Author's Note:  This one's for Goo, and all you guys longing for 
something a little meatier to read.  The story takes place after  
Firewalker.  Don't talk to me about timelines!  Um, profanity, violence, 
blood, so be warned.  If you want to talk about it send letters to: 
strbck@aol.com or WCKV82C@prodigy.com 	
Disclaimer This a fiction story based on characters created by Chris 
Carter.  No infringement is intended on copyrights held by 10/13 
Productions, Chris Carter or Twentieth Century Productions

A Promise of Blood
by Mary Abel

	Mortals put on the masks of death, trying to find salvation in
the face of a fallen angel.  How seductive and beautiful that face
must seem in the moment before death.  Was it worth it though, when
the empty husks of their bodies had fallen on the wayside, food now
for the funeral parlors and crematoriums?
Mulder didn't know, though he sometimes dreamed of Kristen and the unholy 
trinity that had followed her like malignant shadows.  And whatever 
comfort he may have found in her arms seemed a small and petty thing 
compared to his failure on that case.  A shameful thing as well, when he 
had thought about it later, that he could lose control as easily as that. 
 Excuses of stress and grief rang hollow in his mind.  He did his best to 
forget those few days in Los Angeles and continue with his work.  
So he wasn't prepared to see that file spread out over Dana's desk one 
morning when he walked in.  It stopped him in the doorway.
For a moment there was silence, heavy silence that Mulder would have done 
anything to keep silent.  As usual though, the universe ignored his 
silent wish and time continued.  Scully looked up.  "Mulder, good morning."
"Morning Scully." he answered, walking over to his desk and setting his 
attache case down.
"So, you found vampires in Los Angeles?" she asked, that sly smile of 
disbelief teasing the corners of her mouth.  Her fingers tapped the file.

"Where else?" Mulder answered, sitting down.  "What are you doing with 
that anyway? It's a closed case."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he'd been 
unnecessarily harsh.  Dana's face closed off and she looked down.  "I 
know.  I just wondered what you'd been doing while I was... gone"  her 
voice trailed off.
 Gone.  Missing.  Kidnapped.   Abducted. The litany ran through Mulder's 
head  before he could stop it.  Perhaps that had been the reason for his 
uncharacteristic lack of control out there in Los Angeles.  He closed off 
those emotions as he looked over at his partner.
"Yeah, well, it wasn't my best case." he said quietly, sorry that he had 
sounded like such a jerk.
Dana's head came up and she regarded him thoughtfully.   "It says here 
that the suspects died in an explosion.  Were you there?"
Mulder swallowed.  He wanted to hate Scully for making him remember it 
but he couldn't.  "Down the block."  He'd been running back, knowing 
though, that he was going to be too late, when the explosion had rocked 
the earth, like what an earthquake would feel like, he supposed.
Scully watched emotions flicker over her partner's stoic face, one right 
after another.  His eyes closed as if he didn't want to see the memories 
playing in his mind.  Whatever had happened out there on the far off west 
coast, it didn't seem like Mulder wanted to talk about it, as usual.  For 
someone who was reputed to be a brilliant psychologist, Mulder certainly 
had a lot of problems dealing with his emotions.  Not that she was doing 
a lot better these days. Whatever or whoever had engineered her 
disappearance had done an excellent job of wiping her memory.  That 
didn't keep her from having nightmares, the contents of which were drawn 
chiefly from many the alien abduction reports Mulder had presented to her 
for reading at some time or another.  It didn't keep her from checking 
her locks compulsively at night, or sleeping with her gun next to her bed.
  It didn't prevent her rage at the bastards who had stolen a part from 
her life, something that no one could ever give back to her.
Mulder must have noticed something in her expression.  His lips twisted 
in a wry grin, and the set of his shoulders relaxed.  "I know a couple of 
psychologists that would love to get their hands on us." he said softly.  
It wasn't quite up to his usual standard of  witty remarks but it was a 
start.  For the first time in a long while, she felt a laugh bubbling up. 
 It escaped in the form of a low chuckle, sparking one in return from 
Mulder.  Something inside Scully relaxed and she was just a little bit 
more sure that her return to work so soon after her release from the 
hospital had been the right choice.
"So, you finding anything new in the report?  Something I missed?" Mulder 
asked.  For the first time since it's conclusion, he could almost think 
of it like a case, rather than a personal experience that he couldn't 
deal with.
"Well, this report of the man, the one you call the "Son", getting third 
and fourth degree burns all over his body from five minutes of sunlight 
is very interesting.  And even more intriguing is the fact that he showed 
up later, at Kristen Kilar's house, apparently completely healed."
"And very revenge oriented." Mulder interjected.  "I thought that was a 
neat trick too.  He got past two morgue attendants and the on-duty 
pathologist without even raising an eyebrow."
"Maybe he turned to smoke and floated through the ventilation shafts." 
Scully suggested, deadpan.
Mulder smiled.  "Maybe.  Sort of reminded me of Cecil Lively, and our two 
friends from Seattle."
"I don't care how miraculous of healing powers he possessed, there's no 
way that anyone or thing could have survived an explosion, that, and I 
quote "...blew the walls out three feet in every direction, while 
simultaneously  reducing them to rubble", end quote." Scully answered, 
firmly back in the role of skeptic. Mulder leaned back into his chair 
thoughtfully and nodded.  "True." 
"The questions remains however, why the three were so obsessed with 
Kristen Kilar, and how they could keep finding her, even after repeated 
attempts on her part to get away from them?"
"Considering that all parties concerned are now dust in the wind, I don't 
think that Skinner will approve a 302 for you to investigate.  For what's 
it worth though, Kristen and John, the "son" apparently had an intense 
relationship, each finding what they needed in the sickness of the other.
"
Scully nodded.  "So she may not have been as reticent about her 
destinations as she could have been?"
"Exactly," Mulder agreed.  "Whatever her faults, I believe that Kristen 
Kilar truly cared for John.  She spoke of  "losing him" after he hooked 
up with "the Father, and the "the unholy spirit"."
"She lost him to the darkness." Scully muttered.  "They seemed to take 
their religion seriously."
"They took everything seriously." Mulder answered.  "John didn't even 
appreciate my jokes."  His voice was edged with mock dismay.
Scully smiled.  "Imagine that."
Whatever had transpired in the past, she was glad to know that they could 
still joke with each other, banter back and forth about inconsequential 
as if they hadn't glimpsed a few secrets that the universe-- and their 
government didn't want known.  Sometimes she looked around at all the 
people that hadn't experienced what she had, hadn't had their illusions 
about the so-called American Way shattered the way she had and wondered 
if they would ever suspect just how far and deep conspiracy and secrets 
could reach in a government that was supposedly for the people and by the 
people.  
"Scully?  You okay?" Mulder asked.  The concern in his voice was 
something she had heard before her abduction, but she heard it a lot more 
often since her return.  
"I'm fine, Mulder." she answered, restraining a sigh.  It wasn't that she 
didn't appreciate the thought, or the friendship that the concern 
illustrated, but that she was getting tired of everyone's over-
protectiveness.  Even her younger brother, who was famous in the family 
for never calling anyone, had left two messages on her answering machine 
in the last week.
"Struck by any brilliant thoughts?" he asked in a much different tone of 
voice.
"Only that I hope there aren't any disciples biding their time somewhere 
in the background."  she answered.
"Amen to that." Mulder declared with gusto.
Scully didn't have to look up to know that he was smiling with 
satisfaction at his allusion.  She closed the file after one last look at 
the photo of the "son's" body shortly after the sun had filled the 
interrogation room.  It was a gruesome picture, depicting in clear detail 
the charred flesh that indicated third and fourth degree burns.  
	Night came early in December, in Washington DC.  It came even earlier 
when dark storm clouds hung low over the nation's capitol, threatening 
the city with a rare snowfall.  A violent wind rattled the windows of  
Scully's apartment and she started, looking up to see a few white 
snowflakes stuck to the glass.  She shivered and turned the heat up.  
Then she walked to the windows and closed the blinds, all the better to 
shut out the staring darkness.  The bland face of the six o' clock news 
anchor was waiting for her as she settled back on the couch.  
	Mulder changed the channel once more and regarded the congealed TV. 
dinner sitting on the coffee table with something less than enthusiasm.  
He could dimly hear the shrieking wind of the rising storm outside and it 
touched a kind of restlessness inside.  When he had been a kid one of the 
things he loved to do the most was run in storms like this, just before 
it broke, like he was racing with it, or whatever had created it.  He had 
felt so powerful, his gawky limbs finally working together to create some 
semblance of grace, his long strides eating up the ground, the wind 
ripping the breath from his lungs.  He stood and bounced on the balls of 
his feet, unable to take sitting still any longer.  Scooping up the 
dinner he walked to the kitchen and dumped it in the garbage disposal.  
He was listening idly to the grumbled roar of motor as it consumed and 
digested the food he hadn't been able to when something outside the 
window caught his attention.   
It had been just a flash of paleness, a gleam of an oval shape glimpsed 
between his reflection and that of the tree outside, but Mulder tensed 
like a bird dog sensing prey.  There was somebody out there.  He reached 
over without taking his eyes off the window and flipped off the disposal 
and the light over the sink.  In the darkness the scene outside sharpened 
into focus.  The branches of the tree outside swayed fiercely, beating 
against the building like it was trying to get in.  The precipitation 
falling from the sky had degenerated from snow into icy rain that gleamed 
darkly, reflecting the orange glow of the streetlights. 
Mulder waited.
The noise from the storm was distracting and he strained his ears, trying 
to listen underneath it. 
For a moment he was irresistibly reminded of the night that Scully had 
disappeared.  It had been like this for her; a stormy night, an unusual 
noise and movement from outside, and then....
"Fox Mulder, right?" a voice from behind him asked, slowly and 
seductively.
Mulder spun, disciplined enough not to cry out, but adrenaline flooding 
his system so completely he could feel his hands trembling.  He was, he 
realized, reaching instinctively for his gun, the gun he had laid on the 
table beside the door.
A woman stood in the doorway to his kitchen, compactly built with coiled 
grace, a beautiful face that had little need of the makeup that painted 
it and blond hair that draped over her shoulders like a cape.  
He realized then that the shape he had glimpsed  had been reflected from 
inside the apartment, not, as he had thought, showing through from 
outside.  He had an urge to slap himself on the forehead.
"Who are you?" he asked sharply.
"Amy Devon.  I'm sorry if I startled you.  I knocked, but no one answered.
  The door was open and I heard the disposal running, so I knew someone 
was home.  I'm your new neighbor."
"Oh." Mulder said inanely.  He remembered hearing about it vaguely
"I just moved in today, and I was wondering if you'd like to share a 
celebratory glass of wine with me.  Moving is such a bitch."
 The tide of adrenaline receding slowly, Mulder took a deep breath and a 
step forward, holding out his hand.  "I am Fox Mulder.  Welcome to the 
building."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, and thank you.  Now, how about that glass 
of wine?"
Fox smiled, recognizing the come on for what it was but figured what the 
hell?  Amy Devon was certainly prettier than his last neighbor.
"You know you shouldn't sneak up on people like that." he said as he 
followed her next door.
"What, would you have shot me?" she inquired with a mocking lilt.
"I am a federal agent.  We're trained to react, and ask questions later." 
he answered, playing the game and interjecting the necessary amount of  
facetiousness into his voice.
"Ooh, a G-man.  Guess I'll have to watch out for you."  she said with 
much the same tone.
	
