From: Brandon Ray Date: Thu, 24 Aug 2000 20:46:06 -0500 Subject: All Which It Inherit 2: Melted Into Air Source: direct =========== Chapter Six =========== Office of the Lone Gunmen Washington, DC Wednesday, May 31, 2000 7:08 p.m. "Dammit, Frohike, open up!" Mulder shouted, banging on the door for a third time. He knew the boys were in there; he'd talked to Langly on Scully's cell phone only twenty minutes earlier, after they'd passed the final checkpoint and were allowed to enter Washington. And they were running late. The delay at the first blockade had been bad enough, but they'd subsequently been stopped six more times during the drive to D.C., by suspicious military officers who'd been told to neither expect nor allow civilian traffic in their sectors. Fortunately, the pass given to them by Lt. Matthews turned out to be valid, and in each instance they were allowed to continue on there way -- after a short delay. Mulder had been somewhat surprised when Scully suggested they stop by to see the Gunmen before checking in with Skinner, and even more surprised when she stated calmly that the boys were more likely to have found some answers than the Bureau's crime lab. He recognized that she'd been through a lot in the past year, in terms of reexamining her belief system, but no matter how hard he worked, he could never quite seem to keep up. She really did keep him guessing, this past year more than ever before. He wondered if she realized how much he respected the spiritual and emotional journey she'd been on, or how impressed he was by her willpower and strength of character. He paused briefly in his pounding, and looked down at Scully, standing next to him and holding hands with Kyle. She was tired of course, just as he was. Neither of them had slept in a real bed since Saturday night, in Las Vegas, and catching naps in a moving car just wasn't the same. Even the idea of stretching out on his lumpy old couch, as he had on so many long, lonely nights in the old days, was starting to sound like a good idea -- and he hadn't slept there in more than a year. At last he heard footsteps approaching, and a few seconds later the familiar sound of bolts being pulled back. At last the door swung slowly open. "Hey," Langly said. He nodded at Scully as he stepped back to allow them to enter. "Frohike's upstairs," he added briefly, closing the door behind them. Mulder frowned as he watched his friend begin to reset the locks. Langly had always been the most hard edged of the three, but tonight he seemed even more intense than usual. That was understandable, of course -- god knew that he and Scully had had a rough time, and they'd at least had a few hours to prepare for the idea before the world literally came crashing down. No doubt an objective observer would find their own demeanor to be shockingly grim -- but in Langly there seemed to be something more. The Gunmen were all cynics, of course, owing to the things they'd discovered in the course of the past ten years, but in Langly there'd always been a special anger and bitterness that seemed to lurk just beneath the surface, and very occasionally erupted into full view. When that happened, Mulder had long since been informed by Byers and Frohike, the only remedy was to make yourself scarce, and wait for the storm to pass. And not even they knew what the underlying cause was. Langly turned away from the door and looked at Mulder speculatively, giving Mulder had the uncomfortable feeling that his friend knew exactly what he'd been thinking. For a few seconds Langly just stood there, staring at him, and Mulder braced himself for a confrontation -- but then the moment passed, and the other man stalked on by, leading the way up the stairs to the Gunmen's office. Mulder felt himself relaxing a little as he surveyed the familiar, cluttered environment of his friends' work area. He'd spent a lot of time here over the years, and it was reassuring, after the strange, frightening journey he and Scully had just been on, to finally be in surroundings that he recognized and was comfortable with. "Hey, Mulder. Scully. You're just in time." That was Frohike, giving a brief, distracted half-wave with one hand, while the other continued to work with the mouse attached to one of the several computers scattered around the room. The little man's eyes were glued to the monitor in apparent fascination, as rows of numbers marched across the screen. Frohike abruptly let go of the mouse, and his fingers flew across the keyboard; a few seconds later, an irregular swirl of blue and red blotches appeared on the screen. The shapes slid and twisted around and through each other, and Mulder suddenly realized that their movements were not entirely random. There was a pattern emerging, slowly but surely -- And then all at once it shattered. In a matter of seconds the last trace of order was gone, as the screen seemed to explode in a shower of writhing light and color. Finally the display settled down again, and at last it became still -- but there was no longer any discernible pattern. Nothing but random static. "Fuck!" Frohike pounded his fist on the desktop. "I thought I had it that time." Shaking his head angrily, he pushed his chair back and stood, turning to face Mulder, Scully and Kyle. "I thought I had it." He stalked past them and threw himself down on a battered sofa that stood against one wall. "You thought you had what?" Scully asked, leading Kyle over to the sofa and easing him down next to Frohike. She perched on the arm of the couch, and looked expectantly back at Mulder. He hesitated only an instant, then crossed the room and stood beside her, still uncertain of what she wanted. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as she reached out and firmly took his hand, pulling him a little closer, before she finally turned her cool gaze back to Frohike. "Shit." The little man's head was resting on the back of the sofa, eyes shut; now he waved a hand in the general direction of the computer. "What would I be working on? The vaccine, of course." He sighed and opened his eyes. His gaze flicked quickly to Mulder and Scully's joined hands, then away, as he turned his attention to the boy. "This must be Kyle," he added. "Pleased to meetcha." The child nodded, solemnly shook the hand Frohike was offering him, then folded his hands quietly in his lap again. Frohike studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "I can certainly see the resemblance," he commented softly. "Those bastards." He shook his head again and looked back at Mulder and Scully. "Well, I guess they're getting their reward. Too bad they had to take the rest of us with them." He heaved himself to his feet, and swayed slightly as he crossed back to the computer. "This'd be easier if I had Byers to help me," he muttered as he took his seat. Mulder's scalp prickled as visions of his friend, torn to ribbons by one of the gestating monsters, flashed through his mind. But in the next instant Frohike glanced back over his shoulder and added, "He left this morning. Said he was going to find Susanne." "Futile." Mulder looked over at Langly, now standing next to a window, his hands in his pockets. "Absolutely fucking futile," the man went on. "She's probably already dead. And so is Byers." "You can't be sure of that," Frohike responded gently, as if they'd already had this conversation. "Her hidey hole is in a pretty isolated area, and you know how careful Byers is." "Fuck careful," Langly said, his voice brittle with anger. "Careful isn't enough. This shit is everywhere." He turned away to stare out the window, and Mulder had the impression that he was looking at things only he could see. After a moment of silence, he shook his head and left the room without a backward glance. "He does have a point," Frohike muttered, once his friend was safely out of earshot. "But what can I do but keep trying?" He turned back to Mulder and Scully, jerking his head at the computer. "This was my fifth attempt," he stated. "And I really thought I had it this time. But it always falls apart when I try to catalog the alien proteins from your blood samples. It's the same problem we've always had -- too many unknowns. I need a bigger baseline." He hesitated, his gaze focusing on Kyle. "Look, I know this is a sensitive subject. But if there's any way I could get some specimens from the kid ...." Frohike's voice trailed off, and Mulder felt Scully stiffening slightly, her grip tightening as she held his hand. He resisted the urge to say anything; this was going to have to be her decision. He remembered how adamant she'd been when Emily was dying, how determined she was that the little girl not have to endure further indignities -- even at the hands of well-intentioned people who were trying to help her. Scully would have to decide. He felt her shoulders slump slightly, and he knew the answer before he heard the words: "I'll draw the samples." As he had been in everything else, Kyle was completely cooperative as Scully and Frohike worked on him. He would be familiar with needles, of course, Mulder reflected, as his partner filled a fourth vaccutainer with blood. Poor kid. Only five years old, and his life was one long series of shots and blood tests, and god only knew what else. The same as with Emily .... "That