From: Felicia Ferguson Date: Wed, 8 Dec 1999 17:05:01 -0800 (PST) Subject: Bravo Zulu Source: direct Reply To: fergufl@yahoo.com Bravo Zulu by Felicia Ferguson Category: JAG/XF crossover Timeline In JAG, before Mr. Rabb Goes to Washington In XF, after Rain King, before SR 819 In real life (what am I saying- -those are real life), it takes place in early January 1999. Rating: PG-13 Feedback: I crave it!!! Please send it to fergufl@yahoo.com. Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were (Boy, do I wish they were. Can you imagine the money I would have!) JAG and all its characters belong to CBS and David Bellisario. XF and its people belong to FOX and the folks at 1013. Summary: Mac and Harm team up once again with Mulder and Scully to investigate the unexplained deaths of a Navy SEALs unit. Author's Note: You can visit and all of my stories at www.slbrown.com/felicia. (1/13) FBI Headquarters Washington, D.C. 0930 Romeo The bull pen in the Hoover Building buzzed with life. Agents dashed around desks, paused and hovered collectively over files, then separated once more to chase down new theories. A rash of kidnappings involving teenage victims in D.C. had just recently been given the FBI's full attention. Twenty agents from the area had been assigned to the case. Unfortunately for two agents, their inclusion on the investigation was deemed unnecessary by their superior. Fox Mulder glanced around the room, a look of disgust marring his otherwise handsome features. 'Scores of police detectives, more than a dozen field agents, two profilers from the VCS, and what are Scully and I doing?' he thought caustically. 'Frigging background checks.' He let his breath out in a rush. Hearing his frustration, Mulder's partner, Dana Scully, looked up from the papers neatly stacked on her nearby desk. A flash of sympathy passed over her features before she cautioned, "Mulder..." He glanced over his shoulder at her and nodded his head resignedly. They hadn't been out in the field in over a month and he was, admittedly, getting antsy. More than that though, this imposed exile from the X-Files was beginning to grate on his nerves. They were being brought to heel by their new superior, A.D. Kersch, and they well knew it. No more jaunts across the U.S. chasing down aliens or madmen bent on devouring people for nourishment. Instead, the pair was now relegated to interviewing potential federal workers about their marijuana use. Amidst the mounting, and very tedious, paperwork, Scully often found herself longing for a giant flukeworm or two. Ignoring the file on one Charlie Bingley, a young college grad with aspirations of becoming an ATF agent, Scully allowed her eyes to drift along Mulder's back, willing the tense lines she found there to soften. He could feel her soothing gaze trace over him, and, incredibly, some of the tension did ease. His lips curved ever so slightly despite his current annoyance. How she did that, he would never know. With one look, she could ease his worries, and then, a second later, heat his blood. At one time, he would have chalked it up to their long- standing partnership, or their unusual bond. But lately, he had recognized his reaction was due to something else entirely; something he was sure she had yet to realize, or at least, didn't realize on a conscious level. The truth had revealed itself to him in the strangest of places: on a carrier ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The noise in the bull pen softened a notch, pulling Mulder from his reverie. He looked up and found the source of the interruption standing before him, eyes hardened with irritated resolve. "Mulder, Scully. My office. Now," Assistant Director Kersch ordered. He brusquely turned away, fully expecting the two agents to quickly respond. Scully glanced at her partner, both eyebrows raised as if asking, "What did we do now?" Mulder shrugged as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, then gestured for her to precede him. As they walked in tandem toward the A.D.'s office, Mulder caught himself staring at the cap of red hair, which gleamed in the fluorescent light. 'Okay, so maybe I do gaze at her,' he thought wryly. They passed by Kersch's secretary silently, sparing her only a glance as they entered the man's inner sanctum. He was seated behind his Bureau-issued desk, his eyes narrowed with irritation. The pair moved to stand in front of him; no offer was made for them to sit down. Scully darted a look at her partner. 'This can't be good.' Mulder responded in kind, 'Don't look at me. I haven't done anything ... lately.' Kersch cleared his throat and pursed his lips. "An incident has occurred at the office of Naval Research and I have been to assign two agents to help with the JAG investigation," his normally deep voice had taken on a biting edge. "Specifically, you two." He glanced from agent to agent with a quick flick of his eyes, noting their lack of response. "Apparently, the Navy's Judge Advocate General was impressed with your previous work--a matter concerning a Lt. David Anderson." A sour expression crossed his face as he glanced down at the file on his desk. "You'll receive further information from the JAG lawyers as soon as you get there." He paused and stared hard at each agent. "I need not tell you that I am not overly pleased with this circumstance, but it seems that my objections have been overruled." Mulder shot a sideways glance at Scully, his surprise evident only to her. This, indeed, was interesting news. Scully answered him with a barely perceptible eyebrow lift. "The paperwork is finished and you two are free to go as soon as possible. Your current assignment can wait until you get back." With a curt nod and a stern, "That will be all," the two agents were dismissed. Mulder caught his partner's gaze as they moved toward the door. Their eyes tossed ideas back and forth as to why Kersch's power was so suddenly usurped. The subject of their ardent discussion of sorts interrupted them just as they reached the door, "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." They both turned back to the seated man. "Behave yourselves," he admonished sternly as if speaking to two errant children. Mulder's lips tightened into a slight grimace as Scully opened the door. His hand settled into its usual place at the small of her back as the two left the room as soundlessly as they had entered. VA Hospital Arlington, Virginia 0948 Romeo The steady beat of the life support machines lulled the man awake. 'If I can just be quiet. Maybe it won't know,' he thought desperately. Suddenly, an agonizing pain seized through him, racking his body with spasms. 'Oh, God! Oh God! I can't do this! I can't take any more of the pain!' His mind knew he was screaming. His lips had even formed the words. Yet, no sound emerged. He could hardly even breathe. With every shuddering intake, his lungs burned, his throat ached. He could feel it devouring him. Could almost feel the tiny rips slicing his cells open against their will; the invader eating away at their insides. Munching on DNA, slurping up cytoplasm, then picking the ribosomes out of its "teeth" with a leftover mitochondria. Was this how they had felt? Those brave SEALs who had only asked to serve their country? Had they been as terrified by this thing they couldn't fight? Couldn't even see except by high-powered electron microscopes? And the pain. Oh, God, the pain. He had given and received high doses of Demerol, Phenobarbital--and eventually, Morphine-- in an effort to dull even just a bit of the pain. Nothing had worked. And so he lay there, just as those soldiers before him had, the pain slowly killing him; stealing his will to live. 'He's going to win now. With this he can rule the world.' It had all been so simple, so clear. He had understood. And now, it was ... what was it? He bit his lip as the spasms racked his body once more. When the pain ebbed, he noticed a metallic taste in his mouth and slipped his tongue out to lick away the blood he knew he would find. But this time, it wasn't there. He tried to pull his tongue back, but his mouth was suddenly filled with blood and that awful, rending pain as more cells joined the ranks of their dying or dead comrades. He tried to scream; one more rage against an unfair killer, a killer who used guerrilla tactics to its advantage. Once again, nothing. The only sound echoing through the empty ICU room was the steady tone of the life support as it heralded a flat line. JAG Headquarters Falls Church, Virginia 1040 Romeo "Look at it this way, Mulder," Scully soothed as the pair rode the elevator up to the third floor. "At least he let us out of the building for a few days. it's official so there's no threat of an ass-chewing when we get back." "Ooh, Scully, are you offering?" Mulder leered as he leaned closer to her, his nose just grazing her temple. Scully held perfectly still, the whisper-light feel of his breath danced across her cheek. A moment later, he pulled back, seemingly unaware of his effect on her. "At any rate," he continued, "I wonder who the higher authority was." Scully had recovered from her breathless state enough to reply, "The admiral maybe?" She looked up to the numbers, which lit up the floor levels. This elevator was taking way too long. She moved slightly away from her partner, praying he wouldn't notice and thereby be hurt by her subtle, but desperate action. She had to do something; these close confines heightened her senses to an almost dangerous level. Normally, the effect of his close proximity was something she could pigeon-hole into a small part of her brain and force herself to ignore. Ever since that kiss on the carrier, though, things had taken a subtle, but definite shift. As if both knew the inevitability of their partnership's eventual progression, but neither wanted to force the issue. To bring to light something that would be impossible to pigeon-hole and ignore once started. Especially since neither was certain his feelings were requited. "Harm mentioned that Chegwidden had a lot of clout, but I didn't realize it would extend to the FBI." The elevator dinged as the doors slid open, forestalling any answer Scully might have given. She moved toward the glass doors boasting "Judge Advocate General." Mulder followed slightly behind and to the left of her, his hand planted lightly at her back. Even this gentlemanly gesture now held more feeling, more heat, than in all the previous years. Scully reveled in the warmth imprinted at the small of her back. The room's atmosphere, though less frenetic than the one they had recently left, still moved at a steady pace. Scully approached a blonde woman who peered intently at a file. The agent greeted, "Excuse me, we're from the FB..." her words died as the officer turned to answer. "Tara?" Scully asked, confusion evident on her Irish features. "What are you.." The woman looked blankly back at the red head and apologized, "I'm sorry, I'm Ensign Sims, um, Harriet. You must be the FBI agents." She smiled easily, the glow of pregnancy radiating from her face. "No--uh--yes," Scully stammered, "I'm, um, mistaken, but you bear a striking resemblance to my sister-in-law." Ensign Sims' eyebrows lifted with surprise. "Really? I'll have to tell Bud that one." She grinned once more at the pair, then gestured to the far door. "The admiral's waiting for you. He told me to get Lt. Commander Rabb and Major MacKenzie as soon as you two got here. Go on in." The woman left the pair standing in the middle of the room off in search of the two lawyers. Scully's jaw was still slightly agape, not having fully recovered from her shock. Mulder softly whistled the Twilight Zone theme behind her. His partner took a deep breath and mentally shook herself. 'That was just too weird,' she thought as her eyes followed the ensign's path to Mac's office. "Come on, we mustn't keep the admiral waiting. After all, he the one we have to thank for springing us," Mulder urged as he lightly gripped her elbow, steering her toward the door. JAG Headquarters Falls Church, Virginia 1058 Romeo Admiral A.J. Chegwidden savagely poked the speaker button on his phone to disconnect the most recent call. 