From: "Mindy Jones" Date: Wed, 26 Jul 2000 19:41:01 GMT Subject: Dream, The (1/1) by Jones, Mindy Source: direct Title: Dream, The (1/1) Author: Jones, Mindy E-Mail Address: j_mindy@hotmail.com Rating: PG Category: XRA Spoilers: Ascension, Duane Barry Keywords: MSR, character deaths, Mulder angst Summary: Undoing a life. Undoing two. The killer weeps, but is it for herself, or you? A woman working for Them plots to destroy Mulder, once and for all. A second season tale. Author's Note: My attempt at a plot. Pity me. I think the ending turned out ok. Don't skip to it! *wags finger* No cheating! Erm... Mr. Johnson started out as the Well-Manicured Man, but he could really be Anonymous Evil Consortium Member. The animosity he has for Cancerman makes a little more sense if he's WMM, but whatever. Either way. I bring this up because I think he acts differently from WMM sometimes. Tis for the reader to decide. As for Kathleen, I am she and she is me and we are all together. This whole thing started because I thought, "Well if they had just *waited* a few weeks, Mulder and Scully could have slept together and then we'd get smut AND Mulder all depressed and angsty AND a lovely, dramatic suicide scene at the end." Can you see why Wuthering Heights is my favorite book??? Oh, damn, did I just give the story away? No, I don't think so. It's still safe to read. I don't think it's what you're expecting. Good luck! Good reading! I hope you like it! j_mindy@hotmail.com (Begin part 1/2) *** The Dreaming * "So tell me, Mr. Johnson - What's bothering you?" The young, attractive blond did a fair imitation of a pleasant psychologist, but darker humor glinted in her green eyes as the old man with white hair and manicured nails took a seat across from hers in the quiet smoking room. "Your jokes don't amuse me, doctor. You know why I've approached you, given you access to... everything." "Let's not exaggerate. You've given me access to edited, badly lit surveillance tapes. And as for why you're here - I may be a talented psychologist, but I'm not psychic." The manicured man fidgeted, ignoring most of her comments. Finally, he spoke. "The men on those surveillance tapes, they were the same men most of the time. Did you notice one man in particular who appeared quite often?" "The smoking man." Woodruff trailed off, trying to get the man before her to continue. "Yes, him, Spender. Spender is becoming a threat to the organization. The other members don't see it, yet, but I do. He's becoming too powerful." "And you want me to...?" "Undermine him." "How?" "I don't know. You're supposed to have a knack for profiling people, finding their weaknesses. I want you to do that for him." "From what I've seen on those tapes, a simple thing like that wouldn't be enough to bring down any of those men." The man lifted his nose imperiously, a dangerous look to his ice blue eyes. "I was hoping," he said ominously, "that that would rather depend on the weakness." "That kind of weakness, then," Woodruff answered smoothly. The man's eyebrows jumped up on his forehead. "You can do it, then?" "I'll find something." "But can you do it?" "Trust me," she said, her lips moving in a heart-shaped smile. "The man's days are numbered. I'll have him cracked in no time." The man exhaled a long breath. "Good," he said, then glanced at Dr. Woodruff. She seemed to be scheming something. "One question, though, before we begin." She pulled one leg up onto her chair and rested her forearm on her knee. "Well?" he asked. "What's in it for me?" "Besides the privilege of living beyond this room?" With predatory grace she leaned forward, staring into the old man's eyes. "What's in it for me?" Well-manicured man pursed his lips slightly, angrily. "What would you like, Ms. Woodruff? Please keep in mind the fact that I can't give you everything." "Security. I need to know that I won't be snuffed out once this is done. I want a lab, a real one. I want my name in journals so that people would miss me should an... accident occur. I would continue to do work for your people, of course, on the side. It will be a nice, mutually beneficial relationship that will last a long, long time." "You're asking a great deal, Woodruff. We've gone to great lengths to make our exposure as minimal as possible." Dr. Woodruff was silent, observing the man and absentmindedly rubbing her fingers over her lips. "Will you do it?" she asked. After a moment he turned his gaze away from hers and he grimaced. "Yes." *** The doctor rubbed her temples in little circles after staring at the same monitor for hours on end. Still rubbing one temple, she picked up the phone with her right hand and put the receiver to her ear. "I need Mr. Johnson," she spoke into the white plastic phone. "Sir is in a private meeting right now." Kath Woodruff's brows drew