From: H Lynn28 <hlynn28@aol.com>
Date: 23 Oct 1999 02:57:42 GMT
Subject: NEW: Genesis of Revelation (1/12) by H Lynn, PG, X 

Title: Genesis of Revelation (1/12)
Author: H Lynn (hlynn28@aol.com)
Category: X
Rating: PG
Archive: Yes, of course. :)
Keywords: M/S RST, Angst, MT, Mytharc
Spoilers: Season 6, Biogenesis

Summary: Sequel to "Denial is Not a River in Egypt". The truth is not 
what it seems to be....after finding evidence that leads to Dr. Scanlon, 
Mulder and Scully discover help is coming from an unlikely source. 
Meanwhile, a young woman dreams of a horrible possibility for the 
future--which directly affects Mulder and Scully. 

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are owned by Fox/1013, and only spent a 
part of their hiatus with me. They had some fun and laughs, but 
afterwards headed back home to CC and 1013, none the worse for wear.

Notes for the reader: As you might have figured out already, this story 
covers the period of time leading up to, and past, 'Biogenesis'. The 
elusive Dr. Scanlon shows up, and that pesky Mytharc element follows 
suit. :) I also wanted to explore Mulder's beliefs and Scully's faith, 
so it ties in with the season finale somewhat heavily. (You'll see...) 

The Mytharc information comes from many places--Fallen Angel, Talitha 
Cumi, Herrenvolk, and several others. Even something from Conduit is 
used...and it isn't what you probably think.

I don't think it's entirely necessary to read the first one to 
understand the second, although there is a continuation of one element 
of the story. If you wish to read it, it can be found on Gossamer, 
and also at http://members.aol.com/hlynn28/creative/xfiles.html. 
Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy. :) 

(And thanks to Ginef, Kelly, Blu, and Chris T. for helping to calm a worried
author's nerves by beta-testing. You all have my eternal gratitude.) :)


Part I: Genesis


*******************************
February 23rd
1:12am
June Hanock Memorial Clinic
North Side, Chicago



	The cold air crackled in the lungs of the police officer, his 
heavy leather jacket staving off the majority of winter's chill. His 
partner was in the sedan while he checked out the building, hoping to 
finally catch the intruder plaguing this particular clinic.

	He regretted the fact that he hadn't kept in shape as much as 
his partner had, although he rationalized it with the fact that his 
partner Dennis was at least fifteen years his junior, fresh out of the 
academy. There wasn't any way he could compete with that.

	Nor with the man's ability to talk about nothing important for 
hours on end--hence, the reason why he braved the night air instead of 
staying warm inside the unmarked police car. 

	With sudden realization, he noticed that the person he swore 
he'd just seen walking towards the clinic had disappeared. But people 
couldn't just vanish into thin air, could they?

	He grabbed the walkie-talkie attached to his belt. "Dennis, 
this is Tom. Did you see someone walking down the street just a 
second ago?"

	"Not that I remember. How far up?"

	"Close to the end of the block. It was quite a ways away."

	"Can't see that far from where I'm at. Probably someone who 
turned into one of the buildings while you weren't looking. And we've 
got security cameras set up in the alleyway, so the AV guys'll give a 
holler if they spot anyone." Tom looked over to the non-descript grey 
van sitting alongside the curb, almost obvious in its blandness.

	"I got a bad feeling about this, Dennis. I betcha this is the guy. 
C'mon, let's go." Dennis got out of the car, hoping his senior partner 
instincts were right. The precinct sorely needed to catch whoever had 
been breaking into the clinic, if only to ease the minds of citizens and 
faculty alike--and if this wasn't the person they'd been looking for, 
then tonight's stakeout would be all for nothing.



	The alleyway was well guarded, the figure admitted, but no 
one could guard against something they couldn't see. The cameras 
were easily taken care of--the static produced would likely be blamed 
on faulty equipment.
	
	The intruder was finishing the last of the work, and started 
to head back out the casement window...only to hear the sound of 
gravel being ground into pavement, echoing off the alleyway walls 
and in through the window. Pausing to listen, the dark form registered 
two pairs of footfalls heading for the window itself. 

	Instead of making a run for it, the presence stayed silent, 
knowing that if played just right, there might not be a need to do 
anything at all.

 

	Tom called the rest of the team in after seeing that the window 
had been forced open from the outside, but as they cased out the place, 
it appeared that they'd been too late. One doctor's office had already 
been trashed, and some odd-looking equipment looked as if someone had 
taken a crowbar to it. The walls were defaced the same way as before, 
and Tom again shook his head in dismay. How had he done it?

	"Tom, the captain wants to talk to you, outside," Dennis called 
out to him from the hallway, and he grimaced. How was he going to 
explain this without getting his skin flayed off? Sighing heavily, he 
wished for that early retirement with renewed determination. 

	He never saw the presence that followed him as he left, and 
brushed off the slight breeze passing him by as nothing more than warm 
air rushing out into the cold leftovers of the Chicago winter. If he had 
been paying more attention, he might have noticed that footsteps 
appeared from nowhere in the light dusting of snow on the sidewalk, 
leading away from the police and towards the dark recesses of the 
surrounding buildings.



*******************************



	Barren and lifeless, the blank walls of the office had stared back 
at Fox Mulder as he'd entered in that first day back on the X-Files, 
challenging him to do his worst. He had grinned mischievously as he 
stepped across the threshold, accepting the silent challenge.

	The sight of the new desk and chair had filled him with a bit of 
melancholy, reminding him once again that things could never go back to 
the way they were. He'd lost more than files and furniture in the fire 
that had consumed his life of the past five years. The innocent belief 
that his office was a shelter from the ubiquitous 'they' was shattered 
that night, and his old childhood fear had started to take hold, a 
numbness that dulled the knowledge of anything beyond himself and the 
charred remains surrounding him. Only Scully had managed to pull him out 
of the swirling whirlpool of fear and despair, though it took a while 
for the charring inside to heal. 

	He'd thought about putting up a new copy of his old "I Want to 
Believe" poster, but decided against it. Recent events had changed him 
to the point where he could never go back to the naive younger man who 
wanted to believe in the existence of aliens. The older, wiser man he 
had become did believe, without question...and that man had a shoebox 
full of new mementos to hang on the wall. No, there was no way back. Not 
ever.

	To be fair, Scully had her share of space on the wall--although 
she didn't take part in the "marking of territory", as she had put it. 
He had ignored her as she went on about the male need to mark territory, 
about how his newspaper clippings on the wall represented thousands of 
years of unrepressed genetic and cultural traits. He had rejoindered 
with the obvious predisposition of women to belittle every argument a 
man could put forth. He had dodged the stapler just in time.

	Cases came and went with the passing days...a liquidified squid he 
tried to forget. Another was an undercover case that, for Mulder, had 
given him a glance into a future with Scully that--to his dismay--seemed 
unlikely.

	Other cases went past his desk; the dhole which had reminded him 
uncomfortably of another case he'd had some months ago, but with a wolf 
playing the role instead. A man who was a living tornado. The writer 
who'd nearly killed Scully with his story, and Mulder with the near-
heart attack he'd had when he'd found her covered in blood on his 
apartment floor. When she'd grabbed him for dear life, breaking down 
emotionally in his arms, he'd been momentarily thrown that she'd turned 
to him for comfort. 

	Their relationship had become as enigmatic as some of their cases-
-one example being his confession of love to her in Florida. Oh, he 
hadn't been delusional from painkillers, though Scully's reaction 
afterwards made him wish that he was. What he had said to her had been 
truly heartfelt and sincere. Which had made it even more agonizing when 
he'd realized that while he had been prepared for the words, she 
obviously hadn't.

	And so, the topic had been buried under the detritus of their 
lives. He'd need one hell of a shovel--maybe a backhoe--to dig up all 
the rubble that blocked the further development of their relationship.

	Scully came in while his mind was delving into the past, his gaze 
fixed on the clippings already tattooing the wall behind his desk. "I 
guess I should've known better than to expect the cleanliness of the 
room to last, before you started taping over the walls."

	"Hmm?" He glanced up, then grew embarrassed as he realized the 
object of his thoughts was talking to him. "Sorry. Just thinking."

	"About what?"

	"Uhh...nothing, really," he dodged poorly, not expecting it to 
come up. "I guess I zoned out for a little while there."

	She glanced at him, giving him a look that said she knew 
better. But this time, she let it slide. "So, what's on our agenda for 
this week?"

	"Well, aside from an X-File? Nothing, I guess," he replied with 
mock enthusiasm. 

	Scully caught his reaction, and ran with it. "What are you talking 
about? I thought the X-Files were what we wanted."

	"Yeah. So did I. But it's come at such a price, Scully. I don't 
know how much more we're expected to take."

	It only took a second or two for her to figure out what events he 
meant. Scully let out a sigh, wondering why she was the one, of all 
people, defending the existence of the X-Files. "Mulder, you already 
know the risks. Are you saying you want to stop pursuing X-File cases?"

	He shifted uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with the thought. "No, 
not really."

	"Then what on earth are you complaining about?"

	His tone changed as he replied, softening as it took on a wistful 
quality. "I guess I miss the unknown. The challenge, the fight. 
'Ignorance is bliss', and all that. Things have changed,..." he took a 
deep breath and attempted the first plunge of the shovel into the mound 
of debris. "...*We've* changed."

	He watched as her expression darkened in concern and confusion. 
"Well, yes, I guess we have. I've been more open to the possibilities 
lately, and you've been more diligent in looking for proof-"

	"No, that's not what I meant." He left the words hanging in the 
air, waiting for her to pick up on his meaning. When it didn't look as 
if she'd gotten it, or didn't want to get it, he plowed on. "I'm talking 
about *us*."

	Her eyes took on a wild look, a cross between fear and 
understanding. A sudden parallel to Han Solo and Princess Leia's little 
tete-a-tete in the ice corridor on Hoth sprang to mind. He half-expected 
Scully to say, "You're imagining things," any moment now.

	But he wasn't quite as suave as Harrison Ford, and the next line 
didn't happen to work in context, anyway. Besides, he certainly didn't 
want to hear her say she'd rather kiss *Frohike*.

	It was at this moment that the phone took the opportunity to ring. 
Relief mixed acidly with regret as he reached for the phone, and his 
hand brushed along Scully's as she reached the phone first.

	Something deeper and more powerful than static electricity jolted 
through him at the touch, and he was glad to see the same response from 
her. A quick internal lament to Scully's continued denial was all he had 
before the contact was broken.

	While she spoke on the phone, he took the time to look at her. 
*Really* look at her. Dressed for success, but once again in black. Was 
she mourning the loss of her innocence, too? Or was it some sort of new 
Gothic kick she was on?

	She'd cut her hair a little shorter a few months ago, and he liked 
it. He missed the longer hair sometimes, but he'd never say it to her 
face. Heck, he thought she looked fabulous even when slimed. He fought 
back the grin that was forcing itself on him, and went back to watching 
her.

	A stray lock of hair fell across her face as she tilted her head 
downward, and he had the overwhelming urge to push it back. He imagined 
letting his fingers brush lightly across her brow as he tucked it back 
into place, and then to cradle along her jaw...and she would look up at 
him in a mix of wonderment and joy as she said--

	"Mulder, are you zoning out on me again?"

	He blinked twice, and then belatedly noticed that she was staring 
at him. And she was no longer on the phone. "Yes? What is it?"

	"Skinner wants to see us upstairs. I think he's got an X-File for 
us to check out."

	Mulder restrained the sigh, not wanting to disturb Scully with his 
apathy. Maybe it would just go away, with time. Or maybe he just needed 
the right case file to come along to recharge the passion he'd lost.



Monday, April 12th
11:48am


	After a short briefing with Skinner, and a case file in hand, 
Mulder was sure that this would turn out to be another specious X-File.

	In a small town about a half hour north of Washington, DC called 
New Haven, there had apparently been a murder. Not an unusual situation 
by any means, but they'd managed to find the killer in a short amount of 
time, which--considering the circumstances--*was* unusual.

        There were no witnesses, no traceable forensic evidence. Only a 
woman who'd heard the killer confess to his friend through an overheard 
conversation at a local restaurant, and had called the police. He'd been 
ready to pay for the check when the police had arrived. The man's lawyer 
was fighting to throw the case out, due to the fact that the police had 
received the call *before* the man had actually confessed. When the 
auditory witness was pressed about it, she admitted she'd originally heard 
the man's confession in a dream.

	Mulder and Scully's role in this, Skinner explained, was to make 
sure the perp didn't walk free and clear. Mulder didn't quite understand 
why Skinner had given them this case, especially since the perpetrator 
was already in custody. The oddness of the police getting there just 
shortly afterwards could easily be argued as coincidence. At least, 
that's what Scully was saying right now, as they headed to meet with 
Andrea Brauman, the woman who seemed to hold the answer they needed.

	She was fidgeting on her bench, glancing around the park as if she 
expected someone to jump down from the trees. Dressed in blue jeans and 
a light windbreaker, her dark brown hair was pulled back into a long 
ponytail. She looked no more than maybe twenty or twenty-one years old, 
and seemed frail and disheveled as she pulled her arms tighter around 
her to stave off the lingering chill from earlier that morning. When she 
caught sight of them, she smiled in relief.

	"I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. We wanted to talk to 
you about the murder...?"

	"Yes," she answered, taking a deep breath. "I've heard them say 
that the man might get off because of my testimony."

	"That hasn't been confirmed," Mulder said, trying to calm her 
nervousness. Obviously, she feared that if the man was set free, he'd 
come after her in retribution. "Can you tell us what happened?"

	"Well, I was at the restaurant with a friend of mine. It was 
pretty crowded, but with all the tourists we've had coming up from DC, 
it wasn't unexpected. It didn't hit me until my friend, Janie, said 
something in particular to me."

	"What do you mean, Andrea?" Scully asked, her skepticism held 
in check.

	"Well. the fact that I'd seen this, already. Janie says to me, "I 
think my boyfriend's been seeing someone else", and I knew what would 
happen next."

	"Are you talking about deja vu?" Mulder asked, having already had 
a similar situation not too long ago.

	"No, although it feels pretty close. I *know* this was a dream, 
from about two years ago. I wrote it down in my dream diary." She 
produced a hand-sized book from her pocket, and gave it to Scully. 
"You'll see it where the page corner is bent in."

	To Scully's surprise, dated March 23rd, 1997, there was an entry 
that detailed the entire situation, down to the color of the vinyl 
seats. She looked up at Mulder, and silently handed the journal to him.

	"Do all your dreams come true, Andrea?"

	She chuckled humorlessly. "Thankfully, no. That's why I keep the 
diary--so I keep track of what does, and doesn't happen. I didn't know 
Janie yet when I had that dream, so I didn't even realize that I'd 
already dreamt of her until she said that phrase. It was like a 
trigger."

	Scully glanced at Mulder, trying to be skeptical in spite of 
Andrea's diary. Mulder finished reading the entry, and handed it back to 
the woman.

	"How long have you been dreaming the future?" Mulder asked.

	"Ever since I was six, at least. I used to think it was deja vu, 
and I never considered that other people didn't have the same 
experiences. You see, I don't see into the future in general, like the 
majority of other foretellers. I can only see into *my* future.
And my life's been pretty mundane, so most of the events I've seen 
have hardly been earth-shattering." She gazed down at her feet, and 
added, "Until recently, anyway."

	"What else have you seen?"

	She shrugged. "Most of the bad things were from newscasts--such 
and such died today, in an unexpected explosion, and so on. The problem 
is, there's no way to know which ones will happen. If I alert anyone, 
I'll come off sounding like a nutcase. Plus, the general time from dream 
to reality is about a year. Who will remember a warning given a year 
ago?"