'Damn you, Webb!' he silently cursed. 'MY people are not assigned to clean up detail!' Clayton Webb was ostensibly a representative from the state department, though A.J., and most of the office, suspected some link to the CIA. The admiral shook his head as he heaved an exasperated sigh. 'Damn the man. If this case wasn't hard enough already, I now have breathing down my neck.' Closing his eyes, he took in a calming breath and willed his pulse to slow. Although he was in excellent shape, it wouldn't do to have a heart attack just because Clayton Webb was annoying. A.J. wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Aw, hell," he murmured softly as he rested his chin on his fist. He glanced at the clock on his desk and noted that Mulder and Scully should have been briefed by now. He reached for the intercom to page Tiner just as someone rapped twice on his office door. "Come!" barked the admiral as he moved his attention from the phone to a pile of papers scattered over his desk. The door quietly opened revealing the two FBI agents. They remained in the doorway, waiting until they were invited in. "Sir?" Agent Scully prodded, her military upbringing evident in her bearing. 'I wonder how many times she said that word before gaining entrance into her father's office?' the admiral pondered idly. "Yes, come on in. It's good to see you two again," Chegwidden greeted. "I must say that getting you assigned to this detail was like breaking into Fort Knox. I actually had to call in a favor with the Attorney General." 'Mystery number one solved,' Mulder thought wryly. "We've been reassigned. Our new supervisor would like to keep a close eye on our performance," Scully responded diplomatically. Mulder glanced down at her sardonically, 'That's one way of putting it' Her eyes drifted upward, caught his gaze, and the debate commenced, 'We're not saying any more than that, Mulder.' 'The man had to use a favor from the Attorney General. How ridiculous can this get?' 'We're here now. Let's concentrate on this case. Kersch will be waiting when we get back.' 'Unfortunately.' Chegwidden watched the pair silently battle their way to a compromise. Though, by the looks of Mulder, Scully won more of the war. The admiral opened his mouth to comment on the situation when someone knocked on his door. Instead of voicing his observation, his mouth formed the word, "Come!" The door was opened once more. This time, Rabb and MacKenzie stood at the threshold; their stances reminiscent of those so recently held by their FBI counterparts. Chegwidden had to smother a grin as he gestured for the lawyers to join them. "Rabb, MacKenzie. You remember Agents Mulder and Scully." Mac smiled warmly at the pair as Harm nodded his head briefly. "I have once again requested some external help. On this case, Agent Scully's expertise as a forensic pathologist will come in handy. This is a high priority and completely classified until further notice. The information is 'need to know' only." He paused a moment, allowing the situation's gravity to thoroughly sink in. The admiral looked down at the papers on his desk before continuing, his tone stark, "The Office of Naval Research has had an accident in one of their labs. One scientist is dead; three are in ICU in critical condition." He took in the shocked faces of his officers and was intrigued by the curiosity found in the agents' eyes. 'I forgot. This is nothing new to them,' he thought, suddenly very glad he had chosen a career in the military instead of following his first urge to enter the FBI after his years as a SEAL. "Prior to the official beginning of Desert Fox, an elite team of Navy SE.ALs was sent into Iraq to recon several of Saddam's laboratories. They were hoping to give the Navy commanders better information about their targets and, therefore, further decrease civilian casualties. As you know, America isn't very popular in the Arab states. We wanted to move quickly and decisively, but also carefully so as not to further alienate the people. Our conflict is with Saddam, not necessarily his people." Mulder inwardly smiled, thinking how accurately the admiral simulated the recent soundbytes, which now echoed in space. The officer continued, oblivious to the agent's idle observation. "As you know, Saddam was long suspected of having rebuilt his chemical plants after Desert Storm. Satellite surveillance detected suspicious evidence that the facility in Bayji was rebuilt on the old foundation. The men were sent in to confirm the plant's production abilities and surprised a group of scientists, who just happened to be working late. "The Iraqis, to defend themselves from a potential assault, released a substance, which is thought to be Saddam's latest experimental biological weapon." Chegwidden paused once more. He watched silently as Mulder's brow furrowed and Scully blinked once in surprise, then looked at her partner to determine if she really had heard the admiral correctly. The lawyers shared an equally shocked look. Before they could recover enough to bombard him with questions, the admiral continued. "At the time of the recon, none of the officers showed immediate effects. The scientists were subdued, the operation was successful, and you know the outcome of the mission. It wasn't until a month later that the men started dropping dead, literally, in their tracks. They had been boning up on their weapon diffusion skills when the group's leader, Lt Cmdr. George Knight, suddenly collapsed. He was taken immediately to the hospital where multiple and comprehensive tests were done. What the doctors found, quite frankly, scared the hell out of them." Scully raised an inquiring eyebrow, eager to hear the results. The others though less educated in the field of medicine, were equally curious. "I'm not a physician, so I think, Agent Scully, we would be better served by you explaining the findings." Chegwidden picked up a few loose pieces of paper. The large scrawl of a physician's hand branded the bottom of each page. The woman moved forward to take the proffered items, and froze as her eyes were drawn to a black and white image. Her brow furrowed as she looked at the file, then looked again. She skimmed the next few pages and, with each page turn, her jaw dropped a fraction more. "Oh my God," she murmured softly, "Mulder." "What?" he asked just as softly as he moved closer to her, trying to see what she saw. "The report. And ... and ... this picture. This is a tissue cell from the man's abdominal wall. The destruction is massive. More so than any type of cancer. It's almost as if it's ..." "What?" he prodded. "Mulder," she looked up from the paper and locked her eyes with his, "he was eaten alive." "Repeat that again?" Mac prompted, her eyes wide with shock. Scully nodded slowly. "I'll have to look over the test results and see some of the samples myself, but according to the naval doctor who examined him, whatever did this, acted quickly and effectively. If I were to design something to attack and destroy the body, this is exactly what it would be." She pointed to a series of black and white photos of small, white disc-like shapes. "I'm not sure how much you know about human physiology, but these are healthy tissue cells." She moved her finger to the next frame. "This is what happened when whatever it was attacked them." Scully traced around what looked to be floating, white fragments. "It literally tore the individual cells apart in a matter of hours. It says in the autopsy report that his abdominal cavity was a mass of blood. Not even the remains of organs were found. Cancer cells can take months, up to years, to infect on this large a scale. And even then, this level of destruction never happens." "What do you mean?" Harm asked. "I thought cancer cells ate their way through the body." "That's just it. 'Cells,"' Scully explained, launching into lecture mode. "With cancer, when cells are created, the parent cell goes through a process known as 'doubling,' in which an exact copy is made. Sometimes, however, outside factors, such as the use of carcinogens, or even, potentially, biology, activate the genes which are predisposed to cancer. These cancerous cells then multiply just like a normal cell." "What about a virus?" Mac asked, peering over the agent's shoulder to get a better look at the file. Scully shook her head. "Viruses infect by taking over cells and multiplying. What we have here," she continued, indicating the photos, "is a systematic destruction. The cells are physically ripped to shreds." "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" the admiral asked, his face intent. Scully slowly shook her head, "No, sir. Never." Her gaze shot to Mulder and, seeing the obvious question there, said, 'No, it's not what infected the firemen in Dallas. This is different. This is worse.' He nodded, accepting her analysis. "So what are you saying?" Harm asked, his eyes narrowed. She looked intently at each of the officers, her gaze finally resting on her partner. "I'm saying that this man died a horrible, and very painful, death. His body was ripped apart down to the very molecule." JAG Headquarters 1105 Romeo Lt. jg Bud Roberts, a law student who aided Rabb and MacKenzie in their research and investigation of cases, scurried over to his wife as she walked back to her desk from Major MacKenzie's office. The major and Commander Rabb had just finished knocking on Chegwidden's door and were commanded to enter a moment later. "Harriet! Do you know who that is?" Bud whispered excitedly, indicating the suited pair, who were now visible as Harm and Mac entered the office. "They're FBI agents," she remarked, puzzled by her husband's reaction. "They're not FBI agents! That's Fox Mulder! He works on the X-Files. He investigates UFO sightings. I read a profile of him in last month's edition of 'The Lone Gunmen.'" Harriet rolled her eyes with exasperation. Now she would never hear the end of this. She loved him dearly, but the man went overboard whenever someone mentioned his favorite past-time: UFOs. "That's his partner, Dana Scully. She wasn't profiled, but she was mentioned in the article. She's a medical doctor. Oh, I can't wait to meet them!" Bud hopped anxiously from one foot to the other like a child desperate for a glimpse of his favorite movie star. "She's a doctor, huh? Maybe she needs to get her eyes checked. She thought I was her sister-in-law." Bud's brow furrowed as he looked around the room then leaned toward her to whisper, "Are you?" "Bud!" "Because you know these things could happen. They could even be here to investigate you!" He stepped away from her, his eyes wide. "Where's the real Harriet?" Bud asked, his voice raising a notch with slight panic. Harriet, sensing she wasn't going to convince him with words, grabbed her husband's hand and lay it on her stomach. She placed her other hand behind his neck and firmly pulled him closer to kiss him lightly. He pulled away a moment later, basking in the sheer happiness that enveloped him. "No," he sighed, "you're definitely you." Harriet gazed at him fondly, a slight bemused smile tickling her lips. "Oh! Bud, did you feel that?" she asked as she pressed his hand harder on her abdomen. His face lit up as he felt the movement. "The baby?" Harriet nodded excitedly, "Mm hmm. Wait! There he--" she stopped with a shy smile "--or she--goes again!" Bud's grin widened until his face was nearly split in two. The sound of someone clearing his throat broke the parents-to-be from their awe. Harriet jerked her head toward the source, her eyes widened with recognition. "Oh! Sorry, sir," she shyly glanced back down to Bud's hand, which still rested on her abdomen, the returned her gaze to the admiral. "The baby just kicked." Try as he might, Chegwidden was not proof against such complete and utter happiness. His slightly disapproving gaze softened-- just a bit. It made his task somewhat harder to do. A.J. knew the ensign worked hard to keep her pregnancy from interfering with work. This, however, was one instance when he would not be swayed by arguments from her or husband. "Lieutenant, Ensign, I know you two usually assist Commander Rabb and Major MacKenzie in their investigations. In this case, I think, your pregnancy might be at risk." He noticed their concerned faces and relaxed as he continued, "I'm assigning both of you to an AWOL case. Lt. Roberts, you'll be lead counsel. Ensign Sims, you'll assist at trial." The elation on the younger man's face was, naturally, nothing compared to his earlier joy, but A.J. felt he was pleased nonetheless. Ensign Sims' pride in her husband beamed through as she watched his reaction. "I won't let you down, sir," Roberts swore solemnly. With a slight nod of his head, the admiral replied, "See that you don't." He turned before his slight smile could turn into a full-fledged grin and caught sight of the retreating backs of his two offices and the agents. His smile faded to a grimace. 