ought to do it," Frohike said, taking the last tube from Scully. For a moment his hand stayed in contact with hers, and the two of them looked at each other. There'd always been something there, Mulder knew -- something that went deeper than the innuendo and exasperation that they always seemed to be flinging back and forth. Something important and meaningful. Mulder had never felt threatened by his partner's relationship with the little man, though, not even in the past, when things between him and Scully hadn't always been as good as he might have wished. He certainly had no reservations now about giving them a moment of quiet. And while he waited, it occurred to him that Scully might not have agreed to taking the blood samples, if anyone other than Frohike had asked. Then suddenly Frohike was pulling his hand back, almost as if he'd been burned, and Scully was turning away and stripping off her latex gloves, her face calm and expressionless, as if nothing had happened. "We'd better get going," she said. "Skinner's expecting us." # # # FBI Headquarters Washington, D.C. 7:46 p.m. The meeting with Skinner was just as brief, and even more direct and to the point. "Agent Scully," the A.D. said, without preamble, "I attempted to find out the status of your brothers and their families through my contacts at the Navy Department. I regret having to report that I was unsuccessful." "Thank you for trying, sir," she replied. Her voice was calm and expressionless, as if she'd just been told there was no more salad dressing, but Mulder knew better than to take that at face value. She'd been worried about her family ever since they first realized what was happening, and except for one brief conversation with her mother, she'd had no news at all. And in this instance, no news was definitely not good news. "I don't really have very much to tell you," Skinner went on, speaking in short, clipped tones. He was seated behind his desk, same as always, but there the semblance of normality ended: instead of his usual suit and tie, the A.D. was wearing a flak vest, while a dark, deadly-looking assault rifle was propped in one corner, beneath the photograph of Janet Reno. From what Mulder had seen in their hurried walk through the Hoover Building, this was now standard equipment at the Bureau. "As you've already discovered," Skinner went on, "much of the Eastern Seaboard was placed under martial law earlier today. The military zone extends from Connecticut to North Carolina, and reaches inland several hundred miles -- the demarcation is technically a line that runs from Toledo, Ohio, south to Lexington, Kentucky, and then southeast to the Atlantic. There are minor deviations, due to local geography, but that's the essence of it. "The purpose of all this," he continued, rising from his desk and beginning to pace, "is to try to prevent the plague from spreading." Mulder snorted; Skinner looked sharply at him, and said, "If there's something funny about this situation, Agent Mulder, it must have escaped my attention." He paused, glaring at them, then continued, "As Agent Scully correctly deduced, although the meteor shower was seen worldwide, the coverage was not uniform. Many places -- most parts of the United States -- have been devastated, and must now be considered enemy territory. But a few areas are *relatively* untouched." "Hence the military zone," Scully said quietly. She held Kyle on her lap, and was absently running her fingers through his hair as he dozed. Skinner had raised his eyebrows slightly on first seeing the boy, but hadn't said anything. Their initial phone report, the day before, had included a mention of the child, and where he'd been found -- although Scully had asked Mulder not to disclose Kyle's parentage. She'd never told Skinner all the details about Emily's heritage, either, Mulder remembered. "Hence the military zone," Skinner agreed. "And so far, it's been at least partially effective. There have been outbreaks within the zone, of course -- there's no way to prevent that, since the virus is here, too. But we've managed to stamp out some, and quarantine the rest." His gaze flicked to Mulder again. "All these plans were in FEMA's computer system, just waiting to be activated. It would seem that our smoking friend and his colleagues gave this scenario some thought." Mulder nodded. "They were nothing if not thorough," he commented. "So what's our assignment?" "The Bureau has been tasked with internal security within the District of Columbia," the A.D. answered. "We've been working with the Marine detachment stationed at Quantico to establish a system of checkpoints throughout the city, and we've invoked a dusk to dawn curfew, as of 9 p.m. tonight. So far, things have been going as well as can be expected." He paused, and his gaze flicked briefly at the closed door that led to the outer office. "But there have been casualties." For a second, Mulder didn't understand what he was talking about -- but then he got it, at about the same time that Scully did, judging from her sharp intake of breath. "Kimberly?" she asked. Skinner nodded minutely. "This morning," he confirmed, his voice flat, mechanical. "She was taken to Georgetown Memorial, and they euthanized her, per FEMA's protocol. Unfortunately, the ... the thing was born anyway. It didn't live very long, apparently because it was premature. But it killed six people before it died." "I'm sorry, sir," Mulder said quietly. Skinner nodded again, then sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "This whole thing is a nightmare," he admitted, his voice losing some of the drill sergeant bark. "And quite honestly, I'm afraid we're going to lose." He put his glasses back on and looked first at Scully, then at Mulder. "This is not to leave this room. But this afternoon the vice president and other key officials were evacuated from Washington. It was felt that they could be better defended at Mt. Thunder. At least, that was the reason given." "The *vice* president?" Scully asked. "The vice president," the A.D. repeated. "The president has been infected, and the vice president is acting under the disability clause of the 25th Amendment." He smiled mirthlessly and glanced briefly at his watch. "They couldn't bring themselves to euthanize the commander in chief." Mulder nodded in silent acknowledgement of what Skinner had not said. By now, it no longer mattered. "Sir, what's our assignment?" Scully's voice at last broke the silence, dragging them all back to business. Skinner nodded once more, and returned to sit behind his desk. "Your first assignment," he answered, "is to go home and get some rest." Mulder opened his mouth to protest, and he was aware of Scully stirring beside him, as well, but the A.D. raised his hand, forestalling them. "That's an order, agents," he said. "You're both dead on your feet, and you're no good to anyone that way. We've already made our dispositions for tonight, in any case. The curfew begins in thirty minutes; that should give you time to get home. Sunrise is at 5:43 a.m. I'll expect both of you in my office at 6:15, ready for duty. Are there any questions?" There were none of any consequence, and a few minutes later Mulder and Scully were on their way to Georgetown. ==========END CHAPTER SIX========== =========== Chapter Seven =========== Residence of Dana Scully Washington, DC Wednesday, May 31, 2000 8:28 p.m. The drive to Scully's apartment was short, and completely silent. Mulder was driving, leaving Scully free to think about what they'd learned from Skinner and the Gunmen. There really wasn't very much, and none of it was new. Boiled down to its essence, it was simply confirmation, from two very different sources, of what they'd already determined. The world was coming to an end, and there was apparently nothing anyone could do to stop it. It had all happened so terribly, terribly fast. Forty-eight hours ago, they'd had no idea the stakes were this high. Scully had been terrified on Mulder's behalf, and determined to get him back from whoever had abducted him, no matter what the cost. She'd also wanted to find Kyle, and his brothers and sister, but that had definitely been a second priority, no matter what the rule book said about hostage situations. But she'd had no idea that the whole thing had been a blind, that the two of them had been charging after the bullfighter's cape, never suspecting that the sword was being readied -- "We're here." Scully tried to pull herself out of her brown study, and looked around. According to the ephemerides, the sun would not set for another few minutes, but Scully's street ran north and south, and already it was dark enough that the streetlights were on. How strange was that, she wondered. The world was coming to an end, but the streetlights continued to work. Would they still be burning in a week? In a month? How long would mercury vapor and halogen continue to illuminate the streets of America, once there was no one left to see them? "Hey, Scully?" She turned her head towards her partner, and saw him looking at her solemnly. "Don't freak out on me," he said quietly. "Not now. Not after everything we've already been through." "I'm sorry," she said automatically. Her arms tightened around Kyle as she held him on her lap. "I ... I don't mean to be ...." Her voice trailed off, but the final word echoed inside her head, nonetheless: //... weak.