From: "Lady Midas" Date: Sat, 28 Aug 1999 22:04:14 EDT Subject: If It Comes Down to Trust, by Lady Midas Source: direct Author: Lady Midas Title: If it Comes Down to Trust Classification: Story, Angst Rating: PG-13, for language Spoilers: "Two Fathers", "One Son" Archive: Knock yourself out, but let me know first Disclaimer: No, they're not mine, but hey 1013, they'd be one hell of a birthday present... Summary: In any relationship, trust is as primal and basically essential as the good intentions behind any act. But when the good intentions end, what happens to this trust? Feedback: lady_midas@hotmail.com Author's note: I'll keep this short, mostly since nobody reads these anyway. The language is the first few parts is fine, but near the end it gets pretty rough. This was written very soon after I saw "One Son", so there may be a few bugs in it, little incontinuities that I haven't realized yet. Not that the show's writers are immaculate with continuity. I wish I could call myself a pioneer in the thus-far neglected field of ScullyTorture, but I have to admit I've just been taking notes. While I do love the character herself, I absolutely adore her when she's pissed. But anyway, this is a very angsty fic, something which I've never really done before, so I'd appreciate feedback if at all possible. Also, I've made a point of trying to concentrate on keeping in the voice of the characters, and not letting my own paradigms of them creep too much into this. Any comments on that topic will be accepted and worshipped and prayed to on a semi-regular basis. ThanX! *** If you had told me 5 years ago about everything that would happen to me between then and now, the abduction, the chip, the conspirators, Donny Pfaster, the countless grotesque figures which I have now grown to accept on the whole as 'just another one', Mulder, Fowley, the rebels, the aliens, the virus, hybrids, Cassandra Spender; not only would I have immediately had you admitted to a psychiatric ward, I would have quit the X-Files right there and then, just at the thought. But now, do I regret it? Do I regret my time here, and everything that I have gone through? The frustration, the naivety, the loss of family and friends whether directly linked or not, the internal revelation, the pain, anger, the growth? No. How could I? But that's who I was then, and this is who I am now. I am a believer. I admit with no shame, no grudging guilt, with utter humility (something quite new to me); I believe. I'll admit it to anyone; everyone can hear. Except Mulder. Maybe he knows; maybe he doesn't. But he just can't hear it from me. It's not some childish insecurity or mind game; it's just a fact. He's the only person in the world I'll never tell. Because where would that leave us? He was right when he told me that he needed me to keep him honest. I know this is true. If both of us suddenly became the same, if either of us curved too much towards the other, it would be the productive end of both. And that's why I'll never tell him. And I'm okay with that, if you want to know the truth. If you want to know the truth. Who doesn't? That's what I would have said 5 years ago. Who really does? Mm, there's a grain of truth for you. But that's who I was then, and this is who I am now. ********* Scully's apartment 2:48 am I dream almost every night. I wish I didn't, but I do. I can't describe them for you, because they're never the same. Never ever alike. And, as usual, I was dreaming when they came. * Black. Thick, tangible black. A ripple in the very center of my view, like a pebble tossed into some spacial pond by a small child. The ripples spread out farther, father, and then I feel myself falling, closer to this solid darkness. I can't see myself moving, but I feel it, coming closer, colder. So cold. I plunge into the hardened black, which becomes liquid. I have relived the plight of this small object which created these massive ripples. I am watching from above again, seeing the waves, my waves, larger that those before them. Spreading out, intruding upon the tabletop calm surface. My view follows one riffle upwards, to the north, and as it moves I begin to see that this dark which I thought was immaculately smooth begins to take shape later on. Moments later I can see what this shape is. I see so many familiar faces; my Mom, Dad, Melissa, Bill, Charlie, Assistant Director Skinner, Agent Pendrell, Mulder, and others; others I've seen, I've known, I've loved, I know; but I don't remember where, or how, or when exactly. But this ripple that I have created flows smoothly over them all. And as it does their faces change, all of them. Some smile, some say how proud they are of me, or how beautifully I've grown up. And others; ... .... - others are crying. A few are screaming, wide-eyed at what's happened, what I've done to them... There is a noise behind me. I'm trying to turn, but I can't. I'm stuck, held securely in