	Mulder nodded, "Now I see why you didn't call earlier."

	Andrea tried to smile her thanks, but the best she could do was a 
line. Scully took the opportunity to thank her for her time, and that if 
they needed anything from her, they'd let her know.

	As they walked back to the car, Scully leaned toward him and said, 
"I think she concocted the whole story, just to cover herself. She might 
know the man, and just said she dreamt the thing so no one would check 
any further. Or, she's just deluding herself with visions of her own 
importance."

	"Then how do you explain the diary?"

	Scully sighed, her indecision obvious to him. "Maybe she faked 
it."

	"What? All 365 entries?" His tone was incredulous. "That page was 
intact, Scully. She didn't erase it, then re-write over it. Plus, there 
were a couple other entries that supported what she said about the news 
reports. She wrote in an entry dated January 14th that she saw a news 
report on several mass deaths, that happened on Skyland Mountain."

	Scully was speechless at first, then replied, "It's--it's still 
possible that she wrote the diary a couple days ago, and threw in some 
real events to back her up. It's not unheard of, Mulder."

	He grimaced, then shrugged. "Maybe. We should check her out, see 
if she's got a rep for something like this."

	"I agree. She's possibly psychotic, maybe even to the point of 
being a threat to herself or those around her."

	He gave her a quizzical look. "That...wasn't exactly what I meant. 
I was talking about checking to see if she can really see into the 
future."

	Scully sighed, now exasperated. "She can't, Mulder. It's a nice 
thought, but the future can't be divined. You can't see what hasn't 
happened yet."

	"I thought the Bible was filled with men who could foretell the 
future, Scully."

	Her jaw dropped slightly. Mulder was refuting her by using the 
*Bible*? "That's true, but they were prophets and chosen men of God. 
They didn't have the power to see the future; God showed it to them."

	"Couldn't something like that have happened with Andrea?"

	"Now you're scaring me. Are you saying that God gave this vision 
of the future to her?"

	He shrugged again, as they came up to the car. "You're the 
believer in this case, Scully. You tell me."

	She paused at the passenger car door, her hand on the handle. "I 
believe in miracles, and I believe that everything is part of God's 
design, but I don't think that Andrea Brauman can see into the future."

 	"Well, I guess we'll just have to find that out, won't we?"



	 The interior of the Lone Gunmen's place looked more like the back 
storeroom for Radio Shack than a place one would expect three men to 
live, sleep, and eat. Mulder's eyes wandered across the room, finding 
odds and ends; A cassette tape labeled "Spanish For Gringos", a few 
ominously labeled videotapes, a half-eaten Snickers bar, and some 
technical things that looked as if they were in the process of being 
tested and experimented on. Frohike saw Mulder's interest rest on one 
item in particular, and proceeded to praise the thing like a car 
salesman would for a car on his lot. 

	"So, you like the goggles, huh? It's the latest for those moonlit 
nights on the beach, when you want to make sure you're alone with that 
special someone--really alone. This baby can detect heat for up to 200 
yards, and can even--"

	"Frohike, I'm not interested." Mulder glanced at Scully, and was 
surprised to find her watching him first. She quickly looked away before 
he could say anything, and Langly jumped in to continue the pitch.

	"C'mon, Mulder. Surely you can fork over a couple G's for the one 
you love?"

	"I don't think infrared goggles will increase the passion of the 
moment, guys," Mulder replied. 

	"Depends on the gal," Frohike answered, grinning like the Cheshire 
Cat. "Maybe the wondrous Agent Scully would be interested...?"

	"No thanks, but I appreciate the offer, really," she answered dryly.

	"Your loss." Frohike put the goggles back in their case. "So, on 
to other business. You wanted to know about that Andrea Brauman woman, 
right?"

	Mulder nodded. "Yeah, we couldn't pull up anything recent on her 
at the FBI. And considering how much time we've spent doing background 
checks recently, that's saying something. What'd you find?"

	Byers joined in, "It's what we *couldn't* find on her that makes 
it interesting. She apparently didn't exist for about two years. 
Everything before is in order and as mundane as things can be, but 
after....it gets a little muddled."

	"How muddled?"

	"Federal security-muddled. Her history after the two year blackout 
is spotty, at best. She's been investigated by the government several 
times, like clockwork. They're monitoring her."

	"Why? Is she a psychic?"

	"Well, there's no way to know for sure," Langly jumped in. "But 
she's listed as having continual contact with several groups that focus 
on things like ESP and other psychic phenomena."

	"What it comes down to, Mulder," Byers entered back in, "is that 
she was, or is, involved with the government, somehow. I think she's one 
of those so-called 'remote viewers', people that the government recruit 
and train in order to spy psychically on military targets."

	"You've got to be joking," Scully responded, giving Mulder an 
incredulous look. "The government using psychics for intelligence 
purposes?"

	Frohike snorted in mock disgust. "Hey, why not? The U.S. of A 
would have an advantage over its enemies. If it's a crapshoot, they've 
only wasted money on it. After all, this *is* Big Daddy government we're 
talking about. Maybe she washed out of the program after two years, when 
none of her visions were of any use. The periodic check-ups on her would 
be to make sure circumstances hadn't changed, and probably to make sure 
she didn't squeal to anybody."

	"Sounds likely," Mulder replied. "Thanks for checking on this for 
us."

	"No prob," Frohike said congenially. "Any visit by you and the 
angelic Agent Scully is a welcome one."

	"'Angelic'? 'Wondrous'? Frohike, did you stop taking your 
medication, again?"

	"Ha ha. Very funny, Mulder. At least Scully can admire my 
enthusiasm..."

	But Scully had already turned and started to head out the door. 
"Ah well. Maybe I should have worn my new lime green shirt?"

	"I think lime green is a color that should never be inflicted on 
an unsuspecting woman, Frohike. I'll be in touch," he added, turning to 
follow Scully out the door.



New Haven, Maryland
3:58pm



	The apartment was as disheveled in appearance as Andrea Brauman 
was, in mind. She pushed aside old newspapers to find the TV's remote, and 
flicked on the set. Nothing seemed to be on, but that was all right. 
She just needed the background noise, something to soothe her as she 
tried to keep herself from falling apart.

	Her hands were still shaking from the shock. Normally when 
her dreams came true, it was both scary and exhilarating. This time, it 
had just scared the heck out of her. 

	The warm metal against her breastbone registered suddenly, and she 
tugged at the gold chain that went underneath her shirt. Fingering the 
cross pendant at the end of the chain, she reflected once again on her 
supernatural gift.

	Gift, or curse? She wondered silently. She believed in God, went 
to church, read the Bible. She knew that the miracles and prophecy 
wouldn't come until the end times came. However, the few people she had 
confided to had dismissed the possibility of it as a spiritual gift--
believing, rather, that it was from demons who sought to draw her away 
from her faith. It could easily be either, but there was no safe answer 
in this case, unfortunately. Disbelieving God had given her the gift--if 
He truly had--would be just as bad as accepting it, if it wasn't. 

	Up until now, she had ignored the visions, especially since the 
predictions were nothing of importance. Now, however, they'd become
very important...and she didn't know what to do, or what to believe.



End of Part One

Genesis of Revelation (2/12) by H Lynn 

Disclaimer in part one

*************************


4:26pm


	Scully and Mulder had spent the last few hours trying to dredge up 
more information on Andrea Brauman, with no luck. Aside from getting her 
address and phone number, they found nothing beyond what the Lone Gunmen 
had given them. 

	Mulder looked over at a sheet from Diana Fowley's travel log that 
he'd pinned to the wall, still stunned at the implications it held. Was 
there no one he could trust, outside of Scully and the Lone Gunmen? Even 
Skinner couldn't be held above reproach; he'd been unusually distant 
since his near brush with death, and Mulder feared it was intentional.

	  He tried focusing on the paperwork in front of him, but found 
himself mulling over Andrea. Was she a desperate woman looking for 
attention, like Scully said, or just someone who was confused and 
scared by what she'd seen? His musings brought him back to something 
that'd been bugging him ever since the meeting at the park.

	"Scully, did you get the feeling that Andrea Brauman wasn't 
telling us everything?"

	She looked up from her desk. "In what way?"

	He shrugged. "I don't know, really. It's just a feeling I had when 
we were talking with her."

	Scully frowned in thought. "She might have been lying--
maybe that's what you picked up on." 

	"Maybe," Mulder allowed, his eyes drifted unconsciously back to 
the travel log. How much of the Diana he'd known had been a scam for his 
benefit?  "This isn't technically an X-File, however."

	"When has that ever stopped us?" Scully replied jokingly, but 
sobered at Mulder's serious expression.

	"I plan on looking into this a little, but you're not bound to 
this case, Scully. I don't think it'll amount to much of anything, 
anyway."

	To Scully, this sounded like a considerate way to let her know 
that he was ditching her. "Mulder, I appreciate the thought, but you 
aren't leaving me out of this one."

	He looked at her suspiciously. "I thought you didn't believe her 
story."

	"I don't, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to help 
investigate her claim."

	Shaking his head stubbornly, he replied, "Scully, I'm absolving 
you from this case, such as it is. You don't have to be involved if 
you're not interested."

	He watched as her jaw tightened angrily. Cursing himself, Mulder 
stood through her tense silence, waiting for the killing blow. To his 
surprise, it never came.

	The words came softly, with an edge of remorse. "All right then. 
I'll just catch up on some paperwork, and I'll see you tomorrow." 

	He would've easily welcomed harsh words, at that moment. The 
delicate pain in her voice plunged the knife of self-reproach deeper 
into his stomach, and the quietness of her demeanor only twisted it. 
"Scully--"

	"You don't need me for this, Mulder. I should have seen it before, 
and I'm sorry for trying to press you on it. I'd just be tagging along."

	"Never that," he answered honestly, the cold grip of dread 
tightening ever so slowly. "I just didn't want you to waste your time."

	The tone of her voice remained quiet. "Then why is it a waste of 
my time, and not yours?" 

	He had no answer for that. Not a good one, anyway. "I know how you 
hate dubious cases, and considering how shaky this one is, I wanted to 
save you the trouble."

	Her deep sigh was unexpected, as she looked up into his eyes. 
"Nothing that concerns you is ever a waste of my time, Mulder."

	The cold grip shifted into something sharp and warm, grabbing him 
with a force that left him breathless. He managed to stutter out an 
apology, and tried to placate her by asking her to come along. 

	Scully shook her head sadly and waved him toward the door. "Go 
ahead and investigate. And try not to get yourself killed," she added, 
her tone lightening slightly. 

	"I promise. I'll call you if I find anything, okay?"

	Smiling wanly, she nodded. He walked over and rested his hand on 
her shoulder, trying to soothe some of the hurt he'd caused. When she 
didn't respond, his hand moved to tilt her chin up, and his eyes locked 
with hers. His thumb caressed her jaw as he gazed into her eyes, trying 
to summon the words that failed to arrive. Somehow, she understood the 
wordless apology, and leaned into his hand in response.

	Had he been a braver man, he would've tried to take the next 
logical step. Instead, he smiled and reluctantly dropped his hand, 
wishing that these moments wouldn't come as a result of pain or loss. 
"I'll call you," he repeated as he left, grabbing his coat and not 
daring to look back.

	"I'll be waiting," Scully called out after him gently, heard only 
by the walls around her.




	In retrospect, he regretted how his dismissal had sounded, though 
the reasons behind it weren't entirely the ones that he'd led her to 
believe. He'd rather have her misinterpret his words than know that her 
presence had been distracting him, of late. A good distraction, but a 
distraction nevertheless, as his focus would drift to the sound of her 
breathing, shifting in her chair, or--like today--watching her take a 
phone call. Which was driving him crazy. 

	But, it was a good kind of crazy. And that's why he needed to have 
her far, far away from him tonight.

	The repetitive motion of unlocking his door didn't even register 
consciously. He was about to flick on the lights when he discovered, in 
a sort of dull shock, a manila envelope lying in the entryway of his 
foyer. 

	Were the fates were laughing at him right now? Of all the nights 
for this package to show up, it had to be the night where he could've 
cared less. Unless the envelope contained courtside seats for the 
Knicks, of course. Or maybe even season tickets for the Redskins. 

	Sighing heavily, he stooped to pick up the envelope. Thin and 
light, he figured that it didn't have much inside--certainly nothing 
explosive. He flipped the small metal tabs up, and carefully peeled open 
the flap. Not sure what he would find, he suddenly thought of calling 
Scully, as he had promised. Then, he thought again. Would she really 
want to be called about something that might be nothing at all? Better 
find out what it is first, he rationalized, and dug his hand inside.

	What came out of the envelope was innocuous enough. A photo of a 
man leaving a building, and a couple of sheets of what looked like an 
employee record, along with some financial information about a woman's 
clinic in Illinois. Frowning, Mulder began to read the record, hoping 
that the reason this had been lying on his floor would become 
miraculously apparent. Finding nothing of interest or suspicion, he 
turned to the photo; A Caucasian male in his early fifties...grey hair, 
medium height, medium build. Again, very non-descript. He tossed the 
photo on the coffee table, and began to read the financial statement. 

	Now *this* looked promising. This doctor--Jack Lauffrey, according 
to the employment record--had been receiving a pretty large sum of money 
from a number of pharmaceutical and medical corporations. Individually, 
they weren't enough to raise suspicion. However, when the amounts were 
added....

	"He's got a cool million, at least," Mulder mumbled out loud. And 
that was just from last year. Who knew how long he had been receiving 
payments under the table? And for what purpose?

	While this definitely reeked of illegality, this wasn't an X-File. 
Why would someone sneak this under *his* door, when any Bureau agent 
could've handled it? His gaze flicked over the statement again, and his 
eye caught on one name in particular; Roush.

	Hadn't Skinner mentioned that name? He struggled to remember, the 
moment nearly washed out by the power of the events surrounding it. Then 
it hit him violently--Roush, which had put Blevins on its payroll during 
the entire time that he and Scully had been partners. Roush, which may 
have been, or still was, a part of the conspiracy itself.

	Maybe he had found his connection after all.



1:05 a.m.
Georgetown



	Scully blearily blinked her eyes, trying to wake up from the nice 
dream she'd been having. Reality and the leftovers from her dream-fogged 
mind intermingled, and as she yanked the door open, she couldn't help 
wondering why Mulder was at her door, since he was---

	And that's when she truly woke up. Mulder must not have noticed 
the blush creeping up on her face, since he barged into her apartment 
before she could say, "Come in."  Pushing those thoughts aside, she 
focused on the bundle of nerves in front of her, who was babbling 
information as fast as he could spew it.

	"--and I think this is the piece of information we've been waiting 
for, Scully!"

	"Whoa, back up, Mulder. What information?"

	Mulder visibly calmed and started over, explaining about the 
envelope he'd been given, and the papers and photo he'd found inside. 

	"I'm sorry I didn't call first, but you never know who might be 
listening in. This is the best lead we've gotten in so long; I didn't 
want to blow it."

	"Lead for what?" 

	"Here, take a look at this," he reached into the envelope and 
pulled out the photo. "Tell me that isn't who I think that is."

	Scully took the picture from him, giving him a look that gave her 
state of mind very succinctly. A look that changed drastically when she 
saw the man in the photo. "Oh my God."

	"It *is* him, isn't it? Dr. Scanlon?"

	"Yes," Scully reached for the nearby sofa and sat down, still 
clutching the photo. In a mild state of shock, she realized that she'd 
held out no hope of ever finding this man and making him pay for the 
deaths he'd been responsible for. Now, however, the impossibility of 
gaining some small amount of justice for the women who had died in his 
'care' was no longer quite so implausible.  And she never forgot the 
fact that she would've been one of them if Mulder hadn't found out the 
truth about Scanlon.

