Title: Safe Haven Author: Diandra Hollman E-Mail: diandrahollman@gmail.com Website: http://diandrahollman.tripod.com/index.html Date Finished: 12/18/2007 Rating: PG-13 to R for language and violence. One brief NC-17 scene at the end. Keywords: Crossover, slash, Vaughn/Mulder, Alias, X-Files, Lost, hurt/comfort, angst Spoilers: Only if you never watched season 5 of Alias or any season of Lost. Disclaimer: All characters from The X-Files belong to Chris Carter and 1013. All other non-original characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot. I will put most of them back when I'm done with them, but I can't make any promises about Vaughn. The nurse is mine; any resemblance to the coroner on CSI: Miami is purely coincidental. Archive: Not sure yet. E-mail me and I'll think about it. Summary: Who would want to kill Vaughn? Author's Notes: This is basically the fourth of “The Detox Series” that was supposed to be a trilogy. You could probably follow without reading the first three stories but it doesn't hurt to read the last one (Serenity) at least. You can find them on my website (above). Safe Haven By Diandra Hollman After sitting at a booth in one of the lesser known pubs in Los Angeles for the better part of an hour it became clear that Mulder was not going to break his "fashionably late" streak any time soon. I had finally broken down and ordered a drink when he arrived. "Sorry," he muttered, sliding into the booth opposite me. "Traffic." "I was just beginning to think you weren't going to show up." He smirked. "Come on, you know me better than that. I would never pass up an opportunity for sex." "Could you not say that so loud," I asked with a wince, glancing around us furtively. "Why," he asked playfully. "Do you think somebody from the agency might be listening in or are you afraid some stranger will think you're a hustler?" I squirmed, praying that my embarrassed flush wasn't too noticeable. I distracted myself by observing the other people in the mostly-empty bar. The bartender was talking to a customer at the bar, laughing heartily as he absently wiped a shot glass. A dark-haired man was helping the lone day-shift waitress regain balance of her tray, clearly apologizing for bumping into her and nearly spilling her drink. A lone man sat in a corner booth, his tie askew, likely trying to drown the stresses of the morning with a liquid lunch. The waitress arrived at our table and set my drink in front of me. "Scotch on the rocks," she declared. "Can I get you anything, sir," she added, turning to Mulder. Mulder smiled. "Apparently I'm the designated driver, so I guess I'll have to stick to club soda." She nodded and walked away. "You remembered." "Yeah, I'm too sentimental for my own good," I retorted. Scotch was what Mulder and I had been drinking the night we met. It wasn't my usual drink of choice, but Mulder had turned me on to it. Although it was possible the beer I had been drinking earlier that evening had masked the aftertaste, I thought with a wince as I took a sip. "How's Scully?" "Good," he said simply. "She smirked at me when I said I would be using my time off to fly to Los Angeles." I chuckled around a mouthful of scotch and swallowed, clenching my teeth against the burn of alcohol. "Sydney did the same thing and I didn't even say a word about meeting you here. Sometimes I think she can read my mind." "How's your arm," he asked seriously. I raised my right arm from the table and rotated it back and forth demonstratively. "Finished physical therapy. Still feels a little stiff sometimes, but it's stronger." The waitress returned and plopped Mulder's soda in front of him. He thanked her and immediately took a generous swig. He eyed me critically as I took another sip of my scotch. "You might want to go easy, there. I don't want you to pass out on me later." I grinned. "Pretty optimistic, aren't you?" He looked at me with mock alarm. "You mean we're not going to have sex?" I snorted. "What, can't I invite you out for a drink without there being any strings attached?" "Normally, sure," he teased. "But considering I haven't seen you for a few months, I'd think you'd be worried that I might just throw you down on this table and have my way with you in front of these innocent bystanders." I rolled my eyes. "Guess you'll just have to learn to control yourself." My smile faded as the world suddenly seemed to tilt. I leaned on the table heavily. "Is the ground moving," I asked quietly, alarmed at the sudden slur to my speech. Alcohol didn't normally work this fast on me... He laughed. "Okay, clearly you have no alcohol tolerance whatsoever. I'm cutting you off." Everything was starting to blur and I struggled to figure out what was happening to me. My breathing accelerated as a horrible thought occurred to me. "The man who bumped into the waitress earlier," I slurred. "Is he still here?" Mulder glanced at the bar, confused. "Uh...dark hair? Leather jacket? Yeah, why?" "I think he drugged me," I whispered. "What," Mulder asked, a note of laughter still in his voice, although now it was laced with unease. He glanced at the bar again, and this time he saw something that made his smile falter. "Don't let him know you suspect anything," I forced out, massaging my forehead clumsily as I fought the effects of the drug. "Just...get me out of here." "Should I call an ambulance," he asked worriedly, his tone at odds with his obviously forced neutral expression. "No," I said forcefully. I reeled as the room seemed to spin and grow hazy. "You...help," I managed to choke out before everything went fuzzy. ****** MULDER 'Shit. Shit shit shit.' I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do. I had no idea why this man would want to hurt Vaughn, but after I saw the telltale outline of a gun underneath his jacket I was afraid to ask. The only thing that was clear was that I had to get Vaughn to a hospital. Fast. Preferably without this guy suspecting that we were on to him. And I had to do it quickly, while Vaughn was still conscious and mostly coherent. I gulped the rest of my soda and stood nonchalantly. "Okay, let's go." I guided Vaughn from the booth and drew his arm over my shoulders, wrapping my free arm around his waist and walking him to the bar. I handed more than enough money for the two drinks to the bartender. "I think five is his limit," I said with a smirk. The bartender blinked at me in confusion, likely because he knew Vaughn hadn't ordered that much, but didn't say anything. Likely because the money I gave him covered at least six drinks. I walked slowly, trying not to stagger too much under Vaughn's nearly dead weight. As we passed the end of the bar, I saw the man in the leather jacket out of the corner of my eye. He watched us for a moment, then raised his hand to his ear and muttered something under his breath. Shit. I tried to move faster once we exited the bar, but Vaughn's increasingly uncoordinated movements hampered my progress. I managed to manhandle him into the passenger seat of my car and was just buckling him in when I heard footsteps behind me. I froze, unsure of whether I should try to face down this goon by myself or continue to play the dumb, unsuspecting boyfriend. Vaughn chose this moment to break through his haze, his eyes widening as he struggled to focus on the figure behind me. That made my mind up for me. I had the gun out of my ankle holster and pointed at the goon before he knew what I was doing. Luckily for me, he had only started reaching for his own weapon. "Hands where I can see them," I ordered. He pulled his hand out from beneath his leather jacket with an annoyed sigh, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "What do you want?" "I would think that much would be obvious," he said smoothly. "Who are you," I tried. "Why do you want him dead?" "Who I am is none of your concern," he shot back. "The same goes for my orders." "Get on your knees," I growled. He obeyed, a tiny smirk lighting his face. "Go ahead," he taunted. "Shoot me. It will only buy you a little time. With that much GHB in his system, Mr. Vaughn will be dead before you make it to a hospital." I grit my teeth and slammed the passenger side door. "Don't move." His smirk grew wider as I made my way to the driver's side door, keeping my gun trained on him. "Tell me, Agent Mulder...how does it feel to watch someone close to you die?" I made the mistake of sparing a glance at Vaughn and he took the opportunity to reach for his weapon. The shot rang out before I realized I had pulled the trigger. The goon slumped to the ground, a pool of blood quickly blossoming beneath his head. I dove into the car and peeled away before anyone came to investigate the source of the noise. I wrestled Vaughn's cell phone from his pocket with my right hand, my left gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles were turning white. I hit number one on the speed dial and put the phone on speaker. "Hello," a female voice answered after a couple rings. "Sydney, it's Mulder. Somebody just tried to kill Vaughn. I'm taking him to a hospital right now." "Oh my god, how bad is it?" "I don't know. I have to get him to a hospital fast." "Where are you?" "We just left Gunnerson's bar..." "Stay off the 405. It'll take too long. There should be a hospital closer." I heard her flipping pages frantically in the background. "St. Sebastien's," she said triumphantly. "It's off the main freeway, but you can take the back roads from where you are." "Okay, I think I know where that is," I said, never more relieved to find out that my frequent visits to LA and subsequent working knowledge of the city were finally paying off. "I'll meet you there." I hung up and reached for Vaughn's hand, bringing it to my lips for a quick, reassuring kiss. "It's okay, Vaughn. We'll be there in a few minutes." He squeezed my hand weakly, his head lolling drunkenly in my direction. "Can't...Mul..." He breathed noisily, as if he was struggling to draw air into his lungs. "Just hang on, baby," I babbled, barely managing to keep the panic from my voice, trying to keep him calm. "You're gonna be fine." If only I was actually as confident as I sounded. ******* (St. Sebastien Hospital) Even though he was barely conscious, Vaughn struggled to walk with me as I half-dragged him into the hospital. "I need help," I begged the nearest person in a hospital uniform. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Vaughn collapsed, his dead weight dragging me to my knees as I tried to slow his fall to the unforgiving tile floor. Everything became a blur of activity after that. Vaughn was lifted onto a gurney in seconds and wheeled down a series of corridors as a nurse asked me what happened, whether Vaughn was on any medications, how much GHB he ingested, when his last meal was, et cetera. I had to practically jog to keep up with them, answering her questions between panting breaths. 'I'm getting too old for this shit,' I thought. I followed them into the ER, flashing my badge when one of the nurses started to protest and giving her some bullshit story about Vaughn being in federal protection and not allowed out of my sight. I watched helplessly as they hooked him up to heart monitors and IVs, their progress hampered by an occasional spasm in his limbs. Hands on my shoulders pushed me to one side suddenly, and a new voice muttered an "excuse me". A dark-haired man in a white lab coat brushed past me. "36 year old male, overdose of GHB mixed with alcohol," a nurse fired in the doctor's direction as he approached Vaughn. "Intentional," he asked. "His partner thinks somebody tried to kill him." The doctor put on his stethoscope as she talked and listened to Vaughn's breathing. "He's going into bradycardia. I need 10 ccs of atropine, norcuron and an Ewald." A nurse ran to get the requested items, nearly colliding with another doctor in the doorway. This doctor was older, his demeanor more relaxed but no less intense than the first. He moved to the other side of the gurney and addressed the first doctor. "I can handle this one, Jack, take a break." "I've got it, Dad, thanks," Jack said shortly, his jaw clenching. The nurse returned and held out a syringe for Jack. He snatched it and injected the contents into one of the tubes attached to Vaughn as his father continued his attempt to reason with him. "Jack, you've been working for ten hours straight, you need to rest." "I've got it," Jack snapped, finally looking up at his father, his eyes practically shooting fire. His father left reluctantly, giving Jack a long-suffering look on his way out. Jack looked at me as if noticing for the first time that I was in the room. "Could somebody get him out of here," he added. One of the nurses pushed me out the door into the stark white hallway before I could say anything in protest. ****** I paced the hall restlessly for what felt like hours before Jack emerged from the room. "Are you here with Mr. Delorme," he asked. Luckily Vaughn had gone over his alias and cover story with me a few times in case of an emergency. "Yeah," I said awkwardly, trying to sound like something other than a frantic lover. "Fox Mulder." He held out his hand. "Jack Shephard. Mr. Delorme is stable right now. We pumped his stomach and gave him liquid charcoal to absorb the remaining GHB. If we got to him in time, he should be fine, but you should know there is still a risk that he could lapse into a coma." 'Gee, thanks, doctor,' I thought sarcastically. 