place by the arms of a hundred frightened faces, clinging to me for strength, for salvation, looking to be saved. The noise; a door is being opened, and someone is coming closer. I'm struggling to get away from them, to look, turn and see who has come to save me. Mmm? A heavy scent of chlorophyll, something suffocating.... * .... and I'm not dreaming anymore. ******** 4:56 am It's dark again, but I'm not asleep. I'm propped up against the corner of a room, cold and damp and dark and cold again. So cold. A light above me flickers on, burning out, then taking a second try, successful lumination. It's blinding; I'm squinting my eyes open, and waiting for them to adjust. My head pounds in synchronization with my own pulse, both beating wildly. There is silence; I hear a door open, someone step in, bringing more silence with them. They're waiting for my vision to adjust. Eventually it does, and I can see to my shock that I am not alone. There are 15, maybe 20 of us here, some fully alert and perched comfortably in chairs, a few in a status similar to mine, wide-eyed and huddled against a wall. We are picked up and given seats, and though we occasionally catch another's eye, to stare curiously or noiselessly plead with for help, no one speaks. For the first time, I begin to absorb my surroundings. The room is a perfect cube, I note absently, with a high roof and wide sides, all a monotonous, cool gray. All of my fellow captives look to be older than myself; a room of weathered faces gazing mostly at me, though some seem to be focused on another person to my left. A brief gasp of surprise escapes me before I think better of it as I see Diana Fowley sitting in this muddled group of abductees. She is nested, alarmingly relaxed, in her chair, leaning casually against the back, arms crossed, eyes planted at her own feet stretched out in front of her. She looks up for just a moment and stares directly at me. Her expression isn't confused, or frightened, or anything in particular. She just looks coolly at me and resumes her scrutinizing analysis of her shoes. The door swings slowly open, and a man I am all too familiar with enters, dragging more trash in behind him. CGB and Alex Krycek. The elder speaks first. "Hello. I'd like first to apologize for the manner in which some of you were brought here. I had requested each of your presence, but had not expected it to be so brutally. Others, welcome, and I hope your accommodations so far have been comfortable. "Every one of you is aware of the present situation involving the hybrid, the rebels, and the unfortunate destruction of so many of my colleagues. As you can imagine, there is much work to be done for those of us who remain if we are to pick up the pieces and continue with our work. "But there are very few of us now, after this. "You have been brought here to be offered a position. Each of you would be a considerable asset to our operation, and are quite needed. But most of all I think you'll find the notion rather pleasing; it provides complete protection for each of you from colonization. The aliens learned of all that has occurred, and they are certainly not pleased. We have not been provided with a full fetus this time, but a series of genes which is quite limited in quantity. As they are now aware that we are capable of successfully creating hybrids, they see no need for an indefinite supply; so we must work with what we have. This means that anyone here who accepts my offer will gain total security, however we can no longer extend this safety pact to loved ones. It will be us, and us alone." He pauses to meet each attendant's eye. I shoot him one disgusted glare, and look away. "This is the only way," Krycek begins. "It's the only way to save yourself. And if you don't care for your own sake, then you should know that we also may be able to stall for more time. However, we do need a more expansive staff if this is going to work. This is the only way to fight the future." This hits, and hurts. Ally with the conspirators? For all of our sake? Mine, my family's sake, everyone's? What if this is the truth? The only option if I want to resist colonization? But more tests, more lies, more secrets, from everyone. From Mulder, most likely. Mulder. "Many of you have already declared your intentions. Others; we await your decision," the cigarette smoking, formerly nameless man looks around at us. But now I know his name. Not through aiding him, but through faith and long, hark work. And we know so much more, too, a lot of it in the same way. He's addressing us by name now. "Mr. Algoma?" "I'm in." Next. Why do I get the feeling I should accept? "Mr. Sorrenco?" "No, I'm afraid I won't help you." "As you please. Mr. Harding?" Next. Leave everybody behind. Life alone, with them. The same them we've been fighting for years, now my only chance at survival? Can I help them to stall colonization until we can form a decent