	Closing her eyes, she sagged against the back of the sofa, barely 
noticing that her arm had fallen into her lap. 

	"Where is he?"

	Mulder scarcely recognized the voice as hers; Hatred mixed with 
pain, and laced with brittle steel. He sat down next to her and put a 
hand over hers. "Somewhere outside of Chicago, I think. It didn't list 
his residence, but he shouldn't be too hard to track down."

	To his surprise, she grasped his hand in hers and squeezed 
lightly. "We'll have to investigate this further, see if anyone has 
opened a case on him as Lauffrey. The financial statement is enough to 
lead to a serious investigation, but we'll need to have some facts to 
back us up. Plus, we'll need to contact Skinner and have the other case 
dealt with, before we head off to Chicago." 

	She was stating the obvious, Mulder noted. The news of Scanlon 
must have rattled her worse than he'd thought. He stared down at their 
hands, and soothingly rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, in the 
hope that the motion would jar her back. 

	The gesture was so second nature, she didn't even consider that 
her partner shouldn't have been quite so familiar. But then again, her 
own dream told her that regardless of whatever professional facade she 
displayed towards him at work, it certainly didn't extend to her private 
life. And in her own apartment, away from the troubles that plagued them 
daily, she indulged herself. She loosened her grip only enough to shift 
her hand so that their fingers intertwined, and raised her head to look 
him in the eye. 

	He lifted his eyes to match hers, and inhaled sharply at her 
intense gaze. Was he truly seeing this? Even after what'd happened in 
the office a few short hours ago? He wondered briefly if he should check 
for alcohol on her breath, then grew light-headed at the prospect of 
checking for the assumed alcohol on her lips, with his own.

	Determined not to let the precious moment slip away regardless, he 
drew her hand up to his mouth and gently kissed the back of her hand. It 
was a stately gesture that went beyond its typical meaning at that 
moment, his eyes never leaving hers. Scully could feel flames race up 
her arm at the touch, and had to glance away from the intensity of his 
gaze.

	The grasp on her hand grew slack, and she felt an ache as he drew 
his hand away. With a restraint she didn't know she possessed, she 
pushed down the conflicted emotions and the impulse to keep Mulder from 
leaving, and followed him to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mulder."

	"I'll still be checking on Andrea Brauman to see if there's a way 
to find out more about these remote viewers, but I think our main focus 
right now should be Scanlon. I'm going to try and get us on a flight out 
tomorrow to Chicago. And I'm going to leave the info with you, so you 
can look it over. You'll probably find something I missed."

	"Probably," she smirked, and he returned it warmly. "Good night."

	"'Night, Scully. Don't let the giant, mutant alien bedbugs bite."

	She laughed softly, and again resisted the urge to prevent him 
from leaving. "Or the robotic dung-eating cockroaches from outer space."

	He touched his forehead in a mock salute, and she closed the door 
behind him reluctantly. 

	As she headed back to bed, Scully wondered about the dream she'd 
been having when Mulder arrived, and when she'd realized how important 
he was in her life. Did it start in the Antarctic, when he had risked 
his life to save hers? No, that wasn't it. It was before, when he'd been 
standing in the hallway outside his apartment, holding her in his arms 
as she no longer had the strength to stand. Regrets and laments had 
crossed her mind then, the knowledge that she was possibly dying mixed 
tragically with the fact that she had finally admitted to herself that 
she loved Fox Mulder. 

	The prior years of their partnership had lead up to that one 
moment. All the monster and mutant chases through condemned buildings 
and sewers, all the nights spent on stake-out or dallying in the forest-
-all the intimate conversations building on one another until the 
feelings could no longer be denied. It had taken all the events in-
between their assignment in Wisconsin only a few months ago and the 
hallway to show her what her own feelings truly were. 

	Mulder's feelings were clear enough from his confession after his 
near-disastrous trip in Florida, if she could allow herself to truly 
believe that he really meant what he'd said. Too often he would give 
innuendoes as jokes, making light of the situation by proposing marriage 
or hinting at something well beyond the norms of their partnership. 
Before, she had taken the whole thing for what it was worth, but 
now...now she wasn't so sure. 

	His declaration hadn't seemed to be sincere, since it was framed 
within the outlandish story he'd concocted. On the surface, it appeared 
that he was pulling her leg yet again, and she gave it as much credit as 
it deserved. Or at least, as much as she'd thought it deserved, at the 
time. Now, with the way he'd confronted her this morning, she wasn't 
sure anymore. It sickened her to think of how she had replied then, in 
the context that it had been true and sincere. 

	Under normal circumstances, she'd assume he would hate her for her 
response, but as he showed her today and countless times before, his 
depth of feeling for her went beyond the petty things that would upset 
a typical relationship. And, she mused, the same could be said about 
her, too. 



*******************************
Tuesday, April 13th
3:53 p.m.
North Side, Chicago



	Having dropped off their luggage at the hotel, Mulder and Scully 
drove to the crime scene, to meet up with an agent from the Chicago 
office. In an innocuous part of the city, far enough north to have 
escaped the hustle and bustle of the downtown area, but not far enough 
to be considered in the suburbs, they found the clinic where Scanlon had 
been presently hiding.

	It was an old 50's style office building, the white brick facade 
jarring against the older red brick buildings and houses around it. A 
placard by the door read, "June Hanock Memorial Clinic, est. 1975", and 
the black paint on the doorframe had flaked off in places to reveal the 
original turquoise paint beneath. 

	A large man stood outside, a good three inches or so taller than 
Mulder, and possibly half again his weight. He smiled politely at the 
two agents and stretched out a hand in greeting. His large hand 
completely engulfed Scully's, as he introduced himself as Tim Copland. 
Mulder tried not to noticed when Copland allowed his gaze to linger a 
bit longer on Scully than he thought was appropriate.

	"When they said this was a fertility clinic, Agent Copland, did 
they mean 'infertility', or 'planned parenthood'?" Mulder asked as 
tactfully as he could. 

	"It's more of the latter, I suppose. Although you'd never have 
anyone around here admit it. Got to keep up appearances, y'know," 
Copland smirked, and pulled the door open for Scully. "After you."

	"Thanks," Mulder replied dryly, and let Scully go in ahead of him, 
not letting the man get the chance to follow her from behind. Maybe it 
was the territorial side of him, but he'd been around too many agents 
who'd let their eyes wander. And Copland's eyes looked like the kind 
that had way too much mileage for his tastes.

	He let Copland speak with the receptionist while he pulled Scully 
to the side. "Why would Scanlon be working at a clinic like this?"

	"I don't know for sure, but I have a pretty good guess. Fetal 
tissue has been shown to be invaluable to medical researchers--not just 
for their regenerative qualities for people with Alzheimer's and 
Parkinson's disease, but for the possibilities with other diseases and 
degenerative ailments. Even for genetic therapy."

	"Like a woman who'd have a child in the hopes of having a bone 
marrow match for one of her other children? Or maybe even for cloning?"

	"Well, not exactly. But people have argued against cloning on that 
basis; how it would turn into a meat market for people who are seriously 
ill."

	"Grow another 'me' for spare parts? Brings new meaning to 
Shylock's 'pound of flesh', wouldn't you say?"

	Copland waved them over before Scully got the chance to reply. He 
explained that the director of the facility was busy at the moment, but 
that they could see the site of the last attack. "Unfortunately, the 
doctor who was targeted isn't here. They thought it would be best if he 
took a short leave of absence."

	"The doctor's name is Lauffrey, isn't that right?" Scully asked, 
and was grimly satisfied when Copland nodded.

	"Yep, that's him. According to their records, he was working at a 
clinic in Cincinnati before coming here. Same problems, although not as 
bad."

	"Really? Given Cincinnati's generally conservative nature, I would 
think it'd be the reverse."

	"I would too, Agent Scully, but I don't think it's local 
harassment. I think he's being stalked by someone."

	Mulder tried to not show his surprise. While he had suspected it 
would be the case, that tidbit hadn't been included in the file. "And on 
what do you base your conclusion, Agent Copland?"

	"Well, it's mostly a hunch. The MOs, while similar, aren't 
identical...but anyone smart would change their methods to escape 
detection. They can cover their tracks by using any number of the 
extremist Pro-Life groups as their scapegoat, and while the local PD 
tries to glean through their ranks, the suspect slips away to follow him 
to the next site."

	"I've read the profile on the suspect," Mulder nodded 
appreciatively, "and it seems relatively thorough. However, I don't 
agree with the profiler's assessment--that this was based in revenge."

	"How so?" Copland placed his hands on hips, ready to argue against 
him. Apparently, he was the one who'd written the profile.

	Mulder shrugged. "Revenge doesn't explain the theft. The items 
stolen were very specific and sensitive, so we've been told...so 
sensitive that both Lauffrey and the clinic itself have yet to explain 
what exactly was taken. I'm assuming it was paperwork of some kind, 
since I doubt our suspect is following the doctor around for medical 
supplies," he added sardonically.

	"And if it's paperwork," Scully chimed in, "it's probably 
something particularly damaging to Lauffrey himself. Something that he 
and the clinic don't want exposed."

	"Personnel files, you mean?" Copland's stance went from defensive 
to intrigued. "But if that's the case, why hasn't the information been 
spread everywhere--the news, the authorities, and so on?"

	Mulder shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe our suspect doesn't 
have enough information to expose him. Or maybe he isn't the one who's 
planning to do it."

	"Now you're losing me, Agent Mulder. Are you saying he's nothing 
more than a hired lackey?"

	"It's possible. I think we'll know more when we find out what was 
stolen. If the suspect is obsessive, the items should be personal, but 
non-essential. A mug, maybe a diploma or photo. But if specific files 
were taken, it could be something as mundane as corporate espionage, or 
as inflammatory as proof that Lauffrey is not who he says he is."

	Copland frowned at the suggestion. "We don't have any suspicions 
of that. Lauffrey is the victim, not the criminal."

	"We'll just have to see, then, won't we?" Mulder smiled grimly, 
already knowing the answer.



	The site was nearly as clean as it had been before the invasion. 
Mulder and Scully looked through the office thoroughly, but they 
couldn't turn up anything new. The window had been pried open, and the 
intruder had taken an item or two from the office before spray-painting 
"baby-killer", "monster", and various other names and phrases on the 
walls. From the calm, dispassionate way the spraying had been done, 
Mulder knew that the person hadn't been interested in the message at 
all. Rather, it was merely means to an end. No fingerprints had been 
found at any of the attacks, and aside from smashed equipment in one 
other room, no real damage to the facility had been done. Not quite a 
half-hearted effort, but one that could surely use some improvement.

	"It was definitely someone who wants to discredit him," Scully was 
saying as she examined the items on Scanlon's desk. "Most likely it's 
the same person as before," she added, giving him a look that indicated 
the packet he'd gotten, not the previous attack in Cincinnati. He 
glanced askance at Copland, who was meandering around the entrance, 
clearly bored. 

	"I think we can finish this up at the Chicago office. Agent 
Copland, would you mind...?"

	"Oh, of course not. Let's go," he said as he headed out the 
doorway, and they had to hurry to keep up with him.



End of Part Two

Genesis of Revelation (3/12) by H Lynn 

Disclaimer in part one

*************************


8:48 p.m.
Esquire Hotel
Chicago


	A quick jaunt to the Chicago office resulted in their spending two 
hours over evidence, half an hour on a take-out dinner, and the rest 
pouring over what files they had at the hotel--relinquished gratefully 
by Agent Copland. Most of the information from the case was spread over 
Scully's bed, forming a haphazard quilt of paper. Mulder sat with his 
back propped up on pillows, while Scully opted for the chair, since it 
left more room on the bed. It also kept her mind from wandering too far 
to one side of the bed, in particular.

	Mulder tried to focus on the paperwork he held, but his thoughts 
continued to meander back to Andrea Brauman. His instincts told him that 
he was on the wrong track, that he was throwing his efforts into 
something specious. But, he couldn't deny the tip they'd gotten, 
considering where it had led. And he was doing this as much for Scully 
and the MUFON women as for himself and his quest, pathetic as it was.

	Maybe Scanlon would have a crucial piece to the puzzle of the 
colonists' plans, so they could think of a way to stop them, somehow. 
Maybe they could even find out more about the alien resistance, although 
it didn't seem that the consortium members had had any luck with that 
angle, before they'd gotten some of their own medicine.

	"Mulder, you awake?"

	"Hmm?" He replied drowsily, having not realized that his line of 
sight and the paper he'd been reading no longer matched. He raised his 
head to look at her, and blinked tiredly. "Yeah, I'm awake. Just 
thinking, that's all."

	"Thinking? About what?"

	He sighed deeply. "Scanlon. The alien colonists. The alien rebels. 
The tenuous hope that maybe Scanlon will have some insight into it all," 
he smirked bitterly.

	"I kind of doubt it, considering he's basically a scientist. And 
whoever--or whatever--took the place of the power vacuum that the 
consortium left behind hasn't made their presence known, so far. "

	"It's scary, really," Mulder sighed as he put down the paper he 
held. "There's not a lot that we can do at this point, until the aliens 
make the next move...and when they make that move, we might too late to 
stop it. 

	"And to add to that, there's no way we can contact the alien 
rebels directly. Jeremiah Smith was a stroke of luck that I can't expect 
to happen again, and even then, I'm no longer sure whether he was a part 
of this faceless alien group, or the bounty hunter group, or what."

	"Well, Krycek told you that resistance was possible..."

	"I don't trust Krycek," Mulder said flatly, "though he'll tell the 
truth when it serves his interests. However, I need more than Alex 
Krycek's word and some scattered pieces of information. I've been burned 
before, and I have no intention of getting burned again."

	Scully stayed silent, knowing that he was thinking of his 
disillusionment from the previous year. While he had regained the 
enthusiasm for his work, the past several months had greatly changed 
him. If anything, he had become more like her, needing more proof than 
he normally would require. And she in turn had become more open and 
willing to believe, although not at the expense of science. 

	She got up from the chair and sat in the one spot clear enough to 
see the bedspread underneath. Mulder tried to help by pushing the papers 
aside, but she stopped him by putting her hand on top of his. "Mulder, I 
know this isn't easy. Collectively, we've suffered so much that I think 
most people in our place wouldn't have been able to go on. I know I 
couldn't have, if it hadn't been for you."

	He started to shift uneasily, but she stopped him again with a 
stern look. "Don't forget that this isn't just your quest, anymore. 
Scanlon is responsible for deaths he knowingly could have prevented, and 
I'm here to make sure he doesn't get away with it again. I think whoever 
has been helping us has the same thing in mind, regardless of which 
resistance they're part of. That's really all I'm concerning myself 
with, and I think you'd do yourself some good by not dwelling too hard 
on facts that don't exist."

	"So, I should deal with the things I *can* deal with, and leave 
alone the stuff that I can't?" He replied incredulously, pulling his 
hand away. "When did you start believing that pop psychology crap, 
Scully?"

	"That isn't what I'm saying--"

	"Then what are you saying? That I should slack off a little?"

	"Maybe, well--yes! Maybe that's exactly what I'm saying," she 
turned to lock her eyes with his, "so I can pick up some of that slack."

	He shook his head again, and spoke his next words wearily. "I 
don't want to burden you with this. My private demons aren't yours."

	"I can no longer remember where your demons end, and mine begin, 
Mulder," she said only half-jokingly. "It's too late for you to shove me 
aside, or to think that you're sparing me pain by shutting me out. The 
only thing that can hurt me is when you keep me on the outside, looking 
in."