'Dear God,' he thought, 'let them find out what the hell is going on. For that baby's sake. For everyone's sake.' *** (2/13) Office of Naval Research Arlington, Virginia 1307 Romeo Two blue-suited figures moved slowly but determinedly under the fluorescent lights of the Navy's Biosafety Level 4 research room. As one person reviewed slides under a microscope in the middle of the area, the other peered into vials and test tubes filled with a bright yellow compound. Few scattered comments passed between them; their concentration focused on their individual tasks. "Excuse me, Captain Campbell?" a voice interrupted over the intercom. The figure bent over the microscope looked up, blinked once to refocus her eyes, and then moved to the window which separated the highly contagious atmosphere from what she laughingly called, 'the other world.' "Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?" "There are some people here to see you, ma'am," replied the young blonde man. She sighed softly. JAG and the FBI. Her commander had briefed her on their impending visit when she had gotten in this morning. 'Great,' she thought, 'now I have to play science teacher instead of looking for cures.' Campbell nodded to the young man, her entire upper torso moving with her assent. She turned to her coworker and asked, "John, will you finish looking at this for me? And if you find anything-anything at all-" He smiled through the plexiglass faceplate, "I'll call you. Go on. I know how much you love stomping out ignorance." "Isn't that the truth," she muttered as she disconnected herself from the air supply and shuffled over to the decontamination room. As the pressurized streams of water and bleach pelted her body, she closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift over what was now termed, "The SEAL Incident." She hadn't been present when Knight had been brought to the VA hospital, but she had heard the scuttlebutt. It had taken hours to rinse away the mud that had seeped though his clothes on the training grounds. And towards the end of that time, the nurses began to realize more was washing away than just mud. Small bits and pieces of skin drifted along with the soap and water. Then later, small bits and pieces of organs joined them until nothing remained of his abdominal cavity but porous bone and pools of blood. The doctors' first thought had been hemorrhagic fever or Ebola and had quarantined him as such. But then the test results had come back. For a man with those symptoms-disregarding the lack of orificial bleeding-the Ebola virus was conspicuously absent. That's when she, Captain Joan Campbell, M.D., Ph.D, had been called in for a consult. And after looking at the tissue samples, the Navy's premier medical researcher had been just as baffled. The cells, instead of being infected and killed like a normal virus, were being physically shredded. She had never seen anything like it. Then the others were admitted. One by one the team started dropping like flies. The tissue samples yielded the same results, but no body area was immune. Each SEAL presented with the same symptoms, but the infection-or whatever it was--targeted different body systems. She shuddered slightly as the spray ended, sending hundreds of tiny droplets flying. The last SEAL, Lt. Andy Williams, had hung on as long as possible, but with each day, his brain failed even more. Until it basically had caved in on itself. Campbell felt the sudden rush of air as the dryer kicked in. Although each patient fascinated her, Lt. Williams intrigued her more than the others. The way the disease attacked his brain-its similarity to Parkinson's-was uncanny: lack of dopamine production, persistent tremors, slow onset and completion of movement. He had even been given Deprenyl as a countermeasure should this disease merely be manifesting an already present predisposition to Parkinson's. And yet, Joan herself had taken the samples and even autopsied the body. With Parkinson's, there was degeneration of the brain, yes, but not the extent Williams had suffered. When she had opened his skull, the only thing she'd found was a pool of blood .She let out a low gurgle of frustration. 'He's the key! I know it! I just can't see the connection!' As the dryer shut off, she jerked the helmet of her contamination suit off forcefully then shook her head, loosening the sweat- dampened brown curls. 'I've looked at the data a hundred times and I still can't find it!' She snorted derisively. 'I'd bet Dana could. Damn woman could glance at a slide in med school and give you a past history on the patient dating back 10 years.' Campbell fumed for a moment, then took a calming breath. She didn't know what had made her think of her old nemesis. 'Take it easy, Joanie,' she soothed, 'she's miles away ensconced in her ivory tower at Johns Hopkins.' her conscious chided. She shook her head forcefully, banishing the old hurt and insecurity to the nether region of her brain. "Get a grip," she murmured as she donned the fresh pair of blue scrubs she kept in her locker. She grabbed a nearby towel and ran it over her hair quickly then tossed it in a laundry bag as she headed out the door. Campbell clipped her ID badge to the waistband of her scrubs, still brooding over things lost and missed opportunities. She turned the corner leading to the main entryway in search of her visitors when she was stopped mid- stride by a brick wall. A wall, which turned out to be tall and good-looking, though hardly made of brick. More like smooth muscle and dress whites. The formerly thought of brick wall smiled engagingly as he moved to steady her. "Hi. Lt. Cmdr. Harmon Rabb. Sorry about that." Campbell shook her head and a soft smile eased over her features. "My fault. Daydreaming. Can I help you? You look a little lost." "I'm looking for Capt. Joan Campbell," he drawled as his eyes glanced downward to find her badge. "And it would appear I've found her." "You're the JAG lawyer," she replied with slight distaste. "You sound like you don't approve of my job." "It's not that," she placated. "I suppose the Navy needs its lawyers as much as the rest of the world. It's just that lawyers have never done me any favors." Harm nodded his understanding, his features softening with sympathy. "So. Where's the rest of your crew?" Seeing his blank stare, she prodded, "The other lawyer and the FBI agents?" Recognition dawned in his eyes and he replied, "They're in the waiting area. I pulled rank on the ensign out there so I could come back." Her eyebrows lifted with surprise, "Really? I guess I should be flattered. But," she sobered quickly, "under the circumstances, you'll understand if I'm not." Harm nodded, his face equally serious. He turned and walked with her to the double doors, which separated the facility from the waiting area. As they neared the entrance, he reached over her shoulder to push open a door. Joan glanced back to flash him a quick smile of thanks. A smile which died as she spotted a petite red head who stood closely beside a tall dark haired man. "Damn," she muttered, her earlier thoughts echoing back to her. "Excuse me?" Harm asked, thinking he had misheard. "Oh! I said, 'Dana,"' she covered. "You know Agent Scully?" 'Agent?' she thought curiously. "Um, yeah, we went to med school together." Harm's brow furrowed on hearing her once again cover another emotion. 'Wonder what happened between those two,' he thought as they neared the others. He noticed Scully's slightly pursed lips as he introduced the captain. Mulder, more observant of his partner's demeanor, also wondered at the sudden tension he felt radiating off of her. He touched her elbow lightly, questioning. Scully darted a look at him, "Later," it said. He nodded imperceptibly, accepting the delay, and turned back to the woman in scrubs. "Dana, long time no see. Still keeping company with the gorgeous ones." Scully bit the inside of her cheek refusing to rise to the bait. "Joan, it's good to see you again. I hadn't realized you went into the Navy." "Well, my post at Johns Hopkins was filled-or so I thought," she replied, an eyebrow raising in question. Mac, wanting to ease the tension between the two women, asked, "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions about the recent accident involving a team of SEALs and your researcher, Captain Robert Markham." Campbell refocused her gaze on the major and forced herself to bite back her rancor. Even after all these years, and all of her accomplishments, Dana Scully still had the ability to rankle her-reopen old wounds-whether the agent realized it or not. 'Agent. Never in a million years would I have guessed she'd end up in the FBI.' "Looking for someone to court martial? Accidental death, conduct unbecoming... am I on the right track?" she asked with a sardonic smile. "We'd just like to know what happened," Mulder interjected. "After that, who knows." Joan looked at the agent and nodded in answer to his statement then gestured for the group to follow her back through the double doors to her office. Office of Naval Research Captain Joan Campbell's desk 1336 Romeo Campbell stood with her back to the investigators, her gaze focused on the swaying branches of the tree just outside her window. She heard someone flipping through the pages of the file on the mysterious killer and knew it had to be Dana. Only she would be able to fully comprehend the devastation that Joanie and the other researchers had found in the bodies of the SEALS. She waited. She knew soon enough that the agent's curiosity would get the better of her and the interrogation would start. 'What happened?' 'Why it's only this; why didn't you see it?' 'Really, Joan, I thought you were a better researcher than this!' Campbell closed her eyes against the wave of pain that washed over her and allowed her thoughts to drift back. < "Dr. Campbell!" the attending physician had beckoned as she had stared at the frail and almost lifeless body of a seven year old boy. "Earth to Dr. Campbell!" Joanie jerked out of her horror and looked back at Dr. Eugene Rustace, Director of the Pediatric Department at Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons. She felt the pink blush of embarrassment steal over her features and lowered her gaze to avoid the knowing eyes of the other interns. "Well, since Dr. Campbell is too busy day dreaming, Dr. Scully, why don't you give us a brief run-down of the patient's symptoms and your recommendations for treatment." Dana tossed a cursory look in Joanie's direction before proceeding with not only an accurate description of the patient, but also a well-thought out and perfect plan of action. And just like always, Joanie was left on the sidelines, once again ignored in favor of the bright and shining Dana Scully. > A quick intake of breath pulled her from her self-flagellation. She turned back to find the group crowded around her desk, all eyes drawn to the color photos of the SEALs in the final grips of their devastation. The sallow skin loosening into thick folds, its elasticity gone. The arms and legs that were nothing but skin filled with blood; the bone and muscles had disappeared hours before. She didn't need to look at the pictures again-the images were burned on her brain where they would remain until the mystery was solved and a cure on the way. "How did this happen?" MacKenzie softly murmured. A bitter grin flitted across her face as the captain replied, "I don't know. I've charted the effects and no two patients were the same. It's almost as if the disease, or whatever it is, has a mind of its own." "Or that it starts at the weakest part of the body and goes from there," Scully murmured thoughtfully. 