	Scully twisted in her bed, fighting weakly against the grip of the 
sheets.  She came awake with a sudden jerk, still caught in the web of 
her dream.  Her eyes were wild and a cry ripped from her throat.  It was 
her partner's name and a denial.  
Mulder was in danger.  The certainty lodged in her stomach, a lump of 
coldness just below her sternum. She glanced at the clock.  It was 11:22 
p.m.   She reached for her phone and dialed his number.
Scully put the phone to her ear and listened fatalistically to the 
electronic buzz that signified the lines were down.  
 What had she been going to say if she had gotten through?  "I had a bad 
dream" 
"Sounds like a personal problem to me, Scully." she said out loud.  
Slowly she hung up the receiver and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms 
around them.  Thanks to central heating the room was fairly comfortable, 
but a shiver still ran through her at the sound of the storm outside.  It 
didn't seem like it had let up at all, or was going to in the near future.

It was amazing that the electricity was still on.
She sighed and slid back into the bedclothes, trying to relax enough to 
fall asleep again.  The feeling created by the dream still seemed so real,
 though whatever images had created it were lost in her subconscious.  
She managed to hang onto one, though, that of a wineglass shattering 
against tile.   Red wine was splashing in an arc from the shards of glass.

Suddenly she knew what the dream had been- or at least she had an answer 
that satisfied her troubled mind.  Obviously, her subconscious had been 
replaying the events recorded so matter of factly in the report she had 
been reading earlier that day, giving them color and animation.
Scully let out a sigh, the tension leaving her body almost totally.  She 
was very glad that the telephone lines had been out.
She still tired easily and sleep had almost totally claimed her when she 
remembered that there had been no mention of  a wine glass breaking in 
Mulder's report.  She struggled ineffectual against the heaviness of her 
eyelids, but it was too late, sleep had too great a hold on her.    Her 
very last thought was that Mulder must have mentioned it sometime today, 
or that it was just one of those images that pop into dreams.             
  