plan of defense? I'll get so many answers.... "I'll do all that I can for you." Next. Am I invulnerable to the virus anyway, since I've already been injected with the vaccine? "Miss Fowley?" My ears perk up. Fowley. She knows something more than me; I can tell. She's going to declare allegiance to them.... "You already know I accept." I don't like her still, but she's a smart woman. Did she make the right choice? "Miss Scully?" Is that me? Oh, no, I can't answer now, I can't possibly decide without pursuing all angles of... "Scully?" Krycek repeats. Yes, I hear you. "No." What? Was that me? "No, I won't." I won't join you, I won't make any more sacrifices. We'll do it without you. We'll.... .... oh God. I made the wrong decision. No, I was wrong. I mean yes. I meant to say yes.... But by the time I realize this I am being escorted from the building with several other men, standing outside cold, and wet, and cold. Always cold. The dark men who dragged me here, and then out of here, not the professors or doctors, but the black-suited men turn to re-enter the building. "Someone has to take me home," I say without thinking, and then immediately regret it. But I end up in the car of one of the captives, a well-dressed man who proceeds to drive me to my building in silence. Nodding his good-bye, he speeds away, leaving me once again alone, defenseless, and cold. But at least I'm home. ******* Scully's apartment 11:03 am The phone rang. I sat straight up in bed, immediately making myself insanely dizzy and falling back into my pillows. I groaned and rolled off the side of the mattress, dragging the comforter with me. I hastily wrapped it around me and picked up the phone in my kitchen. "Hello?" "Scully? I was about to send out a search and rescue mission," Mulder, of course. "What's going on?" "What time is it?" I looked at the clock on my stove. "A little after eleven. Why? What's wrong?" Oh my God. "Is Fowley there?" "Uh, yeah. Why? Scully...." I needed to talk to her, badly. "Put her on." "What?" "Just do it," I sounded a little harsh. "Please," I add. "Okay........." Pause. "Hello, Scully." "Fowley. We need to talk." "I know. Can you meet me?" "Yeah. Outside J. Edgar Hoover. I'll be there at 12:00." "Okay. Bye." I hung up. Time to get this figured out. ******** J. Edgar Hoover building 12:13 pm "You're late," I greeted Fowley. "I got detained by your partner." Nothing I can say to that; I know what it's like. "Fine. As you can imagine, I have a few questions." "I figured as much. And so do I." "Such as?" We began to descend the stairs leading up to the building's entrance. "Such as why did you turn the offer down?" "Why did I refuse to aid my only true enemy?" "No, why did you refuse to let them save you, to help save everybody?" I stopped walking for a minute. This was a good question. "Because every sense that I have is telling me that that man, CGB, is evil. A part of me regrets it, but I just have a feeling I can't shake that says not to help him." "So because of your distaste for one person you've turned down the opportunity to save everyone you know, and the whole world." "No, it was my distaste for the whole operation. Besides, the rebels were against the colonizationalists, and also against those who were helping them. They have the alien fetus; I know it. Maybe it's time to get a fourth party involved," I paused and looked up at our office; Mulder scurried away from the window in the hopes that I hadn't seen him. I smiled weakly. "You don't get it, do you?" more of a statement than a question. "What do you mean?" "It's not them against us, or them against each other. It's everybody against everybody. Pick a side," she stared coldly into me. "One side will be left standing. And unless you have a side, you can count yourself out," she dropped her voice to a chilling, confidential whisper. She was a conspirator. "God knows none of these people," nodding at those who brushed briskly past us. "Are going to live." "Are you creating a new opportunity for me, or are you wasting my time?" "I'm giving you one more chance, to help us, to save everybody, before we resume. But you won't be admitted into this business any later than now. So choose. Now." I paused. Well, I wanted another opening to get in. Here it was; handed right to me. I tossed my gaze once more to the 4th floor of the J. Edgar Hoover, to find my partner again perched in observation. "He'll die anyway," she answered my thoughts. "He hasn't been offered a position with us, or anyone else. The only way for him to survive is if you co-operate with us. But honestly, it's a lost cause. They've already won. We're just stalling for time. I told you; now we're just fighting for our own lives, to walk away with all that we possibly can; ourselves." Hesitation came, as I weighed all aspects of this prospect. I could change everything. Maybe. Or I could lose everything. But who's to say I could save it, even