When Conspiracies Collide:
Center of Attention
Axianna - permanantpsycosis.iwarp.com/


This is pretty much the same spiel as in the first book so you can skip 
it if you want. Just know who's mine and who isn't.


Disclaimers

Jane is mine, as is the character of Father, AKA Alex Thompson, Micheal 
Bentley and a few others. Although, in both cases, I don’t own all of 
their various identities. 

Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryans, Joe Dawson, Methos AKA Adam Pierson, 
Immortals, the Game, Watchers, Joe’s bar and the Dojo all belong to 
Rysher’s and their creators. 

Jarod, Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, Mr. Raines, Mr. Lyle, Angelo, 
Brigitte, Kyle, Mr. Parker, Mrs. Catherine Jameson Parker (ever notice 
she's about the only one with a first and last name on the show?), 
Sweepers, Cleaners and the Center belong to their respective owners, 
such as NBC. I expanded their universe to include the Assassins.

Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, AD Walter Skinner, Cancerman, the 
Lone Gunmen, the Well Manicured man, Mighty Morphin’ Bounty hunters, 
Giant Fluke men, Eugene Tooms, William Mulder, Mrs. Mulder, Samantha 
Mulder, Mrs. Scully, Melissa Scully, Bill Scully, the X-files and it’s 
associated conspiracy all belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and all those 
guys.

This is a work of fiction that I’m not making any money of off so don’t 
sue me. It’s not like I have any money in the first place. Just talk to 
all the people I owe money too, including the Bank. I’m just a poor, 
starving student, who’s soon to be a poor, starving working stiff 
trying to pay of student loans. Of course, that hinges on me actually 
finding a job when I graduate. If I graduate.

Continuity

Just forget about it and call it an AU; it doesn’t really fit in 
anywhere. But if you want to get picky, the series could start before 
the season finale of the 97-98 season for Pretender (Season 2) and X-
files (Season 5) and so before XF: Fight the Future. It spins off from 
there. I do mention in passing various things that have occurred in 
previous X-Files, but nothing too major and it’s not like you have to 
have watched every episode to get what’s gong on. For Highlander, just 
ignore the season 5 finale. Maybe I should take out membership in Clan 
Denial. . . RICHIE LIVES!!!! Even if you don't see him in this one.

This is the third installment of When Conspiracies Collide, a multi-
show crossover. The first two installments, Auspicious Beginnings and 
The Fountain of Youth really should be read in order for you to make 
any sense about what in heaven’s name is going on. 

Personal notes

Hopefully this one is better than the last one. Also, don’t try reading 
this as a short break from studying. Just ask Michelle. We decided to 
take a break from studying for finals, so I edited and then she read. A 
few hours later, we finished the book and it was time for supper. So 
major kudos to her for giving up study time to read this and comment on 
plot and for picking up the numerous typos (honest they’re typos, my 
grammar’s not THAT lousy). As a result, any Oops you see are mine and 
mine alone. Kudos also go to Terri for all her support and for not 
killing me as I fed this to her one unedited chapter at a time. With 
any luck I might finish off the last book sometime soon, but no 
guarantees.

Rating

I think I could get away with calling this one a PG 13. A fair bit of 
mental anguish, but other than that, not to many bad words and only a 
little violence and none of that too graphic.

***

Prologue

   Hi Fox, 

   I told you I’d tell you when I was up to something, I just never 
   said I’d tell you right away. Don’t worry though, cause by the time 
   you get this, I’ll be back and have the info I’m after.  Father 
   Micheal and I are breaking into the Center tonight to try and find 
   out what happened to me there. 

   Russ will be looking after the bar for me, and Duncan’s keeping an 
   eye out for people nosing around. Whoever sent Mary, hasn’t made a 
   move since. It’s been over four months and not a whisper. I don’t 
   know whether to be relieved or worried.

   So how are things at work? Anything weird lately? The hunted house 
   sounded like it was actually a blast. I can’t believe you and Scully 
   tried to kill each other because of a bunch of ghosts? Though I have 
   to admit, I’m surprised she hasn’t shot you yet. Wait a sec, she 
   already has, hasn’t she. 

   Well, aside from collecting information about the Center, things 
   have been pretty slow. The knee is back in fighting form and the 
   redness is finally leaving the scar on my arm. It’s down from bright 
   red to a dull pink. Pretty soon, I might be able to wear short 
   sleeves again.

   Oh well. I’m not big on letter writing, as I’m sure you’ve heard 
   from Mom, so I’ll leave off here. Say Hi to her for me, and Scully 
   too. And don’t forget to feed the goldfish, the poor thing was on 
   its last fin when I saw you last month. Take care!

   Always,

   Sam.


           

Special Agent Fox Mulder gently placed the letter down on the table and 
immediately dialed up the bar in Seattle. After an interminable wait 
listening to the multiple rings, he got an answer as Russ finally 
picked up the phone. 

No, Jane wasn’t around. She’d dropped in last week and hadn’t said when 
she’d be back in. No, he hadn’t seen Micheal around since she left with 
him last Friday. After hanging up, Mulder dialed another number.

"Turn off the tape." He waited for the barely audible click before he 
continued.

Chapter 1

I woke with a headache. A really big one that recalled a similar 
experience of waking up in an unknown area with anvils ringing in my 
head; definitely a habit I wanted to break. Opening my eyes, I was 
greeted by darkness. That wasn’t good. Nope, not good at all. 

Father and I had made it into the Center, no problem. The problem came 
when we ran into a Sweeper team on the way out. The computer systems 
had already been raided and we were heading into an air-shaft when they 
swept around the corner heading towards us. Much as I extol our 
physical prowess, they called reinforcements and we were soon out 
numbered by about a 20-to-1. 

Nobody’s that good. 

I got in a few good hits and Father broke a few bones, but pretty soon 
I was overwhelmed by a pile of bodies. Ditto for Father. We were 
dragged mostly vertical and after they exploited a few lesser known 
pressure points (no doubt in retribution) we were greeted by the 
death’s head himself. One Mr. Raines. The pictures I’d seen didn’t do 
him justice, he really was one ugly bastard. He looked us over and his 
eyes gleamed with recognition. Things were quickly going from bad to 
worse.

"Hello Alex." Mr. Raines voice sounded like his throat had been crushed 
at one point. I wonder if Father had anything to do with it. "I didn’t 
think you’d darken our doorstep again."

"I just wanted a chance to get even." Father wasn’t doing too bad, 
having that nice little healing thing going for him. I on the other 
hand was not exactly feeling 110%.

"It wasn’t personal you know." Mr. Raines inhaled a few noisy breaths 
through a tube leading to an oxygen tank.

"You tried to kill me," Father said, smiling as he did so, "in rather 
messy manner. I think that can qualify as personal."

"You took something that didn’t belong to you." Mr. Raines didn’t look 
too happy; Father had a very cold smile.

"Well there is that I suppose."

"And you tried to double cross us." His voice took on a sinister note 
that out matched Father’s. I think the speech impediment elped.

"Of course." I’m sure Father would have made an expressive gesture with 
his hand, if it wasn’t currently being crushed by a goon. "I had to 
look out for myself you know." 

"So why come back now?" 

"I was home sick?"

"Well, I’m sure we can find a remedy for that." Mr. Raines looked at 
the two men holding Father and with a smug little grin jerked his head 
to the side. "Get rid of the body."

I took that as my cue to act. They’d pulled us up on our feet which was 
a pretty obvious mistake. Once I was up far enough, I swung my legs 
forward and kicked out in front of me. It was very satisfying to wipe 
the smile off Mr. Raines’ face with my foot and, as a side effect, pull 
the two guys holding my arms down with me. I managed to land on top of 
them and the fight started anew. 

Father had managed to lose his guards and jumped back into the fray. I 
flipped off my throwing blades, kicking anything that moved and slowly 
made my way to the edge of what was beginning to look like a bar brawl. 
At least I didn’t have to worry about what I hit. Glancing over my 
shoulder, I was just in time to see the gun aimed at Father. Five shots 
later, I knew he had his way out. Now I had to find mine.

I slammed a foot into something with a wet crunch and found my back to 
the wall. I snarled at the first person to come near me, gulping in 
deep breaths with my eyes gleaming as the collection of sweepers 
flinched. I knew I was in trouble though and it wasn’t as though Lady 
Luck was paying any attention to my plight.

My fingers searched the wall behind me looking for something, anything 
that I could use. I flipped off my last knife and ripped at the grating 
behind me, turning to look into the dark shadows and straight into 
blank, soulless eyes. Those eyes stirred something deep within me that 
I wasn’t ready or willing to explore. Not when I had other things on my 
mind. 

The group of Sweepers surged forward but I couldn’t tear my gaze away 
from a face full of angles that were as haunted as they were familiar. 
Something started to pound behind my eyes and I finally wrenched my 
eyes away. The hands pulling at me helped me to ignore the increased 
pounding and the tingle of a returning memory. 

I lashed out feeling thing crunch and pop beneath my hands, but by 
then, I could barely see through the lights that were flashing in my 
head. Whether they were from the way my screwy memory worked or from 
the fists that made it through my defenses, I wasn’t sure. 

Suddenly the lights exploded big time, my knees collapsed under me, 
something connected with my face and that was it. The lights were 
washed over with blackness and I woke up here. 

***

He crouched outside the fence, his sharp face glaring at the building 
in front of him. Micheal Bennett, the Immortal that Samantha Mulder 
called Father, was ticked. Somehow they had been caught. The best 
planning in the world can’t anticipate everything, such as a small 
group of sweepers staying late and entering the hallway before he and 
Sam managed to vacate it. 

Once the alarm was sounded, there wasn’t much the two of them could do. 
By the time he’d recovered from being dead (coming to after being shot 
who knew how many times wasn’t a quick process) they were already 
dragging his body away. There were only two Sweepers and they went down 
simply enough. He dumped their bodies where they were going to dump his 
and took off. 

He made it back to the Center and stood outside, twiddling his thumbs 
while his mind spun in circles. If he left, he could get Duncan, Fox, 
or even, heaven forbid, Jarod to give him a hand. It went against the 
grain, but he was dead. He couldn’t risk the Center finding out about 
his kind. He shuddered at the thought of what the Center would do if 
they knew about Immortals. 

Samantha would be safe for the moment. While the Center may have been 
willing to kill her when she was a wild card, out side of their 
control, now that she was in hand, she wasn’t as much of a threat. They 
could easily find out what she knew and then sell her off to the 
highest bidder. She was safe enough for the moment.

He scanned the grounds as his mind went along a train of thought that 
was becoming familiar. Duncan was good in a fight, but he didn’t have 
the devious mind that was necessary for what was now bouncing around 
Micheal’s head. Fox was too Mortal and Samantha would kill him if Fox 
got hurt. Jarod might have some useful information but wasn’t exactly 
keeping in touch. No, he couldn’t go to them for help.

Micheal wasn’t a man of many acquaintances, and many of those he did 
know would be more than happy to play Madam Guillotine. The others 
weren’t even in the country. Last he heard, Connor was back in Japan 
and. . .

A sudden thought made itself know and a faint grin reached up to his 
eyes. Oh yes, he might help. He wasn’t exactly next door, but anything 
was better than having to deal with Jarod. It was time to call an old 
friend. A very old friend. 

***

I ached all over, but my head was the worst. Sitting up, I stretched a 
little, feeling my muscles bunch and pull from the abuse. I was pretty 
sore. My face was all nicely swollen with one eye practically useless 
and my teeth loose in their sockets. 

Eventually I managed to stand up and walk around. The movement felt 
good in an achy kind of way, so I explored the confines of my cell. 
There wasn’t much to explore. A 20 x 20 foot room, nothing in it. The 
floor was hard and cold, and the walls felt pretty much the same.

My explorations concluded I sat down. There wasn’t exactly that much to 
do so my mind started to wander. That face. I knew that face, but 
nothing seemed to stick out. It wasn’t like I had the worlds best 
memory or something so I started at the beginning and went over what 
little of my life I could remember.

I woke up after a bomb went off with no memory of who or what I was, 
and with a panic response that had me off and running. I hid out for a 
while and eventually met Joe, and through Joe, Duncan. He and his 
student, Richie, set a few bells off in my head and after a Quickening, 
I knew about Immortals, the Game and all it entailed. 

I replayed the experience in detail, from the static playing over my 
skin and the glass digging into my skin to the pounding in my head. 
Something slide through the empty halls of my mind and that awakened 
the knowledge of Immortals and their Game. Calming myself, I just 
breathed and let my mind wonder with the clash of swords ringing in my 
head.

Metal rang, one man thrust a sword in the other and said something. I 
made a noise and he turned to me. It was Father! He said something and 
then the Quickening hit him. I hadn’t remembered that before. I took 
another deep breath and after the pounding in my head eased up, 
continued my mental inventory.

After the Quickening, I helped Duncan out, gave him an alibi and such, 
but there was still an investigation. But before the investigators 
struck, I met Jarod. He came to Joe’s and confronted me about the bomb 
that blew up the professional building of a mall. I freaked out on him 
and ran. I seem to have a rather strong flight or fight instinct.

Any way, he convinced Joe, Duncan and Richie to help him, and woke me 
up at the building I was crashing in. For some bizarre reason I’m still 
not sure of, I trusted the creep and told him what I couldn’t remember. 
Something he said triggered another memory, he said he could help me. I 
let the rich toned of his voice bounce around my head, the resonance 
awakening feelings I didn’t want to deal with and nothing else. I 
slammed the mental door on Jarod and moved on. 

Fox and Scully were the next ones to show up, investigating the 
beheading. I didn’t like them at first, though I tolerated Scully more 
than Fox. I was actually kinda mean to him. I even led him into 
thinking I was an Immortal, not that he had anything other then 
speculation about the mortally impaired in the first place. He showed 
up when I was going over some things with Joe, Duncan and Jarod, and a 
picture from when I was at the Center slipped onto the table. Fox 
completely freaked. 