together in annoyance. "Could I leave a message for him?" The young, male voice answered, "No, Ma'am, I'm afraid not." Kath frowned, thinking, and let the silence drag. Just when the assistant on the phone was beginning to get perturbed, Kath asked, "Where are you?" "Ma'am?" "Close enough to get me some coffee?" "I'll order a courier to bring you some." "Thank you," Kath murmured, and hung up. After gazing at the phone for a few lingering moments, her hand still resting on it, Kath drew her gaze back to the monitor. She stared at it for a few seconds and then, in disgust, pushed her chair back and stepped away from the table, still looking at the monitor and the frozen image of a smoking man with his sleeves rolled up grinning malevolently at a younger, bald man. Spender, the smoking one, was sixty-three, had dark hair which he did not color, and did lots of bad things. Kath turned around and pressed a button to project the image onto a screen where it was three times larger. Spender was smiling, Kath thought, he was smiling. Why was he smiling? Too many hours awake coupled with a lack of coffee made Kath's thoughts seem sluggish to her. She rubbed her eyes vigorously and looked at the picture again. Her notes... what was it she had written down in her notes? Kath picked up a spiral notebook that lay on a chair pushed up against the wall. On the page it was open to was one name - "Mulder." Mulder. Of course. Kath Woodruff once again picked up the phone. "Yes, Dr. Woodruff?" a female voice answered. "I need a list of phone calls Spender has made in the last two years." "Ma'am, I don't know that you have access..." Kath cursed under her breath. "I'm looking for a specific name, one name, may have a 'Mrs.' in front of it - M-U-L-D-E-R." "Ma'am, my job is to supply you with materials you need." "This is material I need." "I can't -" "Then I need an assistant." "I'll bring it up with Mr. Johnson, Ma'am." The secretary, or whatever she was, hung up before Kath could reply, but Kath was feeling more energized already. She was becoming surer that she was onto something. She had seen that name Mulder before, in one of the dozens of files she had been allowed access to, but it had had a different name in front of it than the FBI agent's. A Mrs. something, what was it? Tammy? Tira? ...Tina? *** "Dr. Woodruff, I hear you've been very anxious to see me. Nothing wrong with your progress, I hope." "I need access to phone calls and files. And I need help sifting through all the information." "I'm afraid that won't be possible." "I need more." "I've given you access to far too much already." "Look, this man, Spender, has all these connections that I can't follow up on. I'm unable to. And I think I may be on to something big, something that you can use." "Tell me." "What do you know about the name Mulder?" Johnson scowled on his end of the phone conversation. "There was a man named William Mulder who worked for the Project once. He and Spender were friends." Kath paused, processing the information. "Good friends?" "I don't know," Johnson said abruptly. "It was before my time." Kathleen opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and shook her head slightly, trying to get her mind back to the business at hand. "Mr. Johnson," she started again, "I've got a few conjectures with very profound implications for your purpose. I need resources in order to test them out. They could lead to a way to bring your friend Spender down." "This is turning out to be more complicated than I had imagined," Johnson muttered. "What were you hoping for? Oedipal desires? Every man has those. Or were you hoping that he's corrupt and involved in a conspiracy that keeps information from the public, among other, more heinous, crimes?" Johnson cleared his throat. "These conjectures of yours..." Kath's cat-like eyes narrowed; she settled into her argument. "I think he's keeping things from your group," she said, "not just from his countrymen. He's got motives that you don't know about." "Concerning?" Kath took a deep breath. She wasn't certain about this part, but she felt sure that Johnson would believe her, whatever she said. And all she needed now was access and go-ahead. So she followed her hunch. "Concerning the FBI problem." "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Spender has brought that up quite often recently..." "To continue my work, Johnson, I need more information about Spender's relationship to Fox Mulder. I need access to any information you have about his private life, his past." Hesitating, Johnson seemed to mull over her requests. "I suppose I could check up on Fox Mulder. I seem to remember his being restrained at an airbase once. I'm sure they got some samples." "Thank you." "Beyond that, though, I don't know." "Send me any surveillance you have