She took a slow breath and raised her eyes. "I'm okay." Control, fragile at best, returned and she straightened her back. "There's work to be done." Her eyes pleaded with them to trust her, to allow her to do this.

Doggett pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning heavily against since they entered this room. "I'll be right outside." Without waiting for her response, he walked out into the hall, leaving the door open for Skinner to follow him.

Skinner held her gaze for a long moment, trying to read beyond the mask she had wrestled back into place. "I still don't think this is a good idea. Why won't you let the medical examiner handle this?"

"Because it's my job."

He lowered his gaze to the body that lay before her on the autopsy table. Just a moment ago, she had barely been unable to contain her emotions long enough to finish the preliminary comments she had been trying to record. How would she be able to cut into this man, reveal the horrendous damage his body had sustained, and not see Mulder under her knife? Then he recognized the determination on her face, a look he had seen so many times in the past, and he was overwhelmed with admiration for this woman. It made him reconsider.

She needed to do this. There had been so little she could do up to this point other than imagine the worst. Now her worst fears undoubtedly paled in comparison to the reality confronting her in the form of this tortured body. She and Mulder shared an ability to face their demons head on, he had seen it time and again in the years he had known them. This was her way of coming to grips with what had happened to her partner. He would have to trust her judgment.

She saw his expression change from concern to something else that she was still trying to identify when he spoke, "All right. I'll see you when you've finished here." He was reaching back to close the door behind him when she spoke.

"Thank you, Sir."

He acknowledged her with a quick nod and closed the door.

Finally alone, she allowed her shoulders to slump, bringing her chin almost to her chest. She stood that way for a long time, gathering herself for what she was about to see. When she felt steadier, she resumed her external examination of the body, recording her comments in a voice strained with unshed tears.

As she recited the toll that had been taken on this man's flesh, her mind was flooded with images of her partner and she fought them back desperately. It didn't take a medical degree to know the pain that must have been inflicted along with these injuries. The jagged scar down the center of the chest, reopened by her own hands, revealed horrible damage beneath. When she examined the mouth, she found deep scarring in the soft palette, the result of a puncture wound that extended through the bone and into the brain itself.

But somehow, the restraint scars bothered her most. The naked cruelty with which this man and Theresa Hoese had been controlled while this was done to them was almost more than she could bear to think about. Mulder would have suffered this same treatment, of that she no longer had any doubt. All this time...

She couldn't allow her mind to follow that thread. If she let herself dwell on what had happened to him, what might still be happening to him as she stood here, she would lose her mind. But she owed him this... he deserved nothing less than that she see the truth and accept it. Finally. To look at the horror with an unflinching gaze, feel his pain and his fear. It was all she had left to give him.

***

Walter Skinner stood with his back against the wall, shoulders straight, eyes fixed on the door to the room where Dana Scully's heart was being slowly torn to pieces by her own hand. He grimly reminded himself that his own hands had played no small part in the torment she was now enduring, that she *had* endured since he had let her down so completely with the most important task she'd ever entrusted to him. The knowledge that she didn't blame him didn't lessen his conviction that he was as responsible for Mulder's disappearance from her life as if he had placed a gun against the man's temple and pulled the trigger. That might even have been an act of kindness compared to the torture both Mulder and Scully had been subjected to over the past three months.

*What if he's dead*, she had asked him last night. Coward that he was, he had soothed her with platitudes, unable to face the real possibility that this might end exactly as she feared. With every shred of evidence they uncovered, the likelihood of finding Mulder alive decreased. She knew it as well as he did and she had seen through his feeble attempt at distracting her. He felt the shame of his own selfishness, preventing her from preparing herself for Mulder's death for no reason other than that he couldn't face it himself.

Well, he would damn well face it now. If he could summon up a faction of the strength that she was demonstrating in there right now, he would prove himself worthy of her friendship. It was the least he could do for her now.

***

The memories that surfaced as a result of his talk with Monica Reyes had driven him out into the chilly night air to clear his head. Doggett knew that she had only been trying to help but that didn't lessen the pain. She had been right about him knowing what Scully must be feeling. He knew all too well. She was no longer afraid that Mulder would never be found. What she feared most was that she would find him mutilated or dead. Or both. And the hell of it was, she was probably right.