'Do you talk to all of your patient's loved ones like this?' He glanced down the hallway. "I need to ask you some questions, can you come with me?" "Yeah, sure," I mumbled, still a bit thrown by his crude people skills. I followed him into an office - his, according to the plaque on the desk and the certificates on the wall. The room was an odd blend of warmth and impersonality. There was very little color, aside from the picture of a smiling blonde on his desk. The medical degrees on the wall were offset by a picture of a fighter jet. It seemed so out of place that I had to wonder if it held some significance for him or if it's purpose was merely to take up wall space. "How well do you know Mr. Delorme," he asked as I sat down. "Are we talking family history or 'boxers or briefs'?" Jack just frowned at me. Okay, no more jokes then. "Well enough." "Has he had any problems with alcohol in the past? Any alcoholism in his family?" Well, I suppose some people would consider me a "problem" but... "I don't know much about his family, but I've only seen him drink a couple times - once to intoxication." Jack scribbled something on an official looking piece of paper. "Were you with him when he was dosed with GHB?" Ah-ha. The ultimate purpose of his line of questioning was revealed. He wanted to rule out the possibility that I had done this to Vaughn. A drug-assisted rape gone wrong or something to that effect. I couldn't be offended though, since the first person to respond to an emergency is often the perpetrator. God help me if Jack decided to do a few X-rays and found all his healing broken bones and whatever other scars he may have gotten or he might think Vaughn was a victim of domestic abuse. "Yes." "Did you see who might have done it?" "Yes. I shot him." Jack faltered, his face registering equal parts alarm and disbelief. "In my defense, he tried to shoot me first," I said lightly as I flashed him my badge. Jack shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, obviously thrown by that answer. "Okay...uh...do you know why someone would want to kill him?" "I can't go into the specifics, but I can tell you that they see him as a threat. They probably used GHB because they wanted his death to look like an accidental overdose or attempted rape gone wrong." I was vaguely surprised that I was able to speak so calmly about it while Vaughn was still in danger of dying. Maybe that hadn't hit me yet. Jack finally stopped writing and looked up at me, his eyes conveying the warmth and sympathy he seemed to have difficulty putting into words. "Does he have any family we could contact?" "Just me and Kate and she should be on her way here right now." "Kate?" "Kate Jones. She's a co-worker and his best friend." Luckily Vaughn had instructed me on this too. Jack nodded. "How close are you to Mr. Delorme," he asked. "Well, I only met him about a year and a half ago, but I'd say I've gotten to know him pretty well, biblically speaking." Probably not the most tactful way to put it, but it was worth it just to see the look on Jack's face. "I volunteered to be his protection detail. I wouldn't trust anyone else to do whatever it takes to keep him safe." Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, uh...I think that covers it." He pushed back from his desk and moved to stand. "Can I see him?" Jack hesitated. "It's still touch and go. Right now we're watching to make sure his body doesn't reject the treatment. He's probably feeling pretty sick right now and he's going to be incoherent for a while..." "I don't care," I said firmly. He smiled for the first time in the twenty minutes or so that I had had the opportunity to observe him. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but that seemed more a product of exhaustion and frayed nerves than insincerity. "All right." ****** I stepped into Vaughn's room to find him lying on his side, heaving weakly into the emesis bin a motherly looking nurse held for him. The nurse supported his back with her free hand. She looked up at me in surprise. "Are you family," she asked skeptically. I showed her my badge. "Not exactly. Dr. Shephard said it would be okay for me to come in here." "Christian or Jack," she asked, eyebrow raised. What difference did it make? "Jack." She nodded and smiled at me before refocusing on Vaughn, gently wiping his lips and chin with what looked like a glorified Wet-Wipe before replacing his oxygen mask. "I'm sorry - we've just had some miscommunication before," she explained. "I had to be sure." I filed that piece of information away for later reference and stepped closer to the bed, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "How's he doing?" "Better than he feels I'm sure," she said sympathetically. "Poor baby still has a lot of GHB in his system. He's just going to have to ride it out." "How long will that take?" "It depends. I've seen teenagers who overdosed on GHB take days to recover. Of course, most of them were female, so they were considerably more lightweight than your friend. The worst part about these drugs is that they make the victim feel helpless and vulnerable. Some girls can't even tell us what happened - all they can do is lay there and cry." She shook her head sadly. "Can he hear me," I asked hesitantly. "I'm sure he can, but he probably won't remember anything about any of this," she said kindly. "One of the side-effects of GHB. It can be a blessing and a curse." She finished making sure Vaughn was settled and stable before focusing her attention on me. "He should be okay now. Just make sure his mask stays on. If you need anything or if you hear any changes in his breathing, you let me know." She held her hand out to me. "My name's Mary." I reached out to shake her hand. "Thanks." "No problem," she said warmly. "You know, I think Jack could learn some things from you about dealing with people." She laughed. "If I had a nickel for every person who complained about Jack Shephard's social skills," she sighed. "He takes some getting used to, but his heart's in the right place. Your friend is in good hands." She gave me a wink as she walked out the door. I sighed and sat in the chair beside Vaughn's bed, reaching over to stroke his hair back from his forehead. He flinched instinctively. "It's okay," I murmured. "It's me." I gathered his hand in mine, massaging his palm gently. He made a soft, indistinguishable noise between deep, sluggish breaths. His eyes hadn't opened since he collapsed at the entrance, but now they fluttered slightly, as if he wanted to open them but didn't have the strength. "Shhh...just relax," I soothed. "Try to sleep it off. I'll be right here with you." Movement at the door to the room caught my eye. I looked up in time to see Jack appear just outside the open door and gesture toward the room, speaking softly to someone in the hall. Sydney brushed past him, an air of urgency about her. I stood up quickly and met her halfway across the room. "Kate," I greeted. She threw her arms around my neck and gave me a relieved hug. Whether or not this was for Jack's benefit, I wasn't entirely sure, but I hugged her back anyway. I gave Jack a grateful look over her shoulder, knowing he was probably stretching the rules a bit by letting us both in Vaughn's room. He just nodded at me and disappeared down the hall. Sydney let go and immediately moved to Vaughn's side. "The doctor said they need to keep him overnight," she said worriedly. "I'm sure they need to keep an eye on him at least until the drugs wear off," I replied. She shook her head. "What happened?" "Somebody slipped GHB in his drink. I was able to get Michael out of the bar, but the guy followed us to the car and tried to shoot us. I think he wanted to make Michael's death look like an accident and when his plan failed he panicked." I went back over the events in my mind. "I'm pretty sure he wasn't working alone. Do you have any idea who might have hired him?" She shook her head again. "No." She looked around furtively and then dragged me into the room's small bathroom, turning on the faucets in the sink and shower. "So I take it you have an idea," I said, making sure to keep my voice low. "We're CIA field agents. We make a lot of enemies. I'm sure there's plenty of bad people out there who could have a vendetta against Vaughn. But I need to know: are you sure this wasn't random?" "He referred to Vaughn by name. He had orders to kill Vaughn and he asked me how it felt to watch someone close to me die." She flinched. "Definitely not random." She sighed. "I don't know who did this yet, but trust me, we'll find them." "I know you will. I'm just wondering if I should start getting the paperwork ready to move Vaughn into witness protection." She smiled. "You know as well as I do he would never go for that. Don't worry, he can take care of himself. The fact that they tried to poison him and make it look like an accident tells us they don't want to draw attention to themselves. He'll just have to be more careful." I sighed. "All right. I trust Vaughn's instincts." Her smile turned into a grin. "Good." ****** Hours later, I was woken from a restless sleep in one of the hard plastic chairs beside Vaughn's bed when the door opened and a man in a lab coat entered. He looked familiar, but it took several seconds for my mind to process that he was the man I had seen in the ER - the senior Dr. Shephard. I sat up straight. "Where's Jack?" "I sent him home," he said with a sigh. "I'll take over until the night shift comes in." "Sir? With all due respect, somebody tried to kill Michael. I'd prefer to keep the number of people around him to a minimum. I only met Jack a few hours ago, but I trust him. I'm willing to extend that trust to you for the time being, but I'd prefer if nobody else was brought in on this." He hesitated for a moment, frowning slightly at me. Then he sighed and looked over the monitors displaying Vaughn's vitals. "Well, he's stable now. I suppose I could notify the nurses and make sure Jack checks on him first thing tomorrow morning." "That would be great. Thank you." "You understand that if anything happens during the night..." "I know. If there's an emergency, I'll take whoever is on shift. But unless he starts getting worse, I'd rather it was just you and Jack." He nodded stiffly and finished making notes on Vaughn's chart. "How is he?" I leaned forward, placing my hand on Vaughn's arm. His eyelids fluttered slightly, but he made no further movements. "He's not getting any worse. There's still some GHB in his system, but it should be flushed out by tomorrow. He should be fine." He was obviously better at talking to patients and their loved ones than Jack. However, I got the distinct impression that he was simply telling me what I wanted to hear. Jack, poor people skills or not, didn't sugar coat things. He was honest... brutally so maybe. But that was why he had instantly earned my trust and respect. I picked up Vaughn's hand as the senior Shephard left the room. "Can you hear me," I asked tentatively. Vaughn didn't respond. I sighed and kissed the back of his hand gently. "You'll be okay," I whispered. I paced the room and the hallways outside restlessly for the better part of the night, feeling helpless, angry and scared. Sydney went home, came back and fell asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. I covered her with a blanket and then sat quietly holding Vaughn's hand until exhaustion finally overcame me and I fell into a restless sleep again. ******* The next time I woke up, Jack was standing over Vaughn, scribbling on the chart and adjusting tubes and sensors. Sydney was still fast asleep in her chair. "I hear you're refusing to let anybody in the room," Jack said softly, mindful of Sydney. "Just being cautious," I said. He nodded. "He's doing better. The worst part's over, but it's hard to tell how long it'll be before he's completely back to normal." Sydney stirred and came awake with a start, her body going rigid, looking at Jack suspiciously. I gave her a subtle head shake before Jack noticed and she relaxed slightly. "So who is he," Jack asked curiously. "Excuse me?" "What does he do for a living," Jack clarified. "He works for the government. That's all I can say." He nodded. "I would've guessed military. He tried to take my head off when we pumped his stomach and that was after I gave him a muscle relaxant." "He's had martial arts training," Sydney piped up cautiously. Jack nodded. "That would explain it." He made one last note on Vaughn's chart and replaced it at the foot of the bed. "I'll come back in a couple hours to check on him. You can call the nurse at the desk if you need anything." "Thanks," I said softly. He nodded and left the room. "I don't like this," Sydney said in a low voice as soon as Jack was out of earshot. "How do you know we can trust him?" "Because from what I've seen of him so far he's honest to a fault. He's harmless." "For someone who doesn't trust people you're pretty quick to trust this guy." "I see Michael's told you a lot about me," I sighed. "I know, but I trust my instincts. I really think this guy is on our side." She relaxed gradually. "Believe me, I'm the last person who would knowingly put Michael in danger," I added. She smiled. "Maybe not the last." ******* (later that day) Sydney and I were watching a 24 hour news station with the volume on low when I felt a minute twitch in the hand I was holding. My eyes shot to Vaughn's face. His eyes were still shut. I stared at him for several long minutes, all but holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. Just as I was beginning to think I had imagined the movement Vaughn's lashes fluttered slightly. His fingers twitched again and this time there was no mistaking the movement as anything but deliberate. "Kate," I blurted, barely stopping myself from calling out her real name. Sydney sat up straight, her attention immediately focusing on Vaughn. "He's waking up," I said urgently. She was out of her chair and headed for the door immediately. "I'll get the nurse!" I leaned closer to Vaughn as his eyelids began to flutter. "Michael? Michael, it's me, Fox. It's okay. You're at a hospital." He frowned and struggled to open his eyes, wincing at the harsh daylight pouring through the windows. "Can you hear me," I asked worriedly. I only had so much time before the nurse arrived. He squeezed my hand and coughed lightly, a fine cloud forming on the inside of his oxygen mask. His eyes finally opened fully and warily scanned the room. "We were getting really worried about you," I said slowly, pitching my voice to sound soothing. "I contacted your mother. She couldn't get away to come visit you but she wants you to call her the second you're up to it." He stared at me blankly. Before I could say anything else the door opened and Sydney entered, followed closely by Jack Shephard. I sent up a quick prayer that Vaughn had understood the message. There was nothing more I could do now. "Welcome back," Jack greeted absently, pushing a couple buttons on the monitors next to the bed. He bent over Vaughn and removed the oxygen mask, placing it under his chin in case he still needed it. "Can you tell me your name?" "Michael Delorme," Vaughn rasped. My posture relaxed slightly in relief. He had gotten the message. Jack shot me a brief questioning look and refocused on his patient. "Do you remember what happened?" Vaughn's forehead wrinkled as he struggled to recall the events leading up to that moment. "No. Where am I?" Jack removed a penlight from his breast pocket and flashed it in Vaughn's eyes one at a time, watching their dilation. "You're at St. Sebastien's hospital. Somebody gave you an overdose of GHB. Do you have any idea why?" Vaughn hesitated, his eyes darting to me briefly. "No," he said calmly. Jack looked at me again and this time I detected an air of annoyance in his gaze. I tore my eyes from Vaughn and watched as Jack stuffed the penlight back in his pocket and continued asking questions to determine Vaughn's mental state, his posture suddenly stiff. 