of the FBI pair. And please, please give me some assistants for the monkey work." And a coffeemaker, Kath had to stop herself from saying. "I'll see what I can do." "I have a very big feeling about this, Johnson. Once all the pieces fit together I'm sure we'll have what we need to expose Spender." "Woodruff..." "Don't say it. I hope I'm right, too." *** "Damn," Kath, short for Kathleen, Woodruff said. "Damn, damn, damn." Unfortunately, Spender's involvement with the FBI made sense. Too much sense. It was understandable, and, doubtless, would unimpress the group. They would think no less of Spender because of this. He was Fox Mulder's father. This was why he paid so much attention to the agent. This was why he hadn't had him killed, had protected him, even. Kath didn't know what she had hoped to find, but this wasn't it. Meanwhile, she had gotten two assistants, Lin and Liz. She called them twins although she knew that their origins were much more complicated and sinister than the natural process of an egg splitting. It was one of those secrets she wasn't allowed access to. Even so, they were quiet, very organized, and didn't question her bad moods. They seemed completely at home in the spartan lab that drove Kath crazy with its shades of white and gray. All three of the women awaited the FBI surveillance tapes with veiled hope and trepidation. Sharing silent glances between them, none of them admitted out loud that those tapes were their last lead. They all knew it, though. Lin and Liz, who did not have as much invested as Kath in the outcome, seemed to absorb her worry through osmosis. Finally, the surveillance tapes arrived. "Girls," Kath said as she peered into the cardboard box, "I want you to watch these tapes and keep notebooks about them. Write down everything you see that seems important. Anything that seems unusual. If the man looks at the woman in a way you would not expect, write it down. If his tone of voice changes suddenly, write it down. If she argues with him, write it down. And whatever your insights are, write those down." While she was speaking, Kath didn't take her eyes off the tapes. She looked like she was eyeing a chocolate cake. "I'll start with the last third of the tapes," she continued, "and I'll review your notes. We'll start right away." With their separate supplies of crackers and the double espressos Kath had introduced the twins to, the three of them got down to business, repeating the regimen that Kath had done for the smoking man alone. Kathleen found that the tapes with Mulder and Scully on them were much more revealing than Spender's tapes had been. They were more candid and had better angles to catch the faces, but most of all it was the fact that the two agents interacted with each other emotionally, revealing much about themselves. With Cancerman, as the agents called him, it had been hours and hours of brooding silence. Now what Kath had was precious dialogue. Most of what they said Kath didn't understand - they were about the cases - but she clearly saw the turbulent emotions behind the words. Kath was only halfway through her third of the tapes when the dreaded call from Johnson came. To her surprise, he only had a short message for them - that he had rigged a microphone to pick up the group's secret meetings. He wouldn't be able to contact Kath again after that for at least two weeks. Delighted, Kath ended the workday early allowed the twins their first taste of wine - she brought a bottle to the lab immediately after Johnson's call. The next day, the three eagerly continued, now with this new resource at their disposal. *** Kath kept the twins working on Mulder and Scully as she turned her attention back to Cancerman, now that she had the microphone and recent surveillance tapes. She gradually went back to her old theory that something was not quite right with respect to the FBI agents and old Spender. He had always been extremely concerned with the pair, spending a great deal of time in their boss's office. He was concerned with them professionally, reburying most of the information that they uncovered. But he was also very visible to them, always in the shadows with his cigarette like an ominous chimney. He wanted Mulder to be in awe of him; Mulder was his son. Scully, his daughter-in-law. He was pleased when they did well, proud of them. Recently, though, things had been changing. Spender was less energetic, less enthusiastic. He smoked his cigarettes with less vigor, foiled the agents' cases almost listlessly. On one tape, Cancerman gazed at Scully so sharply, so intently, it should have pierced her skull. He was behind them, though, off to the side. Scully didn't notice. Kathleen saw the closing of the X-Files like a great, evil cloud of foreshadowing. Cancerman now became more nervous, more anxious