'And here we go again. Dana Scully to the rescue!' Joan thought caustically. Scully skimmed through the detailed notes under each picture, forcing herself to ignore the devastation and concentrate only on the scientific aspects. "You've done some good work here, Joan." "You sound surprised," the researcher replied raising an eyebrow slightly. Scully pursed her lips, stifling a sigh of resignation. 'She just isn't going to let go, is she?' The agent ignored the remark and, instead, heard Harm ask, "What did the SEALs say happened when they were debriefed?" Joan shifted her gaze to the officer, embarrassment tingeing her features. 'Get a grip!' she yelled at herself. 'And while you're at it, grow up. She always was better than you; accept it and go on.' Aloud, she voiced, "Only that they interrupted a group of scientists. One of the Iraqis turned some kind of instrument on them, then the SEALs shot the men in retaliation." "What kind of instrument?" asked Mulder, his gaze still focused over his partner's shoulder and on the file. "They didn't know. All the leader could say was that it was cylindrical in shape, made of metal and had some type of control panel on the top of it. He maintained that it wasn't a weapon. At least not one that he had ever seen." "Which means Saddam is still experimenting," Mac remarked. "What could do this type of damage and on such a grand scale?" Scully asked rhetorically. "And, this fast," Campbell added without rancor, trying to atone for her previous unprofessional behavior. Scully accepted the peace offer with a slight twitch of her lips. "I've ruled out Ebola, hemorrhagic fever, and all of the other types of fevers," Campbell continued. "Why?" asked Mulder, his stance relaxing even as his partner's did on the appearance of a truce. "No bleeding from the orificies, no fever..." the captain trailed off. "What about this last man? Lt. Andy Williams?" prompted Harm. "You say here he died of Parkinson's." The captain sighed audibly. "That's the biggest mystery of all. He didn't have any history of the disease, no symptoms whatsoever, until his second day in the hospital. From then on it progressed at a startling rate. Normally, Parkinson's takes years to manifest itself and then the rate of degeneration increases." "Yes, but what does that have to do with whatever it was that he was exposed to?" Mac asked her confusion evident. "I don't know. As of yet, we haven't found the cause of Parkinson's. The prevailing theory is genetics, but no one knows for sure." "If he did have a genetic predisposition to this disease, what could accelerate the degeneration to a period of days instead of months or years'?" Mulder asked, his gaze moving from Campbell to Scully. Scully's brow furrowed as she racked her brain searching for a possible answer. She called up her memory of past journal articles on the subject in her database of a brain, discarding obvious mismatches until she latched onto a potential candidate. As the likelihood of the choice's possibility settled through her brain, she blinked sharply. "What?" Mulder murmured, searching her face knowing she had found an answer. "No, there's no way," Scully muttered to herself. "The effects are too much, too fast. It would be impossible...but it fits..." "What is it?" Harm asked, his brow wrinkling. Scully raised her head and focused her gaze on Captain Campbell. "I need to see your tissue slides." Abandoned warehouse Bayji, Iraq 1218 Romeo "What the hell is going on?" a dark haired man shouted in Arabic. He pounded his fist heavily on the makeshift conference table and glared at each person who sat there. Of the five men who were present, three wore the white lab coats identifying them as medical personnel of some sort. The other two men wore military uniforms and possessed the distinctly controlled bearing of their office. "Do we have any information as to the weapon's effectiveness?" He turned away from the table and stalked around the perimeter, lording his bulky figure over the researchers. The white-coated men glanced among themselves, unsure whether their news would elate or enrage the head of the Iraqi military. One man, Rasheed Ismael, murmured quietly to his counterparts and agreed to act as their spokesman. "General, if you would allow me?" Upon seeing the other man halt his footsteps and nod his assent, the researcher continued "As I am sure you know, a team of Navy SEALs broke into our research facility. We had been testing the weapon on donkeys and other animals so when I turned the weapon on them, I exposed the soldiers to the agent at the lowest setting. We have learned through our contacts in the U.S. that these men have since died." The general's face split into as his mouth widened around a deep belly- laugh. "Well, why didn't you just say so? That is perfect; the prime minister will be pleased." Ismael glanced worriedly at the other two researchers, then allowed his gaze to rest on the military men. "Unfortunately, sir, there has been a complication." The recent smile on the general's face dipped dangerously close to a scowl and the researcher was quick to continue on with his concerns. "It appears that three of the American scientists who were studying the SEALs were infected and have since died." "How? How were they infected? I was told the only way one could be impacted by the weapon was to be in its direct line." "Um, yes sir. That is true, to a certain extent." "A certain extent?" he asked his bushy eyebrows canting over his eyes. 'Damn scientists; it's never black and white with them. They always have qualifications.' "We are unsure at this time how he contracted the illness. However, we do know that they were exposed by some method other than the weapon." "Obviously," the general replied sarcastically, "since no weapon has been taken to the U.S." He returned to his pacing once more, allowing the silence to settle around them. "This is a problem," he muttered. "With researchers dead, the military will be looking into the matter more." He turned back to the three men and pierced each with his cold gaze. "Do you have an antidote?" The researchers once again consulted on their answer then finally, Ismael replied, "Yes, but it's a working antidote only. We have tested it on a group of donkeys and other large animals using the inhalation chambers we purchased from the Russians. The results have been mixed, though. The weapon attacks individuals differently, therefore, there may be no one cure." The general pondered the man's answer for a moment, then replied thoughtfully, "In theory, though, it works well enough to be used on humans, correct?" Ismael nodded, "I suppose so. It is ready to be at least on humans." The general's lips once again curved into a smile. This time, however, it was not one of elation, it was more like malicious glee. He turned around, ostensibly to resume his pacing when he suddenly halted, spun around and shot each scientist in the head. The loud cracks of the bullets reverberated noisily off the cavernous walls. The other officer did not flinch when he heard the sound, nor did he do so when he saw the bodies slip down in their chairs, blood gushing from their foreheads and trailing down their faces. He watched in silence as the general bolstered his firearm and heard him murmur, "Good. Then we have no need for you." The general walked over to the bodies, admired his aim, then turned back to his subordinant. "Kaleel, get rid of them. The usual way. Dump the bodies in the Tigris and find some faction to blame when they are discovered. It won't be long, so think quickly." Kaleel nodded solemnly, then rose to do the general's bidding. *** (3/13) Office of Naval Research Captain Joan Campbell's desk 1457 Romeo Mulder stood by the window and punched the end button on his cell phone then glanced across the room to the major. She lifted her gaze to his, a question in her eyes. The agent shook his head negatively, "No," he replied. "My contacts haven't had any news about this weapon. However, they specialize in U.S. intelligence; it was a bit of a stretch for them to look at Iraqi." The major nodded as her gaze was drawn yet again to the gory pictures, which were now strewn across the captain's desk. Harm had left an hour ago to do a little research of his own while the major had remained to aid Mulder in whatever way she could. Until Scully and Campbell emerged with a more definitive answer as to what they were looking at, the others were left to basically twiddle their thumbs. Or, at least, that's what it felt like to Mac. She watched Mulder pace back and forth behind the desk, then pause, peering at the pictures as if he were trying to jump into the scene, into the mind of the man who had created such a weapon. The silence stretched until it was almost unbearable to the major. She glanced around the room, trying to decide if she should break his concentration. 'No guts, no glory, Marine,' she chastised herself. "So, Mulder, did you know that Scully and Captain Campbell went to med school together?" Mulder continued to stare intently at the photos, and Mac was sure he hadn't heard her when he replied, "No, I didn't." Nice, succinct. "Why all the tension, then?" The agent glanced up from the file and darted his eyes to her, his gaze warning her away from the topic. Mac found his reaction strange. Was it really that bad? Or did he even know the history behind those two? She remembered his immediate response to Scully and Campbell's tense greeting and the wordless conversation that had taken place between the two agents. The more she considered it, and his response, the more she believed her second observation to be true. She glanced around the room, her natural impatience urging her to her feet to join Mulder in his walk. As he continued to stare at the pictures, she moved toward the window to admire the clear blue sky. Although it was mid January, the sun radiated, bringing life to the normally barren winter. She closed her eyes and opened her mind, picturing herself in large, green field surrounded by mountains. She took in a calming breath and effectively quelled the restlessness inside her. 'Patience,' she thought, 'it all comes in time.' She reopened her eyes to find Mulder staring at her. Mac's cheeks tinged a slight rosy color and she found herself somewhat out of breath as if she had just finished running in her dreamland. She smiled slightly and marveled at the understanding she found in his gaze. 'Does he feel as powerless as I?' she asked herself, wondering at their sudden connection. 'Of course he does,' she answered. 