Disclaimer: All characters, etc., are owned by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions, no copyright infringement is intended.

It was just another cold, foggy day in Washington D.C.; but in spite of the weather, Dana Scully was in an obstinately good mood. Even the troubled look on Assistant Director Walter Skinner's face didn't dampen her spirits as he approached her in the corridor on the way to her partner's office. "Good morning, sir," she said cheerily. "What has he done now?"

Skinner, a middle-aged balding man wearing wire-rimmed glasses, shook his head without smiling. "Agent Scully, I have bad news," he said without preamble. "Cecil L'Ively escaped from prison last night. The prison psychiatrist says he'll be coming after Mulder."

Scully couldn't repress a shudder. L'Ively had been captured by her partner, Fox Mulder, almost two years ago at the end of a string of gruesome murders--his victims had all been burned to death. She knew that Mulder was of the opinion that L'Ively had committed the crimes by using some form of pyrokinesis, but she herself had balked at such an extreme explanation. "He's sure?" Skinner nodded grimly. "We have to tell Mulder."

"That's where I was going." He fell into step with her, heading toward the basement office that housed the X-Files division. "Security says he came in early this morning, but he's not answering his phone. Is he working on something?"

"Nothing that important, that I know of," Scully replied, quickening her pace a little. A small knot of alarm was forming in her stomach, and she tried to rationalize it away. "But you know how he is when he's working. Or he could be asleep."

"You're probably right," Skinner observed, matching her pace as they rounded the last corner. "Well, his door's closed."

Scully reached for the doorknob, then jerked her hand away with a yelp of pain. "It's hot," she cried, and gingerly touched the door. "The door, too. Mulder, are you in there! Mulder!"

"Stand back," Skinner ordered. Two powerful kicks slammed the door open, and thick grey smoke poured into the corridor on a wave off sickening heat. "Scully, get the extinguisher and pull the alarm!" he cried before taking a deep breath and plunging into the room.

Scully ran down the hall and yanked the fire alarm, feeling ink from its broken capsule spill onto her fingers. She jerked the extinguisher off the wall and ran back to the open door, just in time to see a coughing, red-eyed Skinner dragging the limp form of her partner out of the smoke. With her help, he dragged Mulder away from the smoke and waved away the proffered extinguisher. "There's no fire in there that I could see," he gasped, wide-eyed, "but it's like an oven in there. What about him?"

Mulder's skin was dead white, and his lips were purplish-blue. Scully checked for a pulse. "Pulse, but he's not breathing," she said, pulling his head back to open his airway. She looked up at Skinner for a second, fear blanching all the color from her face. "Some of this smoke is coming from his clothes," she said quietly, fearfully. "They're hot enough to hurt my hands. I'm starting artificial respiration."

Between breaths Scully was dimly aware of people rushing past her, of shouting and confusion at the other end of the hall; but her attention was wholly fixed on the hot, unresponsive form beside her. She was beginning to fear she would faint from her exertions when Mulder's body spasmed slightly, and then he began to cough. He was still unconcious, however, when the paramedics arrived a few minutes later. "Severe smoke inhalation," she informed them weakly. "And possibly first-degree burns. He's still hot."

"How about you?" one of the paramedics asked as they quickly got Mulder onto a gurney and began to navigate it out of the building. "You're still breathing pretty hard. Want to come with us?"

Scully shook her head. "I'll be okay, thanks." The man shrugged and followed the gurney, and she turned to look at her smoke-begrimed boss. "I think we should detail someone to keep security tight at the hospital."

Skinner nodded, frowning. "It still might not be enough. There was no fire, Scully, and nothing that could account for the heat and the smoke, either; but the smoke alarm was melted into a puddle, and the sprinkler heads were fused shut. This was definitely not an accident. L'Ively?"

"I don't know who else it could be," she replied slowly, trying not to think about the heat that had radiated from her partner's clothes and skin, about Mulder's theories concerning Cecil L'Ively. "That file is still technically an X-File, you know."

