TITLE: TWISTED TRUTHS III--Like Swords Entwined

AUTHOR: Phetsy Calderon <phetsy@earthlink.net>

RATING: PG-13

CATEGORY: X

CLASSIFICATION: A, T

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully angst.

SPOILERS: Gethsemane

COMMENTS: Always welcome, especially by e-mail to author at <phetsy@earthlink.net>

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and the X-Files are property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and Fox. Reusing any of this without my express permission is a violation of federal law, 17 U.S.C. I give permission to repost, entire, to the web and FTP sites resident on any publicly accessible, no-fee server, provided that the following conditions are met:

1. This notice in its entirety, and the author's name, remain attached to the work.

2. I am notified by e-mail that such posting has been made.

The Gossamer Project X-Files fanfic archives are expressly excepted from condition 2 above. No other use is legitimate without my express permission. ANY use for profit, however meager, violates Chris Carter's copyright and my copyright.

NOTES: See end of story.

===============================================

LIKE SWORDS ENTWINED

by

Phetsy Calderon <phetsy@earthlink.net>

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A light blossomed in the laboratory. Two figures stood captive on the edges of its expanding petals.

One figure, small and slight, whirled and raced for the double doors at the hallway's end.

The other figure, tall and spare, froze for a moment as the sight of the small cold transport container was hidden by the other's turning body. Then he thumbed off the small flashlight he held and raced out the doorway and down the hall after the other figure. The blossom withered, and both figures were caught in a box of darkness.

The box had faint edges, draw by the thin lines of of light laid down at the doors' edges and threshold. A green-lettered EXIT sign floated above the lines, strange starlight in a roofed-over sky.

Glimmer lines ran along the hallway, light ripples on a linoleum lake.

Tiny, evasive sounds ran along the hallway with the two figures: the faint slap and squeak of running shoes, the strong breathing of exertion, the faint creak of the man's leather jacket, the denim swish of running legs. Another sound, too faint to identify, too regular to disregard, worried at the runners' ears.

The tall man's long-legged stride ate away the small person's lead. As he closed in, he could hear the dragging gasps as the object of his pursuit seemed to hit an unseen barrier and suddenly slowed. He made a diving grab just as his quarry slammed the crashbar and flung open the right doorleaf.

At the same time he tumbled into his target, the faint sound that had worried at him identified itself to Fox Mulder's ears.

It had been the tromp and jingle of a security guard coming down the cross-corridor.

Mulder knew that the moment called for silence and concealment. Law, alliances, and his associates' power would all conspire against him if he were caught.

Unfortunately, the person he'd taken down was not concerned with his well-being. Worse, the small, slightly curved body he'd hit had made it apparent to him that his possible adversary was a woman, and she was not interested in making his life easy.

Mulder was instantly wary; he was remembering the basic tenet of self-defense for women as taught by any streetwise instructor. "Men are bigger and stronger; you want to walk away alive from an attack, you make your one shot deadly." He wasn't particularly interested in doing her harm but he wasn't going to bet on her knowing that.

She had managed to hold the grab bar as they went through the door. Mulder's bulk had broken her hold a moment later, but his own momentum had spun him through the door and down onto the concrete apron. His own grip pulled her down to land heavily on his chest, a move that was harder on Mulder's lungs than her own body.

She used the momentary advantage to break his hold by twisting suddenly in his hands. She heaved herself onto her feet, again breathing raggedly, then pivoted on one foot, drawing the other knee up with the lower leg angled out.

Oh, hell, he thought, she knows what she's doing.

Mulder didn't feel like experiencing the joys of having his knees--or softer bits-- side-kicked, so he reached out, grabbed the woman's raised ankle, and heaved upward. She went down, but took the fall well, rolling and slapping the concrete to dissipate the force of the fall.

The woman was still half-turned toward the ground as a result of her roll; he grabbed her uppermost wrist and heaved it behind her. He was hoping to jam her shoulder upwards, in a classic comealong hold that would disjoint the shoulder if she resisted.

His first impression had been right, however. She did know what she was doing, and she rolled to follow the pull on her arm, bringing her other hand around with fingers curled and aimed at his throat.

Having his larynx crushed was not on Mulder's list, either, so he clamped his right hand down hard on her left wrist and drove his other elbow into her diaphragm as he rolled half over her. Most of the air whooshed out of her lungs, but it didn't stop her. She curled her right hand into a fist and connected with Mulder's mouth before he could reposition the arm he'd driven into her. His head snapped back and he saw a few stars. He felt her lower body roll towards him, then her abdominal muscles started to tighten.

It was her first stupid move--it was the one thing every man was prepared to block. Anger pumped adrenaline through him. His pulse slammed through his body and his hands clamped grindingly down.