if it was changed? I shifted my view from place to place, wrestling with what I was about to do. "Agent Scully?" I met her eyes. "No," I said very squarely. "CGB is only trying to save himself. He's saying he's in complete control of the situation, but he's not. The fact is, things have been ripped so harshly out of his control that he's utterly desperate to cover it up. I don't want to be there when the rest of you find that out the hard way." I turned my back to leave. "One man cannot fight the future." Wrong, Fowley. Just wrong. "There's more of us than you know," I put on my most crazed face and swung around to face her one last time. "It's our game now. We have the control." I left. I'm not sure what she did in response to that, but God I hope she believed me. It was a lie, of course. I had no idea what was next, I had no idea who was playing God right now, and I had no idea what to tell Mulder when I got upstairs. ********* 4th floor, J. Edgar Hoover Building 12:34 pm He first knew something was wrong when Scully knocked before entering their office. She hadn't done that in years, until today. She walked silently across the floor with her head down, a very out of character gesture, and sat in a chair across the desk from him. "What?" he asked in concern. She paused and looked at her hands which she twisted nervously before speaking. "Do you remember when I was in the hospital with my cancer, and you came to me and told me that you'd been offered a deal? Which you'd had to refuse, however uncertain you were as to your decision?" "Yes, I remember." "What was that deal about?" What are you getting at, Scully? This isn't what you came here to talk about. "I had been contacted by CGB. Contacted, and offered a position in his group of colleagues. In return for it, I was supposedly going to get the cure for your cancer. I wanted to, and mostly my logical sense told me to go for it, that everything would be alright afterwards, but I just had a horrible feeling about the whole thing. I couldn't." She nodded. "Well, I can relate to that. But mostly I came to warn you about Fowley." He leaned back in his chair, letting his breath out in exasperation. Not this again. "Scully...." "Mulder, just hear me out, please. We were both taken somewhere last night..." "What time?" "What? I don't know, maybe 1:00? I was asleep," and on my first dream of the night, so it was still fairly early. He shook his head. "Fowley was with me yesterday well into the evening. And past 1:00. I was with her until sometime around 2:30." "Like I said," she began wondering if she could convince him of the truth in this story. "I was asleep. I only suggested that it might have been around that time. I was drugged, and woke up in a square room with about 15 other people, Fowley being one of them, and she was looking more relaxed than anybody present. We were all offered positions in the secret government, replacing the burned doctors, CGB's peers." "Well?" he sighed with impatience and question. "I turned it down. But Fowley didn't. She's in with them." "And why would she do that?" he asked fairly. "They said that it was the only way left to resist colonization, and that everyone had to join forces to protect us." "So why didn't you accept?" "Because I still have a horrible feeling for that whole crowd, and I can't imagine myself associating with them, much less trusting them. I was offered to be saved when it begins, along with the members of the new order alone, not their families or friends." She saw it in his eyes before he spoke. He didn't believe her. Her jaw dropped in frustration and surprise as he began. "I was with Fowley until long after the time you say this occurred. The situation was ironically similar to mine a while back, and I know you really hate her, and have been trying for a while to unearth something horrible on her." "So you think I'm full of shit." Now what do you say to that? "No. But I can't realistically get my mind around this whole thing. I mean, if somebody else was telling you this you'd question it, too. And I think she would have mentioned something to me." "I think this is where trust comes in. You know, believing somebody, just because you know that they'd never lie to you, under any circumstance?" He looked away. "Fine," she said coldly. "Then I guess it comes down to her word against mine. What's her cell phone number?" "339-5642." She yanked open the receiver on her phone and dialed the number. A moment later she announced that Fowley was on her way up. She entered (without knocking) juggling 2 deli sandwiches and a salad, the later of which she handed to Scully with a smile. "Thought you might like something. I hope this is alright." "Thanks," she put the container down beside her. "You didn't tell him." "What?" "He knows about last night." "What? What happened last night?" Scully closed her eyes and exhaled. This wasn't going to work. "Diana, did