"It's yours," was Skinner's reply to the implied question. "Anything I can do to help..."

"Yes," interrupted Scully, "there is." She was giving him an odd, almost hesitant look. "My partner is in the hospital."

That took him by surprise, but Skinner only hesitated an instant before nodding affirmatively. "You got it. I'll meet you at the hospital after I'm finished here."

Scully nodded and started up the hall; then she turned back. "Director Skinner?" He raised a questioning eyebrow and she gave him a small smile, a faint echo of the one she'd been wearing just 15 minutes ago. "Thanks."

He smiled back. "See you in a little while...partner." As he watched her disappear up the stairs the word took on a different meaning in his mind, and he forcibly reminded himself that Dana Scully was out of his reach--for a number of reasons. He turned away from the retreating fantasy with a regretful sigh and went back to the still-smoking office.

Scully arrived at the hospital and spent almost an hour arranging security and detailing clearances and instructions to the two young agents she'd brought to guard Mulder's door. He was starting to come to by the time she finished, and she stood impatiently by while his doctor verified that it was all right to question him. "Hi, Scully," he said weakly when she walked in. "Do I look as crispy as I feel?"

"You look alive," she smiled back, sitting down in a chair beside his bed. "Remember what happened?"

He nodded. "Vaguely. I came in early to work, to clear up some paperwork. I started feeling a little too warm, so I took my jacket off. When that didn't help I started thinking that I might be coming down with something, so I took a couple of asprin. That didn't help either. It was getting to be really uncomfortable, I was feeling kind of lightheaded, and then I noticed the smoke coming from...I don't know, just the air. I tried to get out...I remember falling..."

"And then Skinner kicked in your door and pulled you to safety," she finished for him. "And I started you breathing again. There was no sign of fire at all in your office, but everything in it--including you--was too hot to touch." She hesitated, then decided. "Mulder, Cecil L'Ively escaped from prison last night. He's coming after you."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that would explain it."

"You don't look surprised."

Mulder smiled. "That heat, it had a...familiar feel to it. And I sort of hope it was him; one pyrokinetic killer per career is enough for me. Do we have the case?"

"Yes...sort of." He raised his eyebrows and she gave him her best I'm-right-so-don't-argue-with-this look. "Mulder, until we know exactly what happened...well, you'd be better off staying here."

As usual, the look was ignored. "But Scully, you can't..."

"I know," she replied. "That's why Skinner will be helping me." Mulder's mouth fell open, and she laughed at him. "What?"

"Skinner agreed to help you--in the field," he stammered. "I can't believe it; he's..." and then he shut himself up abruptly, remembering a very good reason why Skinner might do just that in defiance of normal procedure. He had always suspected that the Director's feelings for Scully went a little farther than just a friendly liking. "Well, whatever his reasons--I'm glad it's him rather than anyone else. You can trust him."

"I'm glad you approve," she replied, with just a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "But the real question is; can I trust you...to stay right here, where you're safe."

Mulder closed his eyes. "I'll stay put," he said agreeably. "I needed a vacation anyway." He felt her gently pat his hand, then heard the door click closed behind retreating footsteps. He opened his eyes again and sighed at the ceiling. "But I won't be safe," he whispered. "Not here, not anywhere--not from him."

Mulder would have been relieved to know that Skinner agreed with him--and that he was facing the same brand of Scully-resistance because of it. "Scully, we checked everything twice," Skinner stated impatiently later that day. "No possible cause, no normal explanation..."

"That you could find," she added.

"That we could find," he conceded. "But I did read through the L'Ively file again, and if Agent Mulder was right about him..."

"We couldn't prove that."

Skinner's patience was starting to wear a little thin. "True. But if he was, then not even the Secret Service can keep him from getting to Mulder. We're going to have to catch him before he tries again."

"I agree...with that last part. But there was never any conclusive proof that Cecil L'Ively possessed some sort of 'paranormal' ability; he may have just been very good at covering his tracks, or that part of the investigation may have been sloppy..."

"Agent Mulder supervised..."