"Oh no, thank you very much, Miss, but I'm really not looking forward to being kneed in the balls," he whispered angrily as he brought his own knee up and drove it hard between her legs, connecting solidly with the pubic bone.

She collapsed, gasping and whimpering as she rolled into a protective ball.

Mulder pulled himself up on his knees, wiping a hand absently across the slowly bleeding corner of his mouth. He got to his feet, then set his hands on her upper arms and hauled her to her feet with her back to him.

"Sorry we don't have more time to get to know each other, but we really need to go someplace dark and private together," he whispered roughly as he pulled her behind one of the tall boxwood hedges that flanked the door. He burrowed both of them into the small well between the building and the thick growth. He steadied her head with the same strong grip he used to guide suspects into patrol cars, then breathed the word "Quietly" into her ear. He shoved her face between his neck and shoulder to cover the sound of her breathing and dropped his own face against her shoulder to contain the sound of his breath between their bodies.

Eons crept by while the guard worked his way down the corridor, opened the door and shone his light around.

There was a silence.

"Base, this is Post Four-East. We have suspicious activity in Main East Ground Corridor. ."

"Post Four-E, Base. Nature of activity?"

"Possible intruder. Looks like the door's been crashed--"

"No lights on the board, Jerry--"

"Maybe not, but I'm pretty sure I heard something in this wing, and I could swear I saw this door swinging."

"Four-E, secure the door and return to station. I'll send somebody down to check the area with you."

Mulder and his captive heard the guard working the cypherlock, then the door clicking open, his footsteps, and the firm snick of the doorlock resetting.

They didn't move for several endless seconds.

"All right, since we've already danced, let's cover the introductions," he said. He pulled the woman close inside the tunnel of his open jacket, and thumbed his small flash on, aiming the light up at her face. The light bloomed again and draped itself across the side of her pain-twisted face in wilted, thin petals.

It was a ravaged face, marked with exhaustion and illness, leached of color and substance. Large, sunken blue eyes were dull over a too-sharp nose, too-pasty skin. The slightly too large lips were bloodless and pinched with pain or sorrow, open as she dragged uneven breaths through her mouth. The face was framed by straw-like hair that was a dull shade of red.

It was the face of his erstwhile partner, Dana Scully.

Mulder felt like he'd been punched hard in the diaphragm. He promised himself that he'd dedicate some time to be being upset, disgusted with himself, and angry at her, right after they got out of this.

The sight set equal amounts of bitterness and guilt churning in Mulder. Bitterness won the race to activate his tongue.

"Well, Miss Science, what are you doing here? Boosting the lab records to make sure it's even more abundantly clear that I'm a fool?" he hissed. The thin sound went no farther than the tiny space they shared, and no deeper than her gut.

It cost her visible effort, but she presented him with the same quiet, cool face and dispassionate voice in which she had told him that the Consortium had caused her cancer.

"No, Mulder. I'm here to collect the proof of what's being studied here. That, in combination with some of Sen. Matheson's staff memos, will be enough to show he has had knowledge of the hybridization and gene tailoring work of the Consortium when he sponsored the funding bill fro this facility."

She waited, idly wondering if his overwound emotions would produce one of his rare, intense displays of temper, or if his greedy brain would once again demand its exercise. She was much too tired to care one way or the other.

"Why, Scully?"

"Why was the alien body stolen, Mulder? Why did Kristchgau make such an effort to explain how carefully you'd been mislead? Why would the DoD care about the media credit of one disreputable FBI agent? Why not wait until you'd gone public and thoroughly discredited yourself and your work?"

The questions came at him in the same quiet rhythm he'd heard for the last five years, the rational, methodical sequence that was Scully's own.

But the next one was no more than a passionate whisper, like the prayer of an acolyte forsaken.

"Why were you tossed to the Consortium, Mulder? "

He was still bitterly sick with what he believed was her abandonment, but he knew the woman--no, the investigator--before him. She had, somehow, knit together small bits of data, tiny associations, into a tightly woven fabric.

"You tell me, Scully."

"WINTEL, Mulder, plain and simple. The ultimate coin of the intelligence community: 'Warning-Intelligence Sources Involved.' Somehow, someway, the white hats have gotten a plant into the Consortium.

"And you, with your relentless quest, found out too much. You were about to let the Consortium know just how much we really had on them. Matheson seemed to think it was a case of 'better the devil you know.' He sold you to them: didn't you wonder how they knew exactly when to approach you? Didn't you wonder how they knew exactly what bargain to offer, at that particular time? To say nothing of how much muscle to send."

She stopped. He needed time to absorb it all, to process it. She needed to conserve her flagging strength.

"What do you gain from getting the goods on Matheson? I can think of several possibilities, but I want to know what you have in mind."