	Amy Devon closed the door as her new neighbor left, his eyes heavy and 
his steps slow.  She stayed there for a moment, listening with 
preternatural hearing to make sure Fox Mulder made it back to his 
apartment before the exhaustion from blood loss combined with just a 
little too much to drink caused him to pass out, as she had carefully 
calculated.  When she heard the slam of his door, she relaxed, as much as 
she could anyway, with her Hunger still unsatisfied .  It had been 
dangerous to take those few swallows of blood from Mulder without feeding 
fully on him but her intent had not been to kill him but to make him 
suffer as he had made her family suffer.  It was her purpose now, her 
only purpose.  Revenge.
Amy paced the small room, at odds with herself.  As inhuman as she knew 
herself to be, it was troubling when she found a mortal as attractive as 
she had found Fox Mulder.  She snarled, a base animal noise that rang 
oddly among the civilized accouterments of her apartment.  Enough of this.
  The night was here and her Hunger demanded satiation.  She would hunt.
	Mulder found himself sprawled on his couch the next morning
with little memory of how he had gotten there.  He swallowed and
grimaced at the aftertaste of the thick, sweet wine Amy Devon had
served the night before.
  He hadn't intended to drink as much as he had, but it seemed that his 
glass was always full and it would have been rude to turn it down. He 
stood, then sat down rather quickly as the world swayed muzzily around 
him.  His head seemed intent on pounding itself  to pieces and he rested 
it in his hands.  Maybe he was coming down with the flu.  Or he had a 
hang-over.  He wasn't sure which option was the less attractive.    
He stood again, glad that this time the room stayed in one place.  Mulder 
decided to head for the shower and see how he felt after that.  As walked 
he noticed that his left leg was sore, and he rubbed it distractedly, 
wondering when he had hurt it.  Probably he had bumped into something the 
night before.  He only hoped that he hadn't made too big of a fool out of 
himself.
Despite icy streets and the headache that had settled right behind his 
eyes, Mulder made it to work.  
He walked into the bullpen and recoiled as if from a blow.  The harsh 
fluorescent lights were making his eyes water, though it had never 
happened to him before.  He rubbed his eyes and wished for sunglasses.  
God, maybe he really was sick.  Shaking his head slightly he continued 
down the hallway, ignoring his fellow agents' knowing looks.
	Scully was already in their office, unsurprising really, since he had 
gotten a much later start than usual.  She had her hand on the phone as 
he walked in.  As she saw who it was she drew back her hand quickly, 
almost guiltily.
"I was just about to call you." she said with a nod.  "I thought that 
maybe you were finally going to take a day off."
"No, just overslept." he answered, moving to his desk.
"Are you all right?" she asked, walking over to him.  "You look kind of 
sick."
"Just a headache." he answered, leaning away from the bright glow of his 
desk lamp as she switched it on.  Scully noticed his sensitivity to the 
light and frowned.
"You take anything for it?" she asked, going to her desk and opening a 
drawer.  Probably not, if she knew Mulder.  
He shook his head.  "Didn't have anything for it at home." he said, 
confirming her suspicions.
She dug around in the drawer for a moment and pulled out a bottle of 
aspirin.  "Here, take two of these." she said.
"Thanks, Doc." he said as he shook two of the white pills out.
Scully grinned, watching as he swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee.  
"Just wait until you get my bill." she answered.
"Maybe I should have kept the bottle." Mulder answered, settling back at 
his desk and casually flipping the desk lamp off.  The light hurt his 
eyes.
Scully noticed and she frowned.  Something was going on and the cold 
certainty that somehow Mulder was in danger returned.  She resolved to 
keep a very close eye him in the future.

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

From: WCKV82C@prodigy.com (Mary Abel)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: A PROMISE OF BLOOD 2/2
Date: 8 Aug 1995 01:40:24 GMT


Author's Note:  This one's for Goo, and all you guys longing for 
something a little meatier to read.  The story takes place after  
Firewalker.  Don't talk to me about timelines!  Um, profanity, violence, 
blood, so be warned.  If you want to talk about it send letters to: 
strbck@aol.com or WCKV82C@prodigy.com 	
Disclaimer This a fiction story based on characters created by Chris 
Carter.  No infringement is intended on copyrights held by 10/13 
Productions, Chris Carter or Twentieth Century Productions

A Promise of Blood
by Mary Abel

Amy watched Mulder's eyelids fluttered close and his face relax into 
drugged sleep.  She brushed an errant lock of hair off of his forehead 
and smiled with satisfaction.  
Her plan, if she could refer to it in such a melodramatic fashion, was 
working perfectly.  She and Mulder had been spending their evenings 
together, giving her ample opportunity to feed off him, and then to 
infect him with the tiniest amounts of her blood.  Not enough to change 
him over.   Oh no.  That would be too good for the son of a bitch.   Just 
enough though, to cause him some very uncomfortable physical changes and 
ultimately drive him insane.  She had seen it happen before and it was 
not a nice way to die.  Just like fire, stabbing, and getting staked in 
the head were not nice ways to die.  Especially for those that were never 
meant to die.  Like her family.  Anger surged through her at the 
unfairness of it all and she snarled, her overly long canines gleaming in 
the light.  She wanted to rip Mulder's throat out right now and feel his 
last heartbeat as she sucked him dry .  The rage colored her vision 
redder than usual and her fingers curled into claws.  Slowly she regained 
her temper, using control that had taken her over a hundred years to gain.
  She reminded herself that killing him now was not good enough, that he 
hadn't suffered nearly enough.
When she was sure that her rage wouldn't take control, unleashing her 
hunger and making any question of revenge moot, she bent her head and 
slid her canines into the wound on the inside of his thigh that she had 
made three days earlier.
His blood, sweet as always, gushed into her mouth with all the power of 
his young and healthy heart behind it and she swallowed gladly.  Tonight 
his blood was her desert, and one she well deserved after a steady diet 
of the  polluted and near tasteless blood of the homeless and junkies she 
had been feeding off of.  For safety she had fed off of those who 
wouldn't be missed for a while, if at all.  She snorted.  They may have 
been the safest prey for her to take.  That didn't mean it was the 
tastiest.

	Mulder had gone to work after a troubled night filled with
nightmares of red-eyed demons, savagely ripping and attacking the
people that cowered before them.  He had watched without feeling until
his arm had been tugged by a woman, dirty and frightened.  She had
begged for his help and he nodded, intending to give it... when he
felt something rise within him and he had attacked her, ripping her
throat out as the others had done.  Waking from that one, shaking and
sweating, he had decided that had been enough sleep for him and
decided to go into work a little early.  Waves of sickness washed over
him, alternating with flashes of intense awareness of all his senses.
The lights from the hallway sent jagged spears through his eyes, tears
blurring his vision until he could barely see.  He struggled to focus,
recognizing that something was very wrong, but he couldn't hold any
thought long enough to turn around, get back into his car and go home.
Besides which, he didn't think he could drive.  If anyone had seen
him, no doubt they would have called an ambulance.  But the basement
was empty this early in the morning and the parking garage nearly
deserted.  Somehow he made it to the office and collapsed into his
chair.  He rested his head on the desk, cradled in his arms, just
waiting for the misery to end.
	Scully opened the door and reached over to flip on the lights when a 
horrible rasp came out the near darkness.
"Don't."
Scully frowned and took a step forward.  "Mulder?  Is that you?"
As if she hadn't spoken, the voice continued, a scraped dry croak that 
surely must come from a throat as arid as a desert.  "Don't turn on the 
lights.   Hurts my eyes."
It was Mulder, but not in any condition that Scully recognized.   Her 
mouth dry, she swallowed, continuing to venture in cautiously.
"Mulder, it's Scully.  Are you okay?"  she asked, then grimaced.  
Obviously he was not okay.
"Scully?  Yeah, I know her.  She's a trooper, that's what she is."  he 
said, his voice wandering along  with his mind.  Dana was to the desk by 
now and she ignored Mulder's answer, seeing with her own eyes just how 
very not all right Mulder was.  Paler than she would have thought a 
person could get and still be among the living, he was slumped over, head 
propped on his arms.  Beads of oily sweat stood on his brow and as she 
watched a convulsive shiver racked his body.  Even without reaching out 
to feel his forehead she knew he must be running a temperature.  It was a 
miracle he had made it to the office on his own.  
Scully nodded decisively and came around the desk. putting her face down 
next to Mulder's, turning his head so that he faced her.
"Listen to me, Mulder.  You're sick.  I'm going to take you home, all 
right?"  she told him in a tone that brooked no argument.  
His eyes, dull and glassy, seemed to focus on her for a moment but he 
made no other response.  Scully took that for agreement and hooked an arm 
underneath Mulder's shoulders.  "Come on, Mulder," she grunted under his 
weight.  "You're going to have to help me."
The fact that there was help was within calling distance never occurred 
to her, so great was her concern that Mulder get to safety.
 Once inside her car, Scully looked over at Mulder and wavered between 
taking him home or to the hospital.  His apartment was closer and she 
could call an ambulance from there, if she needed to, but still...
"Scully.  Where are we going?" Mulder asked from the passenger seat.  
Dana looked over at him and breathed a sigh of relief.  His eyes were 
clear and lucid.    
"You have the flu, or something.  I'm taking you home.  Unless you want 
to go to the hospital?"  she asked, though she held little hope that he 
would agree.  And, as he was lucid,  it ceased to become such a priority. 
 