'He knows,' I thought. 'He knows we're lying.' Jack turned off the oxygen and removed the mask entirely. "I'll have a nurse check on you in an hour or so but I don't see any reason you can't go home once you're ready." Vaughn nodded. Jack scribbled a couple notes on Vaughn's chart and left without another word. Sydney and I exchanged a knowing look and she nodded. I reached over to squeeze Vaughn's hand. "I'll be right back," I said softly. Jack was turning the corner at the end of the hall by the time I caught up with him. "Listen," I began lamely. "I wanted to thank you for..." "What the hell is going on here," he demanded, stopping mid- stride and spinning around to face me, his eyes flashing. "I've told you..." "I know what you've told me," he snapped. He stopped talking as a nurse walked by, shooting us a curious look. He grabbed my arm and guided me to the nearest empty room. "In here," he growled. He shut the door behind us, muffling the noises of the bustling hospital hallways. He turned to face me and blew out a breath, resting his hands on his hips and fixing me with an accusing stare. "You realize that I have to report signs of domestic abuse." I scoffed. "You think I tried to kill him?" "I don't know what to think," he snapped. "All I know is he's lying and it looks like you coached him to." 'You have no idea how wrong you are,' I thought. "You know why he can't tell you the truth," I said defensively. "Somebody just tried to kill him. I shot the guy who did this but I'm certain he wasn't working alone." Jack laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, I know. Self defense, right?" He stepped closer to me. "I did a little research...turns out there was no report of a shooting in Los Angeles yesterday that fits your story." I stared at him as I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out. If that was true then it meant that somebody was covering up the entire assassination attempt. The situation was worse than I had thought. "If there was a man who tried to kill Mr. Delorme - and you - and you killed him," Jack continued. "Then where's the body?" "What possible reason could I have to want Michael dead?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" A sudden commotion at the end of the hall interrupted whatever I might have said, drawing both of our attentions to the source of the movement. My heart stuttered as I saw a nurse run into Vaughn's room. No... Jack threw open the door and jogged back down the hall toward Vaughn's room with me close at his heels. "Dr. Shephard," a nurse shouted. "What happened," Jack demanded. "I don't know..." she babbled frantically. "There was a man..." Jack didn't wait for her to finish before ducking into Vaughn's room. I tried to follow but another nurse blocked my path. "You can't be in here," she said sternly. I debated arguing with her but realized it wouldn't do me any good. Instead I watched helplessly through the open doorway. Vaughn was curled into a half-sitting position on the bed, his left hand clutching his right where I could see a small amount of blood welling. Sydney stood over him, her hands gripping his shoulders, ordering him to "stay with her". Jack pushed her aside and a nurse hustled her away. Jack pried Vaughn's hand loose so he could see the wound. Vaughn grabbed his lapel and dragged him closer, whispering something in his ear. Jack frowned and murmured something back. Vaughn nodded and slumped back against the bed, his face rapidly turning pale. And then I didn't see anything else as a nurse pulled the curtain, blocking my view of Vaughn's bed. ***** (Twenty minutes later) "Would somebody explain what the hell is going on here," Jack demanded as he stepped into an abandoned room off of a less- trafficked hallway. Sydney put her finger to her lips and shook her head silently. Then she pushed him in the direction of the bathroom. I followed them inside and shut the door. "I have other patients," Jack said impatiently. Sydney gave him a no-nonsense look and proceeded to turn on the sink and shower faucets while he bristled. "I'm sorry about this Dr. Shephard," she began in a low voice. "But it'll only take a minute. I need to know what Michael told you." Jack shook his head. "Not until you give me some answers." Sydney tensed and I figured I should speak up before she decided to rip his head off. "What happened back there," I asked, deflecting her attention momentarily. She sighed and turned to me, glaring at Jack from the corner of her eye. "He asked for water. I stepped from the room for a few seconds to get it for him and when I got back a male nurse I didn't recognize was injecting something in Michael's IV. I asked him what he was doing and he panicked and fled. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. Michael ripped out his IV when he realized what the man was doing, but..." "Did you see how much he injected," Jack asked. "No, but he didn't finish. There were about 30 milligrams left in the syringe when I interrupted him." "Did you get the syringe," I asked. "No. He took it with him," she replied with a tone of disgust. "You people are not really FBI, are you," Jack asked. "Actually, I am," I corrected. Sydney put a hand on my arm, cutting me off before I said anything further. "We need your assurance that you will not relate any part of this conversation or anything Michael may have told you to anyone." Jack sighed. "Even if I wasn't bound by patient confidentiality, there's nobody for me to tell." Sydney searched his face for a long minute before finally giving in. "He works for the CIA." "What's his name," Jack pressed. She flustered. "That is not relevant." "Somebody just tried to kill one of my patients," he snapped. "I can't help if I don't know who my patient is or why somebody would want him dead." Sydney fumed in silence. "His name is Michael Vaughn," I said quietly, moving closer in case I needed to keep Sydney from throttling Jack. I doubted I would be able to do much to stop her, but hurting Jack wouldn't get us anywhere. "Everything else I told you is true. I met him for drinks at a bar and a man slipped GHB in his drink. I confronted him but he wouldn't tell me who he was working for or why he was ordered to kill Vaughn. That's why we need your help. If he has any idea who might be behind this and he told you then we need to know what he said." Jack searched my eyes for a couple moments before sighing, his posture seeming to relax slightly. "He said 'Prophet Five'." My eyes met Sydney's. "Does that mean anything to you?" She shook her head, her previous anger dialed down to a low boil. "No, but we'll look into it," she said firmly. "We need to make sure his room is guarded at all times in case they try again. You," she wheeled on Jack, pointing her finger almost accusingly. "You cannot breathe a word of this to anyone. Not only for Vaughn's safety, but for your own. If these people are brave enough to attempt assassinating a government officer in public there's no telling what they're capable of." 'More likely if he says anything Sydney will kill him and make it look like an accident,' I thought. Jack nodded soberly. She hugged me. "I'll contact you when I find something," she promised. "Okay." She kissed my cheek and left me alone with the younger Dr. Shephard. "I'm sorry we had to lie to you, but we didn't have a choice," I said softly. He just looked at his watch. "I have to be in surgery in fifteen minutes," he muttered, brushing past me out the door. I sighed and reached over to turn off the faucet in the sink. ****** (That night) The good news was that although the second assassin had tried to kill Vaughn using a lethal amount of morphine he had not had time to administer the full dose before Sydney had interrupted him. The bad news was that probably meant "Prophet Five", whoever they were, was becoming increasingly less concerned with drawing attention to themselves. Christian Shephard had assured me several hours ago that Vaughn would be fine. I hadn't seen Jack since Sydney and I had talked to him. I was getting ready to settle in for a long night on watch duty when there was a knock at the door. Because of the special circumstances surrounding Vaughn's case I had been able to get him moved into a private room with a door that could be locked. I peaked through the window to see Jack Shephard standing in the hall, his hospital clothing exchanged for slacks and a blue button-down shirt. He was holding two large cardboard paper coffee cups. I opened the door and wordlessly stepped aside, allowing him in. "I thought you could use some company," he said, offering me one of the cups. I took it after a moment of stunned hesitation. "You don't have to do that," I protested. "You have to sleep sometime," he pointed out, his eyes scanning the equipment monitoring Vaughn's vitals. "I don't sleep much," I said as I moved back to the chair beside Vaughn's bed. He laughed and grabbed the chair by the door, bringing it over to set beside mine. "Neither do I." He slumped into the chair wearily. I regarded him silently for a moment as I realized that he really was volunteering to stand guard all night. "Your wife must be very understanding." He flinched. "I'm not married." I held back a groan as I glanced down and realized for the first time that he didn't have a ring. "Sorry. I assumed that the picture in your office..." "We're divorced," he said, his tone making it clear that this was a sore subject. Judging by the faint line around his ring finger I guessed it must have happened recently. "I'm sorry," I repeated. He grunted and sipped at his coffee. "What about you?" I eyed him warily. "What about me?" He nodded at Vaughn. "He really your boyfriend?" "Yes," I replied easily without hesitation. "How long?" I didn't have to ask what he meant. "Almost two years." He nodded thoughtfully and went silent for several long moments. "Isn't it dangerous for him to stay here now that they know where he is?" "Actually here is the safest place for him to be right now. They've lost the element of surprise. They'll assume we'll be more vigilant now - harder to fool. Unless they've got somebody on the inside already it's unlikely they'll try again. But that's why I have to be careful about who I let around him. If these people are powerful enough they could get to anyone." "What makes you think they haven't gotten to me," he asked. "Instinct. That and if you really were working for them Michael would be dead by now. You had plenty of opportunities." He nodded thoughtfully. The ensuing silence was broken by the sound of a phone ringing. Jack instinctively checked the phone clipped to his belt and shook his head. "It must be yours." I blinked at him stupidly. My phone didn't ring like that... I pulled the phone from my pocket. Sure enough, it was ringing. It also wasn't my phone. It looked very similar, but it was missing the small crack that had formed in the plastic when I dropped it a few months back. "Mulder," I answered warily. "It's me," Sydney greeted. "Is the line secure?" 'You mean has anybody else had access to my phone since you apparently switched it for an untraceable one?' I thought. "Hey, Kate," I said. "Yeah, everything's fine." Sydney hesitated, likely thrown by my contradictory message. "Is somebody there with you?" "Yeah, Jack is helping me keep watch." I grabbed the remote from near the bed and flipped on the television in the corner, handing Jack the remote. 'Bugs,' I mouthed. He hesitated for a moment and mercifully took the cue, switching to a sports channel and turning the volume up. "What do you have," I asked in a low voice. She sighed. "Not much. Whoever these people are they've managed to stay under the radar. We think Vaughn has been conducting his own investigation of Prophet 5. He's been in contact with a woman named Renee Rienne. Does that name mean anything to you?" I frowned, straining to remember anything that could be significant. "No." "We contacted her but she's refusing to talk to anyone but Vaughn." I ground my teeth. "We have to put him in witness protection." Sydney sighed. "You know as well as I do that Vaughn would never go for that. He's been investigating Prophet 5 for years and it looks like his father is involved somehow. He won't just walk away from this. Besides, he and Rienne know more than anybody." I stared at Vaughn's sleeping form, gripping the phone so tightly I heard the plastic creak slightly. I knew she was right. He would never go into hiding as long as he was capable of fighting these people. "So what do we do?" "For now we need to worry about getting him out of that hospital safely." "How?" "How much do you trust Jack?" I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was watching the television disinterestedly, pretending not to listen. "Enough." "I hope your instincts are good because we're going to need him on this." She gave me as much information as she could safely, detailing Vaughn's extraction plan. "You realize that he's going to have to go under deep cover until the threat is neutralized," she added. "We will do everything we can to catch these guys but it could take months...even years." I closed my eyes, as if childishly believing that that alone would make the problem go away, and took a deep breath. "I understand." I could live with not seeing Vaughn - not being able to support him - as long as it meant he would be safe. I smiled pathetically. "I'll still have you right?" I could hear the smile in her voice. "Yeah. We'll try to find some way for you to contact each other. I'm sorry. I wish there was another way." "No, it's okay," I cut in. "As long as he's all right." "Okay...I'll contact you when we're ready for extraction. Now let me talk to Jack." I held the phone out to him. "She wants to