than he had been. Perched like a bird on a shelf in the bald man's office - it was the camera there, but Kath felt that she was in the room all the same - Kath could see the old man's face and the thoughts, like clouds' shadows, upon it. The time has come, she thought, watching the shifting of his eyes. That's what he's thinking - the time has come. *** Having coaxed the secretary to place a tap on Spender's phone line, Kath spent her much of her time in a chair in front of the tape recorder, headphones on her ears. One night, she sat half-asleep in the chair, listening to Spender's phone with one of his subordinates. The word "agent" caught her attention and she wasn't sure she had heard it, but then he said "certain agent going to be the subject of one of our tests," and she knew unquestionably what he was talking about. Spender would never sacrifice Mulder; she knew that, but the man had a different set of feelings toward Scully. He admired and respected her, was fond of her. However, he would gladly kill her for a good enough reason. A man prone to symbolic fantasies, Spender would have no compunction putting Scully through trials just to affect Mulder. In fact, if he thought it was for Mulder... The man had done much for his son, engineering his life from afar, or so he fancied. It had been no accident that Mulder had found the FBI. It all became clear to Kathleen as she listened to the man on the phone. She could hear his voice, and she knew what each change in his timber meant, when he was angry at the other man on the phone but concealing it, when he was exasperated, what he wanted to do but couldn't. I know you, she thought. And I know what you're going to do, and why. And I know why it won't work. The days studying Mulder and Scully had paid off for Kathleen. And not just her own observations but also the insights gained by reading Lin's and Liz's notes. She knew Mulder now, as well as she knew Spender. She knew Scully. Unlike Spender, Kathleen saw Mulder falling in love with Scully and just now, two years her partner, beginning to realize it. Unlike Spender, Kath knew what would happen to Mulder if Scully were taken away. Eyes glowing with satisfaction, Dr. Kathleen Woodruff picked up the phone and demanded that she speak with Johnson, right away. She had to tell him, in the most earnest tones, that Spender absolutely had to be stopped. Mulder without Scully was a loose cannon. Not to be underestimated, he would surely seek revenge for his partner's death, and although he seemed innocent and naive, he had a passionate streak a mile wide. They'd have to kill him to stop him. (End part 1/2) *** "Love was lost at sea And never seen again..." -America ** (Begin part 2/2) *** "Ms. Woodruff." He was in her apartment when she got home after a forty-hour day at work. Hearing the voice behind her as she was locking her door, Kathleen gasped and spun around, but relaxed as soon as she recognized her benefactor, Mr. Johnson. "Hello," she said, a tired, vaguely polite smile on her lips. "What brings you to Allentown?" "They're ready for you. The group will be meeting in London next Friday, a good portion of the members." "Spender?" "Yes." "I'll be there." The old man hesitated. "Yes," he said finally. "All right. It would be best, perhaps, for you to present your own findings. I'll have someone pick you up here on Thursday. And Ms. Woodruff-" "Yes?" "Bring something black to wear." *** The dress was long and unflattering - at least, Kath thought so. The few other sable garments she had looked at were either too partyish or too trendy, short little things or posh three-piece suits. Yes, Kath thought, looking herself over in the long mirror in her hotel room. Dumpy, albeit expensive, dress and unkempt hair, they wouldn't expect. It would get their attention. She looked once more at the thin, leather folder she had chosen to bring to the gathering. From what she had observed, the men never presented actual evidence at these meetings. It was all word of mouth, trust and distrust flying invisibly, freely around the room. But the presence of her findings in neat, black type soothed Kathleen's soul. The paperwork was her talisman, though it'd be kept hidden through any times when it'd be useful. As she was completing her mental preparations, a knock came at her door - the chauffer. The time had arrived. Mr. Johnson would not ride with her. No doubt, he was already there, at the smoking room deep in the heart of the city. It didn't matter. During the quiet ride, Kath tried to focus on what she was doing. What her goal would be in this improvisation. I am destroying a man, Kath told herself, remembering Johnson's words when he first approached her. No, she thought ruefully, smiling to herself. I am stopping a man. I am stopping a man from creating a