	He looked up at her, amused. "Are we still talking about this 
case, Agent Scully?" 

	Her deep sigh stopped him cold, and left him wondering if, all of 
a sudden, she had decided that tonight *was* the night to talk about 
'them'. The way she was watching him now, he considered that she may 
have been sending certain signals the entire time, and he'd just misread 
them. 

	Nevertheless, this was definitely new and uncharted territory they 
were treading on. The tension building between them was unnatural and 
awkward, and Mulder knew that it wasn't the right time. He was about the 
deflect the subject when she spoke. "You're right, Mulder...I guess we 
have strayed a bit off topic, wouldn't you say?"

	"A bit?" He answered incredulously, a faint grin coming into view. 
"Maybe. But I wouldn't say it was a bad thing, necessarily."

	She looked at him with the same fear as before, but replied as if 
he'd said nothing unusual. "Did you find anything on Scanlon in that 
stack of papers?"

	He shifted back into professional mode at Scully's changing of 
topic, and answered, "Yeah, but it isn't going to be a bestseller. I 
think I zoned out after trying to read this expense report of his from a 
couple months ago. For a guy that's involved in a governmental 
conspiracy, he leads a pretty lackluster life. Betcha he even drinks 
Ovaltine."

	She did her best not to smile. "Ha. Very funny. Did you find 
anything else besides the fact that he's boring?"

	He shook his head sadly. "Nope. Sorry. He's keeping himself clean, 
aside from the papers we were sent that indicated otherwise. The little 
information to be found on him doesn't help, either. Right now, I'm 
hoping to find his address in this pile, and see if we can get him to 
talk. Maybe then we'll have enough to act on it."

	A few minutes of searching through the rest of the papers revealed 
Scanlon's address, and they decided to have Mulder contact him alone, 
since he would obviously recognize Scully. After they gathered up the 
casefiles on Scully's bed and tucked them away for safe-keeping, Mulder 
headed back to his room. It wasn't until he was nearly asleep that he 
realized he hadn't even considered Scully's mindset on seeing Scanlon 
again. His rest was thwarted by the images of horrible scenarios, men in 
black skulking in alleyways and faceless men burning their victims 
without remorse.

	As he finally succumbed to sleep, he could only wish that all 
monsters would look like monsters, rather than hiding in the guise of 
human beings.



2:45am
New Haven, MD



	Andrea's eyes shot open as she awoke, her breathing ragged and 
heavy. It took a little while for her mind to adjust to the reality of 
her surroundings, as it usually did.  Her hand shook as tried to wipe 
the sweat from her mouth and forehead, still recovering from this last 
dream.

	The dreams had become more potent of late, waking her up in the 
middle of the night instead of letting her sleep. Topics had been as 
mundane as baking cookies for Christmas, or as troubling as seeing the 
deaths of others around her, or of watching a tragedy unfold in her 
presence. She sat up in bed, allowing herself the time to calm down, and 
sort through the dream rationally. 

	It had begun in mid-action, as they usually did; She was in some 
sort of medical facility, though it looked cold and lifeless with its 
stainless steel walls and linoleum floor. She circled the complex 
endlessly, it seemed like, desperately looking for some sign of a 
friendly face. She had just started to turn another corner when 
something had jumped out at her, knocking her to the ground a split 
second before the sound of a gunshot reverberated in her skull. 

	And then she had woken up. Remembering it now, it seemed too 
bizarre to be real. But she'd learned over the years, if nothing else, 
that even bizarre dreams had the potential to be true.


*******************************
Wednesday, April 14th
9:28 am
Evanston


	Scanlon's residence listed him in the more prosperous area north 
of Chicago, although not so conspicuously as to catch attention. The 
house he lived in was modest in perspective, one of many old houses 
built when people considered Evanston the fringe of suburbia. Oak trees 
that would shade the street in the summer merely stood as dark sentinels 
in early spring, guarding the houses with bony limbs and scarred trunks 
from those who would try to enter. 

	He stepped lightly over cracks in the pavement, caused by the 
rebelling roots of a nearby tree, and followed the walkway up to the 
entrance of the man's house. Knocking on the door first, and getting no 
response after several minutes, he moved to ring the doorbell--and was 
startled to hear the sound of locks unlocking and chains rattling from 
the other side of the door.

	The smell of stale cigarette smoke and ashes reached him before he 
could even focus on the face in the doorway. The man's skin had grayed 
and aged, and he gave off a horrible feeling of death, decay and 
hopelessness. Mulder quelled the instinct to pull back from the man, and 
instead focused on the reason he was here.

	"Dr. Lauffrey?"

	"What do you want?" The man answered back, his voice scratchy and 
dry. "I don't need anything."

	Mulder wondered what the man thought he was trying to sell, 
considering his hands were empty. With a sigh, he pulled out his badge. 
"I'm with the FBI, Dr. Lauffrey. May I come in?"

	The man's eyes widened as he saw Mulder's badge. "I don't think 
so, Agent Mulder. I have nothing to say to you."

	"But something to hide, right? Like the deaths of several women 
stricken with cancer, whom you supposedly tried to cure?"

	The older man's jaw dropped slightly. "I don't know what you're 
talking about. I have no background in cancer treatment."

	"That's mainly why I'm here. Of course, if I know you're here, 
Scanlon, then *they* know that I know you're here. Or, they'll know soon 
enough with me standing out in the cold like this." Mulder resisted the 
urge to grin triumphantly.

	"Get inside," Scanlon growled, opening the door just enough to let 
Mulder in.

	The stale smell intensified as he walked inside, and he did his 
best not to grimace. Scanlon obviously hadn't gone outside of his home 
in several days, maybe even a week or two. The typical furnishings and 
tasteful interior decorating threw him slightly, having imagined Scanlon 
as a man on the run, with one eye always glancing over his shoulder. He 
found himself hating the man even more for not having the decency to 
look like he was afraid for his life. 

	"Nice place," Mulder found himself saying, but only half-meaning 
it. "Did you pay for it with the blood money they paid you, or with the 
money that you've been secretly taking in from various medical 
corporations?"

	Scanlon blinked, then a pale, sickly smile grew across his face. 
"Have *you* been the one breaking into my office, stealing from me, and 
then defacing the walls with those trite phrases? I have to admit, 
that's pretty brazen, even for you. Or so I've heard."

	"Sorry to burst your little optimistic bubble there, but I haven't 
done anything. I only found out where you were a couple of days ago."

	He had the satisfaction of seeing Scanlon's smile fade away. "Who 
gave you that information?"

	Mulder shrugged for effect. "Don't know, really. Could be a 
traitor to the cause, who felt that you needed to be put away for your 
crimes. Might even be a person who works for the resistance. Or, it 
could simply be that the people now running the project have decided 
that they don't need you anymore, and were willing to let me have you," 
he grinned wickedly.

	The man's face paled slightly, before he got a hold of himself and 
assumed a defiant stance. "You haven't got enough proof to arrest me, or 
you would have done so by now. Or are you taping our conversation for 
posterity?"

	Mulder silently cursed himself for not thinking of doing that. 
Well, what was done, was done. "We have enough proof on you to start an 
investigation, Scanlon. I came here, in part, to offer you the chance to 
turn yourself in voluntarily. We can give you protection--"

	"Protection?" Scanlon laughed bitterly. "We both know that your 
'protection' doesn't mean anything, Agent Mulder. They can find me 
anywhere I go, and they'll kill me if I confess."
 
	"They'll kill you, regardless. The minute I drove up to your house 
and knocked on your door, you became a target. You know too much, 
Scanlon, and they won't hesitate to make sure that knowledge is never 
known. It doesn't matter if you're essential to the project--exposure is 
the one thing they fear more than anything else. The only way to ensure 
that they won't kill you is to expose them first."

	Scanlon shook his head at the other man's words. "Your logic is 
flawed, Agent Mulder. If that were true, you would have been dead by 
now."

	"I...don't know why I'm still alive, to be honest," Mulder 
replied, trying to push back unbidden thoughts of family secrets and 
lies that begat lies. "But I don't sit around pondering over it. If I 
can stop the project, I will. If you're smart, you'll come with me to 
someplace safe. Or at least, someplace safer than here," he added to 
placate Scanlon's anticipated denial.

	He needn't have tried. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but you've 
obviously mistaken me for someone with more paranoia than 
brains...unlike you. I have no intention of believing that *they* are 
out to get me, since it's blatantly obvious that the person who's been 
stealing from me has done so in order to try and expose me. The fact 
that you're here only proves my point. Now, if you don't mind, I have a 
breakfast that's getting cold." Scanlon gestured back to the door, and 
Mulder grimaced in defeat. 

	"If you change your mind, Scanlon, give me a call. The FBI knows 
where I am. Oh, and one last thing--Don't think I'm doing this because 
I'm some warm-hearted guy who doesn't want to see you dead. I couldn't 
care less if you lived or died, since you'll be getting justice either 
way. I just thought that you'd want to bring down the S.O.B's that plan 
on killing you, that's all."  And with that, Mulder walked away...and 
never saw the look of concern that showed on Scanlon's face.



10:09am



	Mulder wearily entered the Chicago office, expecting to find 
Scully sorting through files and evidence. Instead, he was surprised to 
find her waiting for him. Looking a little worse for wear, but better 
than she had earlier this morning, she smiled weakly at him and asked 
how things had gone with Scanlon.

	"Aside from the moment where he kicked me out? Just fine."

	"So, do you think he'll take the bait?" She asked, somewhat 
unsure. "We knew he wouldn't just blab about everything he knew, but he 
couldn't possibly be so stupid to think that the people he works for 
consider him valuable enough to keep alive."

	"I think that he's certainly mulling it over, but I can't say 
he'll take it hook, line and sinker. However, he doesn't know who's been 
doing this any more than we do, so that's a point in our favor."

	"Maybe," Scully replied hesitantly. "I've been going through the 
files again, and I haven't found anything new. Apparently, whatever this 
person stole, they don't have alternate records of it. The clinic is 
still stone-walling me, and they won't release any information on 
Scanlon until we make a formal accusation."

	"Well, we have enough to accuse him of fraud. Let's get the ball 
rolling."

	She placed a firm hand on his arm. "Wait a minute, Mulder. I want 
you to be sure of this. If we go public, then Scanlon will surely be 
targeted...and we might never know what he knows. I think doing this one 
by the book is the best way, but you know the odds are against us. Are 
you willing to risk it?"

	He shook his head in a gesture of compliance. "We have to do our 
job, as FBI agents. He has to be made accountable for his crimes."

	"I know that. But I also know that you'd rather get information 
out of him than see him dead, and I don't want you to do this on my 
account." Her eyes bored into him, exposing his motives for what they 
truly were. After a second or two of assembling his thoughts, he sighed 
deeply and resolutely.

        "Look. I agree with you on this. While I would've done it 
differently, yours is the more reasonable way to approach the situation. 
Don't ever think that just because I agree with you, that I'm 
capitulating. You keep me on the straight and narrow, Scully. If it 
weren't for you, I'd be out of a job, at the very least."

        His mood brightened at her shy smile, and he continued on, 
emboldened. "I wasn't just talking to hear myself speak, when I told you 
that you make me a whole person. You have to know that."

        "I do," she replied quietly, not sure if he wanted her to 
respond in kind. "But I also know that you have a tendency to put 
me ahead of your other concerns, even though you shouldn't."

	"Would you do any less, in my place?"

	She exhaled slowly, thinking it through. "No, I guess not."

	A moment passed silently between them, and Scully realized that 
their conversation was drifting back into that dangerous topic they had 
put on hold, for the time being. Scully glanced around to see if anyone 
was watching, but if anyone was, they were doing a great job of hiding 
it. 

	Mulder was the one to speak first. "Let's talk to the Evanston PD, 
and see about getting that arrest warrant."

	Scully nodded, and softly patted his arm. "Good idea. You make the 
arrangements, and I'll get the evidence and case file." 

	And so things were settled; case-wise if nothing else. Mulder 
watched her go with concern etched into his features, knowing that she 
hadn't slept well at all last night. He knew the signs all too well--
slumped shoulders, lack of energy, and dark circles under her eyes she'd 
tried to hide with makeup. Sighing, he turned and headed to the SAC's 
office. Scully would tell him if something was terribly wrong.

	God, he hoped so.



11:47am
Evanston



	The man known as Lauffrey cleaned up his kitchen from lunch, and 
set about getting things ready for the inevitable. He knew his life, as 
he had known it, had ended when he'd seen the name on the badge. 

	Mulder. Fox Mulder.

	So, the man had finally found him. Scanlon knew that the agent 
could have easily killed him right there and then, and he'd have been 
justified. And to be honest, he wouldn't have blamed him in the 
slightest.

	After finishing up burning any and all relevant information he 
could think of, he poured himself a drink from his bar, and flipped on 
his stereo. The music of Rachmaninoff thundered ominously from his 
speakers, welcoming him, and he smiled grimly at the apt musical 
background for his life.

	Rubbing his face in an unconscious attempt to clean away the 
imaginary slime he felt on his skin, he thought deeper about his own 
role in this conspiracy of silence. Once he'd been 'drafted' into 
service, so to speak, he'd been given wealth and power beyond his 
wildest dreams. And yet, that power had come at a  heavy price. 

	No wife or children to come home to at the end of the day. No 
respect from the citizens in his community, and no pride in his work. He 
knew that his role in the work had been invaluable, and yet, it still 
felt...shallow. As if he had nothing solid on which to hang his 
reputation. Not that his reputation was anything to be exposed in the 
light, he chuckled to himself ruefully, his once-fatherly and open 
features drawn painfully into a grimace. 

	His deceptively paternal face made his work easier to accomplish. 
It was amazing what people would let you do to them, if they thought you 
had their best interests at heart. He didn't quite feel remorse for the 
women's deaths--they would have died anyway, he reasoned--but he didn't 
relish his role in it at all. 

	When everything had hit the proverbial fan at the clinic a couple 
years ago, only his role in the project had kept him from dying that 
day. He'd been pulled into a black sedan while heading for his car in 
the driveway and relocated elsewhere in the country, under a new name. A 
new name to continue the work.

	The sound of footsteps on his porch shook him out of his reverie, 
and he looked out the window to see Agent Mulder and others with him; 
the police, obviously, and the red-headed woman, his partner...Dana 
Katherine Scully, it had said on her medical records. She was still 
alive? 

	The doorbell rang, and he heard Mulder say loudly, "Open the door, 
Dr. Scanlon. We have a warrant for your arrest, and we have all the 
exits blocked. You're not going anywhere."

	Scanlon wrestled internally with the thought of trying to escape, 
but pushed it away as foolishness. He would tell them nothing. He would 
die before he'd betray the confidences he'd been given. They could 
threaten and bully and even throw him in jail, but he knew that the men 
he answered to wouldn't allow him to linger for long. After all, he was 
a part of the project; they *needed* him. And he, them, in a strange 
twisted way...for without them, his own life was a sham.

	He rested his left hand on the doorknob, and frowned at the slight 
tingling pain that went through his left arm. Brushing it off as muscle 
tension, he turned the knob to face his accusers, and smirked at the 
fate awaiting him.



	Scully knew he had aged, but the man she remembered as a kind and 
caring doctor was not the man who opened the door. In his place was a 
man so drained of life--physically and emotionally--that she nearly felt 
sorry for him. That was, until she remembered what he was capable of, 
and that pity turned to disgust.

	He smiled gently, and the sight made her stomach churn. "Dana, 
it's so good to see that you're doing well. Have you found a treatment?"

	She meant to toss it aside silently, but Mulder jumped in, "Not a 
treatment, Scanlon...a cure. Three guesses as to who gave it to us," he 
stared purposely at Scanlon, apparently trying to get a point across to 
him that was lost on her. 