talk to you." Jack looked startled but he didn't ask questions. He just cautiously took the phone from me. "Yeah?" He frowned slightly. "Okay...yes." He gave me an indecipherable look. "Yes...what do you need me to do?" I felt my shoulders sag with relief and hoped I had made the right decision. "I don't know, maybe," he continued. "I've never tried to..." He went silent for several long moments. Then he sighed and looked toward the ceiling, seemingly trying to reign in a possible outburst. "Yes...just one that I know of...no...no... but..." His eyes widened and he glanced at Vaughn warily. "Yes." His expression went gradually from shock to confusion. "What?" He listened for a few moments and took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay. I understand...Yeah." He turned off the phone and handed it back to me, the look on his face suggesting that he suspected he might be in over his head. "If you don't think you can do this it's not too late to back out," I offered, my voice low, barely audible. He blew out a breath and ran a hand over his closely shaven hair. "No, I can do it." "Are you sure," I pressed warily. "If anything goes wrong..." "I know." His eyes met mine and I saw both uncertainty and determination. In that moment I decided that we couldn't have found a better candidate for this job. He would do everything he could to ensure Vaughn made it out of the hospital. He probably saw it as his obligation - either because Vaughn was under his care or because Vaughn had brought him into it, trusting him to do the right thing. I nodded. "Thank you." He nodded. The room was silent but for the blare of the television for several long minutes. I reached out to take Vaughn's hand, squeezing it lightly and staring at his still features, committing them to memory, not knowing when I would ever see him again. ******** (Vaughn) The first thing I noticed when I woke was the sharp smell of antiseptic and the muted sounds of voices and various medical machinery. I lay still, trying to get my bearings before I opened my eyes. I was still trying to recall how and why I was in a hospital when a rustling noise came from my left. My eyes snapped open and I looked toward the source, my body instinctively preparing itself for a fight whether or not I was physically capable of defending myself properly. I saw a man who looked dimly familiar approach me hesitantly. "Michael," he said cautiously. "I'm...Dr. Shephard. Do you remember what happened?" The fuzziness surrounding my mind began to lift. The doctor, of course. I almost hadn't recognized him with his civilian clothes. "Somebody tried to kill me," I said, my voice sounding unsteady. He nodded slightly and came closer, taking my hands in a loose grip. "Can you squeeze my hands?" I squeezed absently as I took in his appearance, noting that his clothes were rumpled - as if they had been slept in. My breath caught as I suddenly recalled telling him the name of the organization I believed was trying to kill me. At the time I had been certain I was dying. I had reached out to him in desperation. I mentally kicked myself. It had been a stupid move. Even if this man could be trusted with the information I could have put a civilian in danger. I jumped as a sudden knock sounded at the door. The doctor went to answer it and I breathed a sigh of relief as Mulder stepped into the room. "He just woke up," the doctor said as Mulder handed him a piece of folded paper. Mulder was at my side immediately, his eyes searching mine for confirmation of this before kissing me deeply. I stiffened slightly, still uneasy about his public displays of affection. "Don't scare me like that again," he scolded, his tone a mixture of lightness, relief and something else. Something accentuated by the sadness in his eyes. "What," I asked. Had I been injected with a toxin? Was I still dying? "Nothing," he said quickly. "I was just afraid I would lose you." He took my hand in his and began subtly tapping a message in morse code. I didn't react, watching his face, pretending to listen as he babbled about finding the "leak" at the FBI. "You were right," his index finger tapped. "Extraction tonight." "How do we know they won't come after me again," I asked, playing along. "When," I tapped on his palm. "Don't know," he tapped as he began babbling about relocating me and changing my name "again". "Go with Jack." I repressed a frown. "Jack," I tapped. Mulder's eyes shifted toward Dr. Shephard, who was reading the paper Mulder had given him and looking increasingly nervous. I closed my eyes. The man had saved my life - twice - and now he was risking his own to save me again. My eyes snapped open as another thought occurred to me. "What about you," I asked out loud. The sad, pained look deepened. "They know who I am now," he said, his voice strained. "I'm afraid you'll have to get a new babysitter." He tried to make his tone light but failed. I swallowed. "Will I see you again?" Mulder smiled weakly and reached to run his fingers lovingly over my cheek. "Yes," he said softly. "But right now it's too dangerous. Maybe when this all blows over..." My heart sank. The odds were that "this" would not "blow over" any time soon - if ever. I nodded slowly. I wanted to argue but Mulder faced enough danger on a daily basis - he didn't need me adding to it. Jack cleared his throat suddenly. "I uh...I'm gonna go home and change," he announced awkwardly. "Are you okay here?" "Yeah," Mulder replied. "Now that he's awake I should be fine. Thank you." I watched, dazed, as the man left the room. "Was he here all night?" "Yeah. He helped stand guard." I shook my head in amazement. "Why?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he has a savior complex." He paused, regarding me with something like regret until I couldn't take it anymore. I reached out to him, dragging him toward me and kissing him, my fingers gripping his hair, my lips bruising his. "I love you," I whispered into his mouth. "I love you too," he whispered back automatically. I pulled back, blinking furiously to stave off the threatening flood of emotion and tugged at his hand. He understood and climbed onto the narrow hospital bed beside me. We clung to each other fiercely, as if that alone would keep us from this forced separation. I didn't know when or if I would ever see him again. If these were our last moments together I wanted to spend them as close to him as possible. I pressed my ear to his chest, trying to find comfort in the sound of his steady heartbeat and inhaled deeply, committing his scent to memory. "It's okay," he said, his voice strained, unsure. "We'll get them." I nodded and closed my eyes, praying that he was right. ********** I forced myself not to fidget as Nurse Mary wheeled me down the hall toward the elevator. For the sake of appearance I had made a show of insisting I could walk even though I knew the wheelchair was policy at every hospital. Mulder had left not long before Mary had arrived, called away on an "emergency", leaving me to "call for a cab" to take me home. I had pretended to look up the number of the local cab company and dialed a number from memory that I knew would be routed through the CIA. Everything was in place so far. I just hoped the rest of the extraction went as smoothly. Jack rounded the corner just as Mary pressed the button to summon the elevator. "I can take him," he said in a tone that left little room for argument. "There's a phone call for you at the nurse's station." Mary looked surprised. "Are you sure? This'll just take a minute..." "No, it's okay, I'm on break right now anyway," he said easily. She hesitated, eyeing Jack strangely before giving in and hurrying back down the hall in the direction of the nurse's station to answer the call I was willing to bet had already been disconnected. The elevator arrived and Jack pushed me inside, pushing one of the buttons on the lighted panel and standing in awkward silence while the doors closed and the elevator began to move. "Thank you," I blurted, my voice echoing loudly in the small cabin. "For saving my life." He glanced at me briefly and went back to watching the display above the door indicating floors as the passed. "It's my job." 'Pumping my stomach and countering the effects of poisoning, yes,' I thought. 'Spending the night at the hospital making sure nobody else tried to off me and smuggling me out of the hospital, definitely not.' I couldn't say anything though. Not until I knew we were safe. The doors opened and we emerged into an underground parking garage. "Get up," he said, stopping just outside the doors. I stood and he pushed the wheelchair back into the empty elevator. "This way." He led me to a car and popped open the trunk. I had a moment of instinctive panic when he pulled out a handgun. He handed it to me and explained "In case anything goes wrong." I nodded and took it, automatically checking that it was loaded properly. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Will you be all right?" I nodded. "Yeah." He gave me a stiff nod and waited while I climbed into the trunk, arranging myself somewhat comfortably and making sure the gun was within easy reach. I noted that the back seats folded down, giving me a route of escape and access to the front seats in case anything happened. Hopefully I wouldn't need it. I nodded to him and he shut the lid with a resounding slam, plunging me into darkness lit only by a sliver of light shining through the gaps in the upholstery. I listened to Jack's footsteps retreat and closed my eyes. There was nothing for me to do now but wait. *********** As an agent I had learned long ago to take any opportunities I could get to rest as I never knew when the next one would be. I was drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep when I heard the doorlocks click open. I was immediately alert, tightening my grip on the pistol and holding my breath as I listened to someone slip behind the wheel of the car. "You okay?" I relaxed as I recognized the sound of Jack's muffled voice. "Yeah," I called back. "Don't move." I nodded, even though he couldn't see me and held still as the car started and began to move. I clenched my teeth as my bladder throbbed suddenly and cursed my lack of forethought for not emptying it before I was "discharged" from the hospital. "Okay, we're clear," Jack announced several minutes later. I folded down the seat on the passenger side and climbed into the cab, stifling a groan as my muscles - stiffened from hours of inactivity - screamed. I blinked at the dark streets passing by outside and glanced at my watch. 11:47. "What happened to a couple hours?" Jack glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Sorry. I tried to get out sooner, but I didn't want people to get suspicious." I nodded. "No, that's good." I clicked the guns safety off and simply held it in my lap. "So what does a doctor need a gun for?" He chuckled. "Protection. Same as everybody else." I smothered the urge to ask him who he might need protection from. I sat silently as he navigated the car through several winding streets and pulled into another parking structure - this one connected to a modest apartment building and guarded by an automated gate with a keypad entry. "This is where you live," I asked somewhat obviously. "Sort of. I don't spend much time here." I nodded. Of course. If the last couple days were any indication he practically lived at the hospital. "Does the building have any security cameras?" He frowned. "Yeah...in the elevators and at the main entrance. Is that going to be a problem?" "Only if the people who are after me figure out you helped me sneak out of the hospital. We'll have the surveillance footage pulled just in case." I paused as Jack pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. "When we go inside I want you to do whatever it is you usually do when you get home from work - check your mail, get a beer - just pretend I'm not there. And as soon as possible check your answering machine." He blinked at me in confusion. "Why..." "I need to make sure the apartment isn't bugged." He nodded after only a brief hesitation, looking dazed. We rode the elevator in silence and I followed Jack down the hall to room 442. "Hang on," I whispered, putting a restraining hand on his arm before he could put the key in the lock. I squatted and ran my fingers along the edge of the door where it met the frame and found a small piece of break away transparent tape placed over the seam near the bottom. It was a low-tech, simple way to determine whether anyone had opened a door since the person who had placed the tape left. It was intact. I stood and stepped back, nodding to Jack. He looked at me strangely but said nothing. The tape broke cleanly and silently as the door swung open. I stepped quietly into the apartment after Jack, keeping my footsteps inaudible. Jack shut the door and dropped his keys on the nearby desk next to a blinking answering machine. He hit the replay button and stood apprehensively, listening as the first message began to play. "Jack, it's your mother," a woman announced in a clipped voice. "Call me when you get this message." A shrill beep sounded and then a male voice with a thick German accent drifted from the speaker. "Uh, this is Gregor calling from Mercy hospital for Stacy. We have your test results - they were all negative. If you have any questions, please call..." I breathed a sigh of relief as the man rattled off a phone number, recognizing Weiss' voice beneath the phony accent. "The apartment's clean," I explained to an obviously baffled Jack as the machine stopped and emitted two quick beeps to signal that it had reached the end of the messages. My bladder pulsed angrily and I added, "Can I use your bathroom?" ********** I emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later and took stock of my surroundings. Aside from a few essential pieces of furniture and at least a dozen boxes, the apartment was bare. Either Jack had moved in recently or he really didn't spend much time at home. I found him hovering near the counter island in the kitchen, a glass one third full of amber liquid cradled in his hand. He gestured to the nearby stool. "You should sit." I slid into the stool gratefully, feeling worn out by the sudden burst of action after nearly two days of being confined to a bed. He set a glass full of water in front of me pointedly. "I'm not really thirsty," I protested. "Drink it anyway," he said, his tone of voice leaving no room for further argument. I was reminded that even though he had little control over or understanding of his current situation I was on his turf and he was still my doctor. After one sip I realized I was thirsty after all and drained half the glass. "So what happens now," he asked. "We wait for my contact. I assume they gave you the protocol?" He nodded. "If anything goes wrong, if somebody tries to use the wrong protocol, just follow my lead. We may need to get out of here in a hurry." He swallowed hard and nodded. "The CIA can protect you if you need it." He frowned and took a sip of his drink. "Who are these people and why are they trying to kill you?" "I don't know who they are exactly," I said carefully. "I just know that they're powerful and they're dangerous...and my father was so afraid of them that he hid from them and changed his name and mine. He died when I was eight." Jack's frown deepened. "Why did they wait so long to come after you?" "Because I wasn't a threat to them then." I went quiet, looking at my hands as they toyed with the glass of water. "Mulder didn't even know any of this until yesterday." And he wasn't even the first person I told - I had turned to a civilian I didn't even know. 