, her eyes a deep, 
pained blue. He reached out with his left hand, searching for hers. 
Her fingers threaded through this, her hands clasped his hand firmly. 
He savored the warmth of her hands against his. "No more secrets." 

"Both ways, Mulder," she whispered, gingerly taking a seat next to him, 
wincing as she bent at the waist. She edged her chair closer to his 
lounger and told him what she couldn't tell him before, about the 
bargain The Smoker had forced upon her for the safety of Mulder and 
their child. 

"How long did you plan to protect me against this?" 

"What about the theft of my ova, Mulder? How long did you 'protect' me 
against that knowledge?" she snapped back. 

--Calm down, Mulder. Deep breath.-- He brreathed deeply, then tried 
a more practical tack. "I think we need to think differently about 
this. Instead of me protecting you from unpleasant things, or you 
protecting me from information that may be hurtful, why don't we...we 
together...protect us...together...from harm." 

"We two against the world?" 

"It often will be," Mulder agreed with irony. "But there's no one I'd 
rather have at my side when the world's against me." 

"Us," Scully stressed, leaning forward, brushing her lips against his. 
"Against *us*" she spoke against his lips. 

"That's sweet, kids," Skinner said sarcastically as he returned to the 
room, buttoning his cuffs. 

Scully blushed and sat back. Mulder smiled broadly, unrepentant, as 
Terence removed the needles and bandaged his arms. --She's my wife and 
I'm proud to be seen kissing her. Hell, I'm proud that she's willing to 
be seen with me, to be with me, to put up with me and all my warts.-- 
He clambered from the lounger and stiffly rolled down his sleeves. 

"Hey Mulder, look at this!" Frohike called from across the small 
room. Mulder, with Scully at his side, moved up behind him, looking 
into the shallow glass dish on the counter. The combined product from 
Skinner's and Mulder's apheresis filled the container. A faint gray 
haze lay across the bottom. Frohike entered a few numbers into the 
computer and the grayness darkened in some places while it lightened 
in others. Aggregation. After another computer entry, the pattern 
faded again to a uniform coating along the bottom of the dish. 

"Awesome." Langley leaned over all three sets of shoulders, watching. 

Frohike looked up. "But here's the question:..." he aggregated them 
for a second time, then a third. "...am I losing my mind, or does 
there seem to be more of them each time?" he looked up at Mulder. 

"God, I hope not," Skinner interjected. 

"Maybe they replicate," Byers suggested. 

"I don't want to hear that," Mulder said, shivering. "I really don't 
want to hear that." He imagined that he felt scratchy little things 
prickling around in his bloodstream and didn't like the feeling at 
all. He turned and picked up the "pager," sliding it back onto his 
belt.--Better safe than sorry, although it will be hell to explain at 
airport checkpoints. I need to talk to the Gunmen about an on/off 
switch.-- 

The group erupted in animated discussion, debating how to monitor 
recurrence of the nanoparasites and how to control their levels if 
they were not, in fact, eradicated from the bloodstream. In the 
middle of a lively exchange with Skinner, Mulder stiffened. He 
detected faint odor of cigarette smoke wafting through the room, 
turned slowly. *Him.* He had followed them here. 

"So what do we have here?" The Smoker lisped around his cigarette. 

"You bastard." Without conscious plan, Mulder turned and delivered 
a right hook to the older man's jaw. The Smoker's head snapped back 
from the impact and he fell bonelessly into one the loungers. One 
arm slipped off the cushion and dangled a few inches from the floor. 
Mulder went through his pockets, producing several packs of 
cigarettes and a palmtop computer. He hefted the computer in one 
hand and had an idea. "Turnabout is fair play, right?" 

Blank faces all around. 

Mulder continued. "Let's put those things in his blood and see how 
he likes it." He tossed the computer to Frohike. 

"They're not sterile. They could kill him with an infection." Doctor 
Scully pointed out, practically. 

"Good," Mulder said. "I'd like that." 

Scully started to argue, then stopped. "I'd like that too, now that 
you mention it." 