Mulder shook a decisive no and settled himself more comfortably against 
the seat.  "Shouldn't have come to work today.  I thought it was only a 
cold."  he answered, so softly that Scully had to strain to hear his 
words.  "Thanks."
Her face softened as she turned the key, starting the engine.  "You're 
welcome."
Bruise colored clouds that had been piling on the horizon when Scully had 
driven to work just a half hour ago now hung over the city  with ominous 
weight.  Dana sighed and flipped on her lights in order to fight the 
false twilight created by the coming storm.  She hoped it would hold off 
until she got Mulder safely home.  
	Fox straightened from his slumped position on the seat,
unwilling to see if the swiftly building nausea was a result of not
being able to see the road go by.  He leaned his head against the
window and the coolness helped steady him a little.  If he had ever
been this sick before, the memory had certainly dimmed with time.  He
wished now that he had listened to the public service announcer and
gotten a flu shot, even if he did hate needles.  He took a deep
breath, aware suddenly of the multitude of odors that permeated the
car.  Exhaust and oil the strongest ones, but accompanied by others;
the scent of the leather seats and his own smell, and underneath that,
most appealing, was the scent of Scully's perfume, a light and flowery
mixture that she didn't wear often.  And mixed with that, though
positively separate, was the scent of Scully's skin.
Mulder looked over at his partner.  
Her face closed off in concentration, eyes on the road ahead she didn't 
notice his intense stare.  
He could see the faint blue tracery of veins in her neck, disappearing 
into the collar of her blouse.  He thought he could see the faint pulsing 
that marked her heartbeat, and then thought he could hear her heartbeat.  
Or was that his own?  He swallowed and with an effort tore his eyes away, 
turning to look out the window.  Nothing there could hold his gaze and he 
looked over at Scully once more.  He licked his lips.
The scream of a dying woman filled his mind as he remembered his dream 
this morning.  A scream cut short because he had ripped her throat out, 
swallowing hungrily the blood that had gouted out in sync with her 
faltering heartbeats.  
The nausea that he had been trying avoid welled up suddenly, burning the 
back of his throat with acid bile.  He gagged.
 Fox coughed and swallowed hard, narrowly avoiding emptying the contents 
of his stomach.   
"Mulder?  How're you doing?" Scully asked, risking a glance over at him.  

Freezing rain was starting to fall, seconds away from turning into sleet 
that would coat the streets, and make it impossible to drive.  Scully 
gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white, her worry now divided 
equally between the road and her partner.
"I'm okay." he managed to whisper hoarsely.  For a moment he couldn't 
remember how to talk.  "Almost there?" he asked.
"Yeah, we're almost there." Scully answered, her forehead creased with a 
frown.  "Just hang on."
Mulder was able to walk into the building mostly under his steam, though 
Dana kept an arm underneath his elbow because she just didn't trust that 
he wouldn't suddenly collapse.
He stood in front of his door, scrabbling with the keys until Scully took 
them from his hand and unlocked the door.  
She propelled him across the room, to the couch.  If he had a bed, Scully 
had never seen it, as far as she knew he always slept on the couch.  
Mulder's docility troubled her.  She had never seen him go anywhere as 
placidly as he was now. 
He thumped onto the cushions bonelessly, stretching out and swinging his 
legs up and onto the couch.
Dana bent over and lifted him up, removing his jacket and shoes, then 
straightened, looking for something to cover him with.
"Mulder, where do you keep your blankets?" she asked, shaking him softly. 
 His eyes, sliding shut, snapped open.  "In the closet." he answered, 
"Top shelf."  
Dana found one after only a few minutes of searching, and she made a 
mental note to ask Mulder later why he had an oversized stuffed crow 
hanging from his closet ceiling.  
 He was asleep, or seemed to be, curled up on his side.  Dana's lips 
twitched a little as she spread the blanket over him.  This was just too 
domestic for words.  She straightened and looked out the window.  She had 
intended to get him home and then return to work, but she saw that the 
rain had indeed turned to sleet, layering the ground and trees with ice.  
No doubt the roads were impassable by now and would be until they were 
salted.  Hopefully sometime tonight.
She sighed, irritated, mostly at the weather, but a little of it was 
directed at Mulder as well, she admitted to herself with a rueful smile.  
If he hadn't just ignored his sickness like every other man she had known,
 then he probably wouldn't have gotten as sick and she wouldn't be stuck 
here until God knew when.  
Scully called into the Bureau, intending to tell them that she and Mulder 
wouldn't be in today but the angry buzzing indicated the lines were down 
once more.  Shrugging philosophically, she hung up and decided to go see 
if Mulder had any decent tea.
Probably not, but she could always hope.

 	The moment the sun slipped beneath the horizon, Amy Devon woke, in the 
tradition of her kind, without any transition between unconsciousness and 
waking.  One minute she had been caught in blood-hued memories, played 
out like dreams and the next she was staring at the window, already 
mirror-like with darkness.  She curled her lip.  The storm that had been 
playing itself out all day would make hunting very difficult-  even the 
most desperate and destitute of mortals could find a place for shelter, 
inside, or by the time Amy would find them they were already dead, 
murdered by a lack of compassion and Mother Nature.  She stood and 
stretched, taking pleasure in the fitness of her body, strong and nearly 
unendurable.  She would stay like this forever.  The thought was pleasing 
and her mouth widened into a predatory smile.  And once Fox Mulder was 
taken care of, she could return to her home, and maybe, she would create 
a new family.  Not that anyone could replace the one that the government 
bastard had taken away from her, but... she was lonely.  If a vampire 
could experience an emotion as pitifully human as loneliness  She 
shrugged and walked to the shower.  There was time enough to consider it 
later, after Fox Mulder was dead.
	Scully yawned and stretched, her concentration broken by a low
murmuring on the couch.  She had spent the day watching over Mulder,
drinking the surprisingly good tea that he stocked, and sampling the
expected, eclectic book collection.
"Mulder?  You awake?" she asked, pitching her voice low.  The yellow glow 
of the reading lamp was just enough to illuminate the chair where Scully 
sat.  She couldn't tell if his eyes were opened or closed.
"Scully?  You still here?" he asked with an edge of surprise.  His voice 
was tired and soft.  
She smiled a little and standing, walked over to him.  He was looking up 
at her with eyes clear and lucid.  Apparently the time he had spent 
sleeping had had a beneficent effect on his illness.  "You weren't 
exactly fit to be left alone." she answered.  "And there's an ice storm 
going on outside.  I couldn't go anywhere anyway."
"Oh.  Well, thanks." he answered, somewhat inadequately, he thought. 
"You're welcome.  Now, how do you feel?" Scully asked, perching on the 
edge of the coffee table.  
Mulder closed his eyes, running an internal check.  "Better, I guess.  
Tired, and I wouldn't take any chances on eating anything, but I guess 
I'm doing better than this morning."
Scully rolled her eyes, reaching over to take his pulse.  "I'd say.  Do 
you even remember getting to work?"
He opened his mouth, thinking, then closed it slowly.  "No."
"Well, when I found you in the office, you were pretty well out of it.  
But your fever's down now, and you seem clearheaded enough."  
"Sure.  Things still seem a little fuzzy, though." he answered.
"Probably the result of the  fever.  I made some tea, do you want any?" 
Scully asked, returning Mulder's wrist to him.  His pulse was a little 
more fast and faint than she liked,  it was something that she would have 
to watch for.  
"I have tea?" he asked, looking blank.
Scully felt a little uncomfortable.  "Well, there was some in the cabinet,
" she answered.  "I assumed it was yours."  All kinds of ideas about what 
it was and who might have put it in Mulder's kitchen began to run through 
her head.  
Mulder struggled to keep a straight face, but the look on Scully's face 
was too much.  He chuckled, shaking his head.  "It's mine.  I was just 
kidding.  Phoebe sent me that for Christmas.  A peace offering, I guess.
"
"Do you want any?" she asked again, assiduously avoiding the subject of 
the diamond-witted, flint-edged British inspector.  
"Um, sure.  I can get it..."
Dana sighed, irritated.  "Sit.  I'll be right back."
Mulder watched her go through the door, a faintly bemused expression on 
his wan face.  He was a little embarrassed at the thought of being so 
vulnerable in front of someone else.  It was definitely easier to keep 
things, emotions and disabilities, away from other people and it was 
certainly safer.  Scully, though, she was a different case.  He almost 
didn't mind shedding his shell on around her.  They'd certainly gone 
through enough together.  More than enough to drive any other person over 
the edge.  But they were still here, still looking for the truth in the 
cracks and crevices of cover-ups and denials.  It felt good to be able to 
trust someone.  And it was just as pleasing to have that trust returned.  