// "It's okay," he replied, and actually forced a lopsided smile. "It's been getting to me, too. It's just ... I get my courage from you. But I shouldn't have asked you not to be afraid. That was pretty stupid." "No it wasn't." She let go of Kyle with one hand, and reached over and lightly stroked his cheek. "You can ask me for anything, Mulder," she said quietly. "I may not always be able to give you what you need, but you know I'll do my damnedest." Pause. "Don't you?" "Yeah, I know," he answered. "We always take care of each other." He turned his head slightly, and softly kissed her palm. "Come on. Let's go inside." It took only a few minutes, Mulder carrying their bags and Scully carrying Kyle. The boy was heavy, his sleepy weight straining her arms as she walked, but she welcomed the effort, and the warmth of his body snuggled against hers. For just a moment she let her imagination ramble: she and Mulder were coming home after a long weekend out of town. Their son had been so well behaved, and now he was sleeping on her shoulder as she fumbled awkwardly for her keys -- No! Scully stopped short, silently cursing herself. No, she was not going to go there. Mulder was right to have pulled her back from the brink of despair, but wallowing in fantasies of what could never be was just as bad. She shook her head violently, trying to clear it, then slipped her key into the lock and opened the door. It took her only a few steps to reach the sofa, and she gently laid Kyle down on it, lifting his head slightly to slide a pillow under it. The boy did not wake, but actually murmured something soft and unintelligible in his sleep. She brushed his hair back out of his eyes, then turned towards the hall closet, intending to get a spare blanket -- only to find that Mulder had beaten her to it. She silently accepted the bedclothes from him and spread them over the sleeping child, tucking the sheet and blanket securely around his small body. Finally, she straightened and turned towards her partner, and allowed herself to move into his embrace at last. God, she needed this. She'd needed it for a long time, but it was only the last two weeks that she was finally allowed to reach out for it. She'd been such a fool to deny this to herself -- and to him -- for so long. Well, that was past now. Now they could finally turn to each other for comfort, and Scully intended to take full advantage of the situation. For a few minutes she simply stood in Mulder's embrace, allowing him to hold her in his arms. She found herself breathing in time with him, and when she turned her head and pressed her ear against his chest, she realized that their hearts were beating in unison, as well. It was such a change from what they'd been through the last few days. It was so calm and quiet. It was perfect. At last she felt her partner stir slightly. She pulled back a little and looked up, to see that he was looking down at her, a solemn, serious expression on his face. "We should probably get cleaned up and go to bed," he suggested, very softly. Scully nodded in agreement. Suddenly a shower and about ten hours of sleep seemed like a wonderful idea. She hadn't really allowed herself to think about how tired she was; there'd been too much else that needed to be done. Even when Skinner mentioned their obvious exhaustion, she'd tucked the idea away in the back of her mind; the journey from the Hoover Building to her apartment had seemed long and perilous, just like everything else that had happened since Saturday night. But now they were here, at last, and there was nothing to prevent them from collapsing for a few hours. Together. Scully felt a sudden tingling, low in her abdomen, as she took Mulder's hand and led him down the hall to the bathroom. She hadn't thought about *that* very much since Saturday, either. It had been so easy to fall back into the old habits and patterns, especially since there hadn't seemed to be any time for anything but sheer survival. But now, tonight, there was. Mulder paused at the threshold of the bathroom, and Scully turned to face him, still holding on to his hand. "Come on," she said quietly, backing up and pulling him on into the room. "We're entitled to take a little time for each other." He stopped hesitating, then, and she let go of his hand and turned away to start the shower. By the time she had the water temperature adjusted, he was already naked, standing close behind her, his hands resting lightly on her still-clothed hips. Scully straightened up and leaned back against her partner, humming slightly as his arms slid around her waist. She tried to pull away so that she could undress, but he just hugged her closer -- and now she felt his erection pressing firmly into her back. "You need to let me take my clothes off," she whispered, her words barely audible over the noise of the shower. "Uh uh." She felt him shaking his head, but before she could respond his hands moved upwards, and he began unbuttoning her blouse. This was still another new thing between them, she thought, as her partner eased the garment down off her shoulders. Their handful of previous encounters had been brisk and businesslike, at least when it came to disrobing. It had seemed sensible and practical and efficient that they each get rid of their own clothing, but in retrospect Scully wondered why they'd done it that way. Even now, when all the barriers should have fallen away, there were so many things they'd been too timid to explore. She gasped as Mulder let her bra fall to the floor, and cupped her breasts in his warm, gentle hands. His thumbs stroked her nipples, sending jolts of electricity coursing through her body, and his fingers tickled the surprisingly sensitive undersides of her breasts. "M-mulder," she sighed, and that was all. Just his name, as if it were a talisman, a magic word that could shield them and protect them, shutting out the darkness and ugliness that had fallen over the rest of the world. And perhaps, for a few minutes anyway, it could. Scully moaned in disappointment as her partner's hands fell away from her breasts, then impatiently shifted her weight, rubbing back against his body as his fingers fumbled with the clasp and zipper of her slacks. A moment later the rest of her clothes were on the floor, and they were stepping into the shower together. The water was hot, just short of scalding, and the room had already filled with steam as they began to wash each other. Scully luxuriated in the opportunity simply to touch her partner, trailing her palms and fingertips across his soap-slick flesh, working the lather around and around, even as he was doing the same for her. Her fingers found his cock and she felt his body shudder as she lightly grasped it, and began sliding her hand along it, over and over and over. He had one arm around her shoulders, apparently to steady himself, while his free hand was once again fondling her breasts. She looked up at him, as she had in the living room, and once more he was looking back down. His expression was still sober and serious, but now there was a hungry look in his eyes, a look that made her shiver with excited anticipation. Their hands continued to move, exploring each other's bodies as if it were the first time, slowly building the fire of their mutual arousal ... and then he was bending down and she was stretching up, and their lips met in a soft, sensuous kiss. It was, Scully thought dizzily, both the sweetest and the most erotic kiss she had ever had. If her body had been on fire before, it must now surely be burning to ashes from the heat of their passion. There was no longer space between them for their hands, as they pressed their soapy bodies together, skin sliding against skin. Hot water continued to pound down on them, and the steam picked up the scent of their mutual arousal, wafting it through the room and filling her lungs with every breath she took. At last their lips separated, but still they clung together, supporting each other and catching their breath. Scully nuzzled her face against her partner's chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and trying to pull him closer, and felt his embrace of her tightening in return. She felt drunk with emotion and desire; all other concerns had fled. Right now, and for the next little while, the rest of the world simply did not exist. Then Mulder was fumbling for something behind her back, and she realized what it was when the shower was suddenly suffused with the smell of lemons. Her shampoo .... Then Mulder's fingers were massaging her scalp, working the shampoo into her hair. Scully closed her eyes and tilted her head in encouragement, moaning again as she did so. She'd never realized that her scalp was an erogenous zone, but apparently it was. At least, when Mulder touched her there, it was. Finally, he was done -- and then it was her turn. Mulder stooped slightly, dipping his head so that she could reach him, and Scully found herself taking surprising pleasure from the act of shampooing her lover's hair. This was not the first shower she'd shared with a man, of course, but in the past it had always just been a means to an end; a form of foreplay. This time it was serving that