Skinner nodded in agreement. Frohike cracked his knuckles with 
excitement, activating The Smoker's computer, studying the display, 
learning the programs. Byers rolled up older man's sleeve to reveal 
a white, flaccid arm. Langley produced several lengths of tourniquet 
from a supply locker and laced them together, making serviceable 
restraints, tying The Smoker's arms and legs securely to the lounger. 
Scully deftly found a vein and connected him to an IV bag helpfully 
Produced by Mulder. Frohike carefully poured off the excess saline, 
Leaving the carbon aggregates at the beneath a small pool of fluid. 
He then adjusted the computer output until the fluid cleared. He 
filled a syringe with the solution then handed it to Scully, who 
fixed a needle to the syringe then injected the solution into the 
IV unit. She stepped back and waited. 

The Smoker moaned, muttering unintelligible words. Frohike entered a 
few numbers and waited. A black flush washed over The Smoker's face 
and exposed arm. The older man moaned and twisted his head from side 
to side without waking. Frohike looked at Mulder and Skinner, pulling 
a face, nodding. He entered a few more numbers. A dark grid rose out 
of The Smoker's skin. His eyes fluttered open. Dazed, he looked at 
the faces staring down at him. His eyes cleared rapidly when he saw 
the IV and tried to move his arms and legs. "Let me go immediately." 

"Sure," Mulder said. "Untie him, won't you Scully?" Scully sat on 
the edge of the other lounger, swinging her feet. 

"You don't know what you're doing," The Smoker cried, pulling against 
his restraints. "That instrument can be very dangerous if you don't 
know what you're doing." Dark veins popped out on his forehead. "I 
can show you how to work it safely if you just release me." 

"Yeah sure," Langley said, his hands plunged deeply into his pockets. 

"I can't hurt you," The Smoker bargained desperately. "You have the 
computer, you have all the power." 

"That we do," Byers reminded him, not moving. 

Frohike studied the palmtop display carefully, grumbling to himself in 
response to the data that scrolled across the screen. The Smoker 
groaned through clenched teeth in obvious pain. "That's exactly what 
it feels like, you sick bastard," Skinner spat out, his hands tightened 
into fists. 

"Damn you all." The Smoker struggled to form the words through his 
pain. "You have no idea what you're playing with here." 

"They why don't you tell us...explicitly." Byers leaned forward. 

"Yeah...and don't leave out anything." Langley activated a small 
recorder, putting it on the table next to The Smoker's lounger. 

Mulder turned to his wife, glancing at his wristwatch. "Come on, 
Scully. Let's go see William at the hospital. We only have more 
three days to bring our baby wrangling skills up to par. Then 
we're on our own." 

"Will." 

"How's that?" Mulder pulled on his jacket and tucked the tie into 
one pocket. His fingers brushed against the little velvet box that 
held a simple circle of gold, studded with sapphires the color of her 
eyes, inscribed *To Scully, love always, M.* 

"I've decided to call him Will." 

"Will is good," Mulder agreed as he guided Scully from the room 
without a backward glance. The old man's cursing and desperate 
bargains followed them down the hallway as they walked, Mulder with 
his hand at its customary place against Scully's lower back. 
Scully's heels tapped against the linoleum, their rhythmic beat 
steady as she turned the corner and continued down the hall at 
Mulder's side. 

A figure detached itself from the shadows and drifted into the light. 
He stood alone in the empty hallway, the unforgiving fluorescence 
etching his face into planes of dark shadow and harsh relief. When 
the tapping of Scully's heels faded safely into the distance, he 
pressed himself against the wall, slipping soundlessly along the hall 
until his ear was mere inches from the open door. He tipped his head, 
listening. 

"I can make you a deal..." The Smoker's voice, frightened, placating. 

The Listener smiled to himself, reaching into his coat and producing 
a palmtop computer, twin to that used by The Smoker. 

"...we have stored embryos. Ones left over from the IVF." The 
Smoker's voice slid up the scale as he spoke, more rapidly now. "I 
think they'd want to know, don't you? I think those embryos are worth 
something to Mulder and Scully. I think you should ask them before 
things go too far...." 

Tapping the computer with one finger, Alex Krychek listened to The 
Smoker's vain attempt to bargain with his captors. He smiled again, 
sliding the computer back into his pocket, and melted back into the 
murky gray shadows. 


The End. 

Really. C'est ça. Bowing. :-) Or ducking. =:-0 


Find the earlier fics in the series here: 
http://www.geocities.com/mulderscreek/fics/lifeonedge.html