	Scanlon's eyes widened perceptively, and then he calmly turned 
back to face her. "Still, it's good to see you well. I hope it 
continues. Shall we go?"

	She watched as Mulder's face screwed up in disgust, and then he 
silently motioned the officers forward to arrest their suspect. As 
Scanlon was handcuffed and lead back to the car, Scully leaned toward 
Mulder and said, "If all of our cases were this easy, Mulder, we'd be 
out of work."

	He grimaced as his eyes followed the doctor. "It's almost *too* 
easy, Scully. I'm--" He stopped mid-sentence, and Scully quickly turned 
to see the reason he was staring. 

	It was Scanlon, barely being held up by the arresting officers. 
Scully flew down the steps and over to the doctor, looking for blood and 
a gunshot wound even when she knew she hadn't heard a shot. 

	"What happened?" She asked as she knelt down, Scanlon's cuffed 
hands still trapped in front of him. 

	"I don't know, Agent Scully. One second he was fine, and the next 
he was in pain...gasping and clutching at his left arm, in fact. Then, 
he just collapsed."

	She felt for a pulse, and winced inwardly when she didn't find 
one. "He's gone into cardiac arrest. Call 911 and get a EMT unit here 
*now*. Anyone here certified for CPR? If so, get over here and help me."

	One young man that looked like he was barely out of high school 
came over to assist. For one fleeting moment, she had a sudden desire to 
let Scanlon die, to make him pay for Penny's death with his own. Then 
her reflexes kicked in, and the thought was gone as suddenly as it had 
come.

	"What do you want me to do?" The young man asked quickly.

	"I want you to help me save the life of this bastard, officer. 
Let's get to it."



End of Part Three

Genesis of Revelation (4/12) by H Lynn 

Disclaimer in part one

*************************


12:26pm
Evanston Northwestern Hospital



	Mulder was slumped tiredly in a sofa opposite the TV in the 
waiting room, glancing ever so often from the local news to the doorway. 
Thankfully, the room was empty, so he didn't have to deal with the guilt 
of genuine grief and worry from others around him.

	The door opened and Scully slid in, exhaustion already creeping in 
on her face. 

	"What happened? Is he..?"

	"Dead? No, not at the moment. He's in serious condition in the 
ICU, with an armed guard outside his door."

	Mulder sighed heavily, one more burden taken off his shoulders. 
"When will we be able to talk to him?"

	"Not for awhile, yet. And I need to run some tests, to see why he 
had this heart attack."

	"Foul play?"

	She smiled slyly, "You're not too bad, for an FBI agent."

	"Hey, I didn't spend all those years in grammar school for 
nothin'," he drawled. "So, what do you think happened to him?"

	She sat down next to him on the sofa, and let out a sigh in both 
relief and frustration. "I'm guessing they used some sort of poison or 
toxin to either cause or mimic a heart attack. It isn't hard to do, 
unfortunately. There are several different types of substances on the 
market that would cause his reaction."

	Leaning back on the sofa, he turned and draped one arm over the 
back of it, just above her shoulders. When Scully glanced over at him 
oddly, he covered by raising his hand so that it propped his head up. "I 
think you're right, Scully. They wanted him dead, and they almost 
succeeded."

	"Yeah, and what else--" she cut herself off, her eyes locked onto 
the TV in front of her. Mulder followed her gaze, and stared in near-
horror at the sight of the hospital in the background, with a news 
reporter facing the camera, about to swing into the crux of his report.

	"--police have identified the doctor as one Dr. Jack Lauffrey, who 
works at the June Hanock Memorial clinic here in Evanston. According to 
the arresting officers, he apparently collapsed of a heart attack as he 
was being taken into police custody. The Evanston police department has 
been mysteriously quiet about the reasons behind the arrest, but outside 
sources say that the doctor had been targeted by radical Pro-Life 
groups, and that the FBI is investigating him for possible fraud."

	The anchorwoman appeared on the left side of the screen, her face 
molded into affected concern. "Has there been any word on the doctor's 
condition, Larry?"

	Larry nodded, the motion studied and perfunctory. "He's presently 
in serious condition, but the doctors here are hesitant to give any hope 
for his condition just yet."

	Mulder could feel his internal organs shriveling up and turning to 
lead, as he watched the news broadcast. "How much you want to bet that 
the same person responsible for the vandalism also leaked the story to 
the press?"

	"I'm not the type to gamble, Mulder, but even I wouldn't bet 
against *that*. I think we're going to need to make up an official 
statement."

	"Yeah, I'd say so. I'll let you write it, Scully."

	"Gee, thanks," she replied dryly. "Just for that, you have to pick 
up dinner tonight."

	He groaned in mock pain, playing up the part of victim. Until he 
realized that meant he could pick the food, and what else was there to 
get in Chicago than a deep dish pizza? Scully gave him another odd look 
at his sudden grin, but he didn't respond--the case was already turning 
dark, and he needed something to lighten his spirits...and food would do 
the trick for tonight.



6:45pm


	After getting several recommendations for local pizza places from 
the Chicago office, he finally settled on a small place called Vino's, 
just south of the hotel. He toyed with the idea of having the pizza 
delivered, but decided that they both could use a break after spending 
most of the day mired in paperwork and crime scene evidence. So, he told 
Scully that he was taking her out to dinner. He was very glad that she 
didn't pass out on the spot, or laugh in his face. 

	Vino's turned out to be a charming, if dark, Italian restaurant. 
The wood was stained the darkest brown he'd ever seen, and it was 
everywhere--the booths and tables, the floors, even the beams in the 
ceiling. The red-checkered tablecloth was there, a requirement for any 
would-be Italian restaurant, as was the lit candle on every table. While 
they were shown to a table, he had the sinking feeling that this was 
more of a place to take a date, and hoped that Scully wouldn't get the 
wrong idea.

	After ordering the pizza, they first talked about the case, then 
drifted into other topics that ranged from cheesy sitcoms to the latest 
findings from the Hubble telescope. The pizza arrived as Mulder was 
discussing the possible existence of a new species of flying insect, 
known thus far as "rods", out in the southwest. Scully took it with the 
usual skepticism, though she smiled as his eyes lit up while explaining 
and detailing the videotape evidence. 

	Scully was discussing the finer points of the newest development 
in DNA testing, when a glint of light from out the window caught 
Mulder's eye.

	He scanned what little of the street he could see from where he 
was, thinking that maybe it was nothing more than the chrome of a 
passing car shining in the street lights. However, he couldn't shake the 
feeling that the light hadn't been reflected at all, but rather 
generated. The flash of a camera, perhaps?

	"Mulder, what's wrong?" Scully turned to look behind her, trying 
to see what he was staring at.

	With a start, he realized he was still staring out the window, and 
shifted his gaze to rest on Scully. "Nothing, I guess. It was probably 
nothing more than a tourist," he answered ruefully, thinking back to 
another time when his first informant had jumped at a flash of light, 
too. 

	Scully pulled him back from the edge of melancholy, giving him a 
concerned smile he couldn't ignore. "You okay?"

	"Yeah, I guess. You sure you don't want that last piece of pizza?"



	Tucked into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, the gaze fixed on 
the Italian restaurant across the street was unwavering. His attention 
had almost been grabbed, but it was lost as easily as it was gained, and 
the one watching sighed in disappointment. 

	It wasn't easy grabbing this one's attention, but it was a system 
that had been perfected over time. He would come eventually. The files 
had been enough to draw him here, and the destruction of Scanlon's 
office hadn't been something he could ignore. Now, Mulder needed to 
discover who had been responsible for it all, and that moment was 
approaching fast. 

	Grimacing to the best of its ability, it padded off into the 
darkness, letting the contact go for another day. Tomorrow would be just 
as good as tonight.



10:34pm



	They walked back to the hotel at a brisker pace than before, the 
winds off the lake chilling them both to the bone and causing them to 
use the other for some sort of shelter from the shifting winds. Slightly 
drowsy from being overfull and exhausted beyond measure, Scully and 
Mulder headed into her hotel room, the unofficially designated "work 
room". Scully was tempted to call off all projects for the day, but the 
press release needed to be written and approved before noon tomorrow. 
She complained out loud that it was pathetic and phony.

	"That's what they're all supposed to sound like," Mulder said 
sleepily, lying on the side of the bed that didn't have files on it. 

	"Mulder, we need to get this done. The sooner we get this wrapped 
up, the sooner we can get back to Washington, and you can get back to 
investigating Andrea Brauman."	

	His attention perked up. "Scully, Scanlon's a little more 
important than Andrea Brauman right now."

	"Is he? What are the odds that he'll live long enough to see the 
insides of a jail cell? Or the odds that he knows--or would tell us--
anything we need to know?"

	"That's what we'll need to find out, first," he rolled over and 
pushed himself up on one elbow, facing her. "Are you all right with 
this?"

	"With what?"

	"Seeing Scanlon again. You don't look like you slept well last 
night."

	"Just the unusually pleasant surroundings, that's all. I'm so used 
to crummy motels, I can't sleep in anything better. You've spoiled me 
for good."

	He had to grin at that, although he recognized the dodging 
technique as his. "Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?"

	She shook her head, "I can't...I've got to finish up the press 
release, then work on the report--"

	"Whoa, whoa. That's what I'll be doing tonight. You should be 
getting some rest."

	"I'm too wired to get any sleep, Mulder."

	His lips pursed, as he thought through his options. He discarded 
them all as he thought them through, and was left with one that seemed 
inevitable, if possibly awkward. Eventually, he sighed and let it go, 
accepting it in spite of himself.

	He started clearing the files off the bed, stacking them somewhat 
neatly on the floor by the nightstand. Scully frowned at what he was 
doing, not fully understanding what was going on even when Mulder had 
finished and stepped over to her. 

	"Mulder, what are you doing?"

	"Making sure you get some sleep tonight. C'mon," he urged, holding 
out his hand. Sighing tiredly, she took it and let him help her out of 
the chair and over to the side of the bed.

	"You remember that I've got a gun, right?" She asked, and he only 
grinned. 

	"Trust me, Scully. This always worked for me."

	Now she was truly curious. "What?"

	His grin lit up a bit more at her confusion, and he replied, 
"Backrub."

	Her sigh was indecipherable; Melancholy, or relieved? He couldn't 
tell. Either way, she loosened up visibly and followed his unspoken 
signals, lying on the bed on her stomach. He was just about to start in 
when she got up from the bed. Before he could ask if something was 
wrong, she shed her jacket and hung it over the nearest chair.

	"Sorry," she smiled meekly at him. "Shoulder pads."

	He held back the urge to laugh quite admirably. However, it died 
completely as she walked back to the bed, the whole connotation of it 
enough to make him seriously rethink what he was doing.

	Straightening his shoulders, he silently berated himself for his 
loss of self-control. He could handle this--if they'd gotten through 
flukemen, serial killers and paranormal phenomenon, they could survive a 
simple friendly backrub, couldn't they?

	Pushing those thoughts aside, he began on her shoulders, letting 
his fingers drain the tension from her. She stiffened slightly as he 
kneaded along her neck. 

	"Is that hurting you?" He asked, his voice so soft that she wasn't 
sure at first if he'd spoken.

	"No, it's all right. Just keep doing what you're doing." Please, 
she added silently.

	As he worked, she felt herself slowly crashing from the adrenaline 
she'd been relying on thus far. Somewhere around noon she'd found a 
reserve of energy that had gotten her through the day, but now she felt 
it tapering off and dying, leaving a bone-weary tiredness and exhaustion 
in its wake.

	She was asleep before she realized it, and he stopped as soon as 
he noticed she was no longer appreciating his efforts. Carefully, so as 
not to wake her, he took off her shoes and put them next to her jacket, 
knowing her nightly ritual almost as well as he knew his own. Somehow, 
he managed to get the bedcovers over her, letting her sleep in her 
clothes.

	Quietly, he gathered up the press release she'd been working on, 
plus the case files, and crept back into his own room. He allowed 
himself the luxury of looking back before heading through the connecting 
doorway, seeing only a lump and a glimpse of auburn in the shadows. 



*******************************
Evanston Northwestern Hospital 
Thursday, April 15th
9:39am



	According to the doctors, Scanlon was responding well to 
treatment. The cardiologist on staff couldn't explain the cause of the 
heart attack, since the arteries were clear for a man Scanlon's age, and 
surgery hadn't revealed any blockage. Chemical inducement seemed the 
likely answer, and Scully was waiting for the test results to come back 
while Mulder went to see Scanlon.

	The ICU was quiet and still, the calm thick with unbroken tension. 
Nurses spoke in hushed voices while the patients rested, although the 
patient Mulder wanted to see was well enough to talk. The question was 
whether the man would be inclined to talk at all.

	Scanlon's face was pale and greyish, with tubes running in and 
out of him and connecting to multiple boxes of electronic equipment. 
The look he gave the agent was unkind, at the least.

	"I...have nothing to say to you," Scanlon breathed, his voice 
scratchy from intubation. 

	"I'm inclined to think otherwise," Mulder replied, sitting down in 
the chair next to Scanlon's bed. "You've already gotten a taste for what 
it's like to be on the other end of the stick--I'd like to think that 
you wouldn't want it to happen again."

	Scanlon laughed humorlessly, a weak sound that echoed off the pure 
white walls. "You can't prevent it from happening again, Agent Mulder. 
If they want you dead, you are. It's that simple."

	Mulder nodded, seeing where he was making his mistake. "That's 
true, but only if we were dealing with the same people as before. We 
aren't, though, are we? They died in a hangar in El Rico Air Force Base, 
along with several of their family members."

	At Scanlon's look of astonishment, Mulder continued, "But they 
aren't all dead, Scanlon. Someone's still running the show, from 
somewhere. Perhaps even someplace like Tunisia."

	"Perhaps," Scanlon replied noncommittally, intrigued in spite of 
himself.

	"And considering how short-staffed they've suddenly become, I 
highly doubt they'd waste the resources on a second attempt on your 
life...especially after you take away the main reason they want you 
dead."

	"And that is?"

	"Your knowledge of the Project; They're trying to kill you so you 
can't tell me. But if you tell me, then killing you would be a useless 
and resource-draining exercise."

	Scanlon chuckled sardonically, amused at Mulder's attempt to sway 
him. "You underestimate the desire for revenge, Agent Mulder. And you 
underestimate me, if you think that particular line of reasoning could 
convince me otherwise."

	Mulder grimaced slightly, trying not to betray his chagrin. "Then 
you'll be killed by the men you put your loyalty with, for no other 
reason than for the information you possess. It doesn't matter to them 
that you've kept silent--they'll kill you anyway. So I wonder, why *are* 
you keeping their secrets?"

	The grey haired man stared up at him, his eyes widened in self-
concern. "To...protect the Project."

	"Is it that important, Scanlon? That you'll give up your life for 
it? Was that a requirement for your loyalty?"

	"No..." The tone of his voice was confused, wary. 

	Mulder pounced on it, seeing the man begin to crack. "I'm asking 
this not only as an investigator, but as a man who had his sister taken 
because his father worked as a part of the Project. Unlike the majority 
of the people out there, I've been living under its shadow for most of 
my life, and I feel like I'm entitled to some answers. And you've got 
those answers, Scanlon. You can tell me what you know about what's been 
going on, here."

	The argument seemed to wear down the other man's resistance. 
Scanlon sighed, then said, "I'll tell you, but you better be paying 
attention, because I'll only be saying it once."	"I'm all ears," 
Mulder answered back, pulling out a tape recorder from his jacket. "May 
I...?"