'His partner is sealed up with a deadly whatever it is and he can't watch her back. I'd feel the same way if it were Harm.' Mulder nodded his head, wordlessly agreeing with her silent observation, then returned to the pictures. Mac watched as he pushed and pulled them into some kind of order. After taking a long look at them, he closed his eyes and gently let his fingers drop onto the images. The major stood, transfixed by the look of complete concentration on his face. Her gaze dropped to his fingers as he started to move them across the film, almost as if he were caressing them. Time seemed to stop; the pair barely breathing, each enraptured by their own thoughts. The room was silent except for the soft humming of the heater. Cramps screamed from legs that ached to move, but Mac's brain held her body still. At length, Mulder opened his eyes and a slow smile crept up his features. Air rushed back into her lungs as she asked, 'What?' Mulder blinked and refocused his gaze on her. He had obviously forgotten she was in the room. He nodded slightly, as if his brain continued to process the thoughts, which had so recently come to him. "I know what it is," he murmured. State Department Washington, D.C. 1437 Romeo Harm threaded his way through the busy entrance of the state department in search of the one man he thought could shed more light on this weapon's capabilities. And if he didn't know, the commander knew he would know where to look. The problem was: getting the man to admit his connections. The lawyer turned the corner of the long hallway and stopped at a wooden door with the nameplate "Special Assistant to the Undersecretary" emblazoned on it. He opened the door without knocking and came face to face with the special assistant himself, Clayton Webb, and a man who was unfamiliar to him. "Rabb," Webb greeted. "So nice of you to stop by. You know, my mother raised me to knock before I entered a closed door. What did your mother teach you?" Harm smiled mirthlessly, "My mother told me it isn't polite to lie." A look of surprise covered the politician's face, "Lie? When have I ever lied to you?" "Alright," Harm conceded, his voice dropping to a dangerous level, "how about 'omitted the truth.' Does that satisfy your taste for semantics? You , to an admiral even, the fact that you know more about this Iraqi weapon than you're letting on." Webb shrugged, "He's not my CO. Not a problem for me." "It is for me when I'm trying to investigate a case that I don't have all of the facts for!" Harm cried, his voice raised in outrage. "Before you go any further, Commander, let me introduce you to my guest." Harm's eyes darted from the special assistant to a tall, balding man with glasses. The man had an air of authority around him that he wore like a cape. The steel in his gaze told Harm here was not a man to be trifled with. "Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner with the FBI.'' The agent offered his hand to the officer who accepted the greeting. "It's nice to meet you," Rabb replied, assessing the man carefully. How was he involved with Webb? Did he know anything about the Iraqi weapon? The AD's gravelly voice interrupted Harm's wild thoughts. "I understand that Agents Mulder and Scully have been assigned to assist you in your investigation." A guarded look crossed the officer's features as he glanced over to Webb. The special assistant nodded, "It's OK. He knows all about it. I brought him in for his expertise." "Really?" Harm asked, his eyebrows lifting, "and you were going to apprise us of this action ... when?" Webb rolled his eyes slightly and replied, "It doesn't matter. He's here now." "Commander, I was brought in because I have some private knowledge of the Iraqi weapon." The agent retook his seat as Harm moved to sit on the corner of Webb's large wooden desk. The special assistant turned to a nearby window and gazed out the blinds, his profile to the others. "What knowledge would this be?" Harm asked, his voice rippling with suspicion. He felt the beginnings of a trap closing in around him. Skinner paused, glanced to the far wall collecting his thoughts, and then spoke, "I was in the Marines during Viet Nam. My unit was ambushed one night and I was shot and presumably killed. A SEAL team was sent in to evacuate us and I was carried out in a body bag. I somehow ended up in a Saigon hospital, barely alive, but my death certificate had already been signed and notarized." He smiled mirthlessly, "When my CO informed me of my 'death,' he offered me another opportunity." He paused as he watched the commander's brow furrow with confusion. Skinner nodded once, almost as if to himself, then continued, "He gave me a chance to join an elite team of covert operators who would be sent out on intell missions. I don't know why at the time, but I agreed. After extensive training in covert ops, my team was sent to Iraq to monitor an up-and- coming politician in the Iraqi government." Seeing the dawning understanding in Harm's eyes, the agent nodded once more. "Saddam Hussein," Harm murmured. "He was the Deputy Chairman at the time and one of the power players for the position of Prime Minister," Skinner answered just as softly. He folded his hands and rested his arms on the chair. "He obviously got the job, so what were your orders?" Harm leaned forward on the desk, one elbow resting on a knee, his gaze trained on the AD. "We were sent in to watch him. Keep an eye on all of his political contacts. Mostly, our job was to find out about his stance on biological weapons." "So, what do you know about this one?" "To tell the truth, not much. That's why Agents Mulder and Scully have been assigned. With their combined investigative skills coupled with Scully's medical expertise, we're..." Skinner darted a cool glance toward Webb, then returned his gaze to Rabb, "hopeful that we'll know what we're looking for. What I do know, however, are the places where Saddam would most likely hide the weapon and how to get to them." "So...you're planning on...infiltrating Iraq and disposing of it once Campbell and Scully find out how it works?" Skinner pursed his lips as his eyes narrowed, considering his next words carefully. As he was about to speak, Webb, who had been uncharacteristically silent up until now, turned from the window and answered, "We'll let you know when that time comes." "Webb!" Rabb warned. "Commander, I can't release details on a classified mission that hasn't been totally planned yet. Even you have to realize that," the special assistant answered hotly. Harm took in a quick breath, stifling his angry retort, and forced himself to acknowledge the man's argument. "Alright, but you better keep me informed." He rose to leave, shaking the FBI agent's hand once more and sparing Webb a scathing glare then exited the room. A few moments after the commander had left, Skinner gazed over at Webb. "He's not going work. He's too much of a hot head." Webb shook his head. "Rabb will be fine; he's just not into the political game." "All the same, I'd rather have someone else. Someone who has experience in this type of mission," Skinner's eyes roved over the office and landed on a framed snapshot of the special assistant and another man sitting in Webb's cabinet. Clay shifted his gaze from the window to the agent as he asked, "Whom did you have in mind?" Skinner answered, "An old friend." Web tracked the agent's gaze to the picture and focused on the man who posed with him. Tigris River, Iraq 1506 Romeo Kaleel stood at the river's bank calmly listening to the smooth ripples. The sounds of the final splash had quieted almost thirty minutes ago, and yet he stayed. In silent vigil for the researchers. He understood the general's reasons, even agreed with them. But that did not mean he would not murmur a prayer to Allah in their memories. He had killed men before, many times over in fact. Death was nothing new to him. The first lesson on the first day of his enlistment his commanding officer had taught him to distance himself from enemies. They were not men or women. They were opponents, targets. He had allowed his training to suppress his emotions, but it could not overwhelm his commitment to his faith. After each death by his actions or lack thereof, Kaleel had either returned to the place of death or visited the gravesites of his victims and offered up a solemn plea. A plea for mercy on their souls as well as his. And so he stood now, the first of the mourners for these men. 'Allah, forgive them and me. It was for the greater good. The good of Iraq. In time You will understand; I will understand.' After another moment of silent contemplation, he turned from the river and retreated to his army truck. He had not been followed on his journey so his next task could be completed easily. The job of moving the weapon once more had fallen on his shoulders. The general believed that the deaths of the American researchers would quickly bring investigators to Iraqi soil. He did not want to risk the possibility of the weapon being found. Kaleel traveled the twenty miles to the new location at a rapid pace, his senses at high alert. He gazed through the bright yellow of the army truck's headlights, his eyes tracking every movement in the inky black night. Soon he saw the dark outline he had been seeking and slowed the truck's approach. No fence heralded the boundary of the installation Kaleel noted with satisfaction. 'The less conspicuous the better,' he thought as he pulled along the side of the square building. The officer stepped out of the truck and moved to the back where the weapon was safely stowed, his moves efficient and small. After climbing into the back, he carefully unbuckled the straps, which held it in place and allowed its slight weight to lower onto his thighs. Dropping to his knees, he eased the weapon to the bed of the truck and jumped down. He grasped the trunk of the silver cylinder and felt a slight tug on his sleeve. He pulled away quickly and found the control panel brightened by a green backlight. He read the Arabic words: "Maximum setting. Initializing." Kaleel's eyes widened with shock. He dropped the weapon to rest against the back of the truck as his hands desperately searched for the abort command. A sudden whine surrounded him and the air crackled with suppressed energy. Kaleel's skin began to crawl as he felt something wash over him. A few seconds later, the whine reduced to a soft humming, then no sound at all. The control panel darkened and the officer once again ran his hands over the outside of the object, searching for the button he must have pressed. Just as he reached for the control panel a wave of pain overwhelmed him. Spasms racked his body and he dropped, writhing, to the ground. When the pain subsided, Kaleel lay still, drenched by his own sweat. He rolled over on his stomach, intent on rising and continuing with his task when he felt the sting of sand in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge the offending grains, but the action only increased the irritation. Kaleel raised his hands and scrubbed his face, paying particular attention to his eyes. When he felt the biting pain ease, he noticed how soft the flesh of his face had become. He pressed his fingertips to his cheeks and felt the increased give in his facial muscles. He trailed his fingers back up to his eyes and rubbed them once more. When he pulled his hands away, he opened his eyelids to a suddenly pitch black night. He blinked rapidly, attempting to adjust his vision to the darkness. He raised his hands in front of him. Kaleel rocked back on his heels in shock. He shook his hands quickly in an effort to force his eyes to focus, but soon found he could see nothing to focus on. He ran his hands again over his face hoping to undo whatever had caused his loss of sight. The burning pain returned, intensified in its strength and his fingers blindly searched for the source. As he traced over his forehead, the pain eased once again; cooled by the light touch. Kaleel dropped his hands once more and his jaw dropped in shock. He felt a sticky substance covering his fingers. He quickly reached up to his face again; his fingers feeling the trails of warm liquid that poured from his eyes. The liquid dripped down onto his lips and he darted his tongue out to swipe it away. The metallic taste and smell of blood filled his senses. He felt the wave of pain rack his body once more. Losing his balance, he fell face first into the sand and screamed. Blood gushed from his now empty eye sockets and mixed with the cooling sands. As his face continued to melt from the inside out, Kaleel's jumbled thoughts reached for the only thread of sanity left in his brain and clung to it for dear life. 