Scully let her eyelids drop, pulled a breath deep into her lungs. This is it, Dana, time to let all the chips ride and roll the dice. She opened her eyes and looked into Fox Mulder's tortured soul, to confront her own demons.

"You."

His expression gave away nothing. But she had known it would be hard--nothing with Mulder was ever easy.

"I am dying, Mulder--" she held up a hand, asking for him to hear her out, as his eyes tightened slightly with some sadness and his mouth formed an unspoken word.

"I am dying. I have burdened the person who is dearest to me with unneeded guilt, and I have condemned him to a shadow life without respect. I can't leave this world knowing what I've done.

"And I need you, Mulder."

As she spoke the last words, Mulder's eyes squeezed shut.

"I can't let you do it, Scully."

"Mulder, let's not do our usual routine about how much you've dragged me in to. It's my turn to have a selfish need to atone for my actions."

"It's not that. I would gladly grant you that. It's the deal with Matheson--I can't let it happen."

"What do you mean you can't let it happen? Mulder, this man, your _ally_, the people's representative, arranged for the destruction of your work, your reputation, and he might not have spared your life. He *has* to be made to answer."

"Scully, no. Not when the price is your life. They've agreed that when I hand them that vial, they will hand over the agency of your cure."

"I'm dying, Mulder. The cancer's spread through my blood. My veins are pumping poison. This will be my last field operation. I'd like it to be successful, and I'd like that success to put you back in business. I can die happy if I know you'll be birddogging those bastards."

"Scully, please. I *can't* come back, not right now. If I give them what they want, I'll get more than just your cure, although that's more than enough payment. I'll get access: access to knowledge about who is Matheson's tool. Knowledge about how much the government has known and not acted on. Even more importantly, I can find out who is the Consortium man in the Bureau. And I'll gain their trust. I can use that."

Silence.

"So once again, you bet on the long odds. You'll take the unlikely chance that you'll get some hard evidence against the Consortium. You can't even abandon your quest and stay with me for the little time it's going to take me to die, can you?"

She watched the anger and resentment drop out of his eyes. Sadness and desperation, and the gentle determination that was his alone, replaced them.

"Mostly I can't let you die, Dana."

"And I can't let the bastards get away with it. Moot point, anyway," she murmured as she suddenly snaked her body side to side and thrashed out of the hedge to stumble onto the concrete. She paused for the moment it took to draw a deep breath, and then she began moving quickly away from the building, jogging at first but steadily picking up the pace.

In a flash he was after her.

"Scully. Scully, wait," he called softly to her

She ignored him and ran steadily, rapidly toward the thicket of trees that lay inside of the cyclone fence edging the grounds.

Once again, his longer legs closed the distance quickly. Once again, he made a diving grab for her. But this time, she was ready for him.

As Mulder stretched out in a flat arc, she threw herself hard back against him and felt the spongy collapse of his lungs as their collision knocked most of the wind out of him. In the same motion, she grabbed one of his outstretched arms and pulled it over and across her chest, slamming her hip hard into his stomach.

In better days, when she was at full strength, Scully's move would've flipped him sailing over her head to crash-land on his back. But the invader in her body had a greedy appetite for her once easy strength, and she only succeeded in toppling them both. Once again, Mulder absorbed most of the impact. That, combined with the shortening of his breath from her quick-reverse move, slowed him down a little. It was just enough that she was almost able to twist free from his arms which had tangled across her in the fall--almost.

Mulder snaked out a hand and grabbed at her. He had no time for finesse--he simply hauled on whatever he could grip, which happened to be her belt. Once again she tumbled to the ground, and he threw himself half over her. His belly collected another bruise as he sprawled over the fanny pack that held the small cold transport container she'd taken.

She heaved, trying to get her feet under her, but only succeeded in grinding her own chin into the ground. She paused and gasped. The sound tore at Mulder's gut--it was yet another indication of how far her physical condition had deteriorated.

His anger flowed suddenly away, like water through a newly melted ice jam.

"Scully," he pled with her softly, "Please. Just this once--don't shut me out. Let me help.

"Stop lying to me, Scully. Let yourself need."

Even as Mulder's voice was falling to a whisper on the last word, Scully found some mental strength to inform her flagging muscles. She heaved under him and managed to roll onto her back.

It was exactly the same stance they'd held so many times before. Mulder looked intently but quietly down at her. She acknowledged his greater size only by the tilt of her head as she dispassionately assessed his thoughts.

But now, for the first time, he was using his size to pin her down. She still somehow managed to make it seem it was her choice to lay caught beneath him.