"...or the investigator may have been biased," Scully concluded. "Sometimes people find--or don't find--exactly what they want to."

I have her, he thought. "So you think Agent Mulder's personal beliefs make him unreliable as an investigator?" he asked sharply. "Have you been covering for him, Agent Scully?"

She looked surprised. "Not at all; I think he's a fine agent. But everyone has a blind spot somewhere, and that's Mulder's. He wants to believe, proof or no proof..."

Skinner had heard enough; he exploded. "Scully," he hissed from between clenched teeth, "that file is full of proof--I think your blind spot is showing if you can't see it and accept it for what it is! Do you subject your partner to this...willfull blindness of yours every time a case like this turns up? No wonder he's so defensive when I question him about anything, no wonder he won't tell anyone what he's doing unless he absolutely has to! And I'll tell you something right now; it's going to stop, now, this minute! If this is some sort of game the two of you play, consider it officially over. Do I make myself clear?" She nodded, shocked to silence, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Any and all theories will be considered, no matter what they are, as long as there is proof to back them up--and I consider lack of proof to be a kind of proof in itself. We want to catch this guy, Scully, before he strikes again; and we might not succeed in that unless you're willing to face your fear and open yourself up to extreme possibilities."

Scully just stared at him. Then her hand crept to her mouth and her eyes started to glisten. "Mulder said...says that to me. Extreme possibilities. But if it's true, if you're both right and I'm wrong, then he's as good as dead."

"You don't give up that easily," said Skinner gently, wishing he could hold her, comfort her--and knowing he couldn't. "And neither does he. We still have time..."

Scully's cell phone rang, and she snapped it open. "Scully...what! Yes, I'll be right there, thank you." She replaced the phone in her bag with shaking hands. "I think our time is running out," she said. "Mulder's internal temperature is rising again, and they can't seem to slow it down. He's...asking for me."

"I'll drive," Skinner said, taking her arm and leading her to the door, thanking God that he wasn't a jealous man, or an unscrupulous one; the look in her eyes said the man who was asking for her was the reason his own dreams would remain just that.

And the worst part was, he reflected, that she didn't even know it herself.

Mulder's skin was again almost too hot to touch, but Scully held his hand anyway and didn't acknowledge the pain. He was in agony, fighting the release of delirium and unconsciousness to stay with her; she couldn't do any less for him, not when he needed her so much. "Think, Mulder," she urged gently, squeezing his hand. "You wrote the profile on him; what will his next move be?"

"Not...next. Third," Mulder gasped, taking deep drags from the oxygen tube under his nose. "Chess, not checkers. He'll want to...draw this out, for as long as he can...before he claims checkmate." His grip tightened on hers. "You have to...take this guy out...for me, Scully. He has to be stopped. Permanently."

They both knew what he was asking. Scully swallowed hard. "I agree," she said softly. "We'll stop him, Mulder; we'll stop him in time."

He shook his head, smiling, but his hazel eyes had darkened to brown with determination. "That doesn't matter, Scully; just as long as he's stopped," he said, and gave her one last, affectionate look before closing his eyes.

Scully didn't, couldn't answer. She just stood there, holding his burning hot hand until it went limp in hers and he started to mutter; delirium had won out. Then she walked slowly back out into the corridor where Skinner was waiting. "He wants me...us, to stop L'Ively. For good. That was the last thing he said."

Skinner nodded, slowly, taking it in. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him, and Mulder's determination was in her reddened eyes. Her voice was strong and steady. "I will be when we get him."

Finding Cecil L’Ively turned out to be easy - almost too easy, as though the man weren’t even bothering to cover his tracks. Skinner thought it was a good possibility he wasn’t. "According to the profile Mulder wrote, this guy believes he’s invincible."

"I’ve only encountered him once, but from what I saw I’d have to agree with him," Scully said. "The man is obviously psychotic and has marked sociopathic tendencies, he has absolutely no remorse for anything he does…wait, is that something moving up there?!"