	Looking at it as if it were a snake, Scanlon glanced at Mulder, 
then back to the recorder, and closed his eyes in acquiescence.

	"You have to understand that things were different back then...if 
the government asked you to help your country, you didn't refuse. Not 
that I had any problems with the work, but it wasn't easy, either." He 
paused, his lips tightening in discomfort. "I know you hate me for what 
I've done, but morals had nothing to do with our decisions. In order to 
do the things that needed to be done, we had to go beyond our own moral 
codes. For some, it was easier than for others."

	"The Nazi doctors and scientists, plus the 731 group."

	"Exactly. Your father was in charge of finding a vaccine for 
Purity, or the alien virus, as one possible solution to the problem. I 
was working on that part of the Project, until we found out that the 
Russians had created a vaccine first. Since the only thing to do at that 
point was to refine it, I was bounced around to different laboratories 
and facilities to work on the other end of the solution."

	"The alien-human hybrid. That's why you were on staff at the 
clinic, correct?"

	Scanlon nodded wearily, the conversation slowly beginning to drain 
his energy. "Yes. One of the problems we had was that the abductees were 
taking the chips out, cutting off our ability to track them. Since the 
chips also prevented the formation of the cancer, it was something that 
needed to be taken care of before it drew the wrong kind of attention."

	"So you killed them," Mulder said flatly, his disgust and horror 
only partly repressed.

	"They were already dead, Agent Mulder. The only way to save them 
was to put the chip back, and there was no way to convince them to do 
that without jeopardizing everything. At that point, it was only a 
matter of accelerating the illness."

	"And Agent Scully?"

	He looked at him, puzzled. "What about her? Oh, are you asking me 
if she was singled out? No, of course not. She never told me she worked 
for the FBI, and I didn't really care. She was an abductee who'd taken 
the chip out; She needed to be taken care of."

	"Eliminated, you mean."

	"Well, if you want to phrase it that way, you can. However, we 
*are* looking at it in two distinctly different ways."

	The look Mulder gave him could've bent steel. "So what happened 
after that? After you disappeared?"

	Scanlon's gaze rested on the ceiling, his expression screwing up 
in concentration. "They assigned me to another project they were working 
on, one that wasn't quite so high-profile. It had to do with the virus' 
interaction with human DNA, and in a smaller way, the boy known as 
Gibson Praise."

	"Known as?"

	The older man grinned, pleased to have found something that 
unsettled Mulder. "Didn't you ever wonder where the parents of this boy 
were? Or why he was living in the Philippines, of all places?"

	"I assumed that his family relocated for either business or 
military reasons..." He trailed off, as he started to understand. 
"Gibson was created, wasn't he?"

	Scanlon ignored his question. "We'd been studying psychics for 
decades, trying to figure out what--if anything--was causing their 
ability. When it came time to start cloning workers for the farm in 
Canada, an industrious man decided to try his hand at recreating psychic 
abilities by using the alien DNA. 

	"Looking back on it now, he was years ahead of his time. But 
sadly, either through some sort of moral dilemma or greed, he chose 
not to share his creation with the rest of the group, managing to keep 
the boy a secret by sending him overseas to live with relatives. The boy 
never knew what he truly was, and the man who hid him died before 
anyone could find out where the boy was. When a boy genius showed 
up on the chess playing circuit, seemingly reading the minds of his 
opponents..." Scanlon trailed off, and gave a small, self-satisfied grin.
"Well, it didn't take long to figure it out, once we checked into it."

	"And he was more dangerous to you alive, than dead."

	"True, but that wasn't my idea. I wanted to at least study the 
boy, find out where my colleague had succeeded. But They had other 
plans, and I went on with my research. Until, of course, the burnings 
happened, and the new people in charge immediately put me back on duty 
at the clinics, getting the raw materials." The sound of disdain in 
Scanlon's voice paled in comparison to Mulder's disgust.

	"What about this research into tying psychic phenomenon to the 
DNA?"

	The man waved his hand as if to dismiss it. "None of our research 
led where we thought it would go. We couldn't directly tie the virus in 
with any group of psychics that we had, but we noticed similarities 
between them, themselves."

	Mulder prompted him to go on. Scanlon sighed, as if weighing the 
merits of going on, or not. "There was a definite...spiritual influence 
over these people."

	"Spiritual? As in spirits?"

	"As in raw, terrifying power. Are you a religious man, Agent 
Mulder?"

	He took a second or two before he answered. "Not really, no."

	"Then you'll probably be skeptical over what I'm about to say, but 
it's the only explanation I can think of for what I experienced."

	Mulder gestured for him to go on, and Scanlon frowned. As he 
continued, his voice lowered to a near-whisper. "I could swear there was 
more than one presence. Maybe it was my imagination, but whenever I was 
alone in a room with one of these people, I never felt truly *alone* 
with them. Co-workers of mine would call them spirit guides, but I never 
really felt that they were beneficial. However, I can't justify my 
feelings and opinions with science, so I consider them moot. 

	"All I know for a fact, is that alien DNA didn't create their 
abilities. I don't know what, or who, did. But Gibson is the 
exception...and he can ultimately tell you more about the aliens than I 
can."

	Seeing that Scanlon's eyelids were drooping heavily, Mulder ended 
the conversational interrogation and left, letting the man get what rest 
he could. 


End of Part Four


Genesis of Revelation (5/12) by H Lynn

Disclaimer in part one

*************************



11:23am



	Mulder found his partner poring over the results from Scanlon's 
blood work, her face tightened with single-minded focus and frustration. 
He wasn't surprised at her lack of a response as he came up behind her, 
and waved away the errand thought of using her inattention for his own 
amusement. He was, however, amused when she jumped at the sound of his 
voice. 

	"Mulder! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

	He grinned wickedly. "Didn't you know that before I was known as 
'Spooky', I was 'Sneaky Mulder'?"

	She managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "You sure it 
wasn't 'Stinky'?"

	He barked out a laugh, thrilled to have gotten a biting response. 
"Only right before laundry day."

	She smiled, then tried to force it back as she realized it'd only 
encourage him. "Are you interested in what I found?"

	"Always," he said in a more serious tone, although the grin on his 
face never wavered.

	"Well, first off, our would-be killer knew what to use. If we 
hadn't been right there, Scanlon would have died."

	"What did they use, specifically?"

	"It's something used to treat hemophilia, where it activates the 
trace proteins, or factors, to trigger the clotting process. Normally 
there are ways for the clots to be broken down, but it was in such a 
high dosage that the body's defenses couldn't prevent Scanlon's heart 
attack. I'm assuming they meant to cause a stroke, rather than a heart 
attack, but it worked out for them either way. It's also ideal, because 
no one would ever think to look for it."

	"Except you," Mulder smiled at her genuinely, feeling a sense of 
pride at her proficiency.

	Her focus shifted to the side as she smiled shyly, slightly 
embarrassed at Mulder's sudden attention. "Any competent pathologist 
would have found it, Mulder."

	"I don't think so," he replied, his gaze growing stronger in focus 
and purpose. "I think you need to give yourself more credit."

	She raised her eyebrows noticeably, surprised at his words. "I 
think I know how much credit to claim. Don't worry...if I do anything 
particularly outstanding, I won't be shy about it." The look on his face 
told her that he didn't buy it for a moment, but he let the comment 
slide, allowing the conservation to veer back on course.

	"How did he get the drug into his system? Was he injected?"

	"No. From what I can gather, it appears that he ingested it--
probably when he ate breakfast or lunch that day. So, did you get 
anything from Scanlon?"

	He pulled out the mini tape recorder, and gave it a triumphant 
shake. "You bet I did, Scully, and it's all in here."

	"He confessed on *tape*? How in the world did you get him to do 
that?"

	Mulder shrugged, then sat in a nearby chair. "Wasn't easy, but in 
a way he helped convince himself to tell us what he knew. He knows that 
his life is expendable after this attempt to kill him, and he thinks 
that any effort to keep him alive now is futile. Ultimately, though, I 
don't know why he told me what he did, and to be honest, I can't be sure 
how much of it I can trust."

	"Is there a way to verify it?"

	Shaking his head at first, he paused when he realized something. 
"He said that he was doing research into psychic phenomenon--maybe 
that's what Andrea Brauman was involved with."

	Scully looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

	"Sorry--I forgot that you haven't heard this yet. You better 
listen to it right now..."




	A non-descript man walked the halls of Evanston Northwestern 
hospital. He could have been an accountant on staff, with his charcoal 
grey suit and polished dress shoes. With a trenchcoat draped over one 
arm, and a confident, knowing stride, no one thought to question who he 
was, or where he was going. To some, he was visiting a sick relative; to 
others, a man who somehow held power over them. Either way, he was not 
meant to be interrupted.

	He followed the hallway down to the intensive care unit, casting a 
cursory glance around the place. Two nurses were huddled together in 
conversation, in the midst of changing shifts. The guard that should 
have been in front of the door was checking out the distraction they had 
carefully arranged. He turned away and headed towards the room, knowing 
the way as well as the nurses themselves. It would take a few seconds 
for them to realize that he hadn't checked in, but by then, his job 
would be done.

	Scanlon was asleep as he walked into the room, as he should have 
been. The man swiftly pulled out a syringe filled with clear liquid, and 
emptied its contents directly into the joint between the IV bag and 
tube. Not that a good forensic scientist couldn't find the mark, but he 
didn't want to make it easier for them, either.

	He'd just tucked the syringe away when one of the nurses came in. 
"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here without signing in!"

	He gently grabbed her elbow as he lead her from the room. "He's 
still asleep. I'll have to see my friend later," a bland smile crept 
over his unmemorable features. "When I heard my old colleague was in the 
hospital, I had to go see him."

	"You're a doctor?"

	He continued to smile, letting her believe she was right. "You 
could say that."

	"I should have known," she replied sardonically. "Sign in next 
time, would you?"

	He nodded sagely, already halfway through the door of the ICU. By 
the time he would reach his car outside, the nurse wouldn't be able to 
recall his face. No videotape would be found of him entering the 
hospital, nor leaving it. Even Scanlon would be blissfully unaware of 
his executioner. The man smiled in satisfaction, knowing that he never 
failed in his assignments, even when others did.



11:31am


	Scully's eyes were bright and alert, Mulder noted as he shut off 
the tape player. It was a reaction that made him grin with a mixture of 
pride and astonishment; in all honesty, he'd expected her eyes to be 
glazed over with disinterest by now.

	"We'll need to follow up on this, of course," Scully was saying, 
"but the possibilities of Scanlon's statement is mind-boggling."

	"Yeah, no kidding." Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he couldn't believe 
it wasn't even noon. "How would you--"

	His sentence was cut off by the ringing of a cell phone. They 
glanced at each other as both of them realized whose phone was ringing. 
Scully's expression was one of alarm as she pulled her cell phone from 
her coat pocket, and answered it tersely.

	"What?! How could that have happened?" Mulder stared at her, his 
face both questioning and concerned. She met his stare with a brief one 
of her own, managing to communicate their worst fear without any words. 
He turned away as she continued to speak with the person on the other 
end of the line, his anger and disgust evident. 

	"We'll be right there," she said, and turned off the cell phone.

	"How did he die?" He asked quietly.

	She hesitated, trying to gauge his mood before answering back. 
When he met her gaze squarely and calmly, she sighed in relief. "They 
say he had another heart attack, even though he was on blood thinners."

	"We both know his death wasn't natural."

	Nodding, she tucked her cell phone back into her coat pocket. "At 
least we have the tape."

	He hefted the cassette player in his hand, as if testing its 
weight. "If Scanlon was telling the truth, yes. Otherwise, we just have 
an odd story told by a man shortly before he died."



Northwest University Hospital
12:02pm



	Scanlon's body had already been taken down to the morgue, and 
Scully broke off from Mulder to do the preliminary exam. He decided to 
bide his time by checking the room.

	Per their request, the room was left as found and taped off. Only 
the IV and the medical equipment had been taken away for further 
forensic study, in the hopes that the killer had left a thumbprint 
behind. The door handle revealed nothing, since the door had been 
already open in accordance with the ICU rules. 

	Mulder glanced around, hoping to spot something that might give 
him a clue as to the identity of the murderer, even though he knew that 
the effort was nearly futile. As he walked around the foot of the bed, 
his eyes caught on the slip of paper lying almost underneath the bed, 
hidden from normal view. He bent down and picked it up with latex-
covered hands, trying to calm himself even as he felt a certainty about 
who had left it behind.

	Opening it carefully, he found that the paper contained a short
note, written in a scratchy, masculine script. The sort a doctor might 
use, Mulder mused as he noticed there wasn't a signature at the 
bottom. As he began to read, the author of the letter became obvious:



    "I want to say, first off, that I have no regrets for telling 
you about the project, Agent Mulder. When you mentioned how
the project had overshadowed your life, it reminded me how shallow
and baseless my own life had become, because of it. I trusted these
men, and had allowed my own moral code to be supplanted by
theirs, believing they were right and I was wrong. I'm writing this
with the knowledge that I won't likely be able to speak with you,
soon. I think I have an idea where the key to defeating the Project 
can be found--and it's right in your own backyard, so to speak. 

    "If the project had connections in the government, there's no 
reason why the Resistance wouldn't, either. Infiltrators have been 
found before, and I believe it will happen again. Check the Boras 
Institute in DC for a man named Richard Sosek. Tell him I thought 
the opera at the Kennedy Center last fall was wonderful, but that I
always preferred Rachmaninoff. Then, he will know that I sent you."




12:54pm



	Mulder found Scully in the morgue, over the remains of Scanlon. He 
could tell she was tired by the way she leaned heavily onto the metal 
table, her arms locked in support. She turned quickly when he opened the 
door, and he thought for the briefest of moments that a smile had 
appeared on her face. But just as quick as it appeared, the smile was 
gone.

	"Find anything?" He asked as he came up behind her, tempted to put 
his arm around her waist so she would lean on him for strength. If he 
did that, though, he wasn't sure whether to brace for the elbow in his 
stomach or the kick to his shin.

	"Yes; Cyanide. They didn't want it left for chance, this time. How 
about you?"

	He held up the paper and wiggled it for effect. "Scanlon was a man 
with some forethought, at least. I think we've got a lead."

	"A lead? For what?"

	"For the resistance against the colonization. For finding out who 
these resistance fighters are, and what they want--to stop the 
colonization, or to start their own."

	"And this lead is on that piece of paper?" He could clearly hear 
the doubt in her voice.

	He nodded, and was surprised by her nodding, as well. "So, what 
does it say?"

	"It says we need to head back to DC. It seems that the means of 
finding the answers to our questions has been no more than a short drive 
away from our office."

	At this, her eyebrows raised. "Why doesn't that surprise me as 
much as it should?"

	"Maybe you've been hanging around me too long."

	"Perhaps," she replied enigmatically. "Or maybe it makes sense, in 
the chaotic, mixed-up way these cases always tend to be. Maybe there's a 
weird pattern that I've finally picked up on."

	"Like I said..." he trailed off with a grin, and he dodged the 
swing at his arm deftly, half-expecting it. "I'm going to head back to 
the hotel. Are you almost finished here?"

	"I still have to finish the rest of the exam, and fill some forms 
out. Should take me another hour or so."

	He sighed deeply, wanting to get moving on the new lead as soon as 
possible. Deciding to leave the rental for her, he took a cab back to 
the hotel from the hospital. 

	As he paid the cabbie, thoughts of possibilities were interrupted 
when he caught a sudden flash of light out of the corner of his eye. 
Following it as he turned around, he found that it originated from an 
alleyway along the side of the hotel, out of the direct light of the 
early afternoon sun. 