purpose, as well, but Scully was also discovering a special intimacy in the process of cleaning each other, most especially in hairwashing. Energy seemed to be flowing from Mulder's scalp into her fingertips, and thence directly to her groin, causing her body to shudder intermittently. She was also intensely aware of his erection, as it probed firmly and insistently at her belly, seeming to burn her skin wherever it touched her. It was all she could do not to collapse into the bottom of the bathtub and pull him down on top of her. Not yet, she counseled herself ... not yet, but soon .... At last they turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. Drying each other with big, fluffy towels was yet another sensual delight, one that was over far too quickly. Scully couldn't decide which was more intensely pleasurable: rubbing Mulder's body through the towel, or having him rub hers. She caught herself rising up on her toes, arching her back and humming, almost like a cat. For a second she was embarrassed by her own response to his ministrations, but she quickly banished the emotion. What Mulder was doing to her felt indescribably good, and she refused to allow any negative feelings to intrude. Somehow, they made it to the bedroom. Scully let go of Mulder just long enough to shut the door, out of deference to Kyle, who still slept only a few feet away, at the other end of the short hallway. She then turned back to face her partner, who now stood at the bedside, an expression of naked hunger on his face that made her feel weak in the knees. She closed the distance between them, and once more burrowed into his embrace. His body was warm and hard as it pressed against hers, and his arms held her with a firm gentleness that made her want to weep. She inhaled deeply, taking in his scent, filling her lungs with it, gratified to find that despite their just-completed shower, there was still a unique muskiness that she had long since come to associate with her partner. She turned her head, and began to plant a row of tiny kisses along his collar bone, nipping lightly each time her lips descended, and then licking delicately with the tip of her tongue before moving on. Mulder's breathing quickened as she moved inward, and when she finally reached the base of his neck he gave a soft moan that sent yet another tingle of arousal through her system. She could feel his hands on her back as she worked, large and warm, as they roamed ceaselessly up and down and side to side, touching and caressing, finding sensitive spots she hadn't even known she had. Ribs, shoulder blades, spine ... everywhere Mulder's fingers touched, she felt a jolt of electricity. Everywhere they lingered, a new fire was lit. And when he actually lifted his hand away for a second, she felt bereft. Scully continued her series of kisses, now working her way down and across his chest, the sparse, curly hair tickling her nose as she went. She reached his right nipple and took it into her mouth, suckling on it and licking it and scraping her teeth across it, each action eliciting a new, exciting noise from Mulder. Downwards, downwards, across his ribs to his abdomen, kissing, tasting, biting, licking. His skin quivered against her mouth, and as she knelt down his hands came to rest on her shoulders, his fingers trailing lightly across her collar bones. Her mouth drifted down past his waist, and now his body shuddered every time her lips touched him. Scully explored her partner's hip and thigh, moving downward and inward, shuddering herself whenever his erection brushed her cheek. They were both moaning, she realized, as she continued her oral devotions. They were both making small, breathless sounds, noises that mingled and seemed to fill the room, and echoed and reechoed inside her head, spurring her on. Scully could not remember ever being this attuned to all her senses while making love. Sights, smells, tastes, sounds -- everything she experienced seemed to reinforce her arousal, seemed to deepen the aching need in her belly. The slightest, most incidental touches from her lover were evoking spasms of pleasure, making her almost frantic with desire. She never wanted it to end; she wanted the feelings to just go on and on and on. She slipped her mouth over the head of his penis, circling the tip with her tongue and greedily lapping up the salty, bitter pre-ejaculate that had formed there. Dana Scully had never been a fan of the flavor of semen, but at this moment she was so intensely aroused that she scarcely noticed. She moved her head gradually forward, taking more of him into her mouth, a half an inch at a time, until finally the head bumped against the back of her throat. God, he was big. She'd known that for years, of course, due to the need to help him when he was hurt, and also from the accidental exposure that happens occasionally when two people spend a lot of time together in close quarters. But it was only the past two weeks that she'd allowed herself to take a personal interest in the matter. The throbbing ache between her legs intensified, as she began to bob her head, pulsing in anticipation of what would soon be filling her emptiness. Mulder's fingers were now tangled in her hair, and he was breathing in short, sharp gasps. Scully slid her own hands back and around his hips, until they found and cupped his buttocks, squeezing and kneading them as she continued to suck on his cock. She'd admired that ass for years, and now it was finally hers to do with as she wished. She flexed her hands, and dragged her fingernails across its surface. Mulder's hips jerked forward at the stimulation, and he cried out. At last, sensing that he was nearing completion, Scully reluctantly allowed him to slip out of her mouth, placing one more kiss on the very tip before finally letting it go. Then she stood up, keeping her hands on his butt as she did so. Mulder wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close, and lowered his face to cover her mouth with his as the two of them fell over together onto the bed. For a few minutes they lay in each other's arms, kissing and touching and waiting for their breathing to return to normal. Scully was so eager she was trembling, but she forced herself to hold back. She'd taken Mulder very close to the edge, and she knew he needed a little time and a little distance, or it would be over far too quickly. She wanted this to last. And there was something to be said for a little cuddling, as well. Mulder now lay half on top of her as he nibbled at her neck and ears and fondled her breasts. Her arms were wrapped around his head, holding it tightly in place, and when he shifted his weight and slipped one of his legs between hers, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his thigh and began to rub her groin frantically against it. Mulder chuckled against her neck, then forced his head up against her grip until he could see her face. There was a happy twinkle in his eye -- merriment shot through with need and desire. His face was flushed, just as she knew hers must be, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. "Don't laugh at me," she murmured, trying but failing to keep the amusement from her voice, and still rubbing her body against his. "You want it just as much as I do." The smile abruptly vanished from her partner's face, and he lowered his head until his lips were brushing against hers. "Oh, no, Scully," he whispered. "Oh, no. Much, *much* more than that." And suddenly Scully just couldn't take any more; she could no longer force herself to wait. She needed him, now, and so she pushed against his chest with her hands, rolling him onto his back and moving to straddle his thighs in one smooth motion, reaching down and tightly gripping his upper arms as she did so. For a moment she hovered above him, poised, letting her eyes drink in the vision of her partner, lying on the bed beneath her. Sweet Jesus, he was beautiful -- and never moreso than right now, as he lay there gazing up at her, face flushed, looking as if he wanted to devour her. His hands were gripping her hips, and as she continued to look down at him, he pulled her forward and lifted her up a little. Almost as if they'd rehearsed it, Scully reached down between them and grasped his erection, tickling and stroking it gently for a few seconds before finally guiding it to her entrance. Their groans as she sank down on and around him were deep and guttural, and in perfect unison, almost as if a single creature were crying out in unbearable pleasure. Scully felt herself stretching to accommodate him, and it seemed to go on and on and on as she slid slowly down on him, until, finally, he was completely sheathed within her. For just a few seconds they both held perfectly still, eyes locked together, her hands once more gripping his upper arms, while his still held her firmly by the hips. Scully felt completely full, in a way she hadn't felt with any other man. Not just physically full -- spiritually and emotionally as well. This man was everything she needed, and everything she would ever need. //As long as we've got each other, things will work out, somehow.