Scully returned a few minutes later, a cup of tea steaming gently in her 
hand.  Mulder had the goofiest smile on his face.  She wondered what he 
was thinking about.
"Here's your tea, Mulder--" she started to say.
Mulder turned towards her.
The change was indefinable but undeniably there.  
It must have been something in the light or a reflection, because his 
eyes seemed to be turning red.  She stopped, her mouth open, literally at 
a lost for words.  "Mulder?" she asked softly, taking a step backward 
reflexively.  
Mulder swallowed.  He could hear Scully but it was as if she was at the 
end of the a long tunnel.  What was much louder and much more enticing, 
was the sound of his heartbeat, and then, echoing that, the steady rhythm 
that he knew was Scully's heart, pumping a glorious tide of crimson 
through her body, each sound a reminder of life, advancing it beat by 
beat.  He curled his hands into fists, trying to understand what was 
happening to him.  It felt like his head was too small for his brain, and 
his clothes were too tight.  He growled, unaware that he was doing so and 
ripped his shirt open.  
The world seemed to focus on only one thing- the beat of Scully's heart.  
He stood, and took a step forward.  There was a force welling up in him 
and he could nothing to fight it.  It was too seductive, too powerful.  
He didn't want to fight it.  
"Mulder.... what's wrong?" Scully asked, her voice rising in uncertainty. 
 Fear was playing bony fingers on her spine and the hair on the back of 
her neck was lifting.  
He didn't answer her, just advanced another step.  His eyes were 
glittered fervently, like he was seeing some internal vision.  They had a 
definite hue of red.
His hands moved up and she saw crimson half circles on his palms where 
his nails had been pressing into them.  He was fighting against something.
 There was nothing of the Mulder that she knew and had worked with for 
the past year and a half looking out of his eyes, just something 
frighteningly animal-like and cold.  The way that Tooms and Cecil L'ively 
had looked at the world, with no feeling and no conscience.  
Scully might have stood there forever, while whatever wore Mulder's skin 
advanced on her, step by predatory step, if he hadn't grinned at the 
surety of his prey.  Needle-like fangs, something out of a horror movie, 
gleamed in his mouth.  It was enough to break her out of her paralysis.  
Never mind that her mind was shouting that it couldn't be, that Mulder 
couldn't possibly be attacking her.  The fangs were a symptom.  Of what, 
her mind refused to comment on.  Her job was to diagnose symptoms and 
determine their cause.  And, when the situation called for it, to 
terminate the cause.  One way or another she would do that.
Mulder swayed, struggling to regain control of himself.  He was watching 
a nightmare unfold before his eyes,and he couldn't  do anything to 
prevent it.  Or some repressed aspect of his personality had finally 
split off and taken control.  The memory of a helpless woman's scream 
echoed through his head.  
Run, Scully, he wanted to scream.  He couldn't see her hurt, not again.  

"I can't..." he started to say, the hoarse whisper all he could manage.  
"You... should... leave..."
Scully watched him, more frightened that she had ever been before.  Her 
nerves were screaming at her to run, and there seemed to be a never-
ending flood of adrenaline washing through her blood.  Another part, the 
part she had cultivated over long years of confronting frightening 
situations forced her to stay still, waiting.  She couldn't run, couldn't 
hope to outrun Mulder, not with the advantages of his longer legs and 
endurance.  But if she could keep still long enough, then maybe she could 
take him out.  She remembered more than a few things from her self 
defense class, and if all else failed there was always a man's weakest 
point.  A grin born of her fear stretched her lips unnaturally, and she 
felt like crying.  Symptoms of hysteria, the rational voice she almost 
always listened to, diagnosed.  The voice had a tremor quaking through it,
 though.
Mulder took the step that brought him within touching distance of Dana, 
and his arms started to reach out to her.  Nothing was left in his eyes 
but hunger and madness.  Like the bird nearly hypnotized by the snake 
Scully barely moved in time, bringing her knee up and down in a powerful 
blow that hit it's target in Mulder's crotch and instep.  He doubled for 
a second, gasping, then straightened.  Without thinking, Scully drew her 
arm back, the calm sound of her older brother's voice in the back of her 
mind.  "You hit them in the balls, Starbuck, and then, if they don't go 
down, you take them out with a right cross." 
Which is exactly what she did.
Mulder crumpled at her feet  the back of his head clipping the coffee 
table's edge, the insane light dying in his eyes as conciousness fled.  
Scully took a step back fastidiously, shaking her hand.  She hoped she 
hadn't broken anything.  
Her legs refused to support her anymore and she sat abruptly on the step 
behind her.  She closed her eyes and swallowed  hard, struggling to brick 
up her tears and hysteria.  That could wait for another time.  Right now, 
she had to get Mulder to the hospital.  Find out what was wrong with him. 
 Find out if there was a cure. 
A deep breath, then another,  and Scully thought maybe she would be able 
to talk coherently on the phone.  She felt the coolness of evaporation on 
her legs and, looking down, saw that she had dropped the mug of tea at 
some point and that it had spilled all over her pants and the floor.  The 
mug, however, had survived the fall.
Dana picked it up and walked over to the phone, dialing 911 almost fast 
enough that she couldn't see her hand shaking.
She had put down the phone and gotten Mulder back on the couch in some 
semblance of decency.  He was still deeply unconscious, a symptom of his 
illness, she thought, rather than a result of her blow.  She checked his 
pulse and found that it was even faster than when she had checked it that 
morning, and faint.  If she didn't know better she would say he was 
hopped up on some kind of amphetamine.  His pupils reacted normally- to 
an extent.  They tightened to a pinpoint almost too fast to be seen when 
exposed to light.
There was a knock on the door, but she knew it wasn't the paramedics.  
Tiredly she walked over to the door, her body aching from all the recent 
stress it had been through.
"Yes?" she asked the woman standing in the hallway.  Men probably turned 
their heads to follow her walk, and women too, if only to brush up on 
their technique.  
"I was wondering if there was a problem?"  the woman asked, politely 
enough.  "I heard some noise, and I know Mulder hasn't been feeling well 
lately."
Dana regarded her for a moment.  Why was this woman tweaking her 
suspicions? 
"Uh, yes.  He is very ill.  But I called an ambulance and they should be 
here soon." she answered, shifting position so that she blocked the 
doorway.  
"Oh.  Nothing serious, I hope." the woman answered.
"I think he'll be okay, once he gets to a hospital." Dana answered, 
wondering why she thought that there was a smile, a cruel sadistic gleam 
of humor lurking in the back of the wide and lovely blue eyes.  
The woman made as if to leave, then turned back.  "I'm so sorry, I've 
forgotten my manners.  I'm Amy Devon, I live next door."
Dana reluctantly took the hand offered, mostly because she couldn't think 
of a reason not to.  "Dana Scully." she answered.  "I'm Mulder's partner.
"
"Of course.  He's mentioned you once or twice.  Agent Scully, you will 
let me know if there's anything I can do?  Mulder's been a great help, 
what with the confusion of moving and all."
"Of course." Dana answered, but what she wanted to say was: I think 
you've done quite enough already, thank you, Amy Devon.
She closed the door and leaned against it.  Seldom had she ever taken 
such an instantaneous  disliking to anyone. Not even Phoebe Green had 
garnered such a reaction.  There had been something about Amy Devon that 
made her want to run a computer check on her and make sure that her gun 
was loaded and accessible.  But was it because what had just happened a 
few minutes ago?  The adrenaline, the fear were still running through her 
system.  Maybe she was just looking for a place to dump it, besides 
Mulder.  She hated the fact that she had been afraid of the one person 
that she knew she could trust implicitly.  
She straightened as she heard the wail of the siren.  Help was here, 
finally.