'Mulder doesn't even know my real name,' I thought. Not that it mattered. I couldn't imagine him calling me anything other than Vaughn. "I may never see him again," I said softly. Jack shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. I nodded and blinked back the angry, frustrated tears that sprang suddenly to my eyes. Our relationship was really just getting started and now these people were taking him away from me, just as they had taken my father from me. I looked at Jack as it fully occurred to me just how much this man was risking to ensure my safety. "Thank you for helping me. I'm sorry I dragged you into this." He shook his head. "No, I walked into it," he said stubbornly. I grabbed the barely-used notebook next to the portable phone on the counter. "Do you have a pen?" He gave me a questioning look but pulled one from a drawer that seemed to contain all the odds and ends he had bothered to unpack. I scribbled a number on the top page and ripped it from the pad, handing it to him. "If you ever need anything call this number. Tell them who you are and ask for me...Michael Vaughn. You've done more for me than anyone could ask. I owe you." He accepted the slip, albeit with some apparent reluctance, and slid it into his pocket with a nod. He flinched when a loud knock came from the front door and looked at me. I nodded and reached for the gun he had left on the counter. I followed him to the door and stood to one side, pressed against the wall, the weapon held in a ready position in front of me and nodded to him. He opened the door without even bothering to engage the chain lock. I prayed he hadn't just made a fatal mistake. "Yeah?" "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I'm looking for my cat," a voice said. "Have you seen him?" "Have you tried putting bells on his collar," Jack asked. The oddity of the response and the subtle slackening of the muscles in his shoulders told me this was the proper protocol. Still, I waited until the man showed Jack his badge. Jack glanced at it and nodded to me. I uncocked the gun and stepped forward. "It's good to see you," I said as the man in the hall came into view. Dixon nodded. "Are you all right?" "I'll live." 'For now,' I thought morbidly. I handed Jack his gun and shook his hand warmly. "Thanks for everything." He gave me a fragile half-smile. "Sure." I turned to Dixon. "I'm ready." Dixon placed a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder and guided me into the hall. "Let's get you out of here." ************ (7 months later) "We're not gonna get anywhere with this guy until we get a shrink in there." "While you're at it, you should call a priest," I suggested. Doggett stopped dialing for a moment to shoot me an annoyed look. "This may surprise you, but not everything can be explained by aliens and demon possession. Sometimes people are just crazy." "I agree, but there's a line between mental illness and the paranormal and this guy is definitely erring on the side of The Exorcist." "Let's see what the psychologist has to say," Scully offered placatingly. "We need to at least consider the possibility that all of this can be explained by a chemical imbalance in the brain." I opened my mouth to reply but was cut off by the loud ring of my cell phone. "Just a minute," I muttered, fishing the offending phone from my pocket and stepping away from my partners to answer. "Mulder." "Mulder, it's Sydney." I froze. The tone of her voice told me immediately that this was not good news. "It's Vaughn. I...don't know how to say this. He's dead..." My breath caught. I felt like I'd been sucker punched. The ground beneath me seemed to tilt dizzyingly and I sank to the nearest flat surface - one of the uncomfortable chairs in the police station hall. "What," I gasped when I had summoned up enough breath to speak. "Where are you?" It had to be a mistake...he couldn't be gone. She took a deep, stabilizing breath. "I'm on a plane...on my way to Los Angeles. They found him, Mulder. They got him." I blinked, feeling the tears spring to my eyes, my mouth forming a silent scream. "He was meeting with a contact in Italy," she continued, her voice thick and unsteady. "Some men showed up...I couldn't get to him in time. The doctors tried to save him, but...there was too much damage..." "Mulder," Scully's concerned voice came from nearby. I reached out to her blindly, my hand finding hers and squeezing desperately. She squeezed back. This couldn't be happening. This had to be some elaborate, cosmic joke. "I'm sorry," Sydney whispered. "I'm so sorry." I closed my eyes and cursed every higher power I could think of. He had just started opening up to me... "I'll arrange the funeral. You just...get here. Don't worry about a hotel. You can stay with me." I nodded, tears filling my eyes. "Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. "I can be there tomorrow." "Okay," she said quietly. "Call me when you land and I'll pick you up." I said a shaky goodbye and hung up, turning to meet Scully's questioning gaze. "Vaughn's dead," I whispered. Her face softened slightly and she wordlessly pulled me into a hug. I closed my eyes and felt a couple lone tears break free, falling onto the shoulder of her neatly pressed suit. "What do you need me to do," she asked gently. "I need to go to Los Angeles as soon as possible," I mumbled, feeling a numbness settle in. "What's goin' on," Doggett asked, appearing suddenly beside us. "Agent Vaughn died," Scully explained softly. Doggett's lips set in a grim line and he nodded. "I've got this," he told Scully, gesturing toward the interrogation room. "You can go. I'll cover for you." Scully reached to squeeze his hand and smiled. "Thanks, John." Doggett nodded awkwardly and left us alone. "Come on," she coaxed gently. "I'll take you home." ********** (36 hours later) I sat on Sydney's couch listlessly, watching her pour a glass of water and set it down on the coffee table. She had said very little since picking me up at the airport. Now she sat in front of me and reached for my hands, squeezing firmly and waiting for my eyes to meet hers. "I'm so sorry I had to lie to you," she began. "Vaughn's alive." I blinked at her, certain my mind was playing a cruel trick on me. "What?" "What I told you was partly true. He was shot...eight times...but he survived. My father convinced him that he wasn't in any condition to fight if Prophet 5 tried again so we faked his death. I couldn't tell you before because you, me and my father are the only people who can know he's alive. As long as Prophet 5 believes he's dead he's safe." My brain sputtered into high gear. "Where is he?" "He's safe," she replied carefully. "We can take you to him but you have to disappear." "What do you mean?" "Vaughn's father was involved in some sort of project. We don't know what their objective was yet but we know that everyone directly involved in the project is dead. Prophet 5 has been very careful to cover their tracks and they're willing to kill anyone who gets too close." "And you think they would come after me," I asked, baffled. "Vaughn told me he didn't tell you about all of this before because he wanted to protect you. He didn't want to drag you into this - put you in danger...but Prophet 5 doesn't know that. You're his lover. You're closer to him than anybody - they have to assume you know what he knows." She let go of my hands and reached for the newspaper that had been left nearby. "That's not all," she added. She handed the paper to me. The headline on the front page read "Search Called Off for Oceanic Flight 815". I had heard the story already. The search for flight 815 had been plastered across every paper and news broadcast since the plane had disappeared nearly a month ago. Search and rescue had given up hope of finding any survivors after three weeks. All passengers and crew were presumed dead. "What does this have to do with..." "Oceanic released the passenger manifest. Jack Shephard was on that plane." It took a moment for the name to register. "The doctor?" She nodded grimly. "His father was on the plane too. Jack was taking his body home for burial." I reeled. "You think Prophet 5 did this?" "I don't know," she admitted. "We had no reason to look into it until now. It could be a coincidence but we can't risk making assumptions. Prophet 5 has members in the upper levels of government in several countries. They're certainly capable of something like this. It's possible they were trying to send us a message - convince us to back off." I nodded stupidly. None of this would surprise me, but it made me sick to think that these people would go to such extreme lengths to murder an innocent man just because he had helped protect Vaughn from them. "But why his father? And why an airplane? If they wanted to make a statement they could have just used a car bomb. Why kill two hundred innocent people just to eliminate two men - one of whom was already dead?" "Christian was Jack's father *and* his superior. They probably assumed he knew what Jack was doing - possibly that he helped Vaughn's escape or at least covered for Jack. They may not have anticipated Christian would be dead before he got on the plane. And there was another man...someone who was working for the CIA. That's why this was brought to our attention. Whoever is behind this may have had multiple targets." My head spun. "I helped Vaughn get out of that hospital too. Why didn't they go after me first?" She shook her head. "Like I said, it could be just a coincidence. We need to look into it further before we can say anything certain. But even if it's just a coincidence and Prophet 5 had nothing to do with Jack's death...you're close enough to this for them to believe you could pose a threat. We have to assume you're in danger." I nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay. What do I have to do?" ********** I climbed from the yak wearily. After a long flight on a CIA plane - accompanied only by the emotionally closed off Jack Bristow - and a nearly equally long ride through the mountains of Nepal I was exhausted. But the knowledge that Vaughn was waiting for me inside that hut in the middle of nowhere gave me a second wind. I was greeted by a monk who introduced himself as Brother Nabin and who spoke surprisingly fluent English, though he seemed to be the only one. "Brother Neerav is changing his bandages," he said as he led me deeper into the hut, past a room with high-tech medical and exercise equipment that appeared totally out of sync with their surroundings. "I must warn you he still has much healing ahead of him. He may not be aware of your presence." "I don't care. I want to see him." The man smiled. "I expected as much. Agent Bristow told me you are very close to him." I refrained from comment. We turned a corner and my breath stalled. Vaughn lay on a low cot, a machine monitoring his vitals behind his head next to an IV stand, his face drawn in pain as "Brother Neerav" worked on him, his body blocking my view of Vaughn's injuries. I felt lightheaded. Two days ago I had listened to Sydney give a tearful eulogy at Vaughn's funeral and we had leaned on each other for support, watching with the rest of his friends and coworkers as his coffin was lowered into the ground. Only the two of us knew that it was empty except for a few concrete blocks. But even though I knew he was alive, actually seeing him now felt surreal. I was afraid I would wake up and discover that all of this was a figment of my imagination - that Vaughn was really dead. I stepped closer, feeling my gut twist in sympathy as I got a better view. His chest was a mess of ragged bullet wounds, which the monk was in the process of diligently covering with fresh bandages. His breathing was shallow, his pale face dotted with sweat that shimmered in the light of the fire in the pit at the center of the room. The monk gently prodded at a particularly ugly wound and Vaughn whimpered softly between labored breaths. No, this was no dream. I would never imagine Vaughn suffering like this. I knelt at his side, opposite the monk, and gathered his hand in mine. "Vaughn," I called softly. Vaughn's eyes fluttered open, dull and glazed, struggling to focus on my face. His mouth moved soundlessly, forming my name. I leaned in to kiss his dry, chapped lips, careful not to disturb the man working on him. "Yeah, baby, it's me. I'm here," I whispered. I pressed another kiss to his forehead and felt him squeeze my hand feebly. Nabin returned as Neerav finished the bandages, a wooden bowl in his hands. He knelt by Vaughn's head and pressed a gentle hand to his forehead, speaking to him in his native language. Vaughn's lips parted in response and the monk slipped his hand beneath his neck, lifting his head and helping him drink. I watched quietly as he slowly drained the bowl. The monk smiled as he returned Vaughn's head to the pillow and handed the empty bowl to his "brother", who handed him a syringe filled with clear fluid from his tray of supplies and left without a word. "This will ease the pain," Nabin explained to me as he injected the contents of the syringe into