disaster. I am aborting the creation of an enemy. Spender will create an enemy of my employer. Her lightly painted lips parted, and Kathleen laughed, although she made no sound. I am shaping their lives, she thought. I am God. *** The time whirred by in an unfocused rush. The meeting moved and maneuvered at its own pace, and when the time had come when it would be appropriate for Kath to speak, she stood up without thinking about it. The right things to say came naturally, no doubt because she had spent so many hours spying on them by surveillance. Soon, she had all their attention in the palm of her hand. Mr. Johnson supposed that she would just rise, state her findings, and disappear among the shadows again. But not her. This was the culmination of weeks of work. Her conclusions were like her children; she had to show them off, exhibit and demonstrate them. First, however, she had to draw out Spender. He seemed surprised. Of course. He had never seen her before, but she was careful to strongly imply her association with Johnson. She was his expert witness; she was also prosecution. Time continued in fast forward as Kathleen pushed the buttons that got Spender on the defensive and unwittingly confessing his sins. She was quiet, disturbingly so, speaking just enough to lead the man to say the things that meant his end. She was a witch, casting her spell with a minimum of words. All the power seemed to be in her golden-green eyes. A feverish blush had risen in her cheeks, which now began to fade. The hard part was over. The section of Kathleen's mind that instinctively had known how to manipulate Spender had done its job. Not a man in the room doubted Spender's guilt. Time slowed its spinning as Kath's logical side took over. Now, Kath had to explain to them what the man was guilty of. "Agent Scully has been a threat since she was first assigned to the X-Files," she began, once Kathleen had gathered all their attention once more. "As soon as he got her, Mulder was five steps closer to the Truth. Before then, what was he? Nothing. A profiler. Then the X-Files. Still, he was just stumbling in the dark. He should have been eliminated then, before he discovered anything." Venom in her voice and a pointed look at Spender, who ignored her. "And instead of doing anything toward shutting the X-Files down, Agent Scully gave Mulder strength he needed. He has friends, now, connections. He's powerful. He things. It's too late. What should never have been a problem has escalated into a full-scale threat. Well," Kathleen admitted. "Almost. "If Mr. Spender here has his way, Scully will be removed. That would work, if she had been removed before she ever stepped foot into the FBI headquarters. However, she and Mulder have grown close. Take her away, and Mulder will be angry. He's held back, before. He had a job, and Scully to protect when he got too deep and the investigation too dangerous. He's lost the X-Files. Take away Scully, and what could possibly stop him?" "How could he be dangerous to us?" "He has friends. We have enemies. He'd be bent on revenge. Less determined men have done worse." Silence settled into the smoke-filled room. Though they came from countries spanning the globe and decided, each one, dozens of lives with a single word, each day, they were to a man absorbed in the affairs of two lowly FBI agents. Spender's problem, as they had dismissed it before, held them rapt. Every mind in the room was focused on the intricate motives tugging on Mulder's will, controlling his actions. Names flitted through their minds - Mulder, Scully. Nothing to loose. The problem of whether to kill a single human being, Scully, had seldom before received such attention by any of the men in that room. Knowing that she had persuaded their minds on that path, Kathleen was proud. And now, now was time for the conclusion. "We can't kill Mulder. His death would draw attention to us. Those who know what we are would acquire courage; evidence would be brought to light. But if he killed himself..." She risked a look at the men around her. They wore doubting, frowning faces. Hidden in the back like a spider, the man Spender scowled, a helpless sort of pain in his eyes. His son, Kathleen thought. His son! I was right about everything. "Mulder can't simply kill himself without a reason," one of the older men said, scoffing. "Oh, he'll have his reason," Kath smoothly replied. "I think Spender had the right idea." Spender didn't flinch, but the look he gave Kathleen should have chilled her blood. Instead, she gave him a small, fleeting smile that the other men didn't see. "If we take Scully away from him now," she continued, "Mulder's reaction will be outrage. Wait a few weeks, however, and he and his pretty partner will be lovers. The surveillance we have of them, analyzed