It turned out I was his long lost sister. Who would have thought that? 
It’s not like we bickered like siblings or anything. In spite of it’s 
auspicious beginning, that started the worst week I could remember. I’d 
barely found out who I was and what had happened to me, when someone 
shoots up the bar. We all got off whole if not hale, but that was just 
the beginning. 

We spent the next day pooling our resources and put together a sequence 
of events of the past. When I was at the Center, when I left, that sort 
of thing. There were still a few holes but everyone had a good idea of 
what happened and when. 

Later that night, someone started killing those of us who survived, 
including Miss Parker. She was the first, followed by Richie, and then 
Joe. They killed Joe, just because he helped me. He took me in, helped 
me find myself when I didn’t even know my name and was he dead because 
of it.

They were after me and wanted me alive, but everyone else was just so 
much dead meat to them. Duncan was attacked after Joe. He did a fairly 
good job of defending himself because the Assassin backed off. This 
gave me a chance to get ready for her.

I stopped her. 

Not to everyone’s satisfaction, since Jarod ripped me up one side and 
down the other, but all that really mattered in my mind, was that she 
was out of commission. Jarod disappeared after that and I haven’t seen 
him since. I had to take another deep breath and clear the lump in my 
throat. He never said good-bye and I didn’t get a chance to tell him 
that it turned out Miss Parker was Immortal. 

It took me a while to heal after my encounter with Mary, the Assassin. 
Soon as I was able, I went after the Center, with Father. We had 
planned this break-in as a fact finding expedition to fill in the gaps 
left and believe me there were gaps. About 8 years worth in total.

At one point in time, I’d been contracted out to a group of people who 
did. . . something to me. I don’t know what, but when Father saw the 
results, he broke me out of the Center. We both wanted to know who I 
was working for at the time. There was nothing about it on the system 
that Fox and his friends could find, so Father and I broke in to crack 
the storage files on an isolated system. 

I didn’t come right out and tell Fox that we were going to do that. If 
I’d told him that of the bat, he’d either stop us or come along. I’m 
starting to think stopping us would not have been a bad idea. Fox must 
be going crazy right about now. I hope he hooks up with Father. Father 
had all the information on him. 

That brought me to breaking into the Center and getting caught. And to 
the face I saw, just before I was knocked out. I thought about the 
face, letting it drift around as the other triggers had. Those eyes, 
they were so blue, but empty of thought. It was a kind face but he 
seemed infinitely sad, like he had something great and had it ripped 
from his hands. 

He was so familiar, in a way like the way I knew Father.

I forced my hands to unclench and then slowed my breathing. Duncan 
taught me some meditation techniques and I put them to use. I let my 
mind wander, seeing the image of the face and more importantly, his 
eyes peering out at me from behind the grate. 

Before any profound revelations made themselves known, I was 
interrupted by a door opening and a shaft of intense light that speared 
through my head. The pounding in my skull went from the slight pounding 
it had settled into, to something resembling thrash metal. I blinked 
more than a few times, then launched myself at the figure silhouetted 
in the doorway. 

***

Jarod smiled at his computer screen. With another click of the enter 
key, his program went into effect. The hard drive whirled for a moment 
before it settled down and then the screen cleared. It was done. 
Running a hand through his dark brown hair, he gave a satisfied grin 
and leaned back. 

It had taken him a while to find the information he was after, but now 
he had it, he could send it to the proper authorities and move on 
before the Center tracked him down. Mr. Lyle was now back at the Center 
and was assigned to find him. He had known Miss Parker well enough that 
he could predict her entrance down to the minute. Not to mention he 
knew all the right buttons to push and could manipulate her. But now 
she was dead. She was dead because she followed him and ended up in the 
wrong place at the wrong time. He clamped down on the thought. 

Since then, his life had been hell. Mr. Lyle had stepped up his efforts 
to catch him, employing more of the Centers resources than before. He 
seems to have become something of a priority. If he stayed in one place 
for too long, Lyle showed up with his sweepers. He rarely had time to 
properly set up an identity, relying on a few he’d established in the 
past years that hadn’t been discovered and, several times, had to 
disappear before he’d finished what he’d started. He did what he could 
and then helped from a distance. Much of the last few months had been 
spent simply hiding himself from the Center. 

He’d had more close calls in the last four months then he’s had in the 
last two years and the strain was starting to tell. He was jumpy and 
less willing to trust. Traps had been set up for him that he’d barely 
managed to escape. A warning from Angelo was all that had kept him from 
getting caught one time. He’d been more careful since then but he still 
used the fighting tricks he’d learned from Sam more than he’d like to 
think about. 

Jarod pushed down the wave of guilt that swamped him where he thought 
of her. What she’d done was wrong. 

But she had a point; he had no right to judge her. He wanted to 
apologize to her, but he was so full of conflicting emotions and hurt 
and anger he ended up waiting too long. He went back after a month and 
she’d already left. He could have gone to Duncan to find out where she 
was, but. . . He told himself it wasn’t really safe to look for her, 
he’d just lead the Center to her doorstep. He was having trouble making 
himself believe that lie.

She scared him. Everything she was and represented. In many ways she 
was like him, but she was so much harder, colder, selfish. The Center 
had destroyed her then rebuilt her in to what they wanted. He could 
easily be what she’d become.

Sydney protected him as much as he was able, allowing them to use his 
intelligence and skills, without manipulating him as they had others. 
Sydney, Miss Parker and even Broots were some of the reasons Jarod 
hadn’t really gone after the Center. If the Center went down, so would 
they. There was more to it though.

His musing was interrupted by the little mailbox blinking on his 
screen. He clicked it open, expecting another warning from Angelo. He 
was half right.

It took a little while for the message to open and when it did, the 
figures on the screen started to move. The black and white story 
unfolded itself as two sweepers drug a body away and another was held 
up for inspection. The head rolled back and, through the bruising and 
veil of dark hair, Sam’s eyes stared blankly forward. Mr. Raines 
reached forward and looked in her face before waving her away.

When the scene was finished, he sat in stunned silence for a moment, 
then swore. He packed up his laptop, threw a few more things in a bag 
and was out the door. In less than half an hour he was on the highway 
out of town.

***

A phone rang out in the silence. An answering grown was heard from 
under a pile of blankets scrunched up on the bed and when the piercing 
sound rang out again, the mass moved. After another moment, a hand 
crawled out from under the covers and hit the clock by the table. When 
the ringing continued, the hand quested further out and knocked the 
phone on the floor. More grumbling later, Adam Pierson’s head emerged 
from the pile and looked at the phone on the floor. Eventually the 
headset was picked up.

"This had better be good." He growled into the phone, wishing it was 
only the alarm clock so he could ignore it.

"After all this time and that’s the best you can come up with?" The 
voice triggered a few buried memories that weren’t quite making it 
through the fog inhabiting the ancient Immortal’s head.

"Who is this?"

"Methos I’m appalled you don’t remember. After all the fun we had 
together." The voice abruptly switched to Latin. "It’s been a long 
time, old friend."

"Augustus? I didn’t think you were still alive." Adam abruptly sat up, 
ignoring the chill in his apartment. He unconsciously switched to Latin 
as well. "What have you been doing for the last thousand years?"

"Oh this and that. It’s Micheal now by the way. I need your help."

"What do you need?" He didn’t hesitate in answering. There weren’t many 
people in the world that could call Adam up, ask for help and receive 
it, no questions asked. This man was one of the very few.

"It’s a long story, can I meet you somewhere?"

"There’s a church over on 52nd."

"Afraid I’m after your head?" There was no shock in the voice; it was 
more like amusement.

"No, but you don’t live very long if you don’t take a few simple 
precautions." Adam got a chuckle in reply.

"In an hour?" Micheal asked.

"I’ll be there. Till then."

"Till then." 

Adam hung up the phone and was halfway dressed before he realized it 
was 3:30 in the morning.

Chapter 2

I felt something slam into my side, stealing my breath. The figure in 
the doorway was still there, unmoving. Someone must have snuck in while 
I was still blinded by the sudden light and their foot was what I felt. 
I grabbed the foot and yanked, trying to pull them off balance, but it 
didn’t work. I must be really off my game. Either that or the guy 
weighted a ton. I got a fist in my gut for my efforts and was suddenly 
glad I hadn’t eaten anything lately. 

A hand wrapped around my throat and tightened, cutting off my air. I 
took the hint and stopped fighting. The hand dragged me forward into 
the beam of light on the floor, loosening his grip just enough for me 
to gasp away the black spots dancing in front of my eyes. I was then 
pulled up off the floor so my toes barely touched the floor. I am not a 
short person.

The figure in the door was a man in his sixties, though they had been 
hard years from the lines etched into his face. He lifted his hand and 
took a drag on his cigarette, the smoke curling up around his head. His 
small cold eyes bore into me and I wasn’t sure how, but I knew him. I 
seemed to be running into a lot of old friends these days. No 
insightful little glimpses from my subconscious though, just the 
certainty that I knew him and that I wanted him dead.

"See that she’s taken care of. She’s no good to us half dead." His 
voice was slightly hoarse, but all his words where clipped off short 
with anger.

"She’ll be fine by the time we hand her over. She didn’t exactly come 
quietly." The voice spoke from behind the cigarette man. The other guy 
had to be around the corner. "Are we agreed on the price then?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle. The funds will be transferred over the next week."

"That’s not fast enough." The man who must be Mr. Lyle didn’t sound too 
impressed.

"Not even we can transfer that amount of cash without properly cover 
our tracks. The time will allow us to ensure the transfer will go 
unnoticed and unchecked. I’m sure you don’t want anyone to track the 
money to your door step?" The bright glow of the cigarette flared as 
the man took another drag and then flicked the butt in the direction of 
Mr. Lyle. "You will get your money, and we will get her back."

The man turned away and was escorted down the hall, the multiple echo 
of shoes on the tile floors rebounding into my cell. The hand around my 
throat tightened for a second and I was thrown across the cell with 
ease. The man who’d held me by the throat stepped into the open door 
and glanced back. He was big, looking like nothing so much as a thug. 
His scarred face burned into my mind as I swore I would see that smug 
look wiped off his familiar mug

By the time I got back to the door, it was slammed shut and he was 
gone. I slammed into it anyway, venting my frustration on the metal and 
ignoring the increased pounding behind my eyes. I kicked my heel into 
the door, grunting in satisfaction as the metal dented in with a 
resounding thwack. I stopped, wishing I could see my handy work. I 
caught my breath and finally banished the last of the ringing in my 
ears. Then I smiled. The door was only hollow metal, otherwise I 
wouldn’t have been able to dent it. That wasn’t the smartest move.

I knew it wouldn’t do much good, but I was feeling ornery. I wished for 
the nice, heavy hiking boots I usually wore. They were absolutely lousy 
for covert activities, though, so for this foray, I had on a pair of 
light, soft soled boots. I started kicking at the door some more, 
raising a racket and satisfying my violent urges. After a while, I 
realized I was doing a pretty good job, and wondered if they could even 
open the door anymore.

***

Mr. Lyle sat in front of a monitor watching the slightly grainy figure 
on it, kicking at the door. She was doing an admirable job. His sweeper 
looked a little anxious as another kick landed, denting the door in 
even further.

"Don’t worry, she’ll tire herself out soon enough." He leaned forward 
as the woman stepped back from the door and with her hands explored the 
surface. Her fingers dug in and she started yanking on something. He 
focused in on her, the faint whir of the camera getting her attention 
in the silence. Her head snapped toward the sound and a grin formed on 
her face.

"Watching me are you?" She looked straight at the lens. "I bet you’re 
listening too, you arrogant little prick."

She went back to the door, and started to work at whatever had gotten 
her attention. She started kicking the door again, this time 
systematically kicking the edge with the resounding thwacks sounding 
loud in the room. Then she leaned in again and started prying at the 
edge of the door. A ray of light flashed into the room. Mr. Lyle turned 
around in disgust and barked at the man standing behind him.

"Drug her and get her out of there."

***

My hands were by now bleeding and my feet ached, but I was getting to 
them. I had a crack of light shining around the one side of the door. I 
wouldn’t be able to break the door down; I knew that. But getting as 
far as I did, meant they’d have to move me. And then I’d be ready. I 
loosened my grip on the piece of metal I’d pried up. My body pretty 
much covered the spot where I pulled it loose. Provided, of course, 
they hadn’t change the set up of the cameras since Father left. 

I stopped for a breather, sucking on the cuts of one hand. They 
shouldn’t know I had the makeshift knife, but if they knew, I wouldn’t 
be given the opportunity to use it. If they didn’t, the surprise was on 
them. It was about eight inches long, the twisted edges sitting 
awkwardly in my hand. I was holding the dull end, with the sharper edge 
tucked against my wrist and digging slightly into my arm. 

As the footsteps came down the hall, I tensed, ready for the 
confrontation. They startled a laugh out of me when the door remained 
stubbornly shut. It took them almost ten minutes just to enlarge the 
crack in it. I yelled taunts at them through the door, insulting 
everything from their parentage to the color of their underwear, not to 
mention the obvious lack of intelligence and puny muscles. Screaming 
"Mosquito Power" at them when they were all straining at the door 
really seemed to tick them off.

I heard the clang of metal as crowbars where jammed into sides of the 
door. After a few minutes they had another crack open along the side 
and a hose was pushed in. When the gas cloud started to float in I just 
shook my head and started kicking the door until the crack was closed 
and the hose with it. There was a commotion, someone started swearing a 
blue streak and the assault on the door continued.

There was a groan of metal and the door eventually caved in. A gun 
barrel was pointed in my general direction, and I heard a soft pop as 
the air-powered dart flew towards me. That was cheating, trying to drug 
me like that. Since it missed me, I rushed them for my revenge.

I tore into them, slicing with the piece of metal, gouging at eyes and 
anything else soft I could hook fingers into, and planting my foot in a 
few of the more painful areas. Did you realize that most of the 
sweepers in the Center are male? I used that little fact to my 
advantage and a number of those men were going to have a very empty 
social life for some time to come.