"I've done that, Mulder. I've let myself need, and it brings me nothing. I need to know who took me, but all I've gotten are elusive hints. I need to know who killed Melissa, but no one has been brought to justice. I need you with me while I die, Mulder, but you've been taken from me as forcibly as your sister was taken from you.

"Mulder, let me meet this one need--let me die on my own terms. And let me have someone by who will understand how well worth the candle was the game. I have to go back, and I want you with me."

Her voice had thinned to a raspy whisper by the time she finished. Her entire self was in her eyes and pleading.

He stared down at her, head weaving in denial. The anger and bitterness that had seemed to completely possess him in their last two meetings was gone. His eyes held sorrow, and vast determination, and a vaster tenderness.

"I need you alive, Scully." His voice was heavy and quiet. "I need to believe there is one scrap of sanity in this chaos made by these conspirators. I need to believe there's one honest person in my life. I need to know I've done something right for one person I care about."

He paused, and his fingers whispered through the hair at her temple.

"I need to know that no matter how senseless and hopeless my life may seem there is one joyful thing for me. I have to stay, Scully, and I have to get your cure." His voice had roughened to tearing velvet with his last words. A thready trembling ran through the fingers in her hair.

They lay, each pleading and implacable, with their hearts like swords entwined.

"I have. . .to go. . .Mulder," she panted, her mouth tight. She tried to push at his chest, at the same time she angled her legs to one side, pulling the lower part of her body farther out from under him.

"No, Scully, no." Mulder's voice was ragged. He scrambled first one knee, then the other, to each side of her hips. His hands slammed the ground, caging her head.

The fatigue clawed at her, and her head fell back. She let her eyes droop closed, only for a moment.

Then she shot her hands rapidly to the side, knocking away Mulder's arms. As he collapsed forward onto her, she rammed her right thigh upwards, catching him in the tailbone and rocketing him forward over her head.

As Mulder slid through the dust, she was up and running again for the fenceline, freedom, and an expose'.

He wanted to follow her yet again, to complete their triad of contention.

It wasn't going to happen.

Over the sound of his own panting, Mulder could hear the very quiet exchanges of a well-trained team. He had lost the luxury of time.

All he could do was lever himself up with his arms and make for the fence, on a path that he hoped was sufficiently separated from Scully's

He scrabbled into some scrubby trees at the thicket's edge, tucking himself as far into their dense branches as possible.

"Looks like somebody's had a little hand-to-hand workout over here, Jack," he heard one guard say to another.

"Yeah--and we got a couple of breaks in the vegetation here. This one's broken through at a lower level, though. Now, whoever went through over there wasn't in nearly as big a hurry--"

"So, we go after the short one who was moving out?"

"Yep, Paul. Looks like Short Stuff had more reason to get the hell out of Dodge--let's find out why."

Mulder never even gave a moment's consideration to the irony of having a desperate need to offer cover for a terminally ill woman. He simply focused on making sure Scully's back was covered.

He waited until Jack and Paul had both passed the thicket where he was huddled, one of them on each side. He let them get perhaps half way across the hundred yards before the fence.

Then he broke cover with as much awkwardness as his natural athleticism and Bureau training would permit. He smashed and crashed through the plantings, hands crossed in front of him to shield his eyes. He made for the fence at an angle that would force the security men off Scully's line.

"Paul! Paul! Back behind us! Sounds like Big Boy rose from cover. C'mon!"

There was a moment's pause, then scuffling behind him.

Footsteps pounded behind him. Mulder could hear the slap and creak of their equipment belts. Judging from the steady sound of their breathing--all too apparent to Mulder's hyperalert senses--the two were in good shape.

Maybe even good enough shape to run down a tired, emotionally drained, fugitive FBI agent.

But he meant to make them work for it.

He broke through the shrubline into open but uneven ground. He drew on some well of anger or sheer stubbornness and found the bottom to sprint fro the fence.

He heard Jack and Paul break the shrubline behind him.

"OK, Buddy, that's far enough," one of them called. "You are on Government-controlled property. Halt and identify yourself."

Twenty-five yards to the fence.

Mulder kept running. He heard a hollow, soft "thonk" followed by a ratcheting noise.

Fifteen yards.

There was a snap, and something whooshed over his head.

Ten yards.

There was a light that was too bright, and a thunderclap that was too powerful.

Mulder's course had been run.

-30-

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AUTHOR'S NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: First, my sincere appreciation to Sheryl Martin. The Dragon Herself was kind enough to provide technical expertise (and one very smooth move) for my choreography. Valoise Armstrong once again did duty above and beyond as my editor, providing insightful comment quickly. Her son also gets a nod for being roped into a rather odd technical discussion about lace and steel.

Finally, please note that the self-defense techniques discussed in this story are reality-based, but they aren't a substitute for training or practice. Take the time to educate yourself if you feel you need these resources.