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

From: WCKV82C@prodigy.com (Mary Abel)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: A PROMISE OF BLOOD: THE END
Date: 8 Aug 1995 02:56:36 GMT


Author's Note:  This one's for Goo, and all you guys longing for 
something a little meatier to read.  The story takes place after  
Firewalker.  Don't talk to me about timelines!  Um, profanity, violence, 
blood, so be warned.  If you want to talk about it send letters to: 
strbck@aol.com or WCKV82C@prodigy.com 	
Disclaimer This a fiction story based on characters created by Chris 
Carter.  No infringement is intended on copyrights held by 10/13 
Productions, Chris Carter or Twentieth Century Productions

A Promise of Blood
by Mary Abel

The EMT's, though polite enough, looked at her a little strangely after 
examining Mulder.  Scully set her teeth and closed her eyes for a moment, 
following them without comment as they propelled him out on a gurney.  
There was the expected crowd of spectators, and Scully had a general 
sense that they had been expecting something like this from Mulder for 
quite some time.  Dana looked at the sky in the brief moments in the cold,
 waiting for Mulder to be safely stashed and she saw that the storm was 
done for now, the thick dark clouds fading to nothingness, letting a few 
stars shine through.  
"Miss?"  the one with the mustache asked, holding open the door.  "Are 
you coming?"
For answer, Scully climbed in next to him as nimbly as she could, 
settling herself out of the way on a low seat.
The technicians exchanged looks they didn't think she could see, and 
busied themselves with taking Mulder's vitals and reporting the 
information to their radio operator.
The expected instructions came back and Scully watched unemotionally as 
the EMT's followed them.  Finally one dared to look over at her.
"Can you tell us please, how the patient acquired his head injury?" he 
asked, as kindly as he could.  
Scully knew there wasn't a mark on her.  It must be the lingering marks 
of fear that he was treading around so carefully.
"He fell and hit his head on a coffee table" she answered.   While it 
wasn't the exact truth it was close enough and Scully had long since 
learned that in dealing with the general public, a little prevarication 
was almost always in order.  
"How did he happen to fall?" the other asked, his tone more openly 
suspicious.
"Mulder has some kind of virus with a high temperature.  I believe he was 
delirious, got up and lost his balance." she answered.  
"And who exactly are you?" the more suspicious one asked.
"Dana Scully.  I work with Mulder, brought him home today when it was 
apparent that he was sick."
"Okay, thank you.  I don't think he has a concussion, but the docs at the 
hospital will be able to tell us for sure." 
That was from the more easy-going one, and Dana saw him shoot a glance at 
his partner that warned him to back off.  She appreciated it.
	Mulder swallowed, a movement that seemed harder than it was
usually and opened his eyes. Above him was a long strip of fluorescent
light, swaying back and forth.  Inexplicably the sight triggered a
fear in him so deep as to be primal and he struggled against the
restraints that held his arms and legs down.
Two faces came into his line of vision and he struggled harder.  He 
couldn't let them, let them...  Whatever he couldn't let them do was lost 
in the sound of a familiar voice.  He turned toward it, knowing something 
was wrong but unable to concentrate long enough to figure it out.  The 
scene around him swelled and diminished with a frightening sense of 
unreality.
"Mulder, calm down.  We're taking you to the hospital." Scully said, 
speaking with a calm that she most definitely did not feel.  She had 
grabbed his clutching hands when he had first moved and they closed in a 
steel-like grip around hers.  She didn't care how much he squeezed 
together her metacarpals as long as that awful fear in his eyes was 
calmed.  When he quieted, Scully looked him over, more concerned by the 
heat that she felt burning from him than anything she might have glimpsed 
earlier.  His immune system kept turning up the heat, trying to cook 
whatever was attacking it.  Unfortunately that was a theory that only 
worked to a point.  Once the body reached a certain temperature 
beneficial proteins started cooking too.  And then you died.  
She looked up and saw that the EMT's were as concerned as she.
The hospital was close.  It could only be a blessing; the roads were 
still very icy and Scully could feel the driver fighting to control the 
ambulance.  The EMT's whisked Mulder out and into the Emergency room 
doors.  Scully followed as fast as she could.
Another convulsion started, making Mulder's body arch like a taut bow, 
straining against the straps that held him still.  
By the time Scully got to the doors he was disappearing through a set of 
double doors on the other side of the room.  She tried to follow but was 
prevented by a nurse with the expected air of brutal efficiency tempered 
with compassion.  
"Excuse me, Ma'am.  If you'll come with me, you can help me admit your 
friend there.  By that time the doctor will have seen him--"
Instead of protesting, as Scully knew the nurse expected, she allowed 
herself to be led to the desk.  The sooner she complied the sooner she 
could see Mulder and determine what the situation was.