But it was not to last. I snarled as I felt something sting my back, 
numbness spreading rapidly out from the spot. I slammed my fist into 
someone's face and then tried to kick the guy behind me, but I fell as 
my knees gave way. I pulled a few guys down with me and forced an elbow 
into a gut. The last thing I could do was sink my short nails into the 
soft spot on an ankle.

***

Adam was almost ready to go, being as quiet as he could so as to not 
wake up his student, but it didn’t work. She was waiting for him at the 
door.

"Slinking off into the night?" Miss Parker was already dressed with an 
eyebrow arched in question.

"I thought you were still asleep?" he snapped.

"Not with the phone ringing this early in the morning. So where are we 
going?"

"We are not going anywhere. I am going to go see an old friend, and you 
are going to go back to bed." He reached into the closet and pulled out 
his duster, hoping she’d take the hint and leave him alone.

"Old friends. I like meeting your old friends." She ignored him and 
reached for her own coat, a special scabbard sewn into the lining 
months ago.

"You’ve never met any of them," he muttered.

"Then I guess I’d better start. I can’t stay in hiding all my life you 
know?" She threw his favorite taunt back at him, mimicking his tone 
exactly.

"Come along then. Lose your head for all I care" 

It took them about ten minutes to get to the church Adam had suggested. 
As they entered, they both got the telltale buzz of another Immortal. 
He was sitting up near the front, waiting for them to come to him. Miss 
Parker froze when she saw who it was.

"Micheal." Adam’s face broke into a smile when he saw his old friend.

"Methos." Micheal’s face had a similar grin.

"It’s Adam right now. I’m a researcher with the Watchers." He sat down 
beside Micheal, the two of them keeping their voices low out of respect 
for the setting.

"That’s a story that deserves to be told." Micheal glanced past Adam 
and his eyes rested on Miss Parker for an instant. His strategy made an 
immediate detour.

"But not right now. You call me up after eight hundred years, your tale 
must be just as good." Adam cut straight to the point, never having 
been one to beat around the bush. Unless it was his bush of course.

"Yes. And she’s involved." Micheal pointed a finger at Miss Parker, 
where she still stood a few feet behind the two of them.

"You know each other?" Adam asked, turning around to look at Miss 
Parker.

"We’ve met." She didn’t sound too impressed with life.

"That's one way of putting it. Have you told him about the Center?" 
Micheal looked her over with an intensity that unnerved her.

"Enough. Why?" She was still reserved around the man she knew as Alex. 

"I need to get someone out of there and since they killed me last 
night, I can’t exactly waltz in there myself." 

"The Center got one of your little pets did they?" She let a snide note 
slide in. Micheal ignored her and started talking to Adam.

"The Center has a friend of mine. I want to get her out before they 
mess with her more than they already have." There was an icy tone in 
his voice that sent a shiver up her spine. There was something about 
the Assassins, they always had that effect on her.

"Will they be expecting someone to go after her?" Adam was already deep 
in thought, pulling together all the little bits Miss Parker had let 
fall about the Center.

"Most likely, but they’ll expect her brother, not someone coming at 
them from the inside." Micheal already had the beginnings of a new plan 
in mind, pretty sure that Adam had similar ideas.

"You mean me. I'm dead also." Miss Parker wasn’t sure what those two 
were cooking up, but the similar gleam in their eyes was a scary thing.

"They may think you're dead, but it’s easy enough to arrange things so 
it looked like you faked it," Micheal said.

"They’ll be suspicious. I haven't been too popular myself lately. 
That's why I'm dead." She didn’t like the way this was going. She 
didn’t like Micheal, or Alex, or whatever his name was. She didn’t like 
the Assassins and he, in particular, gave her the willies. She wasn’t 
too big on churches either.

"That won't matter once the two of you are in." Micheal smiled as he 
said that and she started to wonder how he knew she was with his ‘old 
friend.’

"Why the both of us?" Adam cut in.

"Come now Adam, I know I can trust you. Miss Parker can get you in, but 
I have no guarantee that she will get Ann out." 

"This is about Ann!? I should have know Jarod was involved in all 
this." It always came back to Jarod and the Center, and she knew the 
Center had no idea where she was, let alone alive. How did this man 
know? If she was a lesser person she’d start screaming fate.

"This is about the Pretender?" Adam asked. This was becoming more 
complicated. From the tales Miss Parker told of Jarod, Adam thought 
this could get interesting. He hated interesting.

"Leave that sanctimonious twit out of it. I haven't seen him for 
months." Micheal snapped.

"Sanctimonious twit? I have to remember that one." Miss Parker allowed 
herself a quiet smile. That really fit Jarod at times.

"Can we get back to the business at hand. How long do we have?" Adam 
had a sickening feeling about this entire situation.

"Till the end of the week. After that, they pass her on to a third 
party. A party that's been trying to capture her for the last three 
years. If they get her, I don't know what will happen to her." Micheal 
leaned back in the pew, his face growing hard in conjunction with his 
thoughts. "I don’t know what they’re doing to her at the Center."

"You’re really worried about her." Adam looked at Micheal, finally 
noticing the dark shadows and grim lines that marked his face.

"You don’t know what they’ve already done. To her and others."

A few hours later, on the flight to DC, Adam looked over at his friend. 
Miss Parker was fast asleep in the chair across the aisle. There was a 
question that had been bouncing around his head for a while now, and 
this was his chance to ask.

"You had no idea I was training her, did you?" he asked. Micheal looked 
back at him, his tired eyes lighting up briefly with humor. 

"I know when to take advantage of coincidence." Then he closed his eyes 
and settled in for the rest of the flight.

Chapter 3

Mulder hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. Though he 
now knew where the Center was, he was still no closer to finding a way 
in. Flashing a badge wouldn't do anything but get him shot and from 
what else he'd found out, breaking into the place was not going to be 
easy. He took a sip from the cup of cold coffee sitting on the table 
and picked up the phone to fill Scully in on the latest information 
he'd gotten from the Lone Gunmen. 

He only got the first three numbers dialed before a knock at the door 
startled him. He knew Scully was at home, waiting for him to call, 
Skinner didn't want to see him for the next twenty years and the Gunmen 
never showed up at his apartment without letting him know first. If it 
was Samantha showing up on his doorstep, he was going to kill her for 
all the trouble she'd put him through. He was disappointed though. 
Jarod stood in his doorway instead. That was worse.

"How long?" Mulder didn't give him a chance to explain anything. 

"What no Hi, How you doing?" Jarod had an uncharacteristically uneasy 
smile.

"I already know the Center has Samantha. How long have they had her?" 
The harsh, tired look on Mulder's face didn't change. Giving up on 
pleasantries, Jarod just answered.

"A few days, not more." His voice was tired.

"Can you get in there?"

There was a bit of a pause before Jarod answered in the affirmative.

"Then why haven't you?" There was a faint slur of accusation.

"It's not that simple." Frustration crept into Jarod’s voice. It was 
not an easy day.

"Why?"

"Aside from the fact I only just found out, I can’t just waltz in there 
and escort her out." Jarod swept a hand through his hair, leaving it a 
mess. "They’d have her under constant surveillance. The minute they 
find her missing, the alarm is given and the building locks up tight. 
We both get caught."

"You got out once. How?" Mulder's eyes narrowed as he gauged the man 
standing before him. He looked like something the cat dragged in and 
there was a sadness in his eyes.

"I had help." A clenched jaw also indicated a fair dose of anger. 

"Can they help you again?" Mulder didn't care. He wanted answers and he 
had a source right in front of him.

"I don't know. He might, he might not. How did you know she'd been 
caught?"

"I wasn't sure. She wrote me a letter, telling me she was breaking in. 
I got it yesterday. According to the bar, she's on vacation with 
Micheal."

"Micheal?" Jarod had no idea who that was. Mulder's jaw clenched and 
then he tersely explained.

"The Immortal, his current name is Micheal."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No." That didn’t seem to bother Mulder, but it set Jarod further on 
edge.

"From what I know, she's been caught and he was killed," Jarod said, 
his eyes narrowing in thought. "They should have taken his body out 
well before now. Why hasn't he gotten in touch with you?"

"He wouldn't call me unless she was dead. If he needed help, he'd go to 
someone else."

"Duncan?"

"Hasn't heard anything." Mulder had gone through all this already and 
being forced to go over it again was frustrating.

"What about the Watchers?"

"They don't even know Micheal’s alive," Mulder snapped, "Joe Dawson 
didn’t exactly get a chance to report in."

The conversation ground to a sudden halt as the two men lost themselves 
in the situation. After leaving Jarod standing in the hallway, Mulder 
gave Scully a quick call. He filled her in on Jarod and quickly 
outlined the information from the Lone Gunmen, nodding once as she said 
she was on her way. In the mean time, Jarod went and sat on the couch.

"How was she doing?" There was no need to specify who Jarod was asking 
after.

"She was okay. Had to move around every few weeks. She'd stop by when 
she could."

"We'll get her back." That seemed to be the wrong thing for Jarod to 
say as Mulder’s anger got the better of him.

"To help her, or ease your guilt." 

"What are you talking about?" With Jarod on the defensive, Mulder 
pushed him a little harder.

"Do you really care what happens to her? Or are you just here to get 
back at the Center?"

"Of course I care." Jarod shot back.

"Then why didn't you help her when she needed it. Why did you leave her 
when she needed someone who understood? But then, you didn't 
understand. Didn't even try."

"What she did was wrong!" Or so he kept telling himself.

"And what you do is right? You’re a nothing but a vigilante." 

"I help people!" Jarod defended himself and what he did fiercely.

"What do you think she was doing!" Mulder countered.

"By blowing off that girl's knees?"

"That girl was a trained and paid assassin after our collective heads!"

"She was cruel."

"Who, Sam or the girl who tortured Miss Parker?"

If looks could kill, those two would have been dead many times over. As 
it was, they stared at each other waiting for something to happen. 
Mulder broke the silence.

"She never talked about you. She would talk about Joe, trying to 
remember everything about him, telling me about how he'd like what 
she'd done with the Bar. She'd fill me in on Duncan and talk about 
Richie's latest escapade. Micheal would be mentioned just about every 
third sentence. She even talked about Mary. But you, she couldn't talk 
about. She looked to you for guidance and you left. So all I want to 
know, is why you are here."

Jarod's face was stone and his eyes full of anger; Mulder had hit more 
than a few nerves. To be truthful, Jarod wasn't too sure himself why he 
was there. When he saw the clip of Sam, he found himself on his way 
without much conscious thought. It was the same thing that prompted him 
into finding out what he could about how she'd been doing. He knew 
about her buying the bar as well as tracking down some of the places 
she'd been, once she'd left Seattle. He knew he wanted to help her. He 
knew he had to.

"I came to help."

Mulder's glare didn't ease up in the least. The two of them didn't get 
along too well at the best of times and after Samantha had fought Mary, 
it only got worse. But because he knew she cared about this jerk, he 
didn't say half of what was on his mind that night when Jarod sewed her 
up. Later, when she came to see him, he asked after Jarod and she 
clamed up. When he talked to Duncan, he found out about the fight 
they'd had, but didn't know the details. He didn’t need to.

"If you ever hurt her again, you won't have to worry about the Center 
catching you, because I will personally make your life a living hell."

***

Nothing like waking up, head pounding away, to make one's day. 
Considering how often that had been occurring in what I could remember 
of my life, it was definitely a habit to kick. At least it wasn't pitch 
black this time. The muted lighting was much more my taste, although 
the dull gray décor was something I could do without. A nice, dark 
green throw rug, a few lamps and a window or two would make the place 
more habitable. Anything besides a mattress on the floor would make the 
place more habitable.

My mind was definitely running away without me, though the throbbing 
headache was down from a full blown fire fight in my head to an 
irritating distraction. I took a deep breath and sat up. Not too bad, 
once the black spots cleared from my vision and my gut stopped aching. 
My mouth felt like something had crawled into it and died. I didn’t 
even what to think about what they used to drug me.

I spotted the camera sitting on the wall and made a rude gesture at it 
before going to the little, metal sink tucked into a corner. Dipping a 
hand under the stream of water, I scooped up a handful and proceeded to 
rinse the bad taste from my mouth. My hands were stiff as I washed off 
the bit of blood that still stuck near the scratches and my lip stung 
as I splashed water on my face and hair. 

My poor hair was a mess. The braid from earlier was a tangled nest, 
with little tufts hanging in my face and various strands working their 
way out of the elastic. Since I didn’t even have a glass to drink out 
of, I was thinking that to ask for a hairbrush would be pointless.

Sitting back on the bed, I undid the braid and ran my fingers through, 
attempting to straighten the mess out. At least I didn’t have any new 
goose eggs. My hair probably looked worse than it actually was, because 
pretty soon, I had the worst of the tangles out. I tightly braided it 
back and it ended up reaching down to my waist. I could probably 
strangle somebody with it. Now there’s a thought to keep me warm at 
night. 

I was still in the Center, the whole decor screamed Sub-level 
something, so Father would know where I was. Not that I was just going 
to just sit on my duff not doing anything. Not that there was all that 
much I could do. While they couldn’t hurt me, much, if I became too 
much of a nuisance, they’d just keep me drugged. Not something I was 
particularly looking forward to, so all I could do was annoy and 
distract them. That had potential, if only to keep me from going nuts.

"You know, you really need to see someone about the style of this 
place. Gothic gray is so very early nineties. Color is the big thing 
right now. Have you thought about a nice pale green with dark 
undertones?" I started rambling on, talking to the camera and 
dissecting all the decorating taboos they’d committed. And Joe said 
watching Martha Stewart was a waste of time. When I ran out of 
decorating tips, I started in on the lack of hospitality. Then I hit 
the jack pot. 

While waiting tables at the bar one night, there was a group of kids, 
just barely over the legal limit, who’d decided to celebrate somebody’s 
birthday. As the night wore on, they all started in on the most horrid 
song I’ve ever heard in my remembered life; 99 bottles of beer on the 
wall. Well, they actually started at 9999. Joe eventually poured them 
into a cab before they got through the first hundred. I still miss him. 