by expert psychologists including myself, and clearly shows this. Take that, plus a few encouragements from our organization, and Mulder will be shattered if Scully is gone." "It seems so simple," a younger man said. "We'll warn Mulder beforehand, vaguely enough so that he'll ignore it. But it will ensure his blaming himself." "It seems like a lot of trouble," the skeptical Australian said, "to destroy one man. And driving him to suicide..." Mr. Johnson, silent since Kathleen had begun her speech, spoke up now. He was, by habit, the most prudish of the group, always the one to object to outright murder and violence. Therefore, when he advocated this cruelty, his words held sway. "Unfortunately," he said, "Spender's lenience with Mulder has made this necessary. If the X-Files had been closed down, or if Mulder had been denied access to them, earlier, he never would have been a threat. This, Dr. Woodruff has made clear. Now, however, the problem has become large and complicated. It is important that it be handled delicately, and that means regrettable suffering for the FBI agent." Agents, Kathleen thought, surprising herself. Not just Mulder will suffer. But then, they were only concerned with Mulder. Poor, inconsequential Scully. And yet so valuable a tool. Kath returned her attention to the meeting. "...and my associates can handle it," Johnson was saying. "I understand that Mr. Spender has already made plans regarding Ms. Scully's abduction. We will alter them and then carry them out." "Very well," the man with the high, wheezing voice answered, easy authority in his tone. "Mr. Spender can surrender control for this matter. He can provide access to all his resources to Mr. Johnson's group." The men and Kath turned toward Spender. After a moment he shrugged and said, "Very well," then resumed sucking sourly at his cigarette. The meeting slowed down after that. All the other matters they had meant to discuss seemed rather anticlimactic after the FBI debate. All enthusiasm and worry over other concerns fizzled as soon as each problem was brought up. Finally, the men surrendered, and one by one went out of the dark smoking room. Mr. Johnson snagged Kathleen's elbow and murmured, "Meet me in the park," as she was standing up to leave. Startled into silence, she gave a slight nod and walked away from him, through the door. *** Next to the large building that housed the smoking room, a small park hardly bigger than a lawn graced the city. It was hot and noisy, but the green was a nice break from the dirty grays of city streets. Standing next to a bench and shielded from the view of the Consortium members by a large tree, Kathleen waited for Mr. Johnson. Behind her, teenagers listened to music, couples fought, people dozed through the afternoon with grass and boredom for company. Alone among them all, Kathleen was anxious. Finally, the tall, stately form of Mr. Johnson went down the marble steps across the street and turned toward the park. "Mr. Johnson," Kathleen said when he reached her. "Dr. Woodruff." "I think we succeeded, though I'm sorry I couldn't do more." "What do you mean?" "Spender. He's lost a lot of power he had; they won't trust him now, for a while. But not forever. He's not destroyed." Mr. Johnson shrugged. "There are other ways." Kathleen couldn't help but grin. "After all that work I did, it's so easily dismissed." She glanced up at Johnson, trying to catch laughter in his eyes. "I think that the other people might be right. Forget all the psychology; just use a good, deadly gun." Johnson didn't look at her. "I can't kill Spender." Kathleen was no longer paying attention to him. Instead, she began to wonder if Mulder's death might not affect Spender to a severe enough degree... But she had no way of knowing. Most of Spender's life, key things that might tell her something about his character, was unavailable to her as research. The man was probably coldhearted as a snake, anyway. She mentally let it drop, but knew that the idea would only be dormant for a while in her mind. Johnson was talking to her, something about London. "Will you stay and take in the sites for a while?" he asked. "Hm? No. I have work to do in Washington. This affair is not over, yet." "Are you sure your help will be necessary? Now, thanks to you, we know how to stop Mulder." "No, I need to oversee it. As you said, it must be handled delicately." Johnson didn't answer. Rather, he squinted at the sun over the building tops. Kathleen couldn't tell if he was thinking about what she had said or lost in thought over some irrelevant dilemma. Hesitantly, she spoke up. "And, remember, you promised to get me a lab for my troubles. If it were in D.C. I could start there and still work on your Mulder problem." "A lab takes time," Johnson answered after a moment. "I'm sure