// Those were her partner's words, spoken on Tuesday morning as they were leaving Minot. She hadn't believed them then, and from the expression on his face he hadn't, either. But now, when they were together like this, it was impossible for Scully to be afraid or uncertain. The sheer joy of being joined with him banished all other emotions. Then she began to move, slowly at first, sliding up and down on his proud, rigid cock. God, it felt good; it felt so good. Everything tonight felt good, but this ... this bordered on the sublime. Scully had never had much time for romance novels, thinking them unrealistic and impossibly sentimental. But these last two weeks with Mulder had caused her to revise her opinions, and tonight was best of all. They picked up the pace, Mulder's hips beginning to move in counter-rhythm to her own, thrusting up at her and filling her even as she was pushing down to engulf him, over and over and over, each stroke a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper. Already, Scully could feel herself teetering on the brink, ready to slide over the top. She'd wanted this to last, but it wasn't going to happen, but that was okay, she was ready, she was ready, she was so very, very close -- So very close -- And she was there, she was flying, and the rest of the world just disappeared, leaving nothing but her and the man she held tightly between her thighs. She was assaulted by wave after wave of ecstasy, it wasn't ever going to stop, and Mulder was still thrusting up into her, his hands gripping her hips so hard she was sure he'd leave bruises, but she didn't care, it didn't matter, because it all felt so impossibly *good* -- And she was *still* coming, each upward thrust by Mulder taking her a little bit higher, a little bit farther. She was riding him, now, holding on for dear life and looking down at him, at his beautiful, sweat-slick body, as he filled her and fulfilled her, again and again and again -- Suddenly, his face contorted in a grimace of pleasure and he cried out. Scully felt his cock expand inside her, and with one more mighty thrust he emptied himself into her, grinding his groin against hers and pulling her upper body down into a crushing embrace. For a few timeless seconds her entire world was Mulder. He was wrapped around her and buried deep inside her; he was everywhere -- Finally, gradually, she felt his body relax, and his arms around her loosened slightly. He still held her, and he still rested inside her, but the tension was rapidly seeping out of him, and Scully felt herself sinking down into a seemingly boundless pool of relaxation and contentment. For tonight, at least for the next few hours, she had no worries, no concerns. There were no aliens, there was no virus, and everything she truly cared about was here in this bed, securely wrapped in her four-limbed embrace. And again, as she hovered on the verge of sleep, she heard her partner's voice: //As long as we've got each other, things will work out, somehow.// Scully slept. ==========END CHAPTER SEVEN========== =========== Chapter Eight =========== Residence of Dana Scully Washington, DC Thursday, June 1, 2000 4:58 a.m. Mulder awoke to the sound of someone screaming. For a few seconds he was confused and disoriented. It was dark, and the bed felt funny -- the mattress wasn't quite as firm as he was accustomed to. And there was someone lying next to him -- Scully. Right. He was in Scully's bed, and it was she who was curled up next to him. Still asleep, but that wouldn't last long; not with Kyle screaming the way he was. Yeah, Kyle. That was who it was. Still not fully awake, Mulder stumbled out of bed and hurriedly groped his way to the door. The child's screams had not let up, and even seemed to be getting louder. He pushed open the bedroom door, ducked into the bathroom just long enough to find and pull on his boxers, and headed down the hall. The sight that greeted him when he reached the living room was heartbreaking. Kyle was still on the sofa, where Mulder and Scully had left him the night before -- but he was no longer sleeping peacefully. His limbs were thrashing violently as he continued to scream incoherently, and as Mulder hurried closer he saw tears mixing with sweat on the boy's face. "Hey, pal," he said, crouching down next to the child. Kyle's head jerked around as Mulder laid a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were wide, his pupils so fully dilated that there was almost no color left. And the screaming continued. Mulder hesitated, not sure what to do. He had some idea of what the boy was going through; he'd had his share of nightmares through the years. But as far as he could recall, he always just came out of it on his own, and he had no clue of how to help someone else with the problem. He'd had one class in child psychology at Oxford, but that was nearly twenty years ago, and he hadn't paid much attention, because it hadn't been his main area of interest. "Let me." Mulder looked around, and saw Scully kneeling down next to him, wearing a robe. Her hair was tousled, her face was soft with sleep, and her expression -- Mulder shook his head in amazement. Her expression was more tender and loving than he could ever remember having seen it. "He's not really awake," Scully explained over her shoulder, as she gently stroked the terrified child's forehead. "And there isn't really much we can do, other than be here and keep him safe until it goes away." She turned her attention back to the boy. "It's okay, Kyle," she murmured, still caressing his face. "You're safe. Everything's fine." "How long will that take?" Mulder asked uncertainly. Had Kyle's screams begun to diminish in volume, just a bit? He wasn't sure. "Probably only a few minutes," Scully said, still focusing her attention on the child. "These sorts of episodes don't usually last very long." She glanced again over her shoulder. "Why don't you go get him a glass of water. Sometimes it helps." Mulder nodded, and did as he was told. By the time he got back from the kitchen, only a minute or so later, Kyle had calmed considerably, to the point where he was now only whimpering, with an occasional broken sob for punctuation. The thrashing around had almost completely stopped, his body now only shuddering slightly, intermittently, as he cried. "There you go," Scully was saying, stroking the boy's cheek and running her fingers through his hair. "See? Everything's okay." She took the glass of water from Mulder, and helped Kyle sit up enough to sip from it. Mulder watched in disbelief as the child took two swallows, then closed his eyes and settled back down on the sofa. In a matter of seconds, his breathing had evened out, and he was sleeping peacefully once again. "Scully," he said softly, as his partner rose from her knees at last. "Scully, that was amazing. How did you do it?" She looked at him oddly for a minute, then shook her head. "I ... I didn't do anything," she replied. It seemed to him that she was choosing her words very carefully. "I was just ... there for him, as long as he needed me. That's all you really can do when that happens." "How did you know?" he asked. His curiosity was piqued, both by this rare glimpse at his partner's softer side, and at her obvious discomfort with the entire subject. "From taking care of your nephews?" "No," she said. She bit her lower lip, then turned away. "Scully?" He took two steps forward, until he was standing next to her, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Scully, what's the matter?" She sighed and turned to face him, laying one hand on his chest as she did so. She did not try to push him away, though; she apparently just wanted the contact. For a moment, she seemed to search his face. Finally: "I guess you really don't remember. The books said you wouldn't, but I was never sure." "Don't remember what?" Mulder's response was automatic, but a fraction of a second later he realized what she was talking about. "Scully? You mean that *I* ...." His voice trailed off, as he found himself unable to complete the sentence. "Yes," she answered, nodding. She reached up and touched his cheek, the same gentle, loving gesture she'd used with Kyle. "H - how long? And how often?" "As long as I've known you," she said. "And as for how often ... a couple of nights a week. At least, when we were in the field." She smiled shyly. "I didn't have much opportunity to ... to observe you at home, until the past two weeks." "That's ...." Again, he couldn't complete the thought. He wasn't sure how he felt. Vulnerable, certainly, but he was also nearly overwhelmed by the implications of what she'd just told him. No one had ever cared for him that way, that much. And she'd just said, or at least implied, that she'd been doing it for years -- "Mulder, I'm sorry." His eyes widened at the tone of contrition in her voice, but before he could respond, she continued, speaking very rapidly, "I never meant to intrude, to violate your privacy. It's just, the first time it happened I didn't know what was going on; I thought it was just a nightmare. But then it happened again, and soon I realized there was a pattern, and so I did some research --" "Night terrors, right?" he interrupted. Some of that child psych class was coming back to him now. "Yeah," she agreed. "Nobody really knows what causes them, although sometimes they seem to be linked to childhood trauma." "Which makes sense for both me and