I decided not to be too ambitious off the bat and started at 999. Now 
my voice usually isn’t so bad, but the last few days hadn’t been a walk 
in the park and I wasn’t about to make this easy on them. I started 
singing, letting the scratchiness in my throat throw me off key every 
once in a while. At 783 I heard a scratching above me and looked up at 
the air vent. Two bright blue eyes peered out at me. 

Not stopping my concert, I looked back at him. It was the same guy I’d 
seen just before they caught me. It looked like he hid out in the duct 
work a fair bit. They probably hated it and anyone who ticked them off 
was a friend of mine. I gave him a brilliant smile and started to sing 
louder. He moved forward a little bit and I could see the smile on his 
face. A few minutes later, the eyes were gone.

***

Mr. Lyle was ready to kill someone. That in itself wasn’t too unusual, 
but this time he’d take anyone who happened to make the mistake of 
getting within his reach. 

It was bad enough when she started talking. Worse still when she 
started singing. Then, somehow the communication system blanked out 
only to kick in playing the audio feed from her cell over the muzak 
system. The entire building was now being serenaded with, what was the 
count to now, 467 bottles of beer on the wall. 

When they tracked the problem down, there was Angelo, grinning like the 
idiot he was, in front of the computer that had arranged the little 
incident. When confronted, he simply said "pretty" and scampered off 
back into the air ducts. That little wench had better be worth it. They 
were still trying to cut her voice off. It was going to be a long week. 

***

I had finally run down to one lone bottle of beer on the wall. I could 
start over again, at a larger number, but my throat had been protesting 
during the last hundred or so bottles. So when I ran all the way down I 
took a break and got a drink from the sink. A cold hand on my forehead 
helped the headache that still hadn’t dissipated. 

It had been worth it though. I had just about burst when I heard my own 
voice (was I really that shrill?) coming from a speaker in the hall. 
From the irritated looks I was getting through the little glass window 
in the door, I would guess it had been broadcasted through out the 
section. I thought again of the eyes in the vent and wondered. 

I leaned against the wall and wondered what Fox was up to. I never 
should have sent him that letter. He was probably going nuts, but I had 
told him I would tell him if I was up to anything, and I had to keep my 
promise. For the most part. I hope he hadn’t told Mom yet, I didn’t 
want her to worry.

My mind wandered to the visit this Christmas. It was completely weird 
being around so many people at once. Christmas eve, Fox and I went with 
Scully to her mother’s party. There were a lot of people there. 
Christmas day was better, with just Mom, Fox and I. Fox dragged me out 
of bed at some insane hour and pulled me into the living room where the 
tree was set up. The lights where on, blinking in a steady rhythm that 
flashed onto the presents lining the tree. It was beautiful.

Fox was just like a kid. I could just see him picking up the presents, 
not even waiting until Mom and Dad were down the stairs. I didn’t feel 
the pounding in my head that accompanied the flash of memory. 

Mom was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at us, smiling, 
but Dad was scowling. I didn’t notice as I looked at the pile of 
brightly colored gifts. Fox had one in his hand, gently shaking it next 
to his ear, trying to figure out what it was. 

Another flash. Dad’s mouth open as he barked at Fox. Fox, carefully 
placing the box down. Me, weaving my hand into his as we both walked 
into the kitchen. 

With a start, the images still lingering in the corner of my eyes, I 
shook my head. I had NEVER had a memory come that clearly. I was just 
in time to watch the door open and Mr. Lyle was walk in. He looked me 
over with a thoroughly disgusted expression.

"So you finally decided to shut up." Someone wasn’t happy with life.

"What can I say, I had a dry throat. Give me another twenty minutes and 
I’ll serenade you till the cow come home." No one ever said I couldn’t 
be sweet when I wanted to. There was enough sugar in that sentence to 
kill a diabetic.

"Not if you want to eat."

"From what I’ve heard, that’s not a threat."

"Come now Ann, we can be civilized about this." He gave me a smile 
that, for some reason reminded me of Miss Parker. It was about as 
sincere as a crocodile’s tears.

"Why? You kidnap me, turn me into an Assassin and then you expect me to 
be civilized. You can’t have your cake and eat it too you know."

"Actually, you were given to us." He was smug. Smug is not good.

"Really? I didn’t know that. So who by?" I kept my voice light, hiding 
the trepidation that was starting to make itself known. To ease the 
tension building in me I batted my eyelids. It didn’t have much effect 
on Mr. Lyle but it made me feel better.

"You’ll find out soon enough when you go back to them." So that’s who 
the smoking guy was.

"This is the whole, tell the victim everything because they’re never 
going to see the light of day again type of thing, isn’t it?" I opened 
my eyes wide and turned on a dumb blond voice.

"That’s one way of putting it. More likely, you’ll simply never 
remember this conversation." He said that as he turned around to the 
door and that scared me more than I wanted to admit. But I wasn’t going 
to let him know that.

"And that’s a bad thing!?!?"

His shoulders stiffened and he almost slammed the door as he left. I 
smiled at his reaction and looked at the ceiling above. The eyes 
weren’t there, but I smiled in that direction anyway. Snuggling into 
the bedding, I started singing again. 

"I’m Henery the eighth, I am. Henery the eighth I am, I am. I got 
married to the widow next door, and she’s been married 7 times before. 
. . "

***

The silence was thick enough to cut by the time Scully walked in. She 
gave Jarod a smile, taking note of his less than pristine condition and 
the frigid civility between him and Mulder. Having heard Mulder rant 
about the missing Pretender, she wasn't surprised. The surprise was 
reserved for the fact neither of them had any visible marks or bruises. 
They probably confined themselves to body shots. 

She had to stop hanging around the Gunmen so much, she was starting to 
think like them. 

Her entrance really didn’t change the atmosphere that much, but 
eventually, the two were able to put the testosterone aside long enough 
to share there various bits of information, and generate a few ideas. 
An hour later, after an update, the Gunmen were rushing over. It didn’t 
take much once they heard the Pretender was there.

Between the six of them, they were able to hash out something that 
actually stood a slight chance of posibbly succeeding. Thatwas after 
they got over circling Jarod like hungry sharks examining something 
under the microscope. If she was starting to mix metaphors, she needed 
to get more sleep. 

As for getting Samantha out, it looked like Jarod would go in first, 
scout things out and find where they’re keeping her. If she wasn’t 
there, they’d have to tie in to the Center network and see if, between 
Jarod and the Gunmen, they could hack out her location. If she was 
there, Fox would come in to help get her out. Frohike would be 
attacking the security, Langly would screw up communication and Scully 
and Byers would be providing back up. And two get away cars because 
they wouldn’t all fit in the van.

What would happen once they actually got Samantha out was still 
uncertain. She would have to hide and hide deep. Then again, chances 
were they wouldn’t get past the front gate, they’d all get caught and 
then none of the rest would matter because they’d all be dead. Scully 
decided to be optimistic from that point on, purely to maintain her 
sanity.

Chapter 4

Three hours of Henry the Eighth left me with very little voice and more 
than a few dirty looks through the little glass window in the door. I’d 
already tried to break that little panel but whatever it was, it didn’t 
break. I did scare the living snot out of a few people peering in at 
the wrong moment, though. 

I sat back on the mattress and looked up to the vent; the blue eyes 
were back and the sight of them triggered another memory. I must have 
been around thirteen and for some reason was locked up in my room. For 
all I knew that could have been normal. I had woken up from a nightmare 
and had screamed out, desperate for comfort. But when I saw the eyes in 
the vent I was more afraid of them, than of the dream. I was huddled in 
a corner by the time the vent opened and a young man crawled out. 

He dropped to the floor and came over, crouched down close to the 
floor. His face reflected my fear, his eyes full of tears. But he still 
reached out a hand and touched me. His face screwed up a little and 
then he looked at me closer. 

There was a moment when his eyes cleared and it was like looking into a 
lake. There was a glimmer of something, very deep and hidden in the 
waters, but in the next instant it was gone. The clarity in his eyes 
fogged over. The hand on my arm was still there and he smiled at me. It 
was a little smile that disappeared quickly, then he backed away and 
was up the vent. 

I remembered the rest of the night, sleeplessly wandering around the 
cell, pacing back and forth, clenching my arms around me in the chill, 
but unable to go back to sleep and unwilling to just lie in bed. I was 
halfway through the next day before I tore myself out of the memory. 

I started to walk back and forth, going over what I remembered, trying 
not to become lost in it. The total loss of time that I experienced 
this time scared the life out of me. I couldn’t afford to show any 
weakness to the Center, or they would exploit it and use it any way 
they could. If they realized I was remembering things, they would pick 
my mind apart piece by piece before they turned me over to whoever they 
made the deal with and then it would probably start all over again. 

The only theory I could come up as for why this was happening, was that 
being back in the Center was triggering more memories, breaking 
whatever barrier was keeping them back. I didn’t say it was a good 
theory. 

I stared at the two men who brought in Supper. Lunch was still sitting 
on its original plate, but this looked marginally more edible. 

Instead of green slop, at least this looked more like some kind of 
soupy stew. I think the Center liked that sort of thing so they didn’t 
have to give me anything that could be made to resemble a weapon. The 
spoon on the tray was even plastic. No use trying to make a shiv out of 
that.

I waited for them to leave before I took a closer look. I probably 
would have skipped this meal as well, but I was starting to get hungry. 
Who was I kidding. I was famished, but that goo at lunch totally turned 
my stomach. I dug in to the stew. 

***

The first thing they did when they hit DC was find a few good clothing 
stores. Miss Parker needed to look the part if she was going to pull 
off this plan. She also needed to get Adam in with her, so he needed to 
look the part as well. As she sat down, her own wardrobe replenished, 
she looked over the tall, lanky figure standing in front of the mirror.

"I look like a thug." His sour comment matched the scowl on his face.

"That’s what you’re supposed to look like so don’t complain. I’m going 
to tell Daddy that with someone trying to kill me, I faked my death so 
I could get some breathing room." She filled Adam in on the plans she 
and Micheal had made up the night before while Adam had been getting 
supper. "Not to mention recuperate. While I didn’t find who was behind 
it all, I had the actual assassin killed. You are my muscle, 
unaffiliated with anyone, but me." 

"And to do that I have to look like a thug."

"The Center is not very original when it comes to hired muscle. You 
should fit in fine." She smiled as he glowered at her. "That’s the 
perfect expression. Once you’re in, you will be able to roam around 
while they have me in what will no doubt be dozens of interview and 
meetings. You’ll have to stick pretty close at first, but if you 
accidentally get lost a few times, that would be expected. The Center 
is a large place after all."

"Wouldn’t they be likely to shoot me if I wander too far?" He started 
shrugging his shoulders to settle the not-quite-a-perfect-fit jacket 
into place.

"Of course not. They’ll black mail you. Or perhaps take you out to be 
shot later. But not right off the bat. We should be able to find what 
we need and get out." She got up and started fussing with the shoulders 
of his jacket. It wasn’t that bad of a fit.

"Do you know where to start looking?"

"I have a few ideas. There are a couple corridors that hold the more 
reluctant visitors. If she’s not there, they might have drugged her, in 
which case she’ll be in the infirmary. If that is the case, it will 
take some careful planning to get to her out. What’s Micheal up to 
right now?"

"He’s picking up some equipment that, as he put it, might come in 
handy. He’ll meet us at the hotel before we head to Delaware." Adam 
finally gave up on the jacket and headed back to the change room.

"I can’t wait to get back." She replied. He turned and looked at her, 
picking up on the hostility in her voice.

"You’re not looking forward to this, are you?" he asked, dryly

"The most common way to leave the Center is feet first. It’s not an 
experience I’d like to relive. But look at the bright side. . . " She 
smiled at him and the world’s oldest Immortal felt a chill crawl up his 
spine, cause Miss Parker was out for blood. "It gives me a chance to 
settle some unfinished business."

***

I was lost in another memory when he came in. It was a bloody one this 
time, of one of my earlier assignments that hadn’t gone too well. The 
target went down, but his security didn’t. I’d ended up weighed down 
with a little lead as I pulled out of the scene. I could still feel the 
sharp pain as the bullet plowed into my leg. Mr. Lyle was standing in 
front of me by the time my vision cleared. 

Not sure of how long he’d been there, I left my face blank, hoping he 
would think I simply didn’t care that he was there and was ignoring 
him. What else could I do? 

"Ignoring me won’t make me go away."

Since he’d fallen for it, I just turned my head away, trying 
desperately to keep my breathing regular and my hands from tensing. If 
I had realized how angry it would make him, I would have tried it 
earlier. He stepped forward and kicked out, his toe slamming just under 
my ear and forcing my head to snap back and around. 

The ever present pounding in my head picked up. I stayed completely 
still for a few moments, waiting for my sight to clear a bit more 
before I turned back to face him. When I did nothing else, he relaxed. 
Then I launched at him. 

My hand was around his throat cutting off his air supply before he 
could utter a word. My left snaked out his gun, and fired it at the two 
sweepers now running into the room. One dropped but the other ducked 
out of the door. Mr. Lyle’s face was now an alarming shade of red and I 
eased up a little so he could breathe. I wasn‘t going to kill him. It 
wasn’t worth the bother at this point in time.

"You forgot what I am, what you made me. Time to remember. Time to 
play." I smiled at him, tightening the grip on his neck, watching his 
eyes roll back as the oxygen deprivation took its toll. Just before he 
was out of it completely, I let go only to grab the back of his head. 

His face found my knee, then the wall and soon after, it connected with 
a satisfying thunk with the little metal sink in the corner. He was 
barely standing now and without my hand holding him up by his hair he 
might have fallen. 

The second I felt the change in him, the tensing of muscle in his 
scalp, I let go and tried to slam the pistol butt into his temple. He 
had already leaned out of reach, his hand raising another gun that was 
pressed up against my chin.

"I said they’d get you in one piece, but we don’t need the money that 
bad." Blood was freely flowing from his nose, though it didn’t look 
broken, and his voice was scratchy. "Pull another stunt like that and I 
will find out just how much pain an Assassin can handle before she 
dies."