you meet with CGB to be offered a position in his league?" She grew wide-eyed with shock. "No! Who told you that? You, Scully?" "Well, at least we know you're a good liar," she looked very pointedly at her. "What do you have against me? What are you doing?" "I'm leaving," and I'm pissed. She shot one absolutely filthy glare before picking up her trenchcoat off the desk and marching squarely out of the room. "Scully...." her partner called after her, but she was gone without even looking back to acknowledge him. She waited a half second for the elevator, and turned to see Mulder jogging after her. She instinctively twisted away and headed for the stairs, plummeting down 2 at a time, steadying herself on both walls. "Scully!" he wailed from the top. His calls got quieter and quieter until she closed the door linking the stairway to the main floor of the building. Fine. That's just fine. This was a day meant to be spent at home, alone. ****** Scully's apartment 4:06 pm I hate him for the way he can make me feel some days. I would never have thought that he could look me in the eye and tell me that there's another living person in the world whose word he trusts above mine. He's questioned me, he's accused me of stretching for answers that don't exist (always rightfully, to be honest), but he's never, ever just not believed me. Although, I remind myself bitterly, there was never Diana Fowley. There's no doubt in my mind as to what they were doing until 2:30 this morning; they think I have no idea what's going on between them, but I do. I see the way they smile at each other from across a room, how she sends him sexy glances, and how if I'm there he looks away and tries to cover it up. And, most disgustingly of all, I've seen what happens when he doesn't think I'm watching, the kind of adorable childish look that could make any woman blush to red, Fowley included. I didn't expect it to have gotten to this level just yet; I mean, it has only been a week since the whole thing started, but apparently there's a lot I don't know about my partner. So I'll just sit here. I've done it the whole afternoon; just staring off into space and wondering what comes next. Occasionally I marvel darkly at the fact that there is a rather strong chance that even as I sit here there is a highly probable possibility that this beast who has done this to me might be laying out my own partner on my desk. The thought will make me draw the comforter I've cucooned in around my face to hide my shame, my anger, anything I'm not proud of. But especially my jealousy. Not for the fact that a woman who is maybe my new greatest adversary is in a romantic relationship with him, I don't think. Or maybe it is. The truth is, some days I can't tell. I think it's because as of right now I've lost my place as the one sacred, dearly trusted. I haven't been replaced. If I look deep enough, I know that. But I am human, and humans are suspicious, jealous creatures by nature. And they do have to mate, after all. So with a sigh, I'll lie back into my couch with a shiver and try to sleep once again. So cold. *** END PART 1 *** I am afraid. Now what would you think if I said that out loud? It would sound strange, exotic; it would be foreign to my own tongue, and uncomfortable beyond belief. But I am afraid. I feel impending loss, hovering over me with an icy shadow, at least three hundred degrees colder than the rest of the world. I am the only one who feels it. She's going to leave. She's never been this angry before. And I've given her plenty of chances to be. Well, what did I expect? No, dear, I don't believe you. Because Diana says it's not true, and she has less reason to lie than you do. You lied to me, Scully? Straight faced, accosting right before me, honestly. You honestly lied to me. So maybe you are frustrated with me. Why? Because I didn't buy your little fib? Because I found you out? Because you lost, in some way? Is this all a game, to you? It's not to me. This is everything to me. You, Diana, and the X-Files, you are the reason that I exist. You're angry. Fine. Well, so am I. I am disgraced, I am irate, And I am afraid. ******** 10:26 am J. Edgar Hoover Building She knocks before she enters. "I'm standing outside," she calls in, with a shamelessly mocking tone. "I'm coming in, I think. Okay, I'm turning the handle. Now, I'm going to open the door, slowly," she begins inching the door open to reveal herself, standing with eyes tightly closed. "I'm going to open my eyes now. In 3.... 2.... 