Vaughn's IV. "And it will help him sleep." I nodded, my throat feeling constricted, my mouth dry. Nabin continued to speak to Vaughn in his native language as he tucked a thick blanket around him. I kissed Vaughn's knuckles and stroked his hand as he gradually slipped into unconsciousness. "He has spoken your name often," Nabin said. "He will be glad to see you have come." I smiled weakly and nodded. Somehow I doubted he would be thrilled to find that I had abandoned everything to go into hiding with him. He would probably take it as a sign that he had failed to protect me from the insanity that had become his world. But I didn't care. I knew now that I would go anywhere - do anything - to be with him. ********* I spent the next days and weeks helping the monks care for Vaughn. I learned that the hut was a sort of safehouse known to only a handful of CIA agents, namely Jack Bristow and his daughter, kept well stocked with medical supplies for just such an occasion. I learned that "Neerav" was a Hindu word for "silent", a name Nabin told me had been given to the other monk as nobody had ever heard him speak. I also learned that in one of Vaughn's less coherent moments he had mistaken Nabin for me and declared his love for me. "I think your love for him is what has given him the strength to survive this," he told me one day as I finished bathing Vaughn. I smiled and dried him with a soft cloth, gently maneuvering his unresponsive body, being careful of the scattered bandages on his chest. "He's stubborn. I'm sure as soon as he realizes I'm here he'll be threatening to kick my ass." Nabin chuckled. "He will understand. You have made great sacrifices to be here with him." I finished and sat back so Nabin could reattach the monitoring sensors to Vaughn, replacing the tape holding the IV in place at his elbow. "He'll think they're too great," I said. Nabin just smiled. "For love, no sacrifice is too great." A weak smile tugged at my lips. He was right, I realized. I hoped Vaughn would see it that way too...eventually. ******** It was nearly a month after I arrived when Vaughn finally looked at me with full awareness. "Hey baby," I said gently, smiling down at him. He stared at me, his mouth working silently, his forehead creasing into an intricate maze. "What..." I winced at the weak, pained sound and squeezed his hand as that one word caused him to cough lightly. He squeezed back, his eyes glazing as pain washed over him. "Easy," I whispered, soothing his forehead with my free hand. "Shh...take it easy. Try to relax." A thready moan escaped him. I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat and bent to kiss his forehead. "It's okay," I murmured, more for my benefit than his. "You're going to be okay." I jumped as a gentle hand touched my shoulder and turned to see Brother Nabin standing beside me, a bowl in his other hand. He smiled and addressed Vaughn in Nepalese. Vaughn nodded silently and the monk moved to his side, gently lifting his head and tipping the bowl to his lips. "Water," Nabin explained to me with a kind smile. I nodded and watched Vaughn drain half the bowl, pained lines forming around his lips as Nabin lowered his head back to the pillow. "You have been shot," Nabin said, obviously speaking in English for my benefit and not Vaughn's. "Do you remember?" He nodded tightly. "Good," Nabin smiled. "What are you doing here," Vaughn demanded, his voice rough, pain-glazed eyes boring into me. My first instinct was to make a joke about him trying to ditch me but I didn't think he would appreciate it at that moment. "Sydney didn't think it was safe for me to stay." A spark of anger flashed in his eyes. "Why wouldn't..." "Jack Shephard's dead. So's his father. Sydney thinks Prophet 5 may be responsible." Vaughn's face went pale, his eyes registering a different sort of pain. "No..." "It's not your fault," I added quickly. "He didn't have to help you escape the hospital. That was his decision." "I owed him my life," Vaughn argued, his voice weak. "I should have protected him..." "It was a plane crash. There was nothing you could have done," I soothed. Vaughn closed his eyes and shook his head. It didn't matter. He would still blame himself. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to drag you into this..." "Hey," I cut in, squeezing his hand and waiting for his eyes to meet mine. "Don't. I love you. We're in this together whether you like it or not." "It's not safe," he argued. "I don't care," I said firmly. "I'm not letting you go through this alone. I was willing to stay away as long as I thought it would keep you safe but I won't do it anymore." "I ca..." he broke off with a weak cough, wincing as his abused lungs no doubt screamed in agony. "I can't lose you too," he forced out between pained breaths. "Shh..." I stroked his hair back, brushing my thumb over his temple soothingly. "Relax, baby. You're not gonna lose me. I promise." I registered movement from the corner of my eye and turned to see Nabin coming back into the room, though I hadn't noticed him leave. He held a syringe in his hand. "You must rest now, Brother," he said gently as he emptied the syringe into Vaughn's IV. "There will be time to discuss things later." Vaughn made a soft noise of acknowledgment and squeezed my hand. "I love you," he whispered. I kissed his dry lips. "Rest. You need to get better so I can kick your ass for making me think you were dead." He smiled woozily, his eyes glazing over as the drug worked it's way through his system. "You can try," he mumbled. I smiled and stroked his hair, watching as he drifted to sleep. ************ VAUGHN (One month earlier) I caught Sydney's eye as she helped me drink the water laced with sodium morphate. I tried to give her a reassuring smile but it ended up looking more like a pained grimace. She put down the cup and squeezed my hand fiercely. "Get some rest, Vaughn," she said thickly, tears forming in her eyes. "I'll be right here." I squeezed her hand and closed my eyes, already feeling the darkness closing in around me, my breaths slowing. The last thing I was aware of before I slipped away was the feel of Sydney's lips on my cheek. I awoke again to the feel of a firm hand pressed to my forehead. Air rushed into my lungs as if I were coming up from deep underwater. Waves of agony rolled over me, radiating from my chest outward. I tried to scream but that only made it worse. "Easy," a voice murmured above me as I gasped and wailed pathetically. The hand disappeared and an oxygen mask slipped over my face, relieving the strain on my tattered lungs. "You're safe now, Agent Vaughn." I struggled to open my eyes, straining to focus on the blurry shape hovering over me. Jack Bristow's features gradually swam into view, his face surrounded by a red haze of pain. I felt him position heat packs around my body and tuck a blanket under my shoulders and only then realized that I was shivering violently. My teeth chattered. My whole body felt like it had been frozen through, except for my chest, which radiated unnatural heat. "I'm sorry," Sydney's father said gently. "My contact had trouble retrieving you. You were in a morgue refrigerator for several hours." I whimpered involuntarily and closed my eyes, praying that I would just pass out. I was sure I had never felt so much pain in my life. Jack's hand soothed my forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Try to calm yourself," he said in an emotionless, yet somehow reassuring voice. 'Are you fucking kidding?' my mind screamed. Logically, I knew what he meant. I had been shot eight times, "killed", frozen for several hours and shocked back to life. If my vitals couldn't be stabilized there was a very real danger that my heart would give out. But at that moment, my mind was not functioning logically. Jack's hand left me and I held back a whine as he slid a needle into my neck. "I'm giving you something for the pain," he explained. "Syd," I gasped, my voice strained and barely audible. "She's fine." I struggled to keep my eyes open as the drug hit me with the force of a train, dragging me under. "Mulder," I mumbled. "Sydney will contact him," Jack replied easily. "Tell'm...'m dead," I slurred. "H' can't...know..." Jack went silent. My eyes slipped shut involuntarily and I felt Jack's hand return to my forehead - not moving, just a warm, comforting presence. "I'll tell Sydney," he promised. I struggled to mouth the words "thank you" and vaguely heard Jack talking to someone else - probably his contact - before I slipped into unconsciousness. ******** I slumped back on the bed with a groan, panting like I'd run for miles. I glared at Mulder as he carefully replaced the oxygen cannula under my nose. "I told you not to stop." "You can't push yourself too hard," he reminded me. "I can't even walk across the room," I muttered in disgust. "You were shot eight times," he said gently. "It'll be a while before you're doing wind sprints." I grumbled a few choice curses. I knew he was right, but it still frustrated the hell out of me. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed and leaned over to kiss me, cutting off my mutterings. He smiled down at me. "It's only been a month. You're doing great." He picked up my arm and began massaging the muscles expertly, bending the elbow repeatedly. He had been quick to pick up on the physical therapy I needed to regain my strength and worked diligently every day to help me get back into shape. He gripped my hand tightly and held it aloft. "Pull," he ordered. I tugged on his hand with a grunt, gritting my teeth against the pain that throbbed in my chest. His grip loosened almost immediately, allowing me to pull his hand toward me with little resistance. "Too much," he asked worriedly. I shook my head. "I'm fine." He sighed. "You don't have to play tough with me. If you're in pain..." "I'm fine," I insisted. Honestly, I had been through much worse. I'd be damned if I was going to let him make a big deal out of it and drug me into a stupor. He gave in reluctantly and moved to the other side of the bed to begin working on my other arm. I watched him silently for a while. Since I had woken I had learned that Sydney had ignored my plea to keep Mulder from knowing the truth about my "death". She claimed it was because Prophet 5 posed a danger to Mulder but I suspected she was also afraid he would pose a danger to himself if he thought something had happened to me. She and her father had helped him disappear. As far as the rest of the world was concerned he had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. Possibly abducted by aliens, he had joked. It seemed fitting. "I'm sorry," I whispered. He looked up questioningly, his hands pausing in their kneading of my bicep. "I didn't want to drag you into this." He sighed again. "We've been through this before. Anything that involves you involves me. We both know that if I had thought Prophet 5 really killed you I would have gone after them and gotten myself killed. Pull." I pulled against his grip, biting back a comment as he gave much less resistance this time. "I put you in danger," I argued. "They wouldn't have known you existed if it wasn't for me." He squeezed my hand uncomfortably tight. "Don't you dare. I didn't travel thousands of miles to make you regret our entire relationship. This is *not* your fault. I'm not an innocent civilian; you don't need to protect me. I can put myself in harm's way without your help. I've been doing it for years." I snorted softly. "I *love* you. It's going to take a lot more than a big scary rogue organization and some hitmen with machine guns to keep me away from you." I blinked rapidly against the tears threatening to form. "You didn't have to go into hiding like this," I argued weakly. "You abandoned your friends, your job..." "Hey." I looked up at him reluctantly. "My friends...all five of them...will understand. And you are more important than my job. When I thought you were dead..." He faltered slightly and shook his head. "All I could think of was how much I wanted the last seven months back. How I should never have agreed to break contact with you. There were times when all I could do was worry about what was happening to you - where you were...whether or not you were safe. It killed me not knowing; waiting for any information I could get from Sydney. I don't scare easily, but I was terrified of losing you." I stared at him for a moment before I finally whispered "I don't deserve you." He laughed and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Funny. Everybody else has said I don't deserve *you*." His laughter trailed away as he bent to kiss me. "What do they know?" he murmured. "My name isn't Michael Vaughn," I blurted. He frowned. "What?" "I always thought I knew who my father was...how he died. It was Prophet 5..." "Wait, slow down," he interrupted, his brow deeply furrowed. "What do you mean your name isn't Michael Vaughn?" I closed my eyes and breathed as deeply as my healing lungs would permit. This may not have been the best time for this revelation but I had kept it from him for too long. Now that he was so deeply entangled in the situation with me he deserved to know everything. "My name is Andre Michaux. Before he was in the CIA my father was a mathematician. He was one of several people recruited for a project...Prophet 5. They were tasked with deciphering a document...written five hundred years ago in a supposedly unbreakable code...outlining some sort of advanced genetics. After it was deciphered everybody involved in the project started dying...accidents...natural causes... My father changed his name and mine and ran. I was eighteen months old... Seven years ago a woman approached me - Renee Rienne. She told me her father was also involved in the project. We've been investigating Prophet 5 ever since." His mind visibly spun. "So you've known all along." "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I was afraid I would put you in danger..." "So...some of those missions you were called away on..." "Most of them were for the CIA." "That time I spent the weekend at your apartment...I took care of Donovan while you were gone...your back was sore when you came home..." I winced. Trust him to recall something like that. "I was in Mexico. Following a lead on Prophet 5. I strained a muscle fighting with a thug the size of a gorilla." His face softened. "Oh, baby, I..." I halted what