you can find something for me while I'm in D.C." "We'll see." *** Her own position uncertain and Mulder's unfortunate fate sealed, Kath flew back to D.C. and reassumed residence in her apartment. She had only been gone a few days, but it felt like the world had changed. Phase Two, she would have thought, if she had had time to read a Michael Crichton novel when she returned. She was moved to a different laboratory, an office, really, where she continued her work. Lin and Liz were gone. Now, she had Krycek, the spy who was to infiltrate the FBI nest. She hated him, at first. But then, Kath had a strong, instinctive aversion to hair gel, and Alex Krycek dripped hair gel. With his dorky three-piece suits, he looked so awkward and anal it was almost comical. She respected him, though. His personality and appearance had been designed to provoke those feelings of disgust and pity. Alex Krycek had learned to get people to underestimate him, a useful skill. Kathleen, who had not quite been fooled, had been shocked to discover that the "young man" was thirty-two years old, her own age. And beneath his innocent-looking brow, Alex's molten green eyes gleamed knowing and sinister. Yes, Kath respected her young colleague. Alex Krycek was one step. He would be their informant, their eyes on the FBI pair. He would observe them, place undetectable microphones on their clothing - Mulder's, at least, as his partner. If need be, he might even be asked to play Eros to the pair. However, a key element was missing: Mulder and Scully's informer. Kathleen had a plan to plant the seed of guilt in Mulder's mind, but it had to happen soon, before or just after the agents consummated their relationship. If only they could find out who the informer was... Cancerman's employees finally showed their use. Piecing together evidence they had gathered over the last months, they managed to identify Mulder's informer. Luckily, he was in the habit of passing down to Mulder news he heard that related to the FBI pair. It was an easy matter to feed him the information they wanted him to know. "Agent Scully expected to be dangerous. Evidence indicates that she is not Mulder's enemy, as had been planned. The closeness of the two agents has yet to be determined. If she proves to be Mulder's ally, measures might need to be taken." Simple, really. Absurdly simple. And it worked so perfectly. As predicted, Mulder's informant watered down the scrap of information he had. It was vague, so very vague, and Mulder didn't trust it. The microphones captured his exasperation and annoyance. His informant, well meaning, felt trapped by his fear of revealing too much. In the end, he wound up downplaying the risk. The warning, "Agent Scully in Danger," was practically forgotten. Mulder would remember it, though. When he stood on the place where she disappeared. When he recalled her loving moments, the trust she had placed in him - he would remember, and the remembering of it would kill him. *** A few days before the abduction would take place, Kathleen stood at the door to Duane Barry's "room" - his padded cell. With an even gaze, she peered in through the small window at his sleeping form. It was unnecessary. Kath didn't have to make the trip to his hospital. Barry's arrangements were separate from her end of things. She told the Barry group when and where; they would direct him. Kathleen didn't know how, wasn't really concerned by it. But now that things were approaching the culmination, she felt compelled to see for herself every little detail. Duane snored in his dark bed, innocent of the forces that moved him. He appeared healthy, functional, fit for the job of abducting one FBI agent. The original plan had called for Mulder to confront Duane in a hostage situation, acquire a metal implant from him. But Kathleen didn't like that - it was too complicated. And, besides, now they didn't know if Mulder would risk his life like that. He had been sleeping with Scully for a week. Now, he had things to live for. Kathleen smiled, thinking of Mulder's happiness. The thought didn't enter her mind that soon they would be taking that happiness away. One of the orderlies tapped her on the shoulder. Kathleen was dressed as a hospital doctor, to blend in, but this orderly was one of their own. "Dr. Woodruff, we're about to close this hallway. The shift is changing in another few minutes, and my replacement might become suspicious of you." "Yes, I'll leave in a minute." The orderly walked away. Kath turned back to Duane. Sad, really, she thought, that he had no will. In a way, all the Mulder and Scully manipulations were as natural as their own free will. They all played on their desires, personalities, and loyalties - true feelings. If their actions followed an agenda, they didn't know. They chose to do the things