1...." she blinks around the room. "Oh, never mind. Fowley's not here." "You've made your point," I say without emotion, also without looking up from my endless supply of paperwork, thanks to the charming A.D. Kersh. Hell hath no fury like my partner, disgruntled. "I'm here for the forms. I'm working at home today." "They're on your desk." She grunts. "Sorry to disturb you. I wasn't aware this was a private office." "It's not very private at all, actually," eyes glued to articles. "People keep coming in and out, picking things up, offending me and leaving." "Oh. Well, then," her blank expression twists bitterly into a cold anger. "I'll just leave you and your intruders alone," she reaches for the papers. "Scully," I reach over and catch her arm on her way by. This is getting out of hand. She rips it away, grabbing a pile of work without checking to see if she has even obtained the correct assignments, and is out the door with a slam before I can get a word in. Hell hath no fury like my partner, disgruntled while I continue to harass her. ********** Route 64, heading into El Rico air base 11:26 pm What a neatly packaged bat out of hell. What a curiously deceptive form for such an explosive creature to take. But don't let her fool you. This is going much too far for my liking. I've even agreed to drive out to El Rico, just to prove that I'm willing to hear her out. But she has been adamant about keeping the bitterness flowing freely between us. This girl is pissed. 4 hours of driving later and what a great conversation we've had. An occasional snipe here, a brief snub there, and it's all good. What does she expect to find here, I wonder? And where will it leave us when we find nothing? I'm not sure what I'm expecting to get from this, or why I even offered to come here in the first place. It's a cold night, and I'm uncomfortable, tired, and listing the places I'd rather be. At home. With Langly, Byers, and Frohike. With Diana. At work. Anywhere. Nuclear warhead testing grounds. Just not another minute of this. Please, just let it end. We arrive. Her expression... - inexpressive, of course, exactly as it's been for hours, completely blank, abandoned by any hint at what she might be thinking. To my surprise, the doors aren't locked; we slip in easily and noiselessly, slipping through the dark, the wet, and the cold. So cold. I instinctively flick on my flashlight, as I've done on a hundred thousand other occasions in as many different settings. I've become somewhat used to navigating through black by flashlight; it used to spook me out fairly quickly, but lately it's not as dangerous anymore. Maybe it's the knowledge that there are much more threatening things than darkness out there, or maybe it's just practice. I don't know, but for some reason, it all fell through at that moment, and I was in my first year with the FBI again, searching around in who knows what for who knows what surrounded by who knows what. What an eerie feeling. Wait, I've lost Scully. Why doesn't she have her light on? "Scully?" I call quietly out into indoor night which flowed freely about, around, and through the hangar of El Rico, without stopping for man nor steel nor alien virus. There is a soft collision over to the right, and a pale light flickers on above us, illuminating the spacious room. In the far corner, my partner and an indistinguishable figure with their back to be are climbing to their feet in a frantic hurry. ******* El Rico 12:21 am The two of us are climbing to our feet after a tumble, and what was a complete head on bumping. I stand to face my attacker. Oh, my God. "Fancy meeting you here," I say dryly. "And what's so urgent that you had to come here in the middle of the night?" Fowley returns, somewhat bitterly. "We're here looking for proof of possible fowl play last night," Mulder offers from only a few feet from the entrance. So this is why the door was unlocked. Already broken into. She nods. "Ironically enough, so am I. I had begun to wonder if maybe what you said was true, and I really had been... - somewhere the other day. I mean, there's no way to tell what these people are capable of; a mild drug could easily have induced some temporary amnesia in me," she glances around nervously. I think she's spooked, too. We resume our fumbling search as she continues, this time with the comfortable aid of weak light. "So for all I know, I could have been here, or anywhere, for that matter. I do know that I wouldn't have sided with CGB, but maybe there's partial truth to this story," she looks very deliberately at me. Even Mulder catches this one. "Or maybe complete truth," just as directly. "What if we find proof of that?" She shrugs, nonchallant. Suddenly doubt flows fluidly over me like the ripples in my most recent dream. There's possibility in what she's saying. That she was talked, or perhaps even forced into accepting the position, and then drugged and left later to soberly deal with the aftermath of her binding agreement. That would mean that none of this was really her fault, all this time I had been going on like a fool with not an iota of truth behind me. But what could we possibly find that could confirm either option? Our confirmation explodes through the door with the force of 50, and time slows down as I realize that really, it is little more than 10 