  	The confusion of the emergency room waiting room swirled
around Scully like water eddying around a rock.  She was there,
listening to every cry of pain and moan of anguish, yet she kept her
face and feelings like stone, immobile in the chaos that surrounded
her.
A doctor came to the door, looking tired and rumpled and far too young.
"Dana Scully?" he asked, pitching his voice so that it carried through 
the ambient noise.  Dana stood, trying to deny the acceleration of her 
heart and the suddenness slickness of her palms.  
"Yes?" she asked.
"Um, hi." the doctor answered.  "I'm Dr. Fremen.  I'm in charge of Fox 
Mulder's case.  I was told you came in with him?"
"That's correct.  What's your prognosis?"  she answered.  She almost 
smiled when his eyebrows rose at her tone.  "I should tell you, I'm a 
medical doctor, though I don't practice."
"Oh.  Then I guess there's no pulling any blows with you then," he 
answered pulling her into a quieter area in the hall.  
She smiled wryly.  "No.  I'd like to see him, if I may."  There was an 
underlying tautness to her voice that reminded Dr. Fremen of high tension 
wires.
"I'm sure that can be arranged, but I'd like to talk to for a minute 
first.  Your friend is very ill, as I'm sure you've surmised."
"Has his fever subsided?" 
"No, in fact it's climbing higher.  We have him packed with ice and we've 
pumped him full of antibiotics, wide stream, but it would really help if 
you could tell me what symptoms he's displayed prior to today."
Scully bit her lip, thinking over the past few days.  "He's been fatigued,
 sensitive to light, complaining of headaches.  He came to work this 
morning but I found him at his desk, delirious and took him home.  He 
slept most of today, woke just after six, complaining of nausea."  Her 
voice trailed off as she thought of how best to phrase the next part.  
She could hardly say 'Just after he woke, he suddenly had fangs and was 
looking at me like I was the main course'  Somehow, she didn't think that 
would go over too well.  "I went and made him some tea, when I heard him 
cry out.  I found him on the floor, unconcious.  I think he tried to 
stand and fainted, hitting his head on the table.  That's when I called 
the ambulance."
"The EMT's reported that he regained consciousness in the ambulance and 
that he reacted with great anxiety.  Is this consistent with your 
observations?"
"Yes, I believe that the fever was taking control of his mind.  Dr.  
Fremen, you haven't answered my question.  What's your prognosis?"
Fremen shrugged.  "From what you've told me I believe that Mr. Mulder has 
contracted a form of the flu.  I can't tell you more than that until 
we've run some blood work.  We're trying to get and keep his fever down 
and as I said, we're pumping him full of antibiotics and other good 
things that should help kill any nasty bugs living in his body."
"I'd like to see those results on his blood, when you get them back." 
Scully said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  
Fremen nodded, mirroring the motion.  This was one intense lady.  "Uh, 
excuse me for asking but where's your office?" he asked.  
Scully smiled slowly.  "FBI Headquarters."
Fremen nodded.  "Then I gather he's a bit more than just a co-worker, am 
I correct?" he asked.  
"We're partners.  We've... been though a lot together." she said softly, 
more to herself than to the dark haired man standing in front of her.
"I can imagine.  Um, let me take you to his room.  If he's awake and 
aware, I'm sure he'd be glad to see you. If not..."  The doctor's words 
trailed off on a shrug.    
	Mulder moved restlessly through his sleep, shifting through the strata 
of dreams and thoughts like he was trying to find something.  He knew he 
was in a hospital but that information floated dimly in and out of his 
awareness.  
Finally though the veil lifted enough that he came awake, opening his 
eyes to the sterile white room he lay in.   He was cold, though blankets 
were draped over him and it took him  a moment to understand that there 
were ice-packs all around him.  He tried to move but was stopped by a 
voice.  "Keep still, Mulder." it said, a woman's voice, well known, 
trusted.  A name floated in his head.  Samantha.  But that wasn't right.  
It wasn't Samantha's voice.  It was... it was Scully's voice.  His 
partner.
A flash of memory.  Scully, looking at him with fearful eyes and hands 
upraised in a defensive gesture. 
"Scully?  Where am I?" he asked, deciding to try and decipher the meaning 
of that one later.
Scully took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, made up partly of 
relief.  
"You're in the Georgetown Medical Center."
Mulder stared at her for such a long time that she wasn't sure he had 
heard or understood.  It was so odd to see Mulder like this, at half his 
intensity, like a gas flame that's been turned down.
"How do you feel?" Scully asked.
Mulder was silent for a moment.  "I'm cold.  Can we get rid of the 
icepacks?"
"Not until your fever's gone down." she answered lightly.  "They were 
pretty worried for awhile.  Me too." she added after a moment.  
"What have I got?" he asked.  "I've never been this sick."
"I would hope not.  Some strain of flu, they think.  You're lucky that 
you're not dead, Mulder. Or in a coma."
"I guess."
Mulder wanted to say thanks again, but he had the feeling that the 
conversation would then turn into an emotional mush pit.  Something he 
wasn't quite ready for.  
 Scully straightened, calmer now that she had talked to Mulder.  "You get 
some rest.  I'll be around later, okay?"
That seemed like a very good idea to Mulder.  He was so tired, he 
couldn't even keep his eyes open.  They slid shut, returning him to his 
restless sleep.
Scully watched him for a moment.  Now she knew, a little anyway, of what 
he must have gone through when their positions had been reversed.  And 
for her partner it had probably been much worse, blaming himself, that he 
hadn't been fast enough, smart enough to figure out the puzzle before it 
was too late.
She had told him it wasn't his fault.  That these things happened, 
especially in the FBI.  If she had wanted to be cocooned, she could have 
stayed at the Academy, or gone into the NIR.  She had made her choice to 
be on the field and on the field she would remain.  It was in her blood.  
Just as much as it was in his blood.  
She sighed, checked the EKG off to the side, and satisfied at what she 
saw, left the room.  She wanted a look at Mulder's blood samples.
	The problem was the hospital didn't want Scully looking at anyone's 
blood samples, not even after she flashed her ID and threatened to call a 
federal investigation of Medicare fraud to the hospital.  She wasn't in 
practice, she wasn't covered by the hospital's insurance... The list went 
on.   She ended up in Mulder's room, practically shoved into a chair and 
told to stay there in no uncertain terms.  Her cheeks were flushed, 
partly with embarrassment at her blowhard behavior but mostly with anger.

She stood and checked Mulder over, then walked to the window.  In the 
eastern horizon there was the faintest edge of pearly gray, and she 
looked at her watch in surprise.  A whole night couldn't have slipped by 
already, could it have?  
Mulder had been sleeping for most of the night.  Resting comfortably as 
the doctors said.
Scully twitched the curtains closed and paced the room restlessly, 
burning nervous energy.  Just behind that, exhaustion waited.  That 
rational voice in head, the one that had gotten noticeably softer since 
yesterday evening, told her it was time to get some sleep.  She should 
call work then crash at home.  
On the bed, Mulder twisted.  He dreamed, of a desert that was nothing but 
featureless sand.  Overhead, the sun burned cruelly.  He was burning up 
and he couldn't go anywhere.
Scully watched him for a minute worried.  Despite all the antibiotics 
that had been pumped into him in the last twelve hours, despite the ice 
packs that were changed periodically his fever continued to climb.  And 
Mulder continued to slip deeper into unconsciousness.
Mulder shot up, his hands out in front of him.  "The sun!" he shouted.  
"It's killing me."
Scully jumped at his sudden outburst and immediately tried to restrain 
him. "Mulder no..." she said, trying to calm him.  It had worked before 
at any rate.
He looked at her and she could see that his eyes were clear.  He wasn't 
delirious, not in the classic sense anyway.  "Don't let the sun touch me, 
Scully." he pleaded.  
She nodded, ready to tell him anything if it would calm him down.  "I 
won't.  Just rest."
Reassured by her words he allowed her to settle him back on the bed.  He 
watched from underneath heavy lids as she walked over and closed the 
curtains fully.   The thick cloth cut any light from coming in.
As she walked back, he smiled a little and his eyes closed.  He slept.
Scully breathed deeply, closing her eyes.  He was losing the battle.  She 
could see it.  The fever, the illness was taking it's toll on his body 
and mind.
She set her jaw and walked out the door.
"I need to talk to Dr. Fremen." she told the nurse on duty.
"Dr. Fremen is on rounds.  He can't be disturbed."
"I'm Dr. Scully.  Dr. Fremen is treating a friend of mine and I would 
like to see the results of his bloodwork."
"I'm sorry, only authorized personnel are allowed to see patient's 
records.  That means attending physician and staff only" the nurse 
replied with just a touch of smugness.  
Scully clenched her hands, digging her fists into her palms.  She would 
not pull her gun and make the woman give her the records.  She would not. 
 It would be unprofessional and Mulder would never forgive her for 
getting put in jail without his being around to gloat.
"Look, Dr. Fremen should be around in just a few minutes.  He runs his 
rounds like clockwork and he always hit this floor at about seven thirty.
" the nurse told her, apparently relenting.  Maybe she had just gotten a 
glimpse of the homicidal gleam in Scully's eyes.  "There's coffee in the 
waiting room.  Why don't you get some?"
Scully tried a smile and nodded.  "I'll do that.  I'll be back in a few 
minutes."
Scully poured herself a cup and methodically added creamer, stirring the 
cloudy liquid with a plastic stirrer, then looked around the room.  There 
was only one other person in the room, a handsome man with a beard.  He 
was laying out a game of solitaire on the table.  She watched him idly 
for a moment, sipping the coffee.
"Good morning.... Agent Scully." the man said without looking up.
"What?  How did you know my name?" she asked, almost spilling her coffee.