they did. Duane, though, was a puppet on a string or a trained dog. They only had to snap their fingers and he answered. As a psychologist, Kathleen mourned Duane's loss of will. It seemed that the only times he was himself were the times when he was asleep or when the controllers, the Barry group, had forgotten him. Add that to his mental illness, and it was hardly a life at all. Simple. Innocent. Kathleen absently caressed the glass of Barry's window. She knew that, at the end of this, they planned to have Duane destroyed. Destroyed like an animal. Kathleen sighed and reluctantly left the hallway. Yes, Duane's life destroyed. No reparation for the wrongs the Consortium had done him, just murder. Death. Not even a chance to fight, Kathleen thought, as the large glass door that was at the entrance to the hospital swung closed behind her. Perhaps that was what made her so sad - one of the few times she had been sad since taking on the assignment. Unlike Mulder, Scully, or Cancerman, Duane Barry didn't have a chance to fight. He had only the barest, garbled notion of an enemy. *** D-Day. The bug in Scully's bedroom picked up the murmurings that lovers make, waking in each other's arms. Kathleen didn't listen. She had been listening, for one and a half weeks, and now the act of what was to come drowned out Mulder's words and Scully's laughter. The silence to come, especially, muffled Scully's voice in Kath's ears. She wondered if maybe it was false depression, regret invented by her mind to half-heartedly convince herself that she wasn't evil - that she had a human soul that could regret. Kathleen doubted it. Krycek was out there. He was the main force behind this whole thing, the whole abduction. He had to steer Mulder and Scully to facilitate Duane's moves. All the pressure was on him. Kathleen was sure he felt it, but she herself didn't care. All she could do now was watch, listen. See the plan unfold. There had been a toy. Kathleen could just barely remember it. She had bought it for her niece a couple of years ago. Something like an easy-bake oven, only you got out a flower. The obscure thought dragged at her mind, if only she could remember it! But that was what this was like, planning and preparing for weeks, and then it comes out, and you've got a bud, with nothing to stop it from opening. Blooming. Unraveling. God, she could hear the gunshot. Could see Mulder's anguished face when he would, inevitably, pull the trigger. Would they kill Scully? She didn't even know. She had assumed so - hadn't really thought about it, until just then. Abduction! What the hell were they her for?! Good God, what would the bastards do to her? Kathleen had no clue, and that bothered her immensely. Scully would pass out of her control, into who knew what. They had had Duane ranting about aliens. Lost in the tumbling of desperate ideas, Kathleen didn't even notice when the pair left for work. A few hours it would be, yet, until things would start to happen. Kathleen didn't notice, didn't care. *** Scully gone. Alex pleased as punch. He had been disappeared as soon as the act was over - Kathleen's idea. When he disappeared, his absence proved his guilt. Thus, another betrayal was revealed, to eat at Mulder's soul. Kath looked into Alex's hard eyes and felt sick. She had admired him once. She went home and tried to remember if she was bad or good. She was bad. She tried to remember if she was the type of person who felt sorrow. She pushed that thought away. She tried to remember. Tried to remember a human face, to give human faces to the names. She came up with Duane Barry's. Had Alex killed him? Or had he been killed later, somewhere else... Kathleen didn't remember. *** She dreamt... dreamt she was in Mulder's apartment, standing in front of the couch. She imagined it wrong. The door was on the wrong side, something she realized later. She was standing in front of Mulder, who was sitting on the couch. He was crying and holding his gun in his hands. Kathleen touched his head lightly, and he looked up. Kathleen was not crying. She was dressed in a cream-colored dress and jacket. Her hair was partly pulled back, just the top of it. For some reason, it was red, and neater than Kathleen had ever made it. She said, "I'm sorry. It was my fault. Kill me." Her voice was calm and buttery, like an angel's. And Mulder looked at the gun, and then looked back at Kathleen. He raised the gun. Kathleen smiled benevolently. She woke, screaming, with the echo of a gunshot in her head. Screaming partly out of horror of the gun. Partly because Mulder was dead. Too late! Too late! She had had the dream too late. Mulder had committed suicide four days before. Whatever release he could have given her, it was gone. It was the first time Kath had had the dream, but not the last by far.