Skinner pulled out binoculars and took a look, then scowled. "Dammit! It’s him, right there - he’s practically waving at us!"

"Then I guess we should go say ‘Hi’," Scully grimaced. "We’ll have to be careful, though; I have no doubt it’s a trap." She pulled the radio off its hook and sent out a warning beep. "We have him," she broadcast to the waiting agents and law enforcement officers. "Deploy yourselves around the outside of the warehouse and work your way in slowly, keeping all exits covered at all times. L'Ively should be considered armed and dangerous--shoot to kill." She released the speaker and looked at Skinner; he nodded. "Glad you agree. Let's go in."

They cautiously circled the near corner of the dilapidated building and stormed through a side door with two other agents. "Fan out," Skinner ordered. He raised his gun toward the upper half-floor of the warehouse. "There's no way out, Cecil," he called out. "We have you surrounded. Give up."

A ripple of near-hysterical laughter floated down the rickety metal utility stairs, and the already oppressive heat of the place seemed to intensify. "Come and get me."

Scully signaled to Skinner; she had found a rusty ladder leading up to the second floor. He nodded and started up the stairs, trying to avoid touching the hot railing. "Okay," he replied. "I'm coming up. Don't make any sudden moves."

He heard steps moving, amazingly enough, back away from the stairs. Cat and mouse, he thought. He reached the top of the stairs and took two steps forward, then stopped dead.

Walter Skinner, veteran of war and countless criminal encounters though he was, had never seen anything that frightened him half as much as the look he saw in Cecil L'Ively's eyes--to say the man was psychotic was putting it mildly. Very mildly. "The game's over," Skinner declared. "Surrender yourself or we'll have to use deadly force to contain you."

"Okay, I surrender," L'Ively said pleasantly. "Just let me surrender my weapon."

Skinner saw the air between them writhe, then explode into a blossoming fireball that headed straight for him. "Jesus!" Having no other avenue of escape, he threw himself over the rusty metal railing and prayed that the piles of rubbish he's seen on the floor below hadn't been covering scrap metal--or gas cans.

L'Ively laughed. "Bye-bye, Mister FBI," he said happily. He started to saunter over to the railing himself to have a look, but was stopped by the click of a gun cocking behind him. He turned around very slowly and spread his empty hands wide for Scully to see. "You can't shoot me," he said, still chuckling. "I'm unarmed. I've 'surrendered'."

"You may have 'surrendered'," Scully growled, "but I'd hardly consider you 'unarmed'."

"You're right, of course," he admitted proudly. "But you can't prove it. I'll come after the two of you next, from my boring fireproof jail cell--right after I've finished off Agent Mulder."

It was Scully's turn to smile; the grim satisfaction in her expression told L'Ively he'd made a mistake. A big one. "Thank you," she said politely, almost happily. "You've just admitted you were armed and had intent to kill; now I have the right to use deadly force."

L'Ively did his best; but the small ring of fire that sprang up around her feet died abruptly when her round caught him in the chest and threw him backwards. The hollow booming of feet on the stairs behind her made her spin around defensively, and she lowered her weapon as Skinner rushed up to her. "Scully!"

"I'm okay." She looked at the thin black circle around her feet with detached interest. "You were both right, even if we can't prove it. I doubt that the autopsy will find anything abnormal..."

"I think you're right," Skinner said quietly. "I don't even think we'll need an autopsy, Scully."

She looked up, and gasped. The body of Cecil L'Ively was burning; hot blue-white flames that looked like they were consuming him from the inside. Within a few minutes while the startled agents watched, the corpse was reduced to a mound of greasy black ash. "Spontaneous combustion," she breathed. "That's...unbelievable."

"Not as long as seeing is believing," Skinner said. "What I thought was unbelievable were those flames he threw at me. They looked like they came out of thin air...Scully?"

She had turned and was staring at him openmouthed. "That's it," she said. "Mulder said the smoke in his office looked like it was coming out of the air, out of nothing. But air isn't..." She turned and ran for the car, calling back over her shoulder to him. "You were right; I wasn't able to see the obvious just because it didn't fit with...my beliefs. Any first-year chemistry student probably would have made the connection. I have to get to the hospital!"