He pulled the other gun out of my now slack grip, tucking it back into 
its shoulder holster. The one in his hand must have been tucked in the 
back of his pants. He called out over his shoulder that it was clear 
and waited patiently as a few people filtered in the room.

"Keep her out of it for a few hours. I want some peace and quiet." The 
gun barrel was still pressing against the soft part in my chin, forcing 
my head up higher as the guy with the needle came towards me. 

The sight of the needle and the drop of liquid coming out the top as 
the Sweeper pushed the air bubble out sent a chill down my spine and 
froze me. As he came closer I couldn’t move even if I wanted too. When 
he grabbed my arm, I could already feel fire running in my veins as 
another flashback claimed me.

***

Mr. Lyle was intrigued. He held up a hand to pause the Sweeper with the 
needle. Ann didn’t move; hadn’t move since she got a good look at the 
needle. Her eyes were lost in some sort of fog and as he took the gun 
away, she didn’t even blink. It was the same blank expression that 
greeted him when he entered. 

Something was going on that he didn’t yet understand and he was 
determined to find out what. The last few days she had been seen 
staring off into space, before resuming what she’d been doing earlier. 
Sometimes it was a few minutes, sometimes a few hours. He hadn’t really 
thought much off it, maybe a mild side affect of the usual mix of 
tranquilizers in the water, but now that he could see the expression in 
her eyes, caught between terror and nothingness, his curiosity was 
peaked. Not that he was going to take any chances. Not with her.

Signaling the sweepers to continue, he left the room, dabbing at the 
blood already drying on his face. She had gotten a few good hits in. 
Sending someone off for a wet cloth and some ice, he sat down at his 
desk, his computer still keyed in to the surveillance of her room. 
Using the cloth to take off most of the mess on his face and ice on the 
lump forming on the side of his head, he watched her. 

The muscle relaxant had taken effect and she was a boneless heap on the 
mattress. They wouldn’t knock her out, but she wouldn’t be up to any 
tricks. Or much of anything for that matter. She eventually curled up 
into a ball on the bed, arms and head tucked in so tight, you couldn’t 
see her face. It took him a few minutes to realize she was trembling, 
the movements barely noticeable on the screen.

***

Miss Parker looked around her office. The months she’d been gone hadn’t 
really changed things much. Mr. Lyle was back, taking over her role in 
the chase for Jarod but having not much more luck, and Mr. Raines was 
up to his usual tricks. But the look on everyone’s face when she first 
walked through the door was priceless. 

Daddy Dearest almost had a coronary, Lyle looked ready to choke and 
Raines had to turn up his oxygen intake. But when Sydney saw her, she 
was glad she came back. He looked like he’d died and somebody forgot to 
bury the corpse. Yet, when he saw her, his eyes lit up, he smiled at 
her and the years were shed from his shoulders. She wished she’d had 
the courage to contact him earlier, but the risk was too great. Broots 
just stuttered and turned very pale. He must have looked at the crime 
scene photos.

The whispered conference with Sydney filled her in on Jarod. They’d 
gotten very close, more than a few times, but he then headed 
underground. He hadn’t surfaced in the last month, moving so constantly 
that they’d completely lost contact. The past two weeks, he hadn’t even 
been a ghost.

Adam was her shadow. He went where she went unless she was in her 
office or meetings, when he could be found wandering the halls, inspite 
of the growls security was spouting. All she had to say was that he was 
her man and if they didn’t like it they could try to remove him. The 
one time they tried hadn’t been very successful; broken fingers were 
the least injury. 

The Immortal had picked up more than a few dirty tricks over the years 
and already being shorthanded from the invitation Ann extended to enjoy 
a lengthy stay in the infirmary, not to mention those invited to the 
morgue, they gave up before anybody else died. Broots and Sydney 
accepted Adam without question, talking freely in his presence. Miss 
Parker trusted him, that was enough for them. 

As for the reports of her death, she made a comment about the wonders 
of modern imaging techniques and that seemed to satisfy most people. 
Long, unexplained disappearances were nothing new to the Center. The 
entire situation just gave her time to find Ann and maybe a little 
extra to find out who ordered her own death. 

There was a gentle knock at her door and Broots stuck his head in. "The 
tapes are off."

"Good, Where’s Sydney?"

"He’s on his way. I got the records you where looking for." Broots 
stutter was almost nonexistent. Her eyebrows rose a little as she 
realized that he hadn’t made any comments on what he had to do to get 
them either.

"Entered speech therapy Broots?" Her acidic comment wasn’t met with the 
usual cringe.

"After five months of working with Mr. Lyle, I’m glad you’re back." He 
looked at the floor as he said that.

"I’m glad I’m back too." To her surprise, it wasn’t a lie. Just then 
Sydney entered, his warm accent washing over her.

"Is it safe to talk?"

"Safe enough, Sydney; what can you tell me about the Assassins? Where 
they are now and who they’re working with?" She got straight down to 
business.

"I only know what I’ve been told. The program was never continued 
actively, but the few girls that survived the training process are 
working for the Center right now."

"What about Mary?" She really wanted to here the Center’s explanation 
about that particular Assassin.

"She was assigned to the Triumvirate for a while and last I heard was 
contracted out to the Consortium." Sydney took the opportunity to sit 
down, his movements still those of an old man.

"The Consortium? I don’t know them." There wasn’t much that went on at 
the Center that Miss Parker hadn’t know about, yet the Consortium was a 
mystery. "Who are they?"

"I’m not sure exactly. We get the occasional contract from them, 
research and such." He leaned back in the chair. "They hired one of the 
Assassins, Ann I think it was. And after her, Mary." 

"They hired Ann?" That fit with what Micheal had told her.

"I think so."

"Is she still with us?" It was a bit blunt for Miss Parker’s taste, but 
then she was in a hurry.

"Last I heard, though it’s been some time since I’ve seen her." The 
room went quiet as she thought over the information. Sydney leaned 
forward, his eyes sharpening as he took in the changes in Miss Parker. 
Broots was just being quiet near the door, not wanting to disturb the 
conversation.

"Broots, can you get me her file, and find me Mary’s file as well. 
Also," she paused, her eyes narrowing as she thought about something. 
"Get me anything you can on the Consortium."

"Why the sudden interest in the Assassins?" Sydney may have aged a life 
time in the last few months, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

"Mary was the one who tried to kill me." There was very little emotion 
in her voice as she said that. It explained her caution in coming back 
to the Center, but Sydney thought there was more to her return. And it 
didn’t explain her curiosity about the other one.

***

I was in Hell. Or purgatory, or Hades, or perdition, or wherever they 
sent little girls who were bad. I was burning, from the inside out, 
heat searing my limbs, flaming my lungs, destroying me. After a while, 
I could breathe again, the shallow breaths rattling in my lungs and my 
nerves all pins and needles. 

Then They came. The giant blue spacemen, shiny visors hiding their 
faces, air tubes trailing behind them. They stuck me with needles, 
drawing enough blood to leave me faint and light headed. They put tubes 
in my arms, sometimes pumping the fire into my arm, at other times it 
just gave me oblivion and I woke with my throat so dry I couldn’t 
speak. Every few hours, they would come and take more blood. 

Then nothing. A room with nothing in it except a mattress and blankets 
and the tube still in my arm. I wanted to rip it out, but I knew it 
would hurt. I cried out, again and again, forcing the screams out of my 
abused throat until I couldn’t force out a sound. Everything hurt. 
After some time passed it all started again, they came for me with a 
bag to attach to my arm and the fire was in me. 

***

Angelo was scared. She just sat now, curled up around herself. He 
didn’t understand what was happening to her. Jarod would know, Jarod 
would fix, but Jarod wasn’t there yet. One more day. Then he would come 
and take her away. But Angelo still needed to know, know what the 
Center had done to her. 

Making up his mind, he scampered through the shafts, dropping down to 
the ground and then burying himself in the computer. In a few minutes, 
he had a loop playing in the surveillance tapes. She hadn’t moved in 
over an hour, so it was an easy switch. A few minutes after that, he 
was looking down at her through the vent.

Taking the grate off and easing himself down, he crawled towards her. 
He was ready to jump back, scared to touch her, yet at the same time, 
needing to find out. A tentative hand reached out to her just brush her 
shoulder.

The images filtered through, feelings that were racing through her. 
Fear, loneliness, longing, anguish, pain. Fire in her blood, harsh 
white walls, cold air against her skin. Angelo shook his head and moved 
closer to her. He remembered this, from some time in the past, when she 
was here before. His mind was clearer then, not as many images running 
through his head. 

He waited a moment than touched her again, this time on the back of her 
neck, skin to skin. More flashes inundated him, pouring into his mind 
so fast he couldn’t see them all. Most where gray, old, but some were 
new, recent and colored with the tinge of emotion. He looked at her and 
this time she looked back. Her dark eyes full of unshed tears.

"Why?" The whispered words barely made it out of her throat. He shook 
his head, not sure what she was asking. 

Chapter 5

Jarod was breathing heavily as he squeezed himself through the narrow 
vent. Angelo was much better at navigating the web of air vents and 
tunnels, but a childhood trapped in the Center had still left him with 
an intimate knowledge. Most of the time when he was growing up, he was 
kept locked up, but as he got older and the Center became 
overconfident, he was able to explore and found places to hide and even 
a possible way out. 

But he thought he understood what he was doing there and thought what 
he was doing was helping people. When he found out what the Center did 
with his simulations, he left with the help of Angelo, vowing to undo 
some of the damage they had done. It was time to undo some more. So he 
put aside his anger and fear, and went into the Center to find Sam. He 
had to get her out. 

He was quickly out of the more constricting areas and started casing 
out the less public sections. They were empty for the most part, the 
Center having branched out into other areas and finding simpler ways to 
conduct their research, ways less connected to the growing legitimate 
business dealings. 

He turned into a slightly smaller vent and started looking through the 
grates, quickly glancing in and moving on. After a few minutes of empty 
rooms, he glanced into one and was almost on to the next when he saw 
the figure huddled on a mattress in the corner. He looked through the 
metal, focusing on the ball. It barely moved, shuddering every few 
moments. 

It took a while, but he knew it was Sam. He wanted to go to her, to 
ease what was happening, to just find out what was happening to her. 
But he couldn’t, to do so would only trap himself. He turned back when 
he heard the door opening. Keeping well out of sight, he could hear 
what was happening.

"She’s been out of it like that for the past day." That would be one of 
the Sweepers who’d come in. 

There was some slight shuffling, and then a dull thwack.

"She is rather unresponsive. I want to know what is going on in that 
pretty little head of hers, though." Jarod’s heart went cold as he 
recognized Mr. Lyle’s voice. "Talk to Raines, see what little tricks he 
has up his sleeve. And try to be discrete?" 

Jarod waited for ten minutes before he moved out of his cramped 
position and then he spent another ten watching Sam, noticing the new 
bruise already forming on top of the older, yellowing ones. He 
definitely had to get her out of there. But now he was late and he 
needed to leave. He pulled himself away, hating himself for leaving 
her.

Coming out of the air system, he stretched out his long frame. He was 
in a storage area that was rarely, if ever used. He paced, trying to 
make himself calm down and ignore the knots in his stomach. It wasn’t 
often that he couldn’t and after a few deep breaths, his mind cleared 
and he started planing. He needed to talk with Mulder and Scully, but 
the state Sam was in made things a little more difficult. 

He tensed as he heard the brush of cloth behind him. Whirling around, 
he had to calm himself again, when he realized it was only Angelo. A 
few deep breaths later, he was back to his usual self. He gave Angelo a 
big grin, happy to see the man relatively unhurt and still allowed to 
wander the Center at will. 

"Hurts." Angelo looked up at Jarod, his large eyes filled with pain, 
though Jarod knew he was all right.

"What hurts, Angelo?" 

Angelo shook his head, pointed down the way Jarod came, then tapped his 
temple. "Hurts."

"Samantha? You saw her?"

Angelo bobbed his head in reply, automatically connecting the woman he 
saw with the one Jarod mentioned.

"Do you know why? Why she hurts?"

Angelo’s face screwed up together, as he tried to find words to 
describe the images he thought in. He often found words useless to 
describe the things he felt. Now was one of those times.

"Is she injured, did the Center do this to her?" Jarod was getting 
worried. They would already have to move up the time table from the way 
she looked. If the Center was playing mind games, it made it that much 
more imperative to get her out of there as soon as physically possible.

Angelo just shook his head in frustration. "Head hurts, mind hurts."

"Do you know what is happening to her?"

Angelo gave up on words and slipped his hand into Jarod’s. He’d never 
tried this. He was a sponge, he absorbed what other people felt, his 
mind collecting images from everything he touched. But he had to make 
Jarod understand what was happening with the woman he’d touched. She 
needed help, as her mind opened up too fast to the images of her past. 
He pushed for the first time, taking the images and confusion and pain 
that she felt and pushed them at Jarod.

It was like he’d been punched. Jarod jerked back, his mind flooded with 
confusing images he couldn’t place. Some were of the Center, some were 
of another place, some were of a childhood he’d never had. His mind 
latched on to an image, the reflection of a face in a mirror. Samantha.

With that, things started to settle in his mind. Somehow Angelo had 
pushed what he’d felt from Sam into his mind, showing Jarod what was 
happening to her. She was remembering the things that they’d taken from 
her but the images where flooding in, overwhelming her.

"Is that what’s happening? Everything she’d lost is flooding her mind?"

Angelo again bobbed his head, happy he’d made Jarod understand. He 
cocked his head at an angle, seeming to listen but actually tracking 
the movement of the people coming down the hall. One was Miss Parker, 
her spirit so strong he could feel her from the distance. She’d become 
stronger somehow, her mind clearer. But she still wouldn’t like to see 
Jarod.

"Go." Angelo started pushing Jarod towards the vent leading to the 
storm drain, but before the two of them had a chance to escape, Miss 
Parker strolled in with Adam behind her and not very visible.