Kyle," Mulder noted quietly. Scully nodded. "They don't usually appear in adults." She gestured at the child, still sleeping soundly a few feet away. "But he's just the right age." "So I guess I'm one of the elect," Mulder said with a little smile. He drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Scully." He hesitated, suddenly realizing what it was that he really wanted to say. He'd said it once before, but she'd turned him aside, apparently in the belief that it was the drugs talking. Maybe now, the time was finally right. "I love you." # # # FBI Headquarters 6:18 a.m. "Agent Mulder, where's Agent Scully?" "She's making arrangements for Kyle," Mulder said calmly. "I'm supposed to call her when you've given us our assignment." Skinner glared at him for a moment, then shook his head. The A.D. was wearing the same clothes as he'd had on the night before, and Mulder had noticed a pillow and a rolled up blanket on the sofa in the outer office. "Agent Mulder," Skinner barked, "my recollection is that I ordered you both to be here at 6:15." Mulder didn't say anything; there was no point in getting into a fight with Skinner, and for once he knew it, and was able to restrain himself. He also didn't want to disclose where Scully had gone. Neither of them had much experience taking care of children, so it hadn't occurred to them until this morning that they needed to find someone to watch Kyle. Scully had solved the problem by offering to drop him off with Frohike and Langly; while she was there, she could get an update from the guys. Mulder had resisted the urge to make a wisecrack about two geeks and a baby, and agreed. He hadn't been at all happy with the idea of splitting up, even for a short time, but there really wasn't any other solution, and if anyone could talk Frohike into playing babysitter, Scully could. So Mulder had made his way alone to the Hoover Building, arriving just in time to keep their appointment with the A.D. "Very well, Agent Mulder," Skinner said abruptly, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "I guess it really doesn't matter." He shuffled papers for a moment, then looked up at Mulder again. "I had intended to assign you and Agent Scully to the interagency threat team, because of your expertise." Mulder nodded his understanding; a threat team was a group of officers whose job it was to estimate what damage a potential enemy could do. "Unfortunately," the other man went on, "the situation has changed since last night. Drastically, and for the worse." He rose from his desk, turned and walked over to the window. Outside it was now full daylight, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. It didn't look at all like the end of the world, Mulder thought irrelevantly. "The military zone I described to you last night has been compromised," the A.D. said at last. "There is no longer a defensible perimeter, and reported infestations have become so numerous that it is now more accurate to speak of isolated pockets of military occupation, rather than of a defined zone." He turned back to face Mulder again. "In short, barring a major miracle in the next few hours, the war is over. We've lost." Mulder nodded, while he tried to control the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "So what's our assignment?" he asked, feeling faintly ridiculous for asking. What duties were to be performed during Armageddon? And would they count towards civil service retirement? "Washington is no longer secure," Skinner stated flatly, returning to stand behind his desk. "In addition, we've had no communication from Mt. Thunder for more than six hours. Nevertheless, FEMA continues to generate contingency plans." The A.D. suddenly looked uneasy, and Mulder felt his hackles rising. Something wasn't right, but what? And then Skinner added, "Operation Cautery was authorized at 0200." "I don't like the sound of that," Mulder offered, trying desperately to keep the grimness from his voice. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this, but it didn't look as if he had any choice. "Nor should you," the other man grated. "Operation Cautery is ...." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "It's insane," he said flatly. "It's a plan originally devised in the 1960s, by a top secret commission established by President Johnson to study the problem of defending the country against biological warfare. It calls for the use of nuclear weapons as a last ditch means of sterilizing -- cauterizing -- infected areas." "Jesus." "Of course," Skinner went on, acid in his voice, "this plan presupposes that outbreaks of infection are local and containable. Neither of which are true in this instance." "But that's not going to stop them," Mulder replied. It wasn't a question. "It *hasn't* stopped them, Agent Mulder," his supervisor answered, shaking his head. "Six cities have already been destroyed." He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. "Boston. Pittsburgh. Cleveland. Atlanta. Charleston. Savannah." Mulder stared at his boss in silence for a moment. The world was not just coming to an end -- it was going crazy. An old aphorism floated in and out of his head: Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad. Well, humanity certainly seemed to be demonstrating *that* one to be true. "As for your assignment --" Skinner was interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Automatically, Mulder hurled himself from his chair, landing on his hands and knees and twisting around so that he was facing the door. Somehow his weapon was in his hand -- Scully's spare service weapon, that she'd given him this morning in exchange for her lower caliber holdout that he'd been carrying ever since they left Minot. Immediately, he started crawling towards the door. Skinner beat him to it. With an agility and quickness Mulder wouldn't have believed the older man had in him, the A.D. charged around the desk, the assault rifle that had been leaning against the wall already in his hands. He reached the door to the outer office in three giant strides, kicked it open and crouched down next to the jamb, peering cautiously into the next room. An instant later he glanced back towards Mulder, nodded sharply, and turned and disappeared through the doorway. Mulder scrambled to his feet and followed. There was nothing in the outer office, and nothing in the hall. The gunfire had not been repeated, and Mulder stood back to back with his boss, scanning the hallway, weapon at the ready, looking for any sign of a threat. Suddenly there were more shots, followed by a series of blood curdling screams, coming from behind him. Mulder spun around, just as Skinner shouted, "This way!" and took off down the hall. And again, Mulder found himself running to catch up, even as the screams increased in volume and more shots were fired. The A.D. halted just before reaching the agents' bullpen, and flattened himself against the wall. He glanced briefly back at Mulder, gestured for him to take the opposite side, then turned once more to peer around the corner into the common area. Mulder quickly followed suit -- and for the second time in as many days, he found himself looking one of his nightmares square in the face. There were not one but two aliens in the room, black and sinewy and ugly, and the nearer of the two held a woman in its grasp. Agent Pamela Stone, Mulder realized -- and his curse of a memory informed him that she'd had a baby only a few months earlier. The monster's claws were slicing through her flak vest as if it were so much tissue paper, and her torso was covered with blood. The only saving grace was that from the way her head lolled as the creature tore at her, she must already have been unconscious or dead. The other alien was at the far end of the bullpen, a body -- Mulder couldn't tell whether it was male or female -- lying at its feet. Another man, Danny Grimes, from Research, was just beyond it, having been backed into a corner and now with no means of escape. The creature lunged at him, and Danny's face was suddenly twisted in a grimace of agony. "Motherfucker!" That was Skinner, and Mulder felt his own features contorting with rage. His finger caressed the trigger on his weapon, even as he heard Skinner's assault rifle begin to chatter. A quiet corner of his mind was telling him that this was futile, that there was no hope, but the man who was Fox Mulder could not turn away from people he had known and worked with for more than a decade, and simply leave them to their fates. And indeed, it was doing no good at all. Mulder's shots were striking home, and so were Skinner's -- Mulder could *see* the monster that was attacking Danny stagger repeatedly under their impact, and green blood foamed in the wounds. But the creature was neither diverted nor deterred, and now it held the man firmly in its claws, methodically tearing the flesh from his body. Mulder swore as the hammer of his gun fell on an empty chamber. He hurriedly ejected the clip and fumbled in his pocket for another, aware out of the corner of his eye that Skinner was doing the same. Danny was no longer screaming, and Mulder felt an almost surreal calm as he rammed the new ammunition supply into his weapon. He was going to die, and there was nothing to be done about it. His only regret was that he wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye to Scully -- And suddenly Skinner was no longer standing beside him. Mulder whirled around in surprise, his eyes widening in shock as he saw a third monster lifting the A.D. off the ground. Skinner's own expression was a study of surprise and anger -- but no fear, the analytical part of Mulder's mind noted. No fear at all. Mulder stood there, frozen in shock, as the other man's face abruptly contorted in pain. The alien was ripping into him, doing unspeakable things to his soft, vulnerable flesh. Blood was everywhere, and Mulder was close enough this time that he could even hear the bones as they cracked -- "Mulder ...." Mulder shook himself, forcing himself out of his daze, stunned that Skinner had somehow found the breath to speak, let alone the presence of mind to form words. The man was in excruciating pain by now; Mulder could see it in his eyes. But even as Mulder surged forward, determined to throw himself at the creature in a desperate, hopeless attempt to pull it off his boss, the A.D. spoke again. "Get out!" he said. His voice was weak, so very weak, but still it carried the snap of command that Mulder had become accustomed to obeying over the years. "Get ... out!" There was desperation in Skinner's eyes now, and his voice took on a note of pleading. "Save ... yourself," he gasped. "Save ... Scully ...." One last gulp of air. "Please ...." That did it. On hearing his partner's name, Mulder suddenly felt new energy coursing through his body. Scully. Skinner was right; he had to save Scully. Nothing else mattered but her, and he was staggered at the awesome idiocy that had allowed him to lose sight of that, even for a moment -- In that instant, he heard a horrible, wet, tearing sound coming from the bullpen. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the closer of the aliens had now torn Pamela Stone's body completely in two. There was nothing left here, Mulder realized. Stone and Danny were dead, and Skinner would be in a matter of minutes. The only thing left was to try to save himself, and hope against hope that he would somehow be reunited with Scully. He turned back to the front, to see Skinner's eyes now staring at him sightlessly, his glasses spattered with blood and hanging uselessly from one ear. The monster was continuing to rip at the A.D.'s body, but seemed to be taking no notice of Mulder's presence, at least for the moment. Mulder whispered a brief prayer for Walter Skinner's soul, to a God that he had not recognized since the night Samantha was taken, then stepped around and past the alien and headed down the hall at a dead run. ==========END CHAPTER EIGHT========== =========== Chapter Nine =========== Office of the Lone Gunmen Washington, DC Thursday, June 1, 2000 6:22 a.m. Kyle had fallen asleep again on the short drive to the Gunmen's place. He'd been sleeping a lot since being rescued from the Rebel laboratory on Monday night. Scully knew enough about trauma and depression to realize that this was his mind's way of coping with the things he'd seen and the things that had been done to him; under the circumstances, it was probably the best adjustment he could make. But she still worried, and wished she and Mulder could find some way to help the child. Scully frowned as she pulled up to the curb. The door to the Gunmen's office was standing wide open, almost as if she were expected. But neither Langly nor Frohike was anywhere to be seen. This would be a bad sign in the best of times; now, it seemed little short of ominous. Scully glanced briefly down at Kyle, trying to decide whether to take him with her or leave him in the car. Mulder had insisted that she take the Mercedes, while he drove her car, which meant that there was really no way to lock the boy in while she was gone. On the other hand, taking him with her might very well place him in immediate danger -- not to mention handicapping her as she dealt with whatever she found inside. She shook her head in frustration. There was no good decision; she was just going to have to choose, and pray that everything worked out for the best. She quickly leaned over and kissed Kyle gently on the forehead, whispering, "I'll be back in a minute, honey." Then, not giving herself time for second thoughts, she drew her weapon, climbed from the car and walked briskly towards the doorway. It was dark inside, and Scully hesitated at the threshold. A narrow flight of stairs led up to the Gunmen's second story office. She'd climbed them countless times in the past; they were a familiar, almost comforting part of the world she'd come to inhabit. But now they were cast in dark, menacing shadows. She glanced up at the ceiling, and saw the red light still burning over the security camera; somehow, that made her feel a little better. The door at the top of the stairs suddenly opened, and she heard footsteps rapidly descending. Automatically, she took a couple of steps back, so that she was standing on the sidewalk. She held her weapon at the ready, not aiming it at the doorway, but ready to bring it into play if that should be necessary. It was just one of the guys, she told herself. It's just one of the guys -- Tennis shoes appeared, then ragged blue jeans, and Scully breathed a sigh of relief. Langly. He stopped abruptly, jerkily, as he reached the entryway, and blinked in apparent surprise. "Jesus, Scully," he said after a second. "You scared the living shit out of me." "Sorry," she replied. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, then realized that she was still pointing her SIG in his general direction, and put it away. "Sorry," she repeated. Langly hesitated, then shook his head, muttering, "It doesn't matter anymore." He stepped out of the doorway, turned and strode briskly up the block, away from Scully and the Mercedes -- and she noticed that he was carrying a pair of large gasoline cans, that sloshed audibly as he walked. "Langly?" He continued on, as if he hadn't heard, and she hurried after him. "Langly!" He kept walking. She caught up with him just before he reached the corner, as he stepped into a small parking lot that served the abandoned storefront next to the building that housed the Gunmen's office. She was about to reach out and grab his elbow -- when she saw Melvin Frohike, lying face up on the pavement in the middle of the open area, his hands folded neatly across his belly. He was not moving. For a moment, Scully stood perfectly still, staring at the scene before her, trying to force it to make sense. This couldn't be; it just couldn't. It was hard enough to see this happen to strangers, and harder still to know that it had probably happened to her mother and her brothers. But to see it with her own eyes, in someone she knew and cared for as a friend -- it was too much. Far, far too much. She realized that Langly was now standing over Frohike and unscrewing the cap on one of the cans of gasoline. Her eyes widened, and she hurried forward, wedging herself between Langly and Frohike just before Langly was about to start pouring. "What the hell are you doing?" She hated the quaver in her voice, but she couldn't stop it. A part of her wanted to break down and bawl; wanted simply to sink down to the ground, curl up and wait for the end to come. But she couldn't let that happen; Mulder needed her, and so did Kyle. And besides, she still had to be Dana Scully. And so she took a deep breath and swallowed, and in a calmer tone of voice, she added, "Tell me what you're doing, Langly. Tell me what's going on." The man stared at her, his face expressionless, and for a moment she wasn't sure he was going to answer. Finally: "They got him," he explained, his voice a monotone. "Stupid little shit got careless, and they got him. So now I've got to do what I promised I'd do. What we all promised each other we'd do." "What ... what do you mean?" "We agreed," Langly replied, his voice still flat and dead. "None of us wanted to die like this. So we made a pact." Scully nodded. She could understand that, and accept it. She vividly remembered the Peattie case, only a few months before. She'd told Mulder then that as a physician she recognized that sometimes ending the pain was the only realistic alternative. That on occasion the maxim "do no harm" meant giving surcease, rather than hope. She had never done it, herself, but she knew that sometimes it had to be done -- and that someday she might have to do it. But not like this. "It has to be this way," Langly grated, as if he'd read her mind. "We were monitoring the 'net, while it lasted. They tried euthanasia, but it doesn't work. The motherfucker chews its way out, anyway." He hefted the gas can, and it sloshed ominously. "This is the only way, Scully. You destroy the host, and you destroy what's inside." Scully stared at Langly for a long minute, trying to put her thoughts in order. Intellectually, if she accepted the facts he presented, she reached the same conclusion. And it did fit what little she knew about the aliens. They were tough and hardy, and had no doubt been engineered to survive in an uncertain, hostile environment. Those who designed these creatures would have foreseen that humans would try to abort the process. So Langly's course of action was sound and logical. But this