was undoubtedly building into an apology with two fingers pressed against his lips. "You weren't supposed to be there when I got back. I told Weiss that I was making a personal trip...he was supposed to take care of Donovan after you left. He told me he stopped by a couple times but your car was still there..." I swallowed. "When you came through the door with a bag of groceries and offered to give me a massage...it felt so *normal*. I realized how much I needed that...needed you." I trailed off, my throat too swollen with emotion to allow me to continue. He stared at me in silence for a long time, his eyes seeming to register pity and regret. I hoped the latter wasn't a result of my necessary betrayal. My stomach fluttered nervously as I waited for his reaction. He sighed and reached to cup my cheek in his warm palm. "I wish you hadn't kept all of this from me." I opened my mouth to apologize but he rushed on. "I mean, I know you couldn't tell me everything. You work for the CIA. There will always be some secrets between us. But from now on I don't want you to keep things from me just to keep me from danger. I don't need your protection and you don't need mine. But I want to be there for you - even if that means just giving you moral support or being there to give you a massage when you get home. Whatever you need." I felt my chest swell, warmth spreading throughout my body, and wondered again what I had done to deserve such unwavering devotion. "And I don't care what it says on your birth certificate, if it even still exists. As far as I and the rest of the world is concerned you are Michael Vaughn. That's the name you grew up with - the name you've had all your life. That's all that matters." I blinked against the threatening sting of tears and tugged at his hands. He followed the movement, leaning down over me and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tightly. He slipped his hands beneath my shoulders, hugging me tentatively, wary of the still healing wounds in my chest. "I love you," I whispered thickly. I felt his lips curve into a smile against my cheek. "I know," he murmured. "I love you too, baby." *********** (3 months later) "You have a package from Agent Bristow," Nabin said with a smile as he handed me a manila envelope. I blinked in surprise. "Sydney?" He nodded. I looked down at the plain, unaddressed envelope, my mind racing with possibilities. Was it over? Had Prophet 5 been eliminated? Or had something gone horribly wrong? "Dhanyabaad," I mumbled automatically. He placed a hand on my shoulder, bowed his head and left the room. "What is it," Mulder asked from his perch on the end of the bed. I shook my head, propping the cane on the nearest wall and prying the envelope open with nervous fingers. "I don't know." I frowned as I slipped a folded sheet of newspaper out and peered into the envelope. There was nothing more. I unfolded the newspaper. It was a single article clipped from the front page a couple days earlier. My breath caught as I read the headline. "What is it," Mulder repeated, alarmed. "What was the number of that flight that disappeared," I asked. "The plane Jack Shephard was on?" He frowned. "815. Why?" I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth as I read the headline again. Oceanic 815 Survivors Found. "He's alive." "Really?" Mulder was off the bed and at my side in seconds, yanking the article from my hands, his eyes widening as he read the headline himself. "Prophet 5 didn't kill him," I added, feeling like a giant weight had been lifted from me. *I* didn't kill him or any of the other people who had happened to be on the plane with him. "They don't have a list of the survivors," he pointed out suspiciously, scanning the article. "It doesn't matter. Why else would Sydney send this to me?" "Good point." He frowned as something caught his eye. "What's this?" He handed me back the paper, pointing to a spot in the article. I had been so focused on the headline I hadn't noticed that someone had underlined a couple sentences near the end. The lines mentioned that several of the survivors were living with friends or family members while they readjusted to their former lives. In the margin next to it, in Sydney's handwriting, was a note that simply said "I didn't think you'd mind." I laughed softly. "She gave him my apartment." Understanding flashed in Mulder's eyes. Even though the world thought I was dead I had managed, through Sydney, to repay at least part of the debt I owed to Jack. He smiled and kissed me gently. "Well, he'd better find another place to stay by the time we get back because I don't intend to leave you alone again." My breath stopped momentarily. "You want to move in with me?" I saw something like apprehension flash in his eyes and he began backpedaling. "No. I mean, I didn't mean to make assumptions. I can get an apartment..." I shook my head, feeling my forehead crease hard enough to create permanent lines. "Wait, slow down. What happened to your apartment?" "By now Scully's probably sold it. I left her instructions... what to keep, what to get rid of, what to destroy...I should have discussed it with you first. I'm sorry." He reached to frame my face in his hands. "I just can't stand being so far away from you anymore. I feel like we're living the plot of Brokeback Mountain, trying to keep our relationship secret from the rest of the world." I gaped at him for a moment longer, my mind reeling. I needed a moment to process this information. I picked up my cane. "I think I should sit down." I could probably have stood longer, but this conversation was making me dizzy. "Of course." Mulder scrambled to guide me back to the bed. I sat on the edge and coaxed him down beside me. "You're moving to Los Angeles?" I started. He smiled nervously, smoothing back a lock of my hair. "I was planning to, yeah. If you're okay with that." "What about your job?" "Los Angeles has an FBI field office." "But, the X-Files..." "There are three agents working on them right now. And hey, maybe I can start a division in LA - expand a little." From my skeptical look, he added "or maybe the CIA would be willing to hire a former FBI agent as a desk jockey and I could help you research this Rambaldi guy. I'll figure something out. I spent three years profiling - I can do it again if I have to." He cradled my head in his hands again. "I'll probably still be traveling a lot but at least I can be closer to you when I come home." I felt a flutter in my chest. "Mulder...I can't be the reason you gave up your life." He kissed me sweetly. "When I realized how close I came to losing you...it made me reorganize my priorities. *You* are the most important thing in my life. I can't go through that again. And I can't stand going home to an empty apartment every night on the other side of the country. Please don't ask me to keep doing it." I swallowed around the lump in my throat. "I won't." I slipped my arms around his chest and hugged him to me tightly. "You can move in with me." His shoulders sagged slightly. "Thank God." I pulled back slightly. "But if Jack is still there when we get back I'm not going to just toss him out. You'll have to behave yourself until he leaves." "No noisy sex," he said seriously. "Got it." "No sex anyplace anybody could just walk in on us." Knowing Mulder he'd try to do me on the kitchen table. He sighed dramatically. "I'll try to restrain myself." I rolled my eyes but I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face. He pulled me to his chest again, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I love you." I closed my eyes and let myself relax in his embrace. "I love you too." ********** "I told you not to stop," I gasped, collapsing on my back on the bed. "Wasn't planning on it," he gasped back, pulling my knee toward his armpit and pushing back inside with a groan. "Quiet," I reminded him. "Relax," he grunted as he started moving. I moaned, arching my back as the pleasure started coursing through me again. "Why is it you're always most insatiable when someone's in the next room?" His eyes widened. "I am? Huh...never thought about it." I smirked. "Kinky bastard." I gasped, my back arching and my vision blurring as he shifted his angle, jabbing my prostate. "Shh," he whispered in my ear. "Shut up," I growled. I wrapped my arms around his back, holding him close as he brought us to the brink for the second time in the last hour. He came unexpectedly fast, biting my shoulder to stifle his cry of ecstasy. I held him as he came back down, stroking his sweat-slick back as he hovered over me on trembling arms. "I'm sorry," he panted. "I don't know what..." "Shh, it's okay." "No..." He rolled onto his side, taking me with him so he didn't break our connection. I hissed as his hand wrapped around my half-hard length. "I can’t take you half-way and leave you there. It's either all or nothing." I groaned and shifted as he coaxed me to full erection. "One orgasm is just never enough for you, is it?" "Not when I know how gorgeous you look after being thoroughly ravished multiple times." I rolled my eyes. "You just get off on making me walk funny." He smirked. "Nah...I get off on making you unable to walk at all." I shot a glare at him but the effect was ruined when he gave my cock a firm squeeze and rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head. I moaned, my hips bucking toward him, then whimpered as he pulled out suddenly and slid toward the foot of the bed, trailing wet kisses down my chest and abdomen before taking my renewed erection in his mouth. His ridiculously limber tongue worked me over until I was writhing, his firm grip on my hips curbing my mindless thrusts. "'m almost there," I gasped after a few minutes. He responded by shoving me onto my back, pinning me with a hand splayed on my lower abdomen, thrusting two fingers from his other hand into my well-lubricated opening and finding my prostate immediately. I came seconds later, my fist pressed to my mouth to muffle my ecstatic groan. I gasped for breath as he gently licked away the last traces of my orgasm. "Fuck, you're good at that," I moaned. He chuckled and kissed my quivering abdomen reverently. I sighed and grabbed clumsily for the wipes we had taken to leaving within easy reach of the bed, handing him a couple and laying back while he cleaned the sticky remnants of our lovemaking from both of us. He tossed the soiled cloths in the trash and crawled back up the bed wearily, leaving a trail of lazy kisses along pleasure-sensitized skin. My breath caught when he reached my chest and began tracing my bullet scars with feather light fingers, his lips following immediately after. He had said many times already that he couldn't believe how close he had come to losing me and marveled at how lucky he was to have me. "I love you," he murmured against my skin. I shivered and ran my hands through his sweat-dampened hair. "I love you, too." I felt him smile. He settled against me, resting his head on my shoulder, sighing contentedly. I kissed his forehead and wrapped my arms around him, combing my fingers through his hair. I closed my eyes as I felt him grow heavy in my arms, drifting to sleep. I was just starting to drift as well when the sound of a chair scrapping the floor drifted from the kitchen. "Sounds like we woke him," Mulder mumbled sleepily. "Try not to sound too apologetic," I muttered sarcastically. Knowing him, that was exactly what he had intended to do. He ignored the accusation. "Want me to go check on him?" I sighed. "No. I'm awake." I carefully slipped from underneath him, pausing as he made a soft noise of displeasure and re- settled himself. I kissed his slackening lips. "I'll be right back." He hummed and smiled sleepily. "I'll keep your spot warm." I smiled back. "You'd better." I crawled out of the bed reluctantly and grabbed my robe, shrugging into it as I slipped out of the bedroom. I found him sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of scotch, his back to the door. I hesitated. I had only known Jack for a few hours before he had gone missing, but even I could tell that his six months on that island had changed him significantly. This man who had returned was harder, more weathered. He had a seemingly permanent haunted look in his eyes that reminded me of a war veteran...or refugee. Mulder and I had learned the hard way to be careful not to sneak up on him and avoid certain triggers but identifying the things that would set off a post-traumatic episode was not always easy. Just a week earlier I had called Nabin to thank him again for everything he had done. I hadn't noticed Jack entering the room behind me until I ended the conversation with the traditional "namaste" and heard a loud crash. I had turned to find Jack stooping to pick up shards of a broken ceramic mug from the floor, his hands shaking, stammering an apology. "Jack," I called softly, taking a hesitant step toward him. I caught the slight flinch as he turned his head toward me. Then he hunched back over his drink without a word. I frowned and moved to grab a glass from the cabinet before sitting next to him, pouring myself a small amount of scotch and setting the bottle back down beside me. "We didn't wake you, did we?" He snorted, not missing the fact that I had deliberately moved the bottle from his reach. "No. I couldn't sleep." I caught the subtle slurring of his words. "How much of this have you had?" I tried to make the words sound casual, sipping at my own glass and clenching my jaw as the alcohol burned a path down my throat. He stared into his glass like it held the secrets of the universe. "A couple." I nodded and sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating his bloodshot eyes and exhausted appearance. "The psychiatrists office called," I began tentatively. "They wanted to know why you haven't been showing up." His jaw twitched. "What did you tell them?" "Nothing. I said I would talk to you." He nodded tightly and continued to stare into his scotch. "I don't really like going to a shrink either but you need to talk to somebody." He snorted derisively. "What's the point? Nobody can help me. Nobody has any idea what I've been through." I hesitated. "Would you talk to me?" He stared at me blankly for a moment, letting the offer sink in. Then he laughed. "Look, I know you feel like you owe me something, but you don't." He swallowed the last of the scotch in his glass and reached for the bottle. I grabbed it first and held it out of his reach. "You saved my life. I know you're a doctor and that may not mean much to you, but not many civilians would go as far as you did to help a complete stranger. You knew the dangers and you still took the risk. So yes, I still feel like I owe you. And I'm not going to let you drink yourself to death." A spark of anger flashed in his eyes briefly but he didn't argue - seemingly not having the energy or the will to fight. He rubbed his hand over his short hair and sighed heavily. I capped the bottle and set it on the counter behind me. "Talk to me," I pleaded softly. His face twisted in mild disgust. "What makes you think you can do anything for me?" I hesitated only a moment. "I can't tell you the number of times I've almost died. I've been shot, stabbed, infected with a deadly virus... and I've been tortured - physically, mentally and emotionally. Five months ago I disappeared. I abandoned my job, my friends, my life. I let my lover think I was dead." I swallowed heavily. "I wasn't sure I would ever see him - any of them - ever again. I may not understand exactly what you went through on that island, but I know what it's like to go through hell and feel like nobody understands." He shook his head, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "You weren't alone," he said softly. He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Ben was right. There's nothing left here for me." 