"Jarod?" she asked.

The person in question was seeing a ghost. Literally. He’d seen the 
police photos; he saw the preliminary report on her body before it 
disappeared from the morgue. She was dead. But she wasn’t since she was 
now standing in front of him. 

"Miss Parker?" His confusion was more than evident. He didn’t even clue 
into the Sweeper at her side.

"I can explain what happened." She wracked her brain trying to think up 
a good enough story to satisfy the Pretender, but nothing was coming 
immediately to mind and to be perfectly honest she didn’t think she 
could fool him in the first place. 

She looked at him for clues, hoping to see something that would let her 
know how much he knew about her death. He was involved but he might not 
know the details. His eyes were dark in the dim light and a myriad of 
emotions flashed over his face in the few moments that had passed, then 
understanding flashed only to be quickly replaced with anger.

"Your Immortal." It was a statement of fact. Apparently he knew more 
than he had any right knowing. So much for the story her brain was 
finally starting to drag up.

"I guess that means you wouldn’t believe I faked the whole thing to get 
away from the Center."

"No." 

"Listen, I don’t care why you’re here, but it has something to do with 
Ann, doesn’t it." Miss Parker paused, giving Jarod a chance to speak, 
but he held his silence. "I’m doing what I can for her, but if the 
Center finds out you’re here, it will only make things worse. They’re 
transferring her out in three days. We’ve got till then to get her 
out."

"What do you mean we?" He was doing a good impression of a block of 
stone.

"Do you think I came back for my health? A friend of my mentor asked 
for our help. I still don’t know how he knew I was with him." She 
stopped talking when she realized she was babbling. No need to give 
away too much. 

"Micheal’s involved with this then."

"Shorter guy, English accent, also known as Alex?" 

Jarod nodded. She just sighed and tried to figure out what to do next. 
Adam was no help, simply fading into the background to the point even 
she forgot he was there.

"Who all is with you?"

"I’m alone." His cold eyes revealed nothing.

"And Angelo is sane. How many, if you don’t want to involve names." She 
was hoping Jarod would ease up and that they could work on this 
together. It would be a lot easier.

"Five others."

"That many? I have Micheal and Adam helping me. We’re all alike." She 
wasn’t sure, but she was pretty sure Jarod already knew about Micheal. 
Might as well put her cards on the table and hope he’d trust her. Jarod 
picked up on her subtle admission and the expression of trust.

"We can get her out of the area if you can get her to us." His eyes 
eased up and lost their icy edge, but he wasn’t ready to trust her too 
far yet.

"I’ll see what I can do."

"You have to hurry." Jarod started to turn away, he needed to get 
going.

"Why?" Miss Parker wondered at the stress she saw on his face as he 
turned through a beam of light. He looked like hell. Not all of it can 
be explained by the increased pressure from the Center, or crawling 
around the ducts in here.

"Have you seen her?" His voice sounded tired.

"No."

"She caught Mr. Lyle’s attention."

Her response was not exactly repeatable. She turned around, her hand 
over her eyes, thankful she didn’t have to worry about her ulcers 
anymore. Otherwise, she’d be drinking the pink stuff like coffee. "I 
really wish he would just die already."

"I have to go." Jarod was cursing himself. He was already behind 
schedule with Mr. Lyle showing up and this was making it worse. In a 
few minutes, the cavalry would start charging to the rescue. At least 
he hoped they would if he was caught. He wasn’t too sure on that point.

"Will you call me?" she asked. Jarod was faintly surprised at the 
change in her. She wasn’t used to asking, she demanded.

"We’ll see." With that he ducked into a corridor and was gone.

She turned around aimlessly pacing. She was so lost in thought she 
almost screeched when Adam spoke up. 

"So that’s a Pretender."

After she calmed down, more unrepeatable phrases spiraling through her 
mind, she walked over to the two men. Angelo, who was now standing in 
front of Adam, was fascinated by the ancient Immortal.

"Is he always like this?" Adam’s eyes tracked the man as he was 
circled, Angelo practically jumping up and down as he walked.

"Old." Was the only thing Angelo said.

"He’s an Empath. Although this is the most excited I’ve seen him about 
anything other than Cracker Jacks." She was enjoying this, her eyes 
lighting up at Adam’s consternation.

"I don’t think I want to know about that."

***

It was getting bad. I knew it was bad to begin with, coming out of a 
nightmare and realizing that it was real. But now, I didn’t even wait 
for the memories to grab me. They would come and visit me, spiraling 
through my mind so fast that my head felt ready to explode. Can we say 
hallucinations?

I keep seeing people walk through the cell, my dad, mom, Fox, Father, 
Mary, the girl I used to play with down the street; all hand in hand 
with more than a few corpses I had disposed of. The worst was when I 
saw Jarod. I could have sworn he was real; he wasn’t simply going 
through old motions but actually looking at me. 

The first time, he came over and banished the pain in me, his hand cool 
on the back of my neck. I tried to talk to him, but not much croaked 
out. The second time, he walked up to me and just hit me. Right across 
the face. Jarod then said something that I couldn’t comprehend and 
left. 

I’d rather have the memories straight. They hurt less that way. I 
surrendered myself to the images playing across my eyes, hoping that 
eventually, I just wouldn’t come out.

***

Jarod’s mind was again running in circles. He had to pause once he got 
out in the open, so that he didn’t take his frustration out on someone. 
He and Mulder had been cordial to each other, but it wouldn’t take much 
to set either of them off. Scully was a saint for what she put up with 
between Frohike, her partner and himself.

Walking through the late night streets of Blue Cove, he got in his car 
and headed out of town. It was tempting fate to stay in the town, so 
everyone was at a local resort, taking advantage of the early spring 
weather. 

By the time Jarod hit the highway, he was mulling things over in his 
mind, letting the pieces fall in place naturally. Miss Parker was alive 
and an Immortal. She’d managed to hook up with Micheal and an Immortal 
named Adam. When Micheal and Sam got caught, Micheal got away, but she 
didn’t. He called in some help and found Miss Parker. She said 
something about her mentor. 

Joe had mentioned getting information from a friend of his, Adam. They 
could be the same person. At the thought of the old Watcher, Jarod 
still felt like he’d failed. Someone else destroyed that he couldn’t 
help in time. Wrenching his mind back on track, he picked up the train 
of thought and followed the line.

Something was happening with Sam and Mr. Lyle had noticed. He might 
figure out that her blocked memories were coming back en masse. If that 
was the case, he’d try to find out everything he could about her. The 
transfer would most likely be stopped and if she was extremely lucky, 
or unlucky depending on your point of view, she might actually survive 
his questioning. 

Her memories had been blocked before she went to the Center, both 
times. So something in her mind was important enough to hide, even from 
the carrier and they, whoever they were, didn’t want the Center to know 
what it was. 

Would they be willing to kill her if they knew she was divulging their 
secrets? So far, they’ve shown no difficulty killing, but they’ve 
always tried to capture her alive. Was she valuable enough to keep 
alive no matter what? The Center had wanted her dead, but had kept her 
alive when she landed in their lap. They must still be in contact with 
the people who had been trying to capture her. That’s probably where 
she was to have been transferred to. 

Regardless of whether she was to be kept at the Center or to be passed 
her on, they had to get her out quickly. Pulling up to the seaside 
hotel, Jarod parked the car and made his way to the suite of rooms 
everyone was sharing. 

When he came in, people were clumped around one of the laptops on the 
table. Scully broke off from the group when she noticed him come in and 
the strain in her eyes got worse when she noticed the look on his face. 

"How bad is she?" As she said that, the four guys around the computer 
turned around and looked at him.

"Not good. We need to get her out of there. I also ran into Miss 
Parker."

Scully’s eyes grew wide as she placed the name, but Mulder didn’t look 
surprised. The gunmen didn’t know who they were talking about.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" Jarod was looking straight at Mulder.

"Wasn’t my place. You never stuck around long enough to find out." 
Mulder couldn’t help the jab that slipped out. Scully started putting 
the pieces together.

"They’re set to transfer her in three days, but she’s come to the 
attention of Mr. Lyle. She might not make that." Jarod turned away from 
the laptop.

"Who’s Mr. Lyle?" Scully asked, starting to drag information out of 
Jarod and getting the full story of his visit to the Center, though he 
left out the part about Angelo. After a few questions more, everyone 
was fully agreed that they needed to get her out quicker than they 
thought. After Jarod was done, Langly started to describe what he’d 
found on the Center’s computers.

The security was tight, but after a while, the three gunmen had started 
making progress, the three of them attacking the Center’s database at 
the same time, dividing the resources of the security net and making it 
easier for them to get in.

Once in, they cleaned the tracks they made and started snooping. Most 
of it was automatically saved, since they didn’t really have the time 
to really look at everything they saw. They also didn’t limit 
themselves to Samantha and the Assassins. They just didn’t tell anyone 
else that. 

What had intrigued them was the steady flow of cash into one of the 
Center’s accounts. Not so much as to attract the attention of the 
automated watchdogs, but the steady flow to a previously unused account 
was suspicious. They were tracing the money when Jarod walked in.

It could have been any of a thousand illegal and semi legal projects 
the Center had going, but the timing was too perfect. The payments 
started the day after Sam was caught and when traced back, it had, 
surprise, surprise, ended in the Capital. They now had a tentative lead 
on the people who’d been trying to capture Sam. 

Chapter 6

The next day, Micheal rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose 
while wishing he could remember the acupressure points to relieve a 
stress headache. The other two Immortals sat with him around the coffee 
table, looking over the blueprints for the Center. 

They weren’t having much luck in trying to find a way to get Ann out of 
there. She was in a well-guarded area, with camera surveillance, 
numerous walk-bys and the personal attention of Mr. Lyle. The fact that 
she didn’t move around much made looping the tape that much easier. But 
the walk-bys were irregular, with an average of about six an hour. 
Also, getting a semi conscious body through the tunnels would not be an 
easy task. It would have to be somebody she knew and would trust, 
cutting the list down severely. Actually, at least two somebodies, if 
she was unconscious.

It would be easier to snatch her during the transfer, but according to 
what Miss Parker had relayed from Jarod, that might not happen. Even if 
it did, she might be. . . damaged by what ever Mr. Lyle had in mind for 
her. Micheal could feel the cold rage build up in him at the thought. 
Merely holding her was one thing. Messing with her head and drugging 
her was something else altogether.

They needed to talk to Jarod and his people. Most likely Mulder and his 
partner and some of their friends. What did Sam call that group of 
computer nerds, the Lone Gunmen? They might be the other three. 
Together they should be able to bring her out safely and quickly. 

Pulled out of his reverie by the shrill buzz of a cell phone, Miss 
Parker reached over and flipped hers open. After a brief conversation 
she looked at the two of them, a brief smile lighting up her face.

"That was Jarod, they decided they could use our help." She’d long ago 
stopped trying to figure out how Jarod always managed to find out her 
cell number. She’d changed it often enough and usually used an alias. 

"How generous." Micheal’s dry voice conveyed his opinion.

"They want to meet in a few hours and try to get her out tonight." Miss 
Parker was relieved no matter what those two said. She didn’t think 
they could get Ann out short of storming the castle. She’d had enough 
of dying by violent means.

"Not giving us much time, are they." Adam piped up this time.

"Heaven forbid that we might have plans of our own." Micheal replied, 
each of the old Immortals having a faintly disgusted look on their 
faces.

"I guess we’ll just have to drop everything and run to help them." Adam 
quipped, pulling himself off the floor.

"We could tell them to sod off?" Micheal’s eyes shone with fake hope.

"But that wouldn’t be polite," Adam said.

"But it would be satisfying." Micheal grinned in anticipation.

"Are you two done?" Miss Parker looked at the two of them, wondering if 
it was just her, or were they really acting like they were twelve 
instead of twelve hundred plus.

"What?" They answered in unison, their faces exact copies of hurt 
innocence.

"I give up." She pulled herself onto the couch and snagged the remote, 
ignoring the two men as she channel surfed. She wasn’t a big TV person, 
but Adam didn’t even have one at his place and she was wondering what 
she’d missed. Apparently not much. 

***

She was breaking. Mr. Lyle knew she was. The combination of her own 
messed up psyche and the hallucinogens they were pumping into her were 
making her malleable. Her blood chemistry was fascinating and they’d 
had trouble finding the right combination, her body often reacting in 
ways they didn’t expect. But now they had it right, she was putty in 
his hand. Well, not quite. 

She had started to talk, rambling on incessantly about childhood 
trivia, replaying scenes that happened years ago as if they were 
happening at that instant. It was disconcerting to hear half of a 
conversation, which would break off and start up somewhere else every 
few minutes. 

He could direct things to an extent, but not being too familiar with 
her history outside of the Center made things difficult. At one point, 
he’d triggered something that sent her screaming and scrapping at her 
arms. The haunted sound pierced through the entire section, sending 
shivers down the spines of people as they walked by. He merely left the 
room to avoid the noise.

He spent a lot of time in the cell himself, listening to her meandering 
voice. Every once in a while he’d hear something that made the time 
worth while. Mostly it was endless day to day routine, but he could 
occasionally get her to talk to him about some of the things she’d 
done. During those rare moments, she would almost plead with him, 
trying to explain her actions. He gently reassured her then asked her 
about the specific details. He had enough now to black mail more than a 
few politicians and businessmen with those brief conversations. 

But he wasn’t getting what he wanted. She never talked about her time 
with the Consortium. When he got her to that time frame, she’d start 
screaming. The few times she didn’t, her eyes blanked out and she shut 
up. Then she’d start shivering, not from cold, but from all her muscles 
tensing up at once and shaking from the strain.

He would know soon enough. It wouldn’t take much more, perhaps if they 
sedated her a touch and removed her more from the situation. He was 
sure there was something that would have the desired effect. He wasn’t 
the genius that Mr. Raines was, but he knew a few tricks. And he would 
get the information he wanted.

Getting up, he left the rocking figure on the floor, wanting a break 
from the current recitation of a day in kindergarten, mumbled through 
parched lips. He should remember to make sure they got some liquids in 
her. She was getting dehydrated.