	Intrigued, he walked over to the alley, looking for the source of 
the flash. Chrome, maybe? Or a reflection off of a window? As he rounded 
the corner, however, his surprise couldn't have been more total.

	A very familiar looking wolf sat on its haunches in the middle of 
the dark urban canyon, looking more grey than white, at the moment. It 
watched him with a patience and intelligence that belied its appearance, 
waiting for him to come closer.

	"I'm not dreaming this, am I?" Mulder asked softly, looking around 
for any passersby that might be watching. 

	In response, the wolf stood on all fours and turned, to face the 
darkening recesses of the alley. Then it trotted off to an open doorway 
on the other side of the hotel building, expecting him to follow. And 
shaking his head at his own disbelief and amazement, he did.



	The room inside was pitch black compared to the alleyway, but 
after a few seconds he could make out shapes in the darkness; a table, a 
chair, and...a woman.

	He blinked, wondering where the wolf went. And then, as his eyes 
fully adjusted, he understood.

	The woman smiled, her features more human-like than fully human. 
"I'm sorry to draw you away like this, but my presence here is already 
dangerous." Her yellow-brown eyes narrowed, and she gestured at the 
doorway. "Could you close the door, please?"

	He did as asked, and a split second after the door was shut, the 
overhead light flicked on.

	A lithe white form draped in the inky darkness of a robe, she was 
taller than he'd expected--and apparently, clothing wasn't a part of the 
shape-shifting routine. Her hair was white and short, cropped close 
enough to the skull that it looked more like fringe than hair. Not 
exactly gorgeous nor stunning, her features gave the feeling of being a 
hazy smudge of a face in an Impressionists' painting, the nose little 
more than an exaggerated bump, and her lips a faint pink line. 

	"Who are you?"

	The logical question was met by a curling of the thin pink line. 
"My name is irrelevant, but if you wish, you can call me Tera. I think 
that's what you call this planet, isn't it?"

	"Earth, Terra, whichever," he replied. "You don't look like the 
typical shapeshifter."

	"I admit, my ability to mimic the human form isn't as well-
developed as some. My talent lies elsewhere. But enough of this; we have 
more important things to discuss."

	"Such as?"

	"Such as the reason I brought you here."

	"Funny...right now, I'm more interested in hearing about you."

	She tilted her head quizzically, the motions of her wolf form 
carrying over to her human one. "Me?"

	He shook his head and smiled thinly. "You know. Devil's Lake, 
Wisconsin and Lake Okobogee in Iowa. That *was* you, wasn't it? The wolf 
that lead Scully and me to that body in the woods? And the one who ended 
up killing several people at Devil's Lake, just to get my attention?"

	"That wasn't intentional, Agent Mulder," she said, her jaw set in 
controlled anger. "I had no idea they would react so violently. I didn't 
even hear about the deaths until after the tourist died--the one death, 
incidentally, that finally drew you to Devil's Lake."

	"And I saw what you wanted me to see. What about Lake Okobogee, 
then?"

	Tera shrugged. "Yes, with some others. It was a little indiscreet, 
I know, but you and Agent Scully weren't getting anywhere. We decided to 
help."

	"How many times have you helped? Just the two?"

	"No. More than that, I'd say. My compatriots tend to help in human 
form, but it holds more risk--the colonists expect the resistance to 
come to you that way. As an animal, however..."

	"They wouldn't think of that," Mulder finished, his face alight in 
understanding. "You were hidden in plain sight."

	"Exactly. But again, this isn't the time for detailed 
explanations. It's gotten to the point where I've had to compromise my 
position in order to show you the next step."

	When Mulder didn't look like he knew what she was talking about, 
she sighed and said, "I've been following Scanlon, in the hope that he'd 
lead me to the source of the experiments. When I didn't get very far 
with that tactic, I decided to go with high exposure."

	"Which is where I came in," Mulder replied.

	"Yes...you and your partner. Unfortunately, things haven't gone 
the exact way I wanted them to go. Scanlon was part of a plan to expose 
the human conspirators; it would start with him, as a threat. Then, the 
attacks were to grow exponentially, until they capitulated. My 
colleagues, however, started that plan early. They started with the 
abductees first, then your country's branch of the conspirators. It was 
a hard blow to the Project, but not hard enough. Now, we have no idea 
who's running the syndicate, so we went back to the original plan--
expose Scanlon. Through that, we thought we would be able to find out 
the new leaders."

	"Scanlon's dead, Tera. Did you know that?"

	She stared at him, her expression unreadable. "No, I didn't. That 
makes things harder. What files I did manage to find weren't enough to 
discredit him outright, only a suggestion of what he really was. I hoped 
that you and your partner would find more."

	"Well, what we have isn't evidence, but it's something valuable, 
at least; Scanlon's confession on tape."

	"What?" Her expression was readable this time--surprised shock. 
"He actually confessed? To everything?"

	"Maybe not to everything, but it's enough to start. I doubt it'd 
hold up in court, however--a good lawyer would argue that the confession 
could've been made while the subject was medicated, or that he didn't 
actually confess to anything tangible. We have no proof of the Project's 
existence, aside from Scanlon's confession, after all."

	"Nothing that your courts would accept, anyway. What did you plan 
to do next?"

	"After booking my flight out of here?" Mulder replied with a faint 
smile. "Checking on a lead that Scanlon scribbled out shortly before he 
died. He claimed there was someone in the DC area who might be able to 
help us."

	"Who?"

	He pursed his lips. "I can't tell you that. I don't know if I can 
trust you that far, at this point. I know you've helped us in the past, 
and I appreciate it, but if you're on the level, you'll understand why. 
Is there a way I can contact you, if I need to?"

	She shook her head. "I'll make contact with you, if it's safe. And 
while I understand your reasons, your choice is unwise. I wouldn't have 
helped you at all if I only meant to hurt you, later."

	Mulder grimaced from a bitter memory, from when he once thought 
that way, as well. "If only that could be true, Tera...if only it could."

	She said nothing to that, instead gesturing him towards the door. 
"Go, and watch your surroundings; you may never know when help is 
nearby," she smiled mysteriously before the lights went out. As he 
yanked open the door, he found himself alone...and the puddle of a black 
robe staining the place where Tera had stood. 



*******************************
Washington DC
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday, April 16th
8:45am



	The voice mail messages weren't exactly piled up, Mulder noted 
sourly. He had decided to check their messages while Scully got them 
both some coffee--it was a testament to how close they were, when she 
would offer before he got the chance to ask. One was from accounting, 
about another odd dry-cleaning bill added to their last expense report. 
A couple others were from various UFO groups, seeking his advice.

 	The last one was from Skinner, asking if he'd gotten more 
information on Andrea Brauman. Feeling a little ashamed at himself for 
dismissing the case in light of other events, he called Andrea and heard 
her sleep-filled voice come on the line, just as Scully came in, bearing 
their caffeinated nectar of the morning gods in plain, porcelain mugs.

	"Andrea? This is Fox Mulder. Did I wake you?"

	"Yeah, but don't worry 'bout it. Did you want something?"

	Mulder finished his sip of coffee and answered, "I need to follow up on your
statement. Is there a place we can meet?"

	"There's a Denny's halfway between us, off the interstate. You know it?"

	"A little too well, actually. But that's fine. Any particular time?" 

	"How about 12:30? The lunch crowd should be dying down by then." He 
agreed, and after a quick repartee of good-byes, he hung up the phone.

	Scully gave him a searching, inquiring look. "Anything I should know?"

	"We're meeting Andrea Brauman at Denny's for lunch."

	He watched her face twist in distaste--glad to see he wasn't the 
only one. "Let me guess; her idea?"

	"You win the prize, Scully." He had a pithy comment to make on a 
possible change of attire, but one shriveling glare from her silenced 
him. Instead, he sighed loudly, defeated.

	"Be nice, Mulder."

	"I'm not nice?"

	"Right now, you aren't. We've got work to do. Let's get going on 
this paperwork so we'll make it on time for lunch." When he sighed in a 
rebellious way she knew far too well, she added, "Or do I have to wear a 
black robe to get you to listen to me?"

	"Hey, what can I say?" He eyed her, taking notice of yet another 
black outfit. "I happen to dig chicks in black."

	Her eyebrows raised at that, forcing down a wayward smile. "Oh 
really?"

	"Yeah, but there's only one that I trust," he looked at her 
meaningfully, "and she doesn't wear a robe. Well, not a black one, 
anyway."

        Her next comment died in her throat. From the way he was looking 
at her now, it appeared the state she was in when she'd opened the door 
hadn't gone unnoticed. "I think we need to concentrate on the work now, 
Mulder."

	He shrugged, letting her control the stage this time. She was 
still a little skittish, but in time she'd be more open and receptive. 
Or at least, he hoped so. 


End of Part Five

Genesis of Revelation (6/12) by H Lynn 

Disclaimer in part one

*************************



Denny's Restaurant 
12:48pm



	Mulder glanced around at the familiar surroundings, having 
probably eaten in a Denny's in every state--excluding Hawaii, although 
he had gotten a bite at one in Hong Kong, so he thought that more than 
made up for it; The sun never set on the Denny's empire.

	His partner frowned as he dug into the Grand Slam, while she ate a 
more balanced lunch of fruit, cottage cheese, and a turkey sandwich on 
wheat. He nearly laughed when he remembered her justification of the 
pizza from several days earlier by pointing out that it did contain the 
four basic food groups.

	After most of the food was gone, Mulder felt comfortable enough to 
broach the conversation with a more serious topic. "Andrea, can I ask 
you something personal?"

	She shrugged her shoulders. "Sure."

	"Have you ever been a part of a government project that dealt with 
psychics?"

	He watched as she paled, her agitation clearly marked. She reached 
for her necklace unconsciously, taking hold of the gold cross pendant 
and sliding it along the chain. A nervous habit? Mulder wondered. "I'm 
not sure I know what you mean."

	"We know about the project, and we've talked with someone who was 
involved in it, someone named Scanlon..."

	If he hadn't thought it was possible, he would've sworn that she'd 
whitened even further. "I..."

	"And there's another person he mentioned," Mulder pressed on, 
waiting for Andrea to crack, "someone named Richard Sosek..."

	At this, Andrea bolted upright out of her chair, clearly 
disturbed. "I'm sorry, this isn't something--I can't talk about this. I 
won't."

	"Why not?" Mulder asked, his frustration growing by the second. 
"If you know something--"

	Scully laid a calming hand on his arm, and he stopped instantly. 
Seeing that the girl hadn't moved from the table just yet, Scully told 
her to sit back down before she drew too much attention. 

	"Listen, Andrea. I think I know what you're afraid of. But fear is 
a luxury in this situation, not a necessity. There's a dark plot 
underlying this project, and this Sosek person is the only lead we've 
got. If you've got any information on him, or on anything relating to 
the psychic project, now is the time to tell us."

	"I don't see what this has to do with anything! I don't remember a 
lot, as it is, and what little I do remember...well, it isn't anything I 
*want* to remember, okay?" 

	Scully softened her tone, even as she managed to speak over the 
conversations being held nearby. "There's more at stake here than you 
realize, Andrea. I know how crazy this will sound, and I have my doubts 
as much as anyone, but there *is* a reason behind all this madness. I 
know for a fact that the government is planning something, because I was 
subjected to one of their experiments. I've had things happen to me, and 
around me, that I can't explain. And if something was done to you, you 
can help us stop them by telling us what you know. If we can get to the 
truth, we can stop these men from hurting anyone else ever again."

	Andrea's eyes fell on Scully's cross, just visible above the 
neckline of her blouse. "Are you a Christian, Agent Scully?"

	Scully's lips drew into a tight line, obviously not comfortable 
with the question. However, she answered, "Yes, I am. I was raised a 
Catholic."

	"And from what you've seen...have you been able to make sense of 
it, in a spiritual way?"

	"Well, our cases are, by necessity, irrational--"

	"No, that's not what I meant. When you run into one of these 
situations, are you still strong in your faith?"

	Scully slowly began to realize that what Andrea was asking went 
deeper than the actual question. "I wasn't, for a time. But, there was a 
recent circumstance where I came back to my faith."

	"Does it sustain you?" The girl's eyes looked haunted, but firm. 

	"Yes, it does," Scully replied, surprising herself with the 
revelation. "What about you? Have you been strong in your faith?"

	"I wish..." she trailed off, then continued, "I wish I had that 
sort of confidence. I saw things while I was there that made me doubt in 
a higher power. Or maybe I should say, the higher power I saw wasn't the 
sort of thing I expected."

	"How so?" Scully asked, her interest growing as Mulder's began to 
fade.

	"There were people at the facility who had abilities that I'd 
never even heard of, let alone seen. They spoke to the dead, created 
heat through their hands, moved objects around the room, and even could 
read other people's minds! I considered my own gift to be from God, but 
these people weren't believers at all. God didn't give them their 
abilities."

	Scully saw where she was going with this. "So you think maybe your 
ability came from the same place theirs did?"

	"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. 

	"Did you ever see a little boy at the facility? One named Gibson 
Praise?"  Mulder interjected.

	She shook her head again. "There were a lot of little boys. One of 
them might have been named Gibson, but I wouldn't know for sure."

	Mulder started to fidget in his seat, a sure sign that he was 
anxious to move on. "Can you tell us about the facility, Andrea?"

	"Not really. I was blindfolded on the way there, and only saw 
one part of the place. It looked like any typical hospital would, 
honestly. I'm sorry."

	Mulder blew out his frustration, and tried to give a reassuring 
smile, but failed. "Don't worry about it, Andrea. We've got other 
resources."




Boras Institute
Washington, DC
2:02 p.m.



	The Boras Institute was everything Mulder and Scully expected 
it to be; clean, efficient, and clouded with a sense of duplicity and 
hidden agenda. A plain white concrete building in a city filled with 
them, it blended in with the government institutes and civilian office 
buildings admirably. Only the gold-painted metal lettering raising from 
the surface of the building separated it from the two structures on 
either side of it.

	The secretary was as bland and precise as the rest of the 
workforce they saw; one more cog in the scientific community's wheel. 
She led them to Richard Sosek's office with little emotion, and they sat 
and waited for the man to show.

	Fifteen minutes went by, then thirty, then forty. Mulder was about 
to give up on this avenue of investigation when the man of the hour 
walked in, apologetic and seemingly benign. In terms of gentility, and 
looks, he could have been Scanlon's brother, although about ten years 
younger.

	"I'm so sorry for your wait, but something important came to my 
attention right before you both came, and it simply couldn't wait." 
Sosek put on airs of sympathy and remorse. "Now, what can I do for the 
both of you?"

	Mulder decided the direct approach would be best; if nothing else, 
he could at least catch the man off guard. "Scanlon's dead."

	The news hit Sosek harder than either of them had thought it 
would. He sat there in stunned disbelief, until he found the strength to 
reply, "Scanlon...dead? How?"

	Scully stepped in, her tone more sympathetic. "Officially, it was 
a heart attack."

	"Officially? Meaning that you think it was otherwise."

	"He was murdered, Dr. Sosek. The method used was a little obtuse, 
but it did the job. He told us that you could help us further. He told 
us to tell you that while he liked the opera at the Kennedy Center, he 
always preferred Rachmaninoff."

	Scully glanced at Mulder out the corner of her eye. His tone was 
unnaturally callous, almost rude. She wasn't inclined to think that 
Sosek was acting, but apparently Mulder thought so. She decided to keep 
up her role as 'good cop', and say nothing for the moment.

	"I know he wouldn't have mentioned Rachmaninoff to you if he 
didn't trust you in some way, Agent Mulder, but it's hard to believe..."

	Scully drew out Scanlon's note from her pocket, and gave it to 
him. "This is the note he left for Agent Mulder. It's his handwriting, 
isn't it?"