'He didn't understand. He is finally punishing me. Allah, I am sorry. Stop this and I will change. I will leave the army. Please, Allah, please," he begged desperately to no avail. His face slowly melted into the desert sands, his pleas unheard by all except the wind. (4/13) Office of Naval Research Biosafety Level 4 1523 Romeo Scully heaved a deep sigh as she rolled her chair back from the microscope table she had worked at for the past three hours. She blinked quickly to refocus her eyes then glanced to the other side of the room to watch as Campbell pulled a tray of test tubes from the metal refrigerator. She placed them on a counter in the middle of the lab and moved to a bank of drawers built into the adjacent wall. Scully picked up two of the test tubes and slipped them gently into the centrifuge. She closed the clear lid and flipped the small switch. A slight whirring filled the room as Scully moved back to the microscope for one more look at the cells. The officer looked up and caught the agent's gaze. "Find anything?" she asked curiously. Scully shook her head and dropped her hands into her lap. "No. When will those slides be ready to look at?' "Should be any minute. The processing time is about up. Maybe they'll give some definitive answer as to what we're looking at." Scully's brow furrowed in confusion as she asked, "Joan, why didn't you split the DNA strands to begin with?" The officer shook her head slightly and murmured, "Here it comes. The inimitable Dana Scully to save the world. And if I'm lucky, she might give a little credit to a dumb scope jockey along the way." Scully closed her eyes. So, it's not over. A truce may have been declared but the war still raged-if only in the heart and mind of Joan Campbell. "Joan," she replied, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Give it up. It was a long time ago." The captain smiled bitterly, "Not long enough, I assure you." She paused, considering whether or not to continue the conversation. 'I started it, so I might as well finish,' she thought to herself. Aloud, she asked, "Do you even know how inept you made the rest of us look?" "It wasn't intentional," Scully promised as her gaze was caught by the glare of the fluorescent light reflecting off the fume hood on the opposite side of the room. "That fact made it even worse." Joan stared at Scully's biohazard suit, her eyes slightly unfocused as if she were remembering. "Do you know how many hours I studied just so that I could beat you in the pathology rotation? The only aspect of medical school that I dearly loved and I couldn't even excel in that." The agent was ripped from her contemplation of the sunlight by the woman's words. "Joanie, what are you saying?" she asked incredulously. "You graduated second in our class. You missed beating me in that rotation by five-tenths of a point." "Close, but no cigar," the officer murmured. Scully pursed her lips and cautioned, "I'm not going to sit here and stroke your ego, but look at what you've done with your life. You've obviously found a career that you enjoy-if not love. The Navy suits you." She sighed softly, "Besides, you're doing what you always wanted: finding new bugs to kill." Campbell caught the wistful tone that lurked behind Scully's words. "And you aren't?" she asked suddenly seeing another side of her nemesis. A harsh bark of laughter preceded her response. "It wasn't what I planned, if that's what you mean." "So what happened to my ivory tower?" Scully searched the captain's face for traces of bitterness but found only irony. She took a breath, trying to remember exactly what happened. "The FBI recruited me right after graduation. Here I was all set to go to Mayo for residency, and almost as soon as I got off that dais, I had a recruiter talking about being a federal agent." Scully smiled softly, the edges of her mouth rising. "I have to admit, I was intrigued. My father...that was another matter." "Old man wasn't too keen on the idea, huh?" "Mm. That's putting it lightly. He wanted his baby to be a doctor in private practice..." her voice trailed off as she wordlessly finished her thought. 'Can't say I blame him. After everything I've seen, sometimes I wish I started my own practice.' 'Would that have been a bad thing? For either of us?' The voice replied with one word, so simple and yet filled with subtle meanings: Sully shook her head slightly then continued with her story. "I don't think he ever understood why I chose the FBI over medicine. In the end though, I think he accepted it." Campbell smiled, "You know, when Harm told me that you were an agent, I couldn't believe it. In fact, I still really don't. Why Dana? Why the FBI?" "It was something different. I loved med school and I have to admit that I am better for going, but when I considered my future, something was missing. I wanted to make a difference in people's lives and not just from the standpoint of some sort of demi-god who's able to heal injuries. I like having that knowledge, that ability, but there had to be more. Another way to put it to use." "And you've found that?" Scully's brow cocked sardonically, "I thought I had. Now I'm not so sure." The ding of the timer interrupted the pair's conversation and Campbell moved to the far wall to retrieve the samples from the stasis chamber. She carefully lifted the lid and grasped the slides. Scully met her at the spectrometer the two would use to analyze the tissue cells. The officer caught the agent's eyes over the machine, a wealth of meaning passing between the two. Campbell sighed softly, "Let's do it." Office of Naval Research Captain Joan Campbell's desk 1632 Romeo Mulder strode up the hallway from Campbell's office, ignoring the harsh warning issued by the guard blocking the double doors, which lead to the research labs. Mac trailed behind him, finally catching up just as the lieutenant grasped him by the arm, effectively halting the agent's movements. "Lieutenant, let us pass," she ordered forcefully, her usual pleasant demeanor replaced by steely resolve. "I can't, ma'am," he replied, maintaining his hold on Mulder. "I'm under orders. Only authorized personnel are allowed back in the labs." "Whose orders?" she asked the warning evident in her voice. "Admiral Halftrack's, ma'am." 'Damn,' Mac thought, 'I can't countermand an admiral.' She glanced at Mulder and shook her head slightly. He sighed softly and grimaced, 'Of course, this is the military. You can't ignore the orders you don't agree with.' He glanced through the narrow glass windows of the guarded doors and spotted a petite figure in scrubs walking toward him. A cap covered the bright red hair he knew accompanied the ensemble. "Doesn't matter anyway; here comes Scully." Mac followed his gaze and backed off when she too saw the approaching agent. The door opened behind him and the officer politely stepped out of the way. "Mulder," Scully began without ceremony. The lines of tension etched in her features forewarned both marine and agent that the news was not good. Glancing at the guard, she gestured for them to follow her to a more private corner of the hallway. "What we found," she uttered softly, "it's amazing, Mulder. These men died from the effects of free radicals. I don't know how, but Saddam found a way to augment the fragmentation rates of atoms with unpaired electrons, resulting in an abnormally high rate of free radical damage." "But I thought free radicals only caused aging," Mulder offered, his photographic memory faithfully replaying an earlier conversation aboard the USS Arden. Scully nodded, her thoughts retrieving that same interchange. "New developments in the study of free radicals have led to many new theories from neurodegenerative diseases to lipid oxidation." Mac shook her head slightly, "Whoa, hold on, I need a translator." Scully nodded as she reformed her words, "I'm sure you've heard about free radicals; that some scientists attribute aging and cellular breakdown of body systems to them?" Upon seeing the major's nod, she continued, "Free radicals are atoms that have one unpaired electron, which means they are very unstable and can cause damage to the body. The more free radicals, the more damage. Some scientists even argue that Parkinson's disease is exacerbated, if not caused, by free radicals. However," she qualified, "this damage normally happens over a period of years, or decades." "What causes the free radicals to form?" Mac asked. "There are a multitude of differing opinions. One research team at Mayo attributes the formation to cellular metabolism. A British group believes it is due to exposure to high temperatures or large doses of radiation or ultraviolet light." "Scully, follow me for a minute," Mulder urged, his slightly unfocused eyes locked on her right shoulder. "The SEALs stated that a cylindrical tube was aimed at them before they heard a soft humming coming from the direction of the scientists. What if they were exposed to a high level of ultrasonic radiation and that caused the cellular breakdown." His partner shook her head slightly. "That wouldn't account for the level of destruction Joanie found in the autopsies. Nor the rapid onset of the damage." "Well, OK, what if those scientists not only found the level at which cellular breakdown begins but also the method of controlling it." "Mulder, that type of knowledge is years beyond current scientific understanding," Scully replied, her eyes filled with certainty. "Wait," Mac said, her voice filled with thoughtful contemplation. "During the final days of World War II, after Hitler committed suicide, many of his commanders fled to South America to escape prosecution, including a group of the scientists. The CIA tracked some of them, but most were never found. After the British returned control to the local government, the researchers could have been granted asylum in Iraq in exchange for their research skills." Mulder nodded excitedly, "Those scientists were responsible for performing very gruesome experiments on the Jews who weren't taken to the concentration camps. Cloning was one of the biggest experiments they were said to have done. Who knows what else they looked into? They could easily have been working on the ultimate biological weapon..." "One that uses our own bodies against us," Scully finished for him. JAG Headquarters Falls Church, Virginia 1524 Romeo Chegwidden walked out of his office, eyes focused on a case file, and paused at Tiner's desk. The petty officer looked up from his computer and regarded the admiral with curiosity. It wasn't often that Chegwidden personally approached him with his requests. The admiral glanced over to the other officer and opened his mouth as if to speak when something caught in his peripheral vision. His gaze darted to the figure who, although looked distinctly out of place in his suit, possessed the bearing which branded him a military man. The admiral inhaled sharply, understanding at once why the man was there. Everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. And damned if Chegwidden wouldn't be asked to go along for the ride. "Tiner," he ordered brusquely as the other man met his gaze from across the room, "hold all my calls. I don't care if it's the SecNav himself." The petty officer startled, but not really surprised, by the admiral's change of mood nodded once and glanced quickly to the suited man. 