***

They ended up at Miss Parker’s house. It was closer than the resort 
Jarod had found and once it was thoroughly swept by Frohike and found 
clean, it was a safe place to talk. Surprisingly, they all settled 
quickly into their roles. Scully watched as everyone got down to 
business, throwing out ideas and picking things apart without egos 
coming into play. If she wasn’t seeing it herself, she would never have 
believed it. 

Skinner would never believe that Mulder was actually listening to what 
was being said and not trying to take over the operation. Nor was he 
stewing in angst and getting ready to run in there, let the 
consequences be damned, and get himself killed. She was quite 
impressed. 

She found herself drawn back to the conversation as they started 
speculating on the type of drugs they might have given Sam. While they 
could let them wear off, it would be better if they knew what they were 
dealing with in the first place. There might be long term effects and 
just dealing with the short term would be difficult enough from what 
Jarod had seen. 

Miss Parker had been digging up what she could and managed to snag a 
few of the empty bottles that she thought had been used on Sam, but 
there were no labels and testing would take time. She also had dug up 
some information about the people Sam had been contracted to as well as 
her medical files. She’d been treated at the Center for various things 
and Scully looked over the reports, hoping to glean some more 
information from them. The blood work made her pause.

Micheal had already passed Mulder the zip disc that had all the 
information he’d gotten from the first attempt on the Center. While the 
two weren’t the best of friends, their mutual worry over Sam had them 
getting along for the moment. They were even deep in discussion with 
Jarod on the best way to transport Sam once they got to her. 

They were planing to go in about six hours, waiting for the earlier 
hours of the morning, when the call to sleep was the strongest and eyes 
softly drooped down. It was going to be a smash and grab, with the main 
precaution being to throw the blame on the Consortium. 

With the information Miss Parker had gotten, they should be able to 
make it seem like they were getting impatient with the run around and 
had simply grabbed Sam. The money being routed into the Center’s 
accounts was already being diverted back to its source and should be 
the only clue they would need to leave. 

Everyone was breaking up into their respective clicks, now that the 
planning was accomplished. The Gunmen had taken over an office, 
preparing things for the morning and doing whatever else they did. Adam 
and Miss Parker (Scully wondered if the new Immortal even had a first 
name) had taken off outside and the faint clang of steal could be heard 
from their general direction. 

Micheal had taken over a couch and was already showing signs of the 
deep, regular breath of sleep. Scully had a silent chuckle to herself 
as her partner took over the other couch and followed suit. He could 
nod off at the drop of a hat, but always woke up at the least sound. 
Leaving the two men to their sleep she got up and headed over to the 
kitchen.

The leftovers of supper were still stacked up on the counter. Jarod had 
come through in the pinch and managed to make up some spaghetti for 
everyone that was quite good. It certainly was better than anything you 
get out of a can and was about all that could be made out of the little 
bit of food Miss Parker had in her house. Nobody really wanted to 
chance delivery.

Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater she figured she might as well do 
something about the mess, since it looked like no one else was. 
Leftovers were scraped into a garbage can and the dishes placed in the 
dishwasher. It was already empty so she didn’t have to worry about 
figuring out where any of the clean dishes went. 

It didn’t take long and after a few minutes the room was mostly clean 
with just a pot soaking in the sink. Giving a final wipe of the stove 
with a cloth, Scully deemed the kitchen clean enough and was about to 
leave when Jarod walked in. 

"You beat me to the kitchen I see."

"Well, it was just sitting here, and since I didn’t have anything 
better to do I figured why not?" She turned to leave when he sat down 
heavily in a chair, his movements weary and tired. "Maybe you should 
try to get some sleep?"

"I will, I just didn’t want to leave a mess."

"You haven’t been sleeping very well, have you?" She winced a bit at 
the bluntness of her question, glad that her back was turned so he 
couldn’t see the faint blush that had risen on her cheeks. 

"No I haven’t." He didn’t move as she turned back around and headed 
back into the room.

"If you want to talk about, I have a soft shoulder." She wasn’t sure 
why she wanted to comfort this guy, but he seemed to bring out the 
mother hen instinct in her.

"I’m fine," he said, so she turned again to leave, only to turn back 
when he started talking. "It’s just that I don’t understand it!" 

She felt a bit like a top spinning around so she solved the problem by 
quietly taking a seat at the table with him, and then waited for him to 
elaborate.

"I’m so worried about her its eating a hole in my gut. I can’t eat, I 
can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her huddled in that 
corner shaking. They are destroying her mind! Again! And I can’t seem 
to step back enough to look at this clearly." There was enough self 
recrimination in his voice to make Mulder jealous.

"Welcome to the real world." She ignored the affronted look on his face 
and continued. "Perspective is most often sought after and rarely 
obtained. By the nature of life, the people we love are too close to us 
to think about clearly. If something happens to them, you can’t step 
back, you can only step forward." She half expected a caustic remark 
thrown back at her, but she received no answer. Jarod just sat there, 
lost in thought. "You’re doing everything you can to help her."

"It’s not enough."

"You can only give everything you have. After that, you leave it in the 
hands of God." Having said her piece, she got up and left, intent on 
finding one of the spare bedrooms Miss Parker had mentioned earlier. 
She wasn’t tired but she would need to get some sleep before they 
headed out. 

Jarod stayed in the kitchen, eventually getting up and pouring himself 
a cup of coffee. He absent-mindedly stirred a spoon around the cup, 
watching the flow and eddies as the liquid slowly cooled. What Scully 
had said made sense. 

He was so used to dealing with circumstances he controlled, at least to 
some extent. Now he was reacting to events as best he could, not really 
having time to plan ahead and sort things out. He was a control freak 
out of control. He chuckled to himself at the joke.

With a slight smile still on his lips, he left the kitchen, the coffee 
forgotten on the table, and went to find an empty bed. While his mind 
was still racing, the knots in his stomach had disappeared and a few 
moments after he stretched out on the covers, his eyes drifted shut and 
he was asleep.

***

It was easier now. I just sat and watched as the images darted in front 
of my eyes. I could reach out a hand and swat at them, my hand passing 
harmlessly through them. Jarod kept coming to see me, asking me 
questions. It took me a while to realize he wasn’t actually real, just 
another figure my twisted mind had thrown up. There might have been a 
person there, but all I saw was Jarod. 

Something had changed and I felt like I was floating around. This was 
much better and things didn’t hurt anymore. Not as much anyway. The 
dulling of the fires in my blood left me wanting to fly, so I did. Sort 
of. 

Part of me was screaming, trying to figure out what was wrong. This was 
the part of me that kept the other part babbling about silly things 
like the sleep-overs I had as a kid. That was the part of me that 
realized Jarod wasn’t real and that I was still at the Center. 

The other part of me was the part flying. It was so free, so happy, so 
light after the dark and horror of earlier. Now when I watched them, I 
watched from a distance. I still couldn’t see much and the fire tingled 
at the edge of my mind, but I could hardly feel it. 

Then I crashed. 

Crashing hurt. 

My stomach twisted, forcing bile into my mouth, but my mind actually 
cleared a bit. Jarod, or whoever that really was, had left, leaving me 
to my misery. Muscles cramped. I was too hot, then too cold. The cold 
metal of the small sink felt like ice, as I pulled myself up, dry 
retching into it until I simply didn’t have the energy to hold myself 
up any longer. 

***

Mulder woke up to a hand on his shoulder. Scully smiled down at him and 
told him to go eat something. Glancing at his watch, they had about two 
hours before they left, so he hauled himself into the kitchen and 
poured himself a cup of coffee from the large pot brewing on the 
counter. It was already half empty.

Several others were already up and Miss Parker had left a few hours ago 
for the Center. She’d already called and said that things were quiet. 
Mr. Lyle had left for the night and only those on the actual night 
shift where left. She’d also hooked up the modem to the Center’s 
isolated system for the Gunmen. 

Cup in hand, he headed to the bathroom to change out of his blue jeans 
and shirt, into the dark sweats and turtle neck he’d brought. He’d done 
something like this often enough, he didn’t want to ruin his last pair 
of half decent black jeans and the sweats were easier to move in. 

Serious preparations were already in motion. Weapons were checked, many 
of which Mulder didn’t want to know where they originally came from, 
radios turned on and volumes set. This was mostly done in silence 
punctuated by the occasional sound of someone coming in and getting 
something to eat. 

All too soon, it was time to leave. The three men, black from head to 
toe, faces included, piled into the van that Scully was driving; Adam 
followed in a large, black sedan. A few minutes later, they pulled up 
to the sewer drain that led into the Center.

***

Miss Parker looked around her office for one last time. After this 
night she would never be coming back and she was glad. But there was 
also a touch of sorrow at leaving a place she’d spent so much of her 
life. She picked up her cell phone and called the strange men who’d 
taken over her office at home. 

After a few minutes of conversation they did as she asked, pulling out 
enough dirt on the Center to close it down. Maybe not permanently but 
certainly enough for the jackals to set in and rip the pieces apart. 
They were also going to erase some personnel files while they were at 
it. Dialing in another number, she waited for the other person to pick 
up.

"Sydney, how’d you like to retire?" Let’s just say it didn’t take a lot 
of convincing for Sydney to contemplate a small country practice. 
Broots decided that a trip to Paris with his daughter would be the 
perfect way to spend the spring. That taken care of, she called as many 
Sweepers to her as she could and took them on a wild goose chase for 
Jarod in New York. She planned to fake her death most messily and leave 
them there.

Chapter 7

I must have passed out, because I know time had passed from when I 
dropped to the floor to when I crawled back to the blankets in the 
corner. I wanted a drink now more than anything, but I didn’t have the 
energy to go and get it. I was floating again, but not as much as 
earlier. Just enough to make me nauseous. 

Images played around me, passing in and out of focus, running through 
my life in excruciating detail. From the guy I kissed in kindergarten, 
to the guy I killed when I was fifteen. I would see Jarod walking down 
the hall and then Fox would come to tell me about his day at work. I 
was crying on Mom’s shoulder, happy to see her for the first time in my 
memory, then I was a little girl sitting on her lap. I didn’t even 
notice the men walk in the room. I guess they were back with more 
questions. 

"Samantha?" The voice was familiar and sounded like Fox, but I knew he 
wasn’t there. Just a memory come to haunt me again. "Sam listen to me, 
we need to get you out of here." Or a dream.

"Sam?" Was that Father? But he was dead, shot by the Center, another 
ghost. But that wasn’t right, I knew that wasn’t right. I shut my eyes 
tight against the images that flooded my mind. 

I opened them when a hand was placed on my shoulder and another gently 
pushing the strands of hair out of my face. I licked my lips, not even 
wetting them as I tried to push out the fog in my head and really see 
who was there. All I saw was black. 

"Sam, listen, I’m going to pick you up and carry you. We need to 
leave." 

"Jarod?" The vague head shape nodded. "You’re not real, nothing is 
real." I just grabbed a handful of shirt, surprised that my hand didn’t 
pass through it. "Why can’t it be real?" 

"I am real. You’re remembering things too fast, too clearly. Your mind 
isn’t really handling it well," he said. Was it possible that this was 
real, not some image my mind dragged up as wish fulfillment? 

By this point, I didn’t care. If I was completely nuts, it was better 
than being stuck in the Center. I gave myself over to the illusion, 
feeling myself be picked up and clutching desperately to the handful of 
shirt I’d latched onto. 

***

Jarod was horrified at how light Samantha felt. She wasn’t a stocky 
person, but she’d had a lot of muscle hidden on her frame that made her 
heavier than she looked. Now she was dehydrated and probably hadn’t 
eaten much considering the state she was in. He could feel her 
swallowing convulsively against the jolting she was getting. He lifted 
her up through the opening, easing her grip off the handful of shirt 
she was still hanging onto as he passed her off to Micheal. 

They hadn’t run into that much trouble yet, but that didn’t mean 
anything. It wasn’t over until it was over. Sam was mostly dead weight, 
but at least she wasn’t fighting them. That would have put a quick end 
to this foray. He pulled himself up into the vent and they started 
crawling through the space. Sam was currently draped across Mulder’s 
back, making it difficult for him to move quickly, while Micheal was 
bringing up the rear.

They made it out of the air vents into the storage room in which Jarod 
had earlier confronted Miss Parker. Angelo was in the shadows, waiting 
for them. He looked over the strange men with Jarod, trying to decide 
if he liked them or not. The tall man holding the woman was her 
brother, they both had the same intensity though hers was hard to see, 
dimmed beneath the confusion of her mind. The other man, the shorter 
one; there was something about him. Angelo left his hiding spot and 
ventured over to them. 

"Angelo, what are you doing here?" Jarod was glad to see the man but he 
was also worried about getting out of there in one piece. He could hear 
the Sweepers making their way to the room. The saving grace was that 
there weren’t that many of them and they were checking out everything 
as they worked their way through the hallway. 

Angelo simply walked up to them, the need to satisfy his growing 
curiosity overriding his usual reticence. He decided he would go with 
them, the Center was no longer safe for him. He knew that on an 
instinctual level and he knew Jarod would help him. The others he would 
have to find out about. He slid in front of the group, leading them 
through a slightly easier route to get to the vehicles waiting for 
them. 

Jarod had taken Sam from Mulder, cradling her carefully against him as 
they went through the corridors. He didn’t know this route, but he 
trusted Angelo and knew that the man was helping them. He could see the 
questions in Mulder’s eyes and the only reason Micheal stuck with them 
was because Jarod was carrying Sam. But soon they were in the familiar 
drain and racing their way away from the increased noise of the 
Sweepers behind them. They still hadn’t managed to lose them. 

Scully had the door open and waiting for them. They all jumped in and 
Jarod was surprised when Angelo joined them. He hadn’t expected the 
empath to leave the Center as Angelo always seemed to become 
overwhelmed whenever he left his familiar haunts. But Jarod was happy 
to see him leaving. 