	The doctor looked at it for awhile, trying to see if there was 
some deception, some falsehood to the letter. Finding none, he sighed 
and gave it back to Scully. "It's his, all right. Same scribbled, hasty 
penmanship he always has--had, I mean."

	"Were you a friend of his, Dr. Sosek?" Scully asked.

	"Friend? I'd like to think so. Our line of work doesn't involve a 
lot of socializing. I probably knew him as well as anyone did, really."

	"Is there another place we could take this discussion, Doctor?" 
Mulder's tone had softened a bit, though not by much.

	"My office is safe, Agent Mulder. Being involved with the inner 
workings of this company allows some freedom, and having my office bug-
free is one of them. I'm tailed wherever I go, however, to make up for 
that." He paused, a sudden thought coming to him. "Would Dr. Scanlon 
still be alive if you hadn't visited him?"

	Mulder shrugged. "Hard to say. He was already being exposed before 
we got involved. In my mind, it was an eventuality."

	"He didn't want to die in vain; that's why he told us about you," 
Scully cut in. "He thought you could help us."

	"I'm not sure what help I could be, but it doesn't hurt to ask. 
What did you need to know?"




	Sosek's help was admittedly better than none, but the precious 
little information they obtained proved to them both that Sosek wasn't 
eager to put his own life on the line. Aside from getting the location 
of the facility, there wasn't much Sosek mentioned that they hadn't 
already heard. Thankfully, Skinner never found out about the visit, or 
he would've had their hides decorating his office wall, right next to 
the pictures of Clinton and Janet Reno. 

	The two agents honestly meant to follow up on the scant lead, but 
the caseload of files piled up, and the information was put away for use 
in the near future. It was always nice to follow up on the conspiracy, 
but it wasn't possible to do it if you no longer had a job.

	After Scully had a nice trip to Las Vegas--which, to Mulder's 
frustration, he still couldn't find out why Frohike had started calling 
her "Holly Golightly"--they'd headed off to Brown Mountain, each with 
their own theory as to what happened. That both of them were wrong was 
an unusual change to their modus operandi, one that almost proved fatal. 
They managed to save each other by thinking outside of the box, and by 
communicating in a way that made their usual bond pale in comparison. 

	It was late when Mulder started to head home one night, drained 
from the day's work--the skin damage from the acidic goo only just 
having healed and still feeling like he'd been through a car wash one 
too many times. He reflected how only six years ago, he could've stayed 
up until the wee hours of the morning, running on nothing more than a 
few cups of coffee and some take-out. Now, he was lucky if he could 
survive on seven hours of sleep, rather than four or five.

	Maybe it was the lack of interest he'd had in cases of late, he 
mused as he walked down the hallway to his apartment, keys already 
jingling in his hand. What did it matter if a new species of carnivorous 
fungus was found, or if aliens were going to take over the planet with 
little or no resistance? Maybe if there was some way, some method to 
beating these colonists at their own game, he wouldn't feel so useless. 
He only regretted that he and Scully had no sources this time around.

	As if hearing this, a dark form emerged from the elevator behind 
him, and he turned instantly at the sound, adrenaline shooting through 
him and waking him up from his exhaustion-induced stupor.

	His hand left his gun when he recognized the slim form, swathed in 
black. "Tera, what--"

	She shushed him instantly, and motioned him to keep moving. Her 
face was mostly covered by the Muslim-esque outfit, and now he noticed 
that her skin was darker, more in keeping with the illusion of a 
foreigner. Ironic, in a way, Mulder thought as he entered his apartment, 
and she followed shortly after. 

	"Isn't this--"

	"Shh!" She motioned him silent again, her movements almost harsh. 
He did as asked, and wondered idly if he was going to get a sentence 
finished sometime tonight.

	As he stood there, she went around the apartment, poking a metal 
device in corners and under furniture, reading the data and frowning 
thoughtfully as she did so. Apparently she found whatever she'd been 
looking for, because an indicator on the device lit up, and she nodded 
absently in agreement. 

	Before he could stop her, she plunged her hand into his fish tank, 
scaring the wits out of his fish and causing him to wonder if Tera had 
lost hers as well. Grabbing one of the decorative rocks on the bottom of 
the fish tank, she smirked as much as her lips would allow and indicated 
the bugging device on the surface of the rock, before covering it with 
her hand.

	"I have people who sweep my place for bugs..." he trailed off in 
disbelief, wondering how the Lone Gunmen could have missed it.

	"Their scanning equipment is a little low powered for this type of 
device," she explained, water dripping from her arm onto the area rug. 
"Plus they wouldn't have thought of it. Water is an excellent carrying 
medium for sound waves--superior than air, actually."

	"So that's why my mother always told me not to tap on the glass."

	Tera didn't catch the deadpan remark. "Exactly. Whales communicate 
over long distances in the ocean. How much easier, then, to use it to 
spy on someone? And they have the added benefit of hiding it where no 
one would think to look."

	Mulder frowned. "Wouldn't water distort the sound?"

	"Yes, initially. But with the proper sound filters and equipment, 
it becomes a non-issue."

	He sighed deeply, realizing with a deepening dread that no matter 
how secure he felt with his security regiments, he'd never be able to 
stay ahead of Them. "Has it always been there?"

	She looked at it closely, a small circle of metal coated with 
clear, waterproofing material, then closed her hand over it again. "No, 
I don't think so. There's been a significant buildup of mineral deposits 
from the water, but not more than four years' worth, I'd say."

	Four years. What had happened four years ago? He sifted through 
events large and small, until the obvious stopped him cold--Scully. She 
had come back, along with the X-Files. They had needed to keep better 
tabs on him, and probably placed bugs throughout his apartment to keep 
him from searching too thoroughly. 

	"Put it back."

	"What?" She looked at him in disbelief. 

	"If you destroy this one, they'll just replace it with an even 
harder one to find. This way, at least, we know where the bug is."

	"And compensate accordingly," she finished, nodding her 
understanding. Putting the rock back in its place, she gestured him away 
from the tank, heading for the door. He followed, not sure what she was 
planning to do.

	By the time he'd gotten through the door, she had finished her 
scan of the hallway. "It's not bugged, as I thought. They assumed you'd 
be holding your conversations inside, rather than out here. Are your 
neighbors home?"

	"Not yet," he replied. "I'm getting the distinct feeling that you 
need to tell me something important."

	Again, his dry humor was lost on her. "Yes, I do. Are you familiar 
with a man named Dr. Solomon Merkmallen?"

	"Somewhat," Mulder answered. "He's been involved in alien artifact 
research on the Ivory Coast."

	"He's dead."

	He stared at her, stunned. "When?"

	"Yesterday evening. The body hasn't been found, but it shouldn't 
be too hard to find. Your superior will be assigning you this case in 
the morning, along with showing you the evidence."

	"Evidence?"

	"You'll see very shortly--" she glanced at the elevator, but he 
didn't hear or see anything. "I've got to go."

	"Wait a minute!" He grabbed her arm, and nearly recoiled at the 
gauntness of it. "You can't expect me to just follow up on this without 
a better explanation."

	"You don't need me to explain it, Agent Mulder. You've always been 
good at piecing things together--and I'm sure you'll have no trouble 
with this one. Good-bye," with surprising strength, she shrugged out of 
Mulder's grasp and headed for the emergency stairwell, "and be careful 
whom you trust."

	Mulder watched her go, too bewildered to do anything else.



*******************************
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Tuesday, May 18th
9:06 am



	Both Mulder and Scully were finishing up on long overdue paperwork 
that morning when the phone rang. This time Mulder was faster, and as he 
lifted the receiver to his ear, a feeling of dread came over him; It had 
to be Skinner.

	And he was right. "Agent Mulder, would you and Agent Scully come 
to my office?"

	"We'll be right there, sir." The receiver clicked happily into 
place, and Scully looked at him with a quizzical look on her face.

	"Skinner's office?"

	He nodded, and Scully could see a hint of foreboding in his eyes. 
Did he know what this was about? She was about to ask when he got up 
from the chair and threw on his jacket, eager to get the meeting over 
with. Sighing in resignation, she followed.



Part II: Revelation


*******************************
Gallup, New Mexico
Wednesday, May 19th



	The light from the fires outside the hogan danced against the 
surface of Sandoz' car, his slumped form hidden from plain view. A 
man in dark leather stuffed the arcane fragment into his jacket, and 
turned to head for his own car.

	"Krycek."

	He turned, slowly, to face the source of the voice. Two men, 
clothed in black, stood side by side behind Sandoz' car. The one who'd 
spoken simply held out his hand, and Krycek stopped the sigh from 
escaping. So much for his bargaining chip.

	The larger man's expression never changed as the double 
agent dumped the fragment unceremoniously into his hand, although 
the dark-haired one next to him seemed to smile. Krycek took a better 
look at the man, then glanced away--wouldn't be good to be caught 
taking in too much information. You never knew what their reaction 
might be.

	Seeing that the two men now wanted nothing to do with him, 
he stalked off to the car, his mind already calculating a new angle for 
him to exploit.

	"Can he be trusted?" The one with the fragment asked the 
other. The one who'd smiled watched the human walk away, his mind 
in two different places at once.

	"Yes," the dark-haired one replied distantly. "As long as we're 
a part of his agenda."

	"And that is?"

	The dair-haired one simply smiled. "To stay alive. Selfish, but 
not incomprehensible."

	"They say he might be allied with the Resistance."

	The dark-haired one's smile faded. "So I've heard."

	"You couldn't take that information?"

	He narrowed his eyes, "He has a strong mental discipline. His 
thoughts are edgy, scattered, hard to read."

	"So he might have been trained to resist us."

	"Or to resist the Others." 

	The larger one sighed, and put the fragment into his own 
jacket. "No matter. His true nature will be revealed soon enough. All 
traitors are eventually revealed." With that, he turned, expecting his 
compatriot to follow.

	He never saw the grim look pass across the dark-haired one's 
face, before he fell into step behind him.

	

*******************************
Cote D'ivoire, Africa
Thursday, May 20th



	There are moments marked forever in the annals of history, moments 
so important and earth-shattering that the eons have kept the record of 
their occurrence throughout wars, pestilence, and fire.

 	Agent Dana Scully was on the cusp of such a moment.

	Standing in the African sand, she was no farther than four feet 
away from a large craft--an alien craft, if her eyes weren't betraying 
her. Or maybe they were, she thought, not entirely sure which scenario 
she liked best. Nothing she had uttered in Dr. Werber's office could 
match the intensity of this moment, so she stayed silent, mute, 
imagining that the locals around her believed she'd had a mental 
breakdown.

	Not quite, Scully thought to herself, but it's close. Very, very 
close.

	With a little time, she managed to pull herself together and think 
the situation through as rationally as she could, using every ounce of 
logic she still possessed.

	This had all started just a couple days before, when Skinner had 
called her and Mulder into his office to present a case concerning the 
murder of a Dr. Solomon Merkmallen, a known scientist researching 
artifacts he'd found off the western coast of Africa, not too far from 
where she now stood. Mulder had first started to act distracted, which 
had swiftly turned into a headache and then into leaps of intuition that 
were amazing even for him. Without any evidence to back him up, he'd 
found Dr. Merkmallen's body in Dr. Sandoz's apartment, claiming that 
Sandoz was being set up--again, with no evidence to support him. It 
seemed like he was pulling information from thin air.

	Then, he started to claim that he could sense things, that Skinner 
had someone listening in on their conversation...which at the time, 
seemed like utter lunacy. She'd told him to go home and get some rest, 
seriously concerned about what was happening to him, promising to find 
the artifacts while he rested.

	Apparently he hadn't done as she'd asked, because she'd later 
found out that he'd collapsed in the university's stairwell. Fowley said 
she'd been called by him, but had then canceled out her own statement by 
saying that he could hardly speak when she'd found him--if that were 
true, then how could he have called her and told her where he was? How 
could he have told her that she was the only one who'd believe him?

	The ache was not as strong as it'd been earlier, but the sound of 
Fowley's voice answering Mulder's phone had given her an odd feeling 
that she didn't like at all; Jealousy. The fact that he'd tried to 
reassure her by saying, "It's OK," hadn't helped much. Not to mention 
that their last conversation hadn't been a pleasant one. And now, 
standing in front of this ship, she had the horrible feeling that her 
entire side of the argument had been wrong. That she'd always been 
wrong.

	Was there a god, anymore? Had there ever been a god? She was no 
longer sure, as she stood in the sand, letting the surf wash over her 
feet and ankles. The believer in her retreated to a safe place deep in 
her mind, while the scientist came to the fore. 

	I need to get samples of this, I need to collect evidence, she 
thought to herself as her mind slowly came back to the present, almost 
on autopilot. And she called to the local who'd shown her this site, an 
idea already taking shape.



*******************************
New Haven, Maryland
Friday, May 21st
8:15am


	Again, she was in the facility. Again, she was running down 
corridors of stainless steel, trying not to get dizzy from the 
reflections of light and shadow moving along the walls. She turned down 
a hallway as she'd done countless times and yet not at all, and stopped 
short at a new sight, one that would've made her stop, regardless.

	Blood spattered against the grey metal of the walls, the white 
antiseptic linoleum tiles on the floor. A man--the source of the blood--
was on the floor, possibly dead. A woman hovered over him, whispering 
soothing words to him in spite of the military-garbed man pointing a gun 
at her head. Andrea opened her mouth to scream, but the man saw her 
first, moving his gun to aim at her and fire. 

	Then she was hitting the floor, a large weight having slammed into 
her, as it had happened before in her dream--the gunshot echoed loudly 
in the hallway, and her head connected painfully with the floor. She 
looked up to find her savior, but she saw nothing but thin air. Glancing 
down the hallway, she noticed the gunman was gone as well; considering 
the odd logic of dreams, she didn't question it. She did notice, 
however, that the woman had gone from whispering to sobbing, and--

	Andrea's eyes popped open, the last detail from the dream still 
crystal clear in her mind; The woman was a redhead.



Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Psychiatric wing
same time



	Mulder had been fully aware of too many things for far too long, 
and the toll was wearing him down. In all respects, it wasn't wise nor 
humane to put a new telepath into an area filled with insane and 
psychotic minds. It was bad enough that he felt like he was going 
insane--no need to give him anyone else's insanity, either.

	The padded floor was his mattress as well, his clothing nothing 
more than a hospital smock. He was a rational, intelligent human being, 
and yet he was here, caged and treated like an animal. And Scully was 
out there, somewhere. Alone.

	He felt the anger bubble up inside again, the dark knowledge of 
Their plans causing him to pace faster around the confines of the cell. 
They thought he was unstable, extremely and nonsensically violent, and 
had already tried to dope him into passivity. It hadn't worked however, 
and Mulder was sure it never would.

	What was he, now? he wondered. Human, or more than human? He 
chuckled at the irony, how he'd become the one thing he'd been looking 
for, the proof needed to validate the X-Files. And here he was, proof 
and truth-seeker all-in-one, trapped in a room he couldn't escape.

	The next step in the thought caught him like a slap to the face. 
If he was the proof, then--

	A sharp presence of mind suddenly thrust its way into his 
consciousness, the nearness of it finally overriding the delirious 
thoughts of Mulder's wingmates. Then another appeared; A dark, 
purposeful mind, which had only one concern: Agent Fox Mulder.

	His flight reflexes kicked in automatically, panic rising in his 
throat. He knew why the two men was here, knew what they wanted. 
And as the information sifted into his mind, he desperately wished he 
didn't know, wished that his own words to Scully a month earlier didn't 
sound so ironic and bitter, now. 

	Ignorance, truly, was bliss.



End of Part Six