'Whoever he is, it's got to be bad,' the younger officer thought as he watched the admiral walk toward the other man and gesture for him to accompany him outside. Both men were quiet until they had left the building and walked to a park a few yards away. There, by silent agreement, they sat down on a bench. Only then did the admiral speak. "We were never to have contact again." The other man nodded slightly and replied, "It's important, A.J." The officer chewed on his lower lip a moment, his thoughts unwilling to voice what he knew to be the man's reason. His brain conceded its battle with his lips and he murmured, "The weapon." "Yes," came the terse reply. Chegwidden gripped the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes before replying, "How much do we know about it, Walter?" The AD glanced toward a group of children playing nearby and answered, "That's why Mulder and Scully were brought in. By this afternoon, we should know more than we do now." "You really think she'll find something that three Navy researchers missed?" An ironic smile edged the agent's features, "I know she will." Chegwidden nodded, accepting Skinner's belief in his agent. "When will we get the details?" Walter, realizing his friend wasn't asking about the weapon's make-up, lowered his voice a notch. "Webb's working on them right now." "Webb!" the admiral spat, his exasperation evident. Skinner shot him a warning look and cautioned, "We can't do it without CIA approval and support. Our contacts may not be there anymore. This way, we can have relatively reliable information to go on." The AD paused. He hadn't considered the possibility of the admiral not wanting to go. He leaned over and casually rested his elbows on his knees, hands folded between his legs. His gaze caught on a trail of red ants as they marched passed each worker ant carrying bits of food on its back. He moved his foot back just a little to block their way and watched as the leader detoured around the dress shoe. "Given what this is, A.J., we have no choice," he murmured so quietly that the admiral almost missed his words. "I'm not backing out, Walt," he replied forcefully. The AD considered the officer's words then remarked, "But you consider Webb's involvement to be hazardous?" "Friend or no friend, his missions have a tendency to go to hell pretty quickly." A.J. looked carefully into Walter's eyes, driving his point home without bringing voice to his concerns. A flicker of understanding in the agent's gaze told the admiral his words had made an impact. Skinner nodded and the two murmured together softly spoken words from their missions years ago; words that Mulder had now claimed as his own: "Trust no one." (5/13) The usual disclaimers apply, though I do need to add a note to this next section. Actual names and people who are used in this story are for flavor only. To my knowledge, no one has taken any of these actions. I just like to write in real events to offer the curious mind something to mull over. So, suffice it to say, DON'T believe my take on the events discussed to be real. They are merely a possibility. (And an interesting one at that-in my mind!) JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA 1617 Romeo Harm strode purposefully through the glass doors, which led to the JAG bullpen his gaze searching. As he approached the admiral's office he tossed a quick, "Is he in there?" to Tiner before he opened the wooden door. The petty officer's, "Sir, he stepped out for a moment..." was lost on the commander as he looked around the room and returned back to Tiner's desk. "Where is he? I need to speak with him," Harm asked impatiently. "He stepped out; the admiral said he would get back soon," Tiner fudged. "Look, Tiner, this is important! Where is he?" the commander pressed, his southern drawl clipped with urgency. "I assume, Mr. Rabb, that you're harassment of my aide means that you are looking for me?" a deep voice thundered from behind him. Harm cleared his throat and turned to address his superior, "Yes, sir. You assume correctly. If I may, sir. I need to speak to you in private." "Commander, I know what this is about and my advice to you is not to worry about it," the admiral replied as he picked up his mail from the petty officer and proceeded to his office door. "The situation is in good hands," he finished over his shoulder. "Now, check in at ONR and find out how Scully and Mulder are proceeding." "Aye, aye, sir!" Rabb replied, concern still wavering in his eyes. Office of Naval Research Captain Joan Campbell's desk 1639 Romeo Scully sat in one of the cheap arm chairs facing the desk, head in her hands, profile toward the door. The captain remained in the lab to verify their findings. Mulder and Mac stood in the hallway planning the group's next move. So, she was left alone to digest everything they had discovered thus far. The agent, still encased in light blue scrubs, heaved a huge sigh. She ran her fingers through her red hair trying to loosen the tight pony tail she kept it in when performing autopsies or in the lab. 'Why?' she asked herself desperately. 'What possesses someone to build something like this?' her conscious asked, echoing a long ago sentiment from her days at the Academy. She heard the door open and close softly then the light tread of footsteps. She didn't bother to look up; Scully knew it would be Mulder. Neither said a word as he moved behind her chair. He lay his hands easily on her shoulders and quietly shushed her when she stirred against the contact. Slowly, his fingers began to dig their way into the tense muscles of her shoulders and neck. Scully unconsciously released a low moan of pleasure as Mulder found one particularly sore spot. She let her hands drop, but remained hunched over in the chair. 'I should stop this,' she thought, 'but it feels too good...ahh, Mulder...' He smiled softly as he felt her last resistance give way to complete acceptance of his hands. 'You don't know how many times I've wanted to do this, Scully,' he thought wistfully. 'After all of those autopsies when you saw so much more than you ever wanted to. And those stakeouts when you always woke up with a stiff neck...' His fingers brushed her hairline eliciting another quiet moan. After a few more moments, he abandoned her neck and let his fingers drift up into her hair. Gentle circling movements relaxed the tightly bound strands allowing a few tendrils to escape. Under his silent ministrations he felt the tension ebb out of her body leaving relaxation in its wake. She turned her head slightly toward the door urging his fingers to that side. As Mulder followed her unspoken direction, his eyes drifted along her features capturing the look of pure bliss he found on her face. It almost took his breath away. 'When was the last time I saw her this happy?' he mused sadly. 'For that matter, when was the first time? This work doesn't often have a happy ending. Her happiness, well ours, has been made up of stolen moments and most of those in the wake of sadness. Hospital beds and grave yards.' His hands massaged their way back down to her shoulders as his thoughts continued to drift. 'Oh, Scully, I wish I knew how to make you happy. Besides waking up from a coma, that is. Just once, I'd love to see you smile for no reason. To be able to look into those beautiful blue eyes of yours and find you grinning right back at me.' Mulder's thumb gently brushed the small scar at the back of her neck and he was reminded, 'We have so much to be grateful for.' He moved her pony tail out of the way and found himself riveted by the tiny white line at the base of her neck. As he stared, his fingers caressed her throat. He remembered all of the pain she went through because of him, of her association with him. His hands stilled at her shoulders as he leaned down and placed a small kiss at the back of her neck, a silent apology for all of their troubles past, an equally silent promise of a better future. The whisper-light feel of his breath caressed her, warmed her. Scully gasped with surprise as heat rippled across her suddenly sensitive nerve endings. His nose traced a soft path from her shoulders to her nape, ending at the edge of her hair. He inhaled softly, breathing in her essence. Reaffirming their connection. Just as he was about to raise his head, the door opened and Mac walked in the office. She paused mid-stride. Although part of her brain told her to walk back out and leave the pair in private, the major stood transfixed by the sight of the two agents. She had never seen two people in such a perfect state of contentment. Mac knew they had a bond unlike any she had ever witnessed between partners. She even suspected that this connection transcended that of mere friendship to that of lovers. Though the evidence was mounting, she still had no definite proof- -not even a hushed confession--on which to base her beliefs. Mulder raised his head slightly and glanced over at her, his eyes gleamed with the brilliant green of barely checked feelings. He squeezed his partner's shoulder once, murmuring softly, "Scully." The agent stretched slowly allowing herself to rise vertebrae by vertebrae, unwilling to let go of her state of complete relaxation. When she had raised her head, Scully looked toward the door and found the major, indecision and chagrin warring over the officer's features. "Guess I should learn to knock, huh?" Mac asked an uncertain smile teasing her lips. Scully sat still realizing any excuse would only cause more comment. She glanced at Mulder in her peripheral vision, judging his response to the major's entrance. What she saw was surprising, but secretly thrilled her. Mulder looked angry. And more than that, possessive. The silence lengthened, each agent unwilling to put their actions into words and further condemn themselves as lovers in the eyes of the major. Mulder's conscious chided. 'Because we've never...well, because we aren't,' Mulder argued. 'And I don't know if Scully...' Before he could develop a suitable counter-argument, Scully ended the quiet stalemate. "Did you find out anything from Harm?" Mac looked from agent to agent and felt the tension dissipate as she formed her response, "I just got off the phone with him. Apparently, there has been a new development. Someone unexpected has taken an interest in the case." "Who?" Mulder asked, his brow furrowed with suspicion. "He'd prefer to discuss it in person, if you get my meaning," she hedged. Mulder glanced at Scully, a question and answer darting between the two so fast that Mac had no hope of catching it. He nodded slightly, and replied, "Then let's go." He moved passed the major and opened the door not waiting for the others to follow. Scully rose to exit as well, but was stayed by the light touch of the major. The agent looked back, an eyebrow raised in question. She knew what was coming. Being caught twice in slightly compromising positions would cause comment from even the most indifferent observer. "Listen, Scully..." she prefaced, her eyes holding the agent's. "Whether you are or aren't isn't my concern. But if you aren't," Mac raised an equally inquiring brow, "you have to excuse me for wondering why." Without further comment, the major turned and, hiding a small smile, walked out the door. State Department Office of Clayton Webb 1642 Romeo Sunlight streamed through the blinds warming the oak office furniture. The room's cheeriness, however, could not dispel its occupant's ever-darkening mood. "What do you mean the executive chairman isn't available. Of course he's available!" Webb yelled into the phone. He took a breath to calm his ire, then patiently remarked, "Look, just tell him that Clay Webb needs to speak with him. I assure you, he'll take my call." The special assistant drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desk as he waited for the receptionist to return with the news he wanted to hear. He glanced at the papers littering his desk and thought, 'I can hear my mother now: "Clayton Reginald Webb! Clean up this mess! A man in your position can't afford to have things just lying around."' He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself a small smile at the thought of his mother. No two ways about it, the woman was a saint. "Mr. Webb?" the receptionist asked brusquely, interrupting his reverie. "Yes," he replied eagerly. He could hear her reticence echoing across the wire, "The executive chairman will speak to you. Let me transfer