Moving to the back seat, Jarod place Sam on it. He eased her down, her 
legs still curled up against her stomach. He had to brace himself as 
Scully took a corner. When he turned to go, a hand lashed out and 
buried itself in his jacket. 

He eased the death grip off his jacket, but sat down on the floor of 
the van, leaning against her seat. Her eyes, red rimmed and blood shot, 
looked at him with utter disbelief, as if she expected him to fade 
away. They also kept darting around, off to the side and back again. 
Again a hand reached out and hesitantly touched his shoulder. He 
reached up and placed his hand over hers, letting her know he was real.

***

Angelo turned around in his seat, looking at the man sitting behind 
him. His eyes searched the face of the man they called Micheal. He was 
familiar. Something about him made Angelo glad he was there. That was 
why he had continued to follow Jarod, to be near the strange man. 

There was a hardness there, a cold anger that seeped out of the eyes, 
making his whole face seem like granite. He was worried about Sam. He 
finally realized that he was being watched and his gaze turned to 
Angelo. His eyes softened a bit and he gave the empath a brief smile. 
Angelo grinned back.

"Hello Angelo."

He bobbed his head in reply. And turned back around in his seat, the 
grin still on his face. Scully glanced over at him, enchanted by the 
expression she saw. She found herself smiling back. Things had gone 
surprisingly well; they weren’t even being followed anymore. Another 
thing Skinner would never believe. If they ever told him. 

Chapter 8

I slept for the first time in a period too long to count. The lull of 
the road and the feeling of Jarod’s hand was enough for me to let 
exhaustion take over and my eyes soon drifted shut. There were no 
dreams, no visions and most of all, no memories. By the time I opened 
my eyes, I wasn’t in the van anymore. 

My eyes flashed open as I woke, expecting to see gray walls and visions 
of the past dancing in front of my eyes. Instead, though my head felt 
stuffed with cotton, the walls were soft white and my eyes saw nothing 
but the walls. I just lay there, absorbing the soft feel of the sheet 
draped over me, my eyes flowing over all the details in the room. I was 
home. Well, Mom’s house.

This was Fox’s old room; the blue curtains kept out most of the sun and 
there were pictures sitting on the desk. There was a book case against 
the wall filled with books, mostly hard cover, but some paperbacks were 
stacked in a pile on one of the shelves. 

I shifted forward, drawn to the books. At the edge of the bed, I didn’t 
even try to sit up, I just pushed my feet out of the blankets and slid 
to the floor with a slight thump. That alone jarred me and I sat on the 
floor waiting for my heart to slow from its pounding in my chest. I 
crawled over and pulled the top book off the pile of paperbacks.

It was a copy of Farmer in the Sky, by Heinlein, obviously much read. 
The corners were folded, and the pages yellowed, but in my eyes it was 
new. Mom had gotten it for his tenth birthday. She’d wrapped it up in 
dark paper and left it on his plate at breakfast. Fox came down the 
stairs and rushed in, his T-shirt just pulled all the way down and his 
feet bare.

I was already at the table, barely able to look over the edge of the 
table with a plastic glass of orange juice in my hand. He looked at the 
package on the table and almost ripped into it right away when Dad came 
down the stairs. Dad looked at the disarray of Fox’s outfit and with a 
tolerant smile, shook his head and went to pour himself a cup of 
coffee. 

Fox sat at the table and carefully opened the package, his eyes going 
big as he saw what it was. I asked him what he got and he ignored me, 
already reading the first chapter. 

A sound from behind me snapped my head up and around to see Fox, not 
even close to ten years old, standing there.

"Are you okay?"

"You got this from Mom, on your birthday." I said as I lifted up the 
book on my lap. My voice sounded like a gravel truck but I got the 
words out.

"You shouldn’t be trying to walk around by yourself. Jarod said you 
need to sleep things off a bit more." He knelt down beside me, holding 
a hand out that I ignored.

"How long?" It grated out but the words hurt as I tried to talk.

"He didn’t expect you to wake up for at least another eight hours." His 
reply wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted to know how long I was 
out of it.

"How long has it been? How long was I at the Center?" I had to swallow 
a few times to get it all out but the more I talked, the easier it 
became.

"We got you out early this morning. You’d been there for about a 
week," he said. With the first three days in the Center fairly clear in 
my mind, that made about 4 days lost in a mental fugue.

"It’s weird Fox. I can remember things now, but it overwhelming. It was 
all coming at once, all jumbled up together. I know what happened to me 
now Fox. I wish I didn’t." My voice was down to a whisper.

"Come on, let’s get you back to bed." This time, he just put a gentle 
hand under my arm and started to pull me up. I was weaving and my legs 
felt ready to collapse. 

"I’d rather have a shower." I was in something clean, but my scalp 
itched and I knew I wasn’t smelling all that fresh.

"When you can stand up without falling over." He had a point. I was 
hanging on for dear life to Fox’s arm, scared at how weak I was.

"Then something to drink." I sat on the bed, automatically pulling my 
legs up and hugging them. My throat was so dry, it felt like it was 
sticking together.

"That can be arranged. What do you want?"

"Just water." I couldn’t drag up the thought of anything but water 
sliding down my throat.

"Coming right up."

"Is Jarod still. . . " I had to stop because my throat was seizing up. 
I wanted to think it was because I was so thirsty, but I knew that 
wasn’t it.

"He’s downstairs, asleep on the couch." While Fox wasn’t pleased about 
the question, judging by the expression on his face, he finished his 
thought anyway. "He only fell asleep an hour ago. He was sitting with 
you till then. Let me get you something to drink."

With that he turned away and I could hear him as he went down the 
stairs. I pulled the blankets over my legs and leaned against the 
headboard. My mind was so full, I just closed my eyes and tried not to 
think about anything. Instead I thought about Fox, Father and Jarod 
coming for me. Father I expected, and Fox was a given. Why had Jarod 
come? How did he know in the first place? Why did I care? Why did he 
care? But when he came, all I could think was that he could banish the 
nightmares if only he were real. And he was real and he banished the 
nightmares. 

Fox was back so soon, I suspected I dosed off for a minute or two, but 
the glass of juice in his hand was almost enough for me to jump off the 
bed. If I could. 

"I know you asked for water, but I thought since there was some apple 
juice in the fringe, why not." He handed me the plastic glass. It was 
one of those giant, plastic movie cups and full to the brim. I had most 
of it downed in a few seconds, a little dribbling down my chin in my 
haste. I savored the last few mouthfuls though, letting it trickle down 
my throat, easing some of the ache there. "Do you want some more?"

"Sure." I replied, sleepily. I was sliding down the head rest and 
pulling at the blanket. Fox leaned over and tugged the edge loose that 
was caught, pulling the blankets up to my chin. 

"I’ll leave it on the bedside table." He was at the door when he turned 
around, his face full of worry. "How are you feeling?"

I mumbled something in reply, already mostly asleep. I could see him in 
the doorway and just as he left I spoke up.

"Thanks, Fox." And then I was asleep.

***

As far as Micheal could tell, they had pretty much gotten away clean 
from the Center. There were no guarantees, though. Miss Parker had 
called them earlier in the day and asked Adam to head over to New York 
with a change of clothes. She was going to take a dive off a building 
where the Sweepers were sure to see. After that, she would leave the 
Center behind her completely. He didn’t blame her one bit. 

She also told him about the information that the Lone Gunmen retrieved 
from the Center’s system. It was enough to shut down the company down 
in the least and at best could send most of the main players to jail 
for many years. 

It wasn’t enough for what they did to his family, but it was a start. 
When the Center took his son, he swore all of those involved would die. 
But as years passed, he decided seeing them ruined and letting them 
know that he did it, was more. . . satisfying. 

Then he met Sam and priorities changed. He’d lived long enough to not 
to feel guilty over transferring his need to care for someone to her. 
He still loved his wife and son, and now he loved her too. And he could 
help her. So he did. 

Now he could pay the Center back as well. He figured that releasing 
certain parts to the media, let the frenzy build up for a little while 
and then start feeding bits to the police. Maybe a bit to the FBI as 
well. Some of the financial information should find itself at home with 
the IRS. A few words in the right ears of the Mafia would take care of 
the remnants that escape prosecution. We can’t forget the foreign 
investors either. The Center double crossed just about everyone at some 
point in time. 

Maybe when this was all done, he could sleep without seeing the mental 
image of his car exploding with his wife inside. And perhaps his son 
will find rest, wherever his body lay. Pulling his thoughts away from 
an area still painful after all these years, he got up and left his 
chair in the living room, wandering to parts unknown. 

The Mulder house was quite large. A porch ran the length of the front 
and the yard in the back was huge with a large tree dominating one 
corner. There were enough rooms to house just about everyone and to 
give Mrs. Mulder credit, she didn’t bat an eye lid when they all 
descended on her at the crack of dawn. 

She took one look at her daughter and everyone’s disheveled appearance, 
then bustled them all in the house. Once everyone was settled, she 
spent the next four hours in the office pumping Mulder for information. 
Micheal thought it amusing that even Mulder’s mother called him Mulder. 

Jarod stayed with Sam, watching over her to make sure that she was fine 
and to assess what all had happened to her. At least that was why he 
said he was keeping vigil at her bedside. Micheal let his lips slide 
into a sad smile. Jarod was just punishing himself for his earlier 
behavior. Call it penance. 

Scully called her boss and said that she was still down with the flu 
and then went home to complete the illusion. She told Mulder that if he 
didn’t call her when Sam woke up she would take her revenge on his 
couch. Mulder went pale and promised to keep her filled in. The Lone 
Gunmen eventually called, saying they were back at their place and 
anytime they wanted to pick up the info they got a hold of, they could 
stop by and pick it up. 

Micheal went out the back door and regardless of the slight chill that 
clung to the spring afternoon, sat down in a chair. Angelo was outside 
with him, sitting under the tree and poking at the blades of grass. He 
shrugged his shoulders against the unfamiliar weight of Jarod’s jacket 
and then went back to his studies. When the empath got up and moved 
towards the trunk of the tree, Micheal’s curiosity got the better of 
him and he went to see what Angelo was looking at. 

Before he got very far, Angelo turned away from the tree and ran 
towards the ancient Immortal. He skidded to a halt in front of Micheal 
and with solemn eyes, reached forward to lay a hand on the his cheek. 
Angelo’s eyes bulged a little at first before they closed and an 
intense look passed over the little man’s face. 

Micheal just stood there, not sure what to do or think. He knew that 
Angelo was special, that the Center had twisted him into the creature 
he’d become. He’d seen the man give information about people just from 
touching something they owned. So he waited. 

After a minute, Angelo’s eyes fluttered and opened. His eyes were 
glassy and he just wandered back into the house, leaving Micheal more 
confused than before. 

***

Jarod’s eyes snapped open to the noise of a door closing. Now that he 
was awake, he felt as stiff as a board and he had that mucky, not 
enough sleep but it will have to do for now, feeling. He got up, 
stretched out the muscles in his back and went to find a bathroom. 
Heading down the hall a few minutes later, he felt more human. He had 
needed the rest, short as it was. 

When Mrs. Mulder had come in and seen him nodding off at Sam’s bed 
side, she suggested he could use some sleep. Realizing that the kink in 
his neck was not going to get any better sitting in a chair trying to 
nap, he took her advice and flaked out on the couch. 

Heading to the kitchen for something to eat, he kept an eye out for 
whoever else was around. The place sounded deserted, so he just 
rummaged around in the fridge. Giving up on the fridge he started in on 
the cupboards. 

Settling for a bowl of cereal, he quickly bolted it down. He wanted to 
see how Sam was doing, but he was also reluctant. Last night she was 
still out of it; how would she react to his presence when she was with 
it? He squashed the feeling that it would be simpler for all involved 
if he just moved on. That’s what got him in this mess in the first 
place.

Putting his bowl in the dishwasher, he went up the stairs and headed to 
the room Sam was in. Easing the door open, he saw her asleep, still 
curled up around herself but her face was relaxed and her hand wasn’t 
twisted up in the blanket anymore. She shifted a little at the noise of 
his entrance, but apparently the call to sleep was stronger than the 
call to wake and her eyes barely fluttered. 

He sat in the chair he’d earlier put near the bed, stretching his legs 
out and leaning his head against the wall behind him. He should have 
thought about that earlier. It was easier on his neck. 

Chapter 9

This time, when I woke up, it was a more gradual thing. I rarely do 
that, usually going from sleep to alert in the time it takes my eyes to 
open. Now I sort of faded into awareness, hearing the muted noises from 
downstairs first and then opened my eyes to the dimmed light from the 
window. I was still thirsty, but I was warm and comfortable and not so 
thirsty as to want to disturb the cocoon of blankets I was wrapped up 
in. The noises in the background quieted for a bit and I could hear the 
sound of breathing from right beside me. 

So I blinked my eyes a few times, to clear the last of the sleep from 
them, and looked at the man sitting beside me. He looked tired. He also 
looked very asleep. This gave me chance to again reassure myself that 
everything that happened, actually happened. It also gave me a chance 
to look over one of my rescuers. 

Jarod’s hair had grown and was now a little poofy. I liked it that way. 
He also had a smudge of black in his hair line which might explain why 
I couldn’t see any faces last night. At least, I think it was last 
night. People think blacking out a face is only something they only do 
in movies, but it does a lot to disguise features, without the bulk or 
bother of a ski mask. Some subtle highlighting can change the 
appearance even further. 

He wasn’t in the black clothes of early, having changed into a pair of 
sweats and a T-shirt. It reminded me of the time I first took him to 
the Dojo. That seemed like a life time ago, before everything hit the 
fan and Joe died. There was more strain around his eyes now. It hasn’t 
been easy for anyone I guess.

I shifted a bit, stretching a leg out and clearing a hair out of my 
face. I was going to have to do something about that mess. Maybe I 
would cut the lot off. Nah. I guess I was feeling better though. My 
head was even more clear. I had to giggle though, as I realized that I 
could look straight up Jarod’s nose. Maybe my head wasn’t all that 
clear after all.

I just laid there and watched the rise and fa