He savagely pushed back the images of his son, refusing to allow those last moments to find their way into his conscious mind. Not now. The search had gone on for three days, ending with the discovery of a small, tortured form that had been his son. It wasn't until after the funeral that he had allowed himself to react, and his reaction had damn near ended his pitiful existence. If Connie hadn't walked in when she did... well, it would have been all over. He still wasn't sure she'd done him a favor.

Now here he was, trying to save his partner from living his nightmare. He hadn't realized how much he was seeing himself in Scully until Monica Reyes pointed it out, but she had always had the ability to turn things around for him, to show him a new angle. Her intuitive insights had amused her staid coworkers in New Orleans at first. Still did on occasion, though she had learned to make her wilder theories easier for them to accept before she totally stalled her career. Mulder, from what Doggett had heard, never 'got' that lesson. Maybe he didn't want to.

If there was one thing he knew about Mulder, it was that there had to be a lot more to the man than his legendary genius IQ and tendency to self-destruct. Whatever it was, it had earned him the limitless devotion of Dana Scully. Doggett had promised to bring him back to her long before he understood what it would mean if he failed. Watching her lose it over the body of a stranger a few minutes ago had reinforced his commitment to that promise. There was no way he was going to let her see Mulder like that. Not if there was anything on earth he could do to stop it.

***

The water was hot enough to steam the mirror over the sink but it couldn't warm her hands. No matter how much she scrubbed, the sensations clung to her fingers like icy gloves.

Her examination told her that Gary Cory had not died as a direct result of the tests but rather from shock caused by the pain that came with them. The level of adrenaline in his blood spoke of unimaginable agony and fear at the time of his death. She had finished the autopsy with Mulder's silent screams echoing around her.

Some part of her knew that she was in shock, that she should turn off the near-scalding water and get some help. But the part of her that was in charge couldn't shake the image of Mulder's tormented body under her hands on that table. She kept scrubbing.

***

"Is she still in there?"

Skinner hadn't heard Doggett's approach and jumped slightly at his words. "Yes, she is. I was about to check on her."

"Let's give her a few more minutes." Then he added, almost to himself. "I don't know how she's doing this. It's gotta be killing her." Doggett's attention was fixed on the autopsy room door as he spoke.

"She's very strong, but I don't know how much more of this *anyone* could take."

They were silent for a few moments. Then Doggett cleared his throat and Skinner looked at him. It seemed as if he wanted to say something but didn't know quite how to start.

"What is it?"

"This wouldn't normally be any of my business but with what's likely to be coming up, I need to understand what I'm gonna be dealing with." He paused, glancing again toward the door before fixing his gaze on Skinner. "What the two of them had, Mulder and Scully, was a lot more than a close friendship, wasn't it?"

Skinner looked pained. "They were closer than any two people I've ever known."

"Yeah, I figured that. I guess what I'm asking is, were they lovers?"

"I don't understand how this is going to help." Skinner's jaw was clenched tightly and it showed in his voice.

"It's not idle curiosity, Sir. Agent Scully hides her emotions pretty well and when she cracked in there a little while ago, it scared the shit out of me. What I'm trying to find out is, am I gonna be dealing with a bereaved partner or a grieving widow?"

Skinner looked away and was silent for a long time. When he finally met Doggett's gaze, his eyes were empty. "I don't know how to describe what they are to each other. But if you're trying to prepare for what she'll be like if he's dead, I think you have a pretty accurate frame of reference in your own experience."

So Skinner knew about his son. Only his ex-wife knew the rest of it, though he suspected that Monica Reyes understood how close it had come to destroying him. "Then we can't leave her alone until this is over."

They crossed to the autopsy room door in silent agreement and Doggett rapped his knuckles against the cool metal. There was no response for a long moment and he was reaching for the knob when the door swung open. Dana Scully stood ramrod straight before them, her face an unreadable mask. She had changed back into her street clothes and had apparently spent some time repairing her make-up.

"I've finished up here, Sir. I'd like to go back to the hotel, if you don't mind." Her voice betrayed nothing of what she was feeling.

She strode past them without a word, everything in her posture crying out for what neither of them could give her. The two men exchanged glances and fell into step at her side. Whatever happened over the next few days, she would not be alone.

***