you." His small smile broke into a full-fledged grin as he thought, 'Never underestimate my influence, madam.' The man picked up the phone on the second ring. His gruff voice reverberated clearly, "Clay! It's good to hear from you. How's your golf game going?" Webb chuckled, "Terrible right now; I haven't had a free moment to get out on the links. Now that you mention it. I doubt you have either." "That's the truth. I wish to hell I had known this was going to blow up like it had," he added caustically, "no pun intended. But, you didn't call me to discuss golf, did you? What's on your mind?" "Rick, as much as I hate to admit this, I need a favor." "You? A favor? This is intriguing. Go on." "I can't go into the details, but I need to get two people assigned as aides for UNSCOM's return trip to Iraq." "Clay," Richard Butler prefaced, a warning evident in his voice, "that's a mighty big favor. What's going on?" "Like I said, I can't go into details; the mission is top secret and classified. The only thing I can tell you is that these are two highly trained people. Their actions will not reflect on UNSCOM in any way. I just need a way to get them in without creating a lot of curiosity." The line was silent for a moment as the executive chairman thought over the details. "They have complete documentation with no gaps?" "Right down to mother's maiden name. No one will know," Clay added, sensing that his friend's reluctance was weakening. Webb heard the man sigh. "Alright. Let me talk to some people. I'll see what I can do." "Thanks, Rick. I owe you." Webb hoped the relief he felt wasn't evident in his voice. This wasn't the only option, but it was the one with the best outcome possibilities. "And I won't let you forget it either," UNSCOM's executive chairman cautioned before hanging up the phone. JAG Headquarters Falls Church, Virginia 1732 Romeo As Mac and the two agents walked into the bullpen, the major's eyes shot to her partner's office door. He looked up and rose from behind his desk, his gaze locking with hers and speaking volumes as to the seriousness of his news. He had just reached her as the admiral barked from his doorway, "You four, I need you in my office ASAP." The partners exchanged slightly startled glances before following as ordered and entering the JAG's wood paneled office. Chegwidden paced behind his desk as he waited for the foursome to assemble. "What is it?" he asked without preamble, his eyes piercing Scully. "Sir, as far as we can determine without seeing the weapon itself," the agent explained, "it somehow speeds up the natural damage caused by free radicals found in every person's biological make- up. Saddam is using either a high-level ultrasonic or ionizing radiation beam." The admiral absorbed her explanation without comment and asked, "Is there a way to counteract it?" Scully pursed her lips before replying, "In low level exposures, it's thought that most damage can be offset by antioxidants. But for something this large, the methods being tested are highly experimental." She paused a moment, "But, one does show more promise than others." With a curt nod ordering her to continue, the admiral returned to his pacing, "A group of Russians from the Ukraine have been studying the impact of high carbon dioxide concentrations on free radical oxidation of lipids. I won't go into the details but suffice it to say that if we can get that golden level between suffocation and immersion, we might be able to offset the weapon's effects." "The Russians," a voice commented from behind the group, "why am I not surprised?" The group turned to see Clayton Webb enter flanked by none other than Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI. Scully and Mulder stared at their superior unable to form words to accompany their shocked expressions. Oblivious to their surprise, the admiral asked, "Why's that?" "The Russians have been helping the Iraqis create their weapons arsenal for a long time. In fact, UNSCOM just recently found two human-sized Russian "inhalation" chambers in what is thought to be a chemical weapons plant outside of Baghdad. It wouldn't surprise me if they tested this device on their prison population or members of opposite factions." Mac shuddered at the thought. Though she believed that each man should pay for his crime, using prisoners as test subjects was well over her limit. Mulder finally found his voice and asked, "Sir, why are you here? Are you involved in this some way?" Skinner glanced from the admiral to his agent then replied, "I've been brought in to aid in the investigation and retrieval of the weapon." "You what?" Scully asked, her surprise evident. She darted a look toward Harm, who nodded as if to say, 'That's what I needed to tell you.' Skinner sighed, "You heard me. Due to my expertise, Mr. Webb has brought me in." "Expertise?" Mulder asked, his brow furrowed. "Yes," the AD bit out. "His job is to go in find the weapon and either destroy it or bring it back for us to research," Webb interjected. "Richard Butler has agreed to allow him to act as an aid to one of the lower level researchers so that he can get into country fairly inconspicuously." "You're going to hide him in plain sight," Mac remarked nodding her head. "Exactly," the special undersecretary replied. "Someone has to go with him," Scully qualified. "There's no way you can do this by yourself, Sir." "Someone is," Skinner answered, his eyes straying to the front of the room. Harm raised an eyebrow, speculation filling his voice, "Who?" "I am," came the reply. The commander turned to Chegwidden with surprise and a bit of envy. "You, sir! If I may ask, why?" Mac questioned, a trace of concern etching her features. The admiral looked across his desk toward Skinner and replied quietly, "We've worked together before in situations like this." Scully stared at Mulder in surprise. 'What the hell is going on here?' her eyes asked. Her partner replied with a slight shake of his head as if to say, 'Your guess is as good as mine.' "Well, now that the cat is out of the bag, let's get down to it," Webb said forcefully, his eyes meeting each person's in turn. "You two will leave out tomorrow morning. Butler and an UNSCOM team are attending talks with Iraqi officials about the weapons inspection process. Before we leave tonight," he indicated a manila folder in his hand, "I'll give you your identifications and past histories. "Scully, Mulder, you two will look into this carbon dioxide thing to see if there is any credence to it. Rabb, you and MacKenzie will continue to investigate the accident. Butler's meeting already has enough attention. We don't want to tip them that something is going on should the Iraqis know what happened with the SEALs and the researchers. Is that clear?" Each person in the room nodded his head in agreement. Mac glanced over her shoulder at Harm and read the disappointment in his gaze. She smiled lightly at him, her eyes softening with sympathy. "Alright then, keep your heads low and good luck everyone," Clay advised. Mulder and Scully glanced at Skinner silently asking if they were dismissed. He nodded and looked intently at each of them. Mulder's hand settled comfortably in the small of his partner's back as he ushered her toward the door. As they passed the AD, Scully touched him lightly on the arm, a show of support and well- wishes. Skinner glanced down at the small hand and watched as it left as quietly as it had appeared. Mac and Harm followed their counterparts once the admiral had released them. As soon as the door closed behind them, Scully murmured, "Well that was a surprise." "To say the least," Mulder answered dryly. He glanced over his shoulder toward the officers and watched as Harm and Mac moved toward his office. "So what's the game plan?" Scully asked as the two agents followed the officers. Mac glanced at her partner and replied, "We go with Webb's idea. You can bet any change in our behavior will alert the Iraqis, which is probably why Skinner and the admiral were chosen to go get the weapon." Mulder nodded, "Makes sense. So we'll split up, but keep in contact." "Agreed," Harm answered, "you never know what might turn up in one investigation that may be the key to the other." Scully glanced from her partner to the lawyers, "Alright. Then I need to get back to Joanie and the lab. Mulder, you coming?" "Wouldn't miss it; I know how hot you look in those scrubs," he leered playfully, including the officers in his grin. Scully merely shot him a look and walked toward the door. He followed her out of the bullpen and the officers were surrounded by silence. Mac smiled as she watched the retreating backs of the agents. 'I wonder if they even see it?' she mused to herself. She heard the soft scrape of metal on tile and judged that Harm had moved to the chair behind his desk. Even in his khakis, the darkening office made it difficult to distinguish him from his surroundings. But Mac didn't need to see his face; she could feel his disappointment, had felt it in fact, since the admiral had uttered his acceptance. Harm wanted to go, and like a small child, felt left out when the older children went off to play by themselves. She smiled softly at the thought, 'Oh, Harm, you are the first person to defend the interests and rights of Americans with no thought of your own personal safety.' Without a doubt, he was the most honorable man she knew. This fact alone made it all the easier to fall for him. Though she would never admit it to him, Mac was glad that Webb hadn't chosen Harm to go. Her gut instinct told her that she would never have been allowed to go along, and she didn't trust anyone but herself to watch his back. He was far too important to her. It didn't matter that he was a trained officer, able to fend for himself. If they were separated, some small part of her worried until they were reunited. Subconsciously, she liked to think that he felt the same. At least, it seemed that way over the years of their partnership. But for now, he was hurting, a blow to his pride, but a blow nonetheless. She moved to the doorway and leaned back against the door jamb, her profile to him. "You thought Webb meant you would go," she stated softly, her words barely reaching him across the office. Harm leaned back in his chair and stared out the window. After a moment, he nodded slightly. "Hey, just because you don't get to be on the front lines this time doesn't make you any less of a warrior," she soothed. Mac watched him in her peripheral vision as she continued, "The enemy is here just as much as he is in Iraq. The accident in the lab could be any number of things. Someone could have snuck in a smaller version of the weapon-maybe even one of the naval researchers themselves. No matter what, we still have to find out how it happened. America's fate is still on the line. And you are still charged with her safekeeping." She paused, giving him time to fully absorb her words. Mac closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wooden trim. At length, she heard him murmur, "You should be a lawyer, Mac. With arguments like that, you could win cases." Her lips spread to a full-fledged grin and seeing the answering smile in his eyes, the JAG attorney replied, "Thanks, I'll have to keep that in mind. But for now, flyboy, how about some dinner?" He shook his head ruefully, marveling at her ability to influence his emotions. "Alright," he replied rising from his chair, "but if it's Beltway burgers, then buying." He met her at the door and squeezed her shoulder lightly. Suddenly, Harm felt an overwhelming need to justify his feelings, his reaction. He looked into her eyes hesitantly and whispered, "Mac..." "Shh," she quieted, "it's okay." With two words she let him off the hook, telling him and yet not that she understood. That she didn't think less of him. In fact, she that thought more of him for having such a reaction. Harm nodded thoughtfully, then with a small smile, gestured for her to precede him out of the office.