"Oh... we have mutual friends.  I was very sorry to hear about Agent 
Mulder's illness.  Do they know what it is?"
Scully shook her head.  "I don't know why I should tell you." she said, 
taking the defensive.  
The man shook his head.  "It's in Mr. Mulder's best interest.  I know 
they haven't found out what it is.  What's affecting him is a very old 
poison."
"Poison?" Scully asked, shocked.  "Who poisoned him?"
"One who wants revenge.  That's all you need to know now."
"What's the antidote?" Scully asked.  
The man held up a vial.  It was full of milky liquid that was tinged with 
pink.  "Consider this a gift.  We wouldn't want to lose Agent Mulder 
unnecessarily."
"Who's we?" Scully asked.  Suspicion was heavy in her voice.
"Oh, your bosses.  My bosses.  Influential people.  You give this to him. 
 He will get better.  Trust me."
"I don't trust anyone." Scully answered automatically.
"Now that's a lie, Agent Scully.  But on the whole, very sound advice.  
By the way.  I'm very glad to see you back."
With that, the man turned and left, his coat billowing behind him.
Scully stared after him, her mouth open slightly.  She looked down at the 
vial.  It was unlabeled.  She should throw it out.  For all she knew it 
would kill Mulder.  Her eyes dropped to the table and widened.  The cards 
were arranged in shape of the letter X.  She looked at the vial once more 
then walked back to Mulder's room.
Dr. Fremen stood outside of Mulder's room, his face very still.  Scully 
looked at him and her heart skipped a beat.  He looked up at her approach.
  "We're losing him." he told her.  There isn't anything I can do.  
Nothing's working."  His eyes held defeat.
Scully's hand closed around the vial and she bit her lip.  Without a word 
she brushed past the doctor and walked in Mulder's room.
The EKG monitor only showed one pulse on the screen.  The doctor was 
right.  Mulder's systems were shutting down.  His fever hadn't broken.
She held the vial up and stared at it.  It could kill Mulder.  Could was 
the operative word.  Whatever was in him now was  killing him.  Was.  
Right now.  She couldn't stand by and let that happen without doing 
anything.  She wouldn't stand by and do nothing.
Without a word, she unwrapped a sterile hypodermic and inserted the 
needle in to the vial.  Slowly she pulled the plunger out, capturing ten 
Cc's of the liquid in the tube.  Tapping it carefully she pushed the 
needle into Mulder's arm and pushed the plunger.
The result was immediate.  He stiffened.  Scully watched, horrified.  For 
a second she was sure she had killed him.
She looked at his vitals.  For the longest moment nothing happened.  Then 
they began to edge up to normal parameters.
She looked down at Mulder.  He had relaxed but aside from that there 
wasn't any other outside change.  Taking a deep breath she muttered 
"Please God.", then emptying the vial completely she pushed it all into 
Mulder's arm.  This time the reaction was more immediate and frightening. 
 He convulsed, gripping her arm hard enough to raise a bruise later.  The 
heart monitor speeded up.  Sweat popped out all over Mulder's body.
"Oh God." Scully whispered, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.  
She swallowed the saltiness and waited.
As before, he relaxed, slowly, until he lay on the bed.  As he had 
relaxed his vitals had returned to normal and stayed there.  Scully 
waited, praying without words.  Mulder had to be all right.
Had to.
A minute passed.  Then another.  Scully watched.  Finally Mulder opened 
his eyes.  His color was good.  His eyes were clear.  "Hey Scully.  What 
are you doing here?" he asked, puzzled, then looked around.  "What am I 
doing in a hospital?"
Scully threw away the vial and the  hypodermic, grinning all the while.  
"How do you feel?"
"Like I've been asleep for far too long." Mulder answered.  "But I'm 
still a little tired." He yawned, then closed his eyes and drifted to 
sleep.
Two Days Later
	"I'm fine.  I'd like to be released now." Mulder told
Dr. Fremen plainly.
  He had said it as politely as he was going to.  In a few minutes he was 
going to draw his gun and shoot his way out.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea." Dr. Fremen answered.  "We 
still don't know what caused your illness or even why you got better."
"But I am better.  That's the point.  Isn't that what you doctors want?" 
Mulder asked plaintively.  He looked over at his partner, sure that she 
was laughing at him.  Scully stood by the window, holding a bag 
containing civilian clothes for Mulder to put on, once he got the release 
he wanted.  
"Well, yes, but we like to know why too.  People don't just get better." 
the doctor answered.
"This one did.  Look, you guys have done a great job.  I'm still alive. 
But if you wanted  to extend my visit, for, say less than honest reasons..
 then I couldn't do any less than to investigate those reasons." he said 
threateningly.
Dr. Fremen scowled.  What was it with federal agents?  "Fine.  He's your 
problem now.  If he has a relapse..."
"I'm fine."  Mulder repeated.
Dr. Fremen gave up, leaving the room.  On his way out he muttered darkly 
at the nurse.
Mulder and Scully waited until the medical personnel had left the room 
then chuckled at each other.  
	"You using my threats now?" Scully asked, throwing the bag at him.
Mulder disappeared into the bathroom.  "Well, if it works, no reason to 
change it."  he answered, his voice muffled.
A few minutes later the agents walked out of the hospital and into the 
bright sunlight outside.
	Epilog
	Amy Devon's apartment was empty.  There was no sign of the seductive 
woman and no record of her exsistance.  Mulder couldn't even find a 
neighbor that had talked to her.  It was like she had never exsisted.  In 
a way his memories of her were like the memories of a bad dream.
	He leaned back in his chair and looked with disbelief at his partner.  
And he was the one they called Spooky, he thought.  
	"So what you're saying, basically, is that Amy Devon was a
vampire bent on revenge for that case in California.  And a mysterious
man gave you the antidote to whatever was killing me."
	Scully almost grinned at his expression.  Now he knew what if
felt like when somebody threw a wild story at him.  "That's what I'm
saying." she answered. "These are the facts, Mulder.  Amy Devon does
not exist in a record or file anywhere, not even overseas, except a
brief mention in an epitaph from 1768.  There was a wound on the
inside your thigh, on the femoral artery. You tried to attack me and
you had fangs.  I saw them.  Do you believe me?"
Mulder nodded . "Interesting explanation." he said slowly.  "I just wish 
the sample had lasted more than a day.
Scully nodded.  "Me too."  
"It's weird.  The government knows about vampires?"
"It sounds like an X-file." Scully answered.
Mulder nodded, taking the file Scully offered him.  It did sound like an 
X-file.  And the government knowing about vampires wasn't the weirdest 
thing he had ever heard.  He just wondered whom was sucking dry whom.
                                                              The End