'Who the hell is Ben,' I wondered, but shoved the impulse to ask aside. "No, Jack, you had nothing here before you got on that plane." That finally made him look at me. "Judging by what little I saw before you disappeared, you didn't have much of a social life six months ago. Now you have people calling you three times a week. I've gotten used to hearing your sister's voice every other time I check the answering machine - a sister you didn't even know you had before. Whatever happened to you...you weren’t alone. You *aren’t* alone.” He stared blankly at the table in front of him. “I can arrange for you to see my therapist,” I offered. “She works with government field agents so she’s heard just about everything.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He finally nodded after a lengthy silence. “All right.” I nodded, finished my two sips of scotch and reached for his glass. He caught my wrist, halting me. I opened my mouth, fully expecting an argument, but the words died in my throat when I realized he was focused on my chest. My robe had shifted, falling partly open with my movement, giving him a glimpse of my scars. He gently pushed the material further back with his other hand, fully revealing the wounds. “The people I helped you run from...did they do this,” he asked softly. I nodded. He winced and traced the edge of one bullet wound with a light, clinically distant touch. “Close range,” he murmured. “You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.” “They did. Briefly,” I said cautiously. He nodded and drew his hand back. He let go of my arm but I hesitated a moment longer before moving again, picking up the glasses and bringing them to the dishwasher. “The island wasn’t deserted,” he began quietly. “The people who lived there...they watched us...kidnapped us...killed some of us. They threatened to kill my friends if I didn’t cooperate with them.” I sat back down quietly, my face and body language encouraging him to continue – assuring him that I would not judge him or flinch. “Did you?” He looked to the ceiling. “Yeah, but I...ah...I held him hostage until he let my friends go.” I couldn’t hold back a smirk. “That’s pretty good.” I knew there had been a reason I’d trusted Jack with my life. He may not have had the training of a field agent, but he was smart and he was willing to do whatever it took to help those around him. “I was sure they would kill me.” “But they didn’t,” I pointed out unnecessarily. He grimaced. “Yeah.” Obviously there was more to it than that, but it wasn’t my place to press for information. That was better left to a professional equipped to deal with the emotional fallout. “Can I ask you something?” I nodded. “Why me?” I frowned. “What do you mean?” “I know you needed a hospital employee to sneak you out of the building, but why me?” I had asked myself the same thing many times. I had gone over the entire series of events in my mind repeatedly, wondering what had possessed me to drag Jack so deeply into the mess I was in when we could have tried other alternatives. I always came back to the same explanation – the one Sydney had given me when I had first woken up at St. Sebastien hospital. “Because Mulder trusted you.” From the surprised look on his face I guessed he thought he’d merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. “That’s why I told you about Prophet 5 and it’s why Sydney recruited you for my extraction.” I smiled. “There are very few people in the world that Mulder trusts and most of them had to work hard to earn it. The fact that he trusted you with my life was enough reason for us to do the same.” Jack looked humbled and contemplative as the information sunk in. Then he snorted softly, shaking his head. “I thought he was abusing you.” A laugh erupted from me before I could control it. “Sorry,” I said when he looked surprised. “But even if he had it in him to hurt me I think he’d be too afraid I’d hit him back.” “You had faint bruises and scars hidden by clothing and cover-up. He wouldn’t leave your side and he wouldn’t let anybody near you except me and a couple of nurses. When I asked questions he was cryptic and tried to make jokes. It was the only explanation I could think of.” That sobered me. It was easy for me to scoff at the idea of Mulder beating me, but Jack’s intentions had been pure. “Thank you for trying to help me. I just find it hard to imagine Mulder intentionally hurting me. He tends to treat me like I’m made of glass.” “I still thought he might be abusing you even after he told me you were CIA,” he continued. “But after watching both of you – alone and together – I realized I might have been wrong.” He dragged his finger through the ring of moisture that had been left on the placemat in front of him, absently drawing random patterns. “I thought I loved my ex-wife, but...I don’t think she ever looked at me the way he looks at you. And I’m sure she could say the same.” I mentally kicked myself. Here he was telling me about his failed love life and I was practically flaunting my successful one in front of him. I was probably contributing to his depression. “Have you dated anyone since the divorce?” There had to be plenty of women who would jump on the chance to date a single, good looking doctor. He snorted slightly. “I don’t know if I’d call it dating, but yeah, I was seeing someone. On the island.” Was. “What happened,” I asked cautiously. He gave me a withering look. “Let’s just say he’s not one of the ones that’s been calling.” A startled noise escaped my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. I cleared my throat in a lame attempt to disguise it. “Sorry. I had no idea...” “Neither did I.” He made a couple more swirls in the nonsense pattern on the placemat and sighed, rubbing his fingers together to dry them. “I shouldn’t have expected any less. He was a con artist. Now he’s in marketing. He’s good at telling people what they want to hear and getting them to do what he wants. He can be charming, but I doubt the words ‘I love you’ mean anything to him.” I frowned as an incident from a couple weeks earlier came tumbling into my mind suddenly. “Where is he from?” Jack looked confused. “Tennessee, I think.” The pieces started to fall into place. “Hang on a second.” I left him for a moment to retrieve my cell phone from the charger near the bed, careful not to disturb Mulder, who was snoring softly. I flipped through the saved numbers as I made my way back to the kitchen until I found the call I was looking for. “A couple weeks ago,” I began as I sat back down. “I got a call from a man with a southern accent, asking for a man named George Milton. I figured he had the wrong number, but there was something about it that seemed suspicious, so I looked into it. George Milton is a character from ‘Of Mice and Men’. Does that mean anything to you?” He laughed quietly and shook his head. “No, but it might mean something to Sawyer.” I held up the phone. “This is an unlisted number. Once in a great while somebody dials it by mistake, but I’ve only given the number to a handful of people, including you.” Jack’s eyes widened. “I didn’t give it to him.” “I know you wouldn’t. But by your description of this man, I’m guessing he could have gotten it from you without your knowledge. Maybe by going through your wallet.” His eyes darkened with betrayal. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful...” I waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t think he’s a threat to me. I doubt he even knows who I am, although he may think he does.” Jack’s face twisted in confusion. “I’ve seen the same car parked on the street in front of the apartment several times. I think he found the phone number in your wallet. I think he followed you to this apartment and saw you living with another man and he jumped to the wrong conclusions.” I felt a slight flush burn at my neck. “When he called, Mulder and I were, uh...fooling around.” Actually, he’d been fucking me through the mattress and refused to stop while I answered the phone. “I think he’s probably under the impression that I’m your lover.” Jack’s face went blank in shock. “My lover,” he repeated stupidly. “It could explain why he hasn’t called you. He sounds like the jealous type.” Jack rubbed his forehead and muttered a soft curse. “Do you love him?” Jack looked startled. “I don’t...I don’t know.” “But you want to see him again, right?” “I...” He nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, of course.” I hit re-dial and put the phone to my ear. “What did you say his name was?” Jack looked wary. “Uh...it’s James Ford, but I’m not sure...” I held up a finger, cutting him off as the other end of the line was picked up. “Whoever this is it’d better be good,” a groggy voice said. “Hello, is this James Ford?” He grumbled. “You got three seconds to tell me what the hell you’re callin’ me for or I’m hangin’ up.” I took that as a yes. “My name is Michael Vaughn, I think you called me two weeks ago.” There was a long pause. “How’d you get my name?” “A better question is how did you get this number? I remember giving it to the man who saved my life. I think you know him. Jack Shephard?” He snorted. “Figures. Look, I ain’t gonna touch your boyfriend, so you can just...” “I certainly hope not,” I interrupted. “But this isn’t about him, it’s about Jack and the fact that you seem to be under the impression that I’m fucking him.” I heard a couple noises that sounded like aborted attempts at speech. “What,” he finally asked. “I’m not sleeping with Jack,” I repeated. “I have been letting him live with me and my boyfriend since he got back to civilization. I figured it was the least I could do after everything he did for me.” I made sure to emphasize the word “boyfriend”. He sputtered a bit. “Why are you callin’ to tell me this at two in the mornin’?” I looked at the clock. Midnight. “Ah...sorry about that. I thought you were in Los Angeles.” “I travel a lot,” he snapped. “I’m really sorry. I had no idea. It’s just that I’ve been worried about Jack lately and I think it might be good for him to talk to you.” He sighed heavily and I heard bed sheets rustle. “He drinkin’ again?” I glanced at Jack, who was looking both anxious and relieved. “Yeah.” James grumbled a few curses under his breath and sighed again. “Fine. Put ‘im on.” “Just a second.” I covered the mouth piece and looked into Jack’s eyes. “Promise me that you’ll see that psychiatrist.” He nodded solemnly. “Yeah.” I believed him. He wasn’t one to make promises lightly. I handed the phone to him. “I’ll wait outside.” He caught my wrist as I stood. “Thank you.” I smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “No problem.” I left him and made my way back to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. Mulder was sprawled halfway across my side of the bed, still snoring. I leaned against the doorframe and smiled. If somebody had told me years ago that I would fall for a man like Fox Mulder I would have thought they were crazy. Now when I thought about it I wondered what had taken me so long to admit it. After everything that had happened – in spite of all the lies I’d had to tell and the secrets I’d kept – he had gone halfway around the world to be with me and nurse me back to health. He had given up everything and moved to the other side of the country to be closer to me. If there had ever been any doubt in my mind about his feelings for me, they had long been obliterated. I looked up as Jack approached, pulling me from my thoughts. “Everything okay,” I asked in a low voice. A smile tugged at his lips and he handed me my phone. “Yeah. I think so.” He peered closer at me. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m just...” I glanced at Mulder. “I’m wondering what I ever did to deserve him.” He hesitated. “Y’know...when I first met you both I thought he didn’t deserve *you*.” I smiled at the familiar words and looked down at my cell phone, turning it over in my hand. Jack turned to go back to his room. “Hey,” I said, halting him. “If you ever want to invite this guy here...I’d like to meet him.” He nodded. “Maybe. Goodnight.” “Yeah.” He retreated to his room and I quietly slipped back into mine, returning the phone to the charger. I tossed my robe in a pile on the chair and crawled beneath the covers, pressing myself to Mulder’s back. He stirred with a breathy grunt. “He okay,” he asked sleepily. I kissed his shoulder and wrapped my arms around him. “Yeah, actually. I think he’s gonna be fine.” “Mmm, great,” he murmured absently and I realized he wasn’t actually conscious enough to be participating fully in the conversation. I smiled and fumbled for his hand, weaving my fingers with his. “I love you,” I whispered. He hummed a vague acknowledgement and squeezed my hand before sliding back into sleep. I chuckled softly and settled into a comfortable position, burying my face against his neck, the smile still on my lips as I drifted off moments later. THE END