Skinner didn't understand, but he trusted her instincts. He called for one of the other agents to take care of the scene and demanded his car keys.

"It can't be too late, it can't be too late!" She flashed her badge at the startled desk nurse and ran down the corridor to Mulder's room. The doctor jumped when she burst in through the door. "It's the oxygen," she panted. "That's what he's using, he's burning the oxygen. Turn it off!"

"Agent Scully," the doctor began angrily, "I hardly think..."

"I said turn it off!" The doctor took one threatening step toward her, then stopped abruptly when she pointed her gun at him. "Do it."

"I will, but only because you're forcing me to," the doctor said, cutting the valve off with shaking hands. "You're going to kill him." He reached for the oxygen mask.

"No," Scully ordered. "Leave it on him. Now back away, slowly, and stand in that corner." Still keeping the gun trained on his chest, she moved around the bed and checked the valves on the wall above it. Then she opened up the one marked 'CO2' and checked the seal on the mask. She patted her partner's hot cheek with a shaking hand. "I know I'm right," she told him softly. "Just trust me."

Skinner burst into the room and sized up the situation with one glance. "Scully, what the hell are you doing! Put that gun down!"

She didn't even look up. "L'Ively was using the oxygen, Skinner; he was literally burning Mulder up from the inside, on a cellular level. I'm letting him breathe carbon dioxide to compensate."

"That's crazy..." began the doctor, but Skinner waved him silent.

"No, she's right; that has to be it," he said. "But Scully, once his cells are full of carbon dioxide, what then? He'll still be dead."

He saw her flinch slightly. "A condition we should be able to reverse," she replied. "Unlike the previous one. Once the 'hot' oxygen is neutralized, his normal body chemistry should reassert itself. Without L'Ively to stimulate it, the reaction shouldn't be able to continue."

Skinner made a decision. He pulled out his own gun and pointed it at the doctor. "I've got him; you just take care of Mulder." She nodded and holstered her weapon, leaning protectively over her partner, and Skinner asked the question that was burning a hole in his mouth. "Uh, Scully...what if you're wrong?"

He saw her expression harden into stone. "It will be quicker this way," she said quietly; more to Mulder than to him, Skinner thought. Then, "We're almost there...yes!" Scully tore the mask off her partner's face and grabbed a resuscitation bag from the wall over the bed, fitting it carefully over his nose and mouth. "Come on, Mulder, you can do it," she told him. "Don't let that bastard beat you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Skinner watched his agent's chest rise and fall as Scully pumped air into his lungs. Time ticked by. "Scully..."

"He can do it," she insisted. "Give him time." But every second was dragging by for her, too; and internally she was praying as hard as she ever had in her life. "Don't let go," she whispered. "Please, don't let go."

Nothing happened. More endless seconds passed, rhythmically marked by the hypnotizing hiss of the bag. And then the rhythm broke, startling her; Mulder took a shallow, struggling breath on his own. Then another. And another. Scully let her own breath out in an explosion of relief. "Thank God," she said. "Thank God. You can let him go now, it's okay."

Skinner lowered his gun and slowly holstered it. "Doctor, I think you're going to forget all about this, aren't you," he stated calmly. "I believe Doctor Scully's report to the state medical board could seriously affect your career. Do we understand each other?"

The doctor wiped his sweating forehead. "I believe so," he said, "but threats are unnecessary; I know a save when I see one." He went to the bed and started checking his patient's vital signs, giving Scully a look of pure admiration. "If you ever decide to leave the FBI," he told her seriously, "give me a call. I can always use a doctor with enough balls to prove herself right."

Scully looked over his head at Skinner and winked. "Thanks for the compliment," she said, "but I think the Bureau will be stuck with me for just a while longer."

And so will a certain special agent, thought Skinner, smiling ruefully and shaking his head at the dream that wouldn't quite die, for quite a bit longer than that.

Fin