was Frohike. "It has to be this way," the man repeated. Throughout the conversation, his voice had remained level and devoid of emotion, and this continued to be true, as he went on, "And there isn't much time. I already gave him a shot of morphine, so he wouldn't feel it as much, but I had to guess at the dosage. If I gave him too much ...." His voice trailed off, but Scully understood. If the dose had been too high, that might trigger the birth reflex, and all Langly's plans and promises would be for naught. "Okay," she said, her heart breaking as she heard herself give consent. "Just ... just give me a minute with him, okay?" "All right," Langly responded. "Don't touch him." "I won't." She turned and knelt down next to Frohike, and for a few seconds she just crouched there, remembering. There'd been so many times the little man had been there, for her and for Mulder, his caring and concern almost always concealed by a veneer of jokes and innuendo. But there had been moments -- moments that she would cherish in memory all the rest of her life. At last she stood up again, and stepped back to a safe distance as Langly methodically doused his friend's body with gasoline, then pulled an emergency flare from his hip pocket. Of course, she thought. The fire would need to be hot -- hotter than any match or lighter could make it. She continued to watch levelly, without blinking, determined to witness it all. Frohike deserved that much, at least. Moments later, the flames leapt up towards the sky, rapidly and completely engulfing the body of the man who lay on the ground. Black smoke roiled heavenward, oily and ugly, defacing the perfect blue of the early morning sky. Frohike's limbs jerked spasmodically, and Scully flinched, her own muscles knotting in sympathy. An autonomic reflex, she told herself; that was all it was. Only a reflex. And all the while Langly stood next to her, calm and apparently unperturbed, watching the fire. Finally, she turned to him, and for a moment she studied his face. He stood there motionless, expressionless, the reflected flames dancing in his eyes, illuminating the hurt that clearly penetrated all the way to his soul. Of all the Gunmen, Scully had always understood Langly the least. She had therefore moved cautiously in his presence, never sure what was going on inside his head. And now she had no idea what to do or say. "I ... I'll be in the car," she said at last. "Whenever you're ready." Ready for what? she wondered. What was left for this man? At least she still had Mulder, but what did Langly have? Frohike was dead, and Byers was gone. But he simply nodded, without speaking, and without taking his eyes off the pyre that had been his friend. And after just another moment, she turned and walked away. A few minutes later, as she sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes, she heard the sound of a single gunshot. Dana Scully closed her eyes and let her head fall forward, until her forehead rested against the top of the steering wheel. But she did not cry. # # # 7:23 a.m. Mulder found his partner sitting quietly in the Mercedes, outside the Gunmen's office. Her head was leaning back against the headrest, her eyes closed, while Kyle slept in the seat next to her. As he approached she she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. "Skinner's dead," he said flatly, without preamble. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and his fingers lightly stroked the base of her neck, their tenderness belying the deadness he felt in his soul. They would need to be able to reach out to each other, he thought, if they were to have any chance of survival. Only together would they be able to stand against what still lay ahead. "So are Langly and Frohike," she replied with a nod, after a brief pause. Her voice was a ghost of its usual self -- but still, deep inside, he heard a whisper of the woman he loved. And he felt the ice around his heart begin to crack, just a little bit. "We should get out of the city," he decided, taking the strength she'd offered him and using it to force some life and animation into his voice. "There's nothing left here, and it's dangerous." He thought about telling her of Operation Cautery, but it didn't seem to matter. Danger was danger; death was death. "Yes, we should." She glanced at Kyle, still curled up in the passenger seat, then looked back at Mulder. "Do you mind driving? I don't feel up to it at the moment." Pause. "I just need to ... to think about some things." "Sure." They rearranged the seating, Scully moving over into the passenger seat and taking Kyle into her lap. The boy stirred slightly at being disturbed, but didn't really awaken, then settled down again as she cuddled him close against her, one hand gently stroking his hair. Neither of them mentioned the possibility of taking Scully's car rather than the Mercedes. It would make sense to do so; it would give them more trunk space, and more room in the passenger compartment. But somehow the silver sports car had come to stand as a symbol, at least in Mulder's mind, of what the two of them shared. Apparently Scully felt the same way. "I do love you, you know." He glanced at his partner in surprise, and saw that she was watching him intently, unshed tears in her bright, blue eyes. The ice around his heart cracked some more, and fell away, and he reached over and pressed his palm against her cheek. "I love you, too, Scully," he said levelly. "And I promise -- somehow, we'll be okay." "'The survivors will envy the dead,'" she murmured. "Do you remember? Protesters against the arms race used to say that, back when I was in college." "They said it at Oxford, too," he agreed. "But I never believed it. Did you?" "No." She sighed. "But now ... I can't help but wonder." Mulder hesitated, then leaned over and pressed his lips against hers, a kiss of comfort. "We *are* going to make it, Scully," he whispered fiercely. "I swear to God, we're going to make it. And someday, we'll even laugh again." Her lips actually twitched, and she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his. "If anyone can make me laugh, Mulder, after all of this, it's you." Another pause. Then, in a whisper: "Please try." He nodded, then started the engine and threw the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. The sun was well up by now, the sky a bright, robin's egg blue. It seemed almost like a normal spring morning -- except, of course, for the total lack of traffic and pedestrians. Even the military checkpoints that they'd passed the night before were now abandoned. It was not the shortest route he could have taken, but Mulder shortly found himself driving west on Constitution Avenue. They needed to say goodbye to the city, he thought, even though it would take a little longer, and thereby increase the risk. For they would not be back. And so they drove slowly past the Mall, easily evading the barricades that had been erected years ago against the threat of terrorism. They drove past the Capitol and the Smithsonian, past the Ellipse and the Washington Monument, past the dark, brooding edifice that stood in solemn memory of those who'd died in Vietnam. In another world, Mulder realized, Skinner's name might be on that wall, so that at least he and his sacrifice would be remembered by the ages. But now there was nothing -- nothing to mark the A.D.'s passing. He slowed still further as they drove past the Reflecting Pool, remembering a day long ago when he and Scully had shared a bench there. They'd been so young and fresh, then, so innocent of the horrors that lay ahead, waiting for them in the shadows. He wondered what they would have done that day, if they had known. Would they have moved forward into the darkness anyway, heedless of the danger? Or would they have shied away in fear, seeking refuge elsewhere? And if the latter, would they still have been together? He remembered his words to Scully, two weeks earlier, as they sat on the sofa in his living room sipping tea together. She'd been telling him of her encounter with Daniel Waterston, and what it had meant to her -- and what it hadn't. //I don't think you can know,// Mulder remembered saying at last. //I mean, how many different lives would we be leading if we made different choices? We... we don't know. And all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and we wouldn't be sitting here together.// One wrong turn .... Mulder shook his head in disbelief. Could it really be that simple and straightforward? Was this truly the only version of his world that had Dana Scully in it? And should he feel guilty for his own defiant certainty that in the end, for him, it had all been worth it? He felt her fingertips brush the back of his hand, and glanced briefly over at her. She was allowing her tears to fall now, at last, slowly and silently -- and as he watched, she actually smiled, just a little. Then Mulder turned his attention back to the road, and soon they were crossing the Potomac River and turning northwest onto the George Washington Parkway. A short while later they reached the Beltway, and left the city behind. ==========THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY========== To be concluded in "All Which It Inherit 3: Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On"