men. Unfortunately, they all seem to be equipped with a gun. My stomach twists in and out of itself as I recognize the faces. The professors, the doctors, Krycek, and one man standing separate from the rest, without a firearm, reflectively lighting a cigarette. "You shouldn't be here," he says solemnly, with that same face he always wears, more of a garment than a real expression. I see regret settle into the creases of his face, and I know with absolute certainty that I will not leave here alive. *** END PART 2 *** El Rico 12:26 pm "You shouldn't be here," he says, and I gape. No, you shouldn't. We're just gathering evidence. I glance quickly at Diana. She's staring in surprise as well. Scully looks like a pistol ready to go off. She's already forming some sort of accusation, though I'm not sure exactly what. "We could say the same for you; we weren't expecting company," she says, mounting a rock-hard face. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have been," he takes a step closer, breathing out a misty puff, made cloudier by the freezing night air. "But, unfortunately, you have refused to pick a side. It is necessary for everyone who is aware of our... - situation to choose a side, and the option of creating your own is not beneficial to you or us," he pauses to stare blankly at my partner, who is undoubtably lost in her own private speculations. "We have the control. The power is ours. We alone can alter the course planned," his eyes narrow and I can tell that he sees no one but Scully. "There are more of us than you know. It's our game, now. We have the control." The look of realization sets onto her face, and she knows something I don't. ****** El Rico 12:31 pm "There are more of us than you know. It's our game, now. We have the control." My jaw drops to my knees. She ratted us out. And now she's going to die. I turn to her in pace with the crack of a whip. "Bitch!" I accuse, feeling my contained rage pushing at the edges of my mind. I'm going to snap. "You told about us, you two-timing hoar. Word for word, you told him everything!" She looks shocked. Oh, please. Give it up. "Scully..." Mulder's calling me, but I'm fixated now. "I'm very sorry it had to end this way," CGB cuts in, and as 10 guns load and cock, I'm ripped out of my fury. "No, stop!" Fowley yells. A strange thing happens. I'm watching this scene from outside myself, like a phantom narrator. I hear the guns go off, all 10 of them at once. At first, I'm not sure who is hit and who isn't, but as 2 bodies collapse onto the cold steel floor of the air hangar, a sort of distracted, gruesome fascination overcomes me. And all of a sudden, I feel really bad for those 2 people who are lying there, struggling to breathe. Just before I black out, I realize that one of them is me, and I am dying. ***** 12:56 am I'm awake, I think. I'm lying very still; I can hear them talking, and I don't want them to know that I'm alive. There's a burning feeling in my shoulder which I recognize all too well. I've been shot, and I'm floating in and out of consciousness, as I have been for the past half hour, catching snippits of conversation, and distorted images which I can't distinguish from each other. Mulder. He's hit too, dropped next to me in this icy floor. Steel, just like a morgue. He's alive, I'm pretty sure. I think I can hear him breathing, though whenever I try to focus on listening, I get dizzy again and black out. They're talking about us. "Of course, you realize that blame has to be placed somewhere." Pause. "Funny, I don't remember agreeing to that when we discussed having them killed." "I'm sorry it's come to this," he apologizes. "You're sorry. Sorry about what? Blaming me for their murder? Losing control? Or have we lost the whole game already? She was right," she's beginning to understand. "She was exactly right when she said you were on the bottom. You have no power, no say, no real effect on anything. You're not fighting for the original cause. There's no saving the world anymore, or stalling off colonization. You're just trying to save your own ass, you self-serving bastard!" I can hear the panic rising in her tone. He hears it, too. I get the idea that everyone else has left. "You don't understand," he growls, voice growing louder, more impatient. "It was a mistake to offer you salvation. You're a disgrace to our organization! Don't doubt us; we're the ones who fight to save you." "You can't fight the future any more. No one can." I try to breathe, try to stay awake, but everything becomes dark once again. Dark and cold. So cold. ***** 2:46 am They're gone. I think they are. The light's been put out above us, and once I open my eyes I realize that it wasn't worth the effort, and I have been left with the same vision as before. The throbbing in my shoulder still pumps fluidly, and both my arms are sticky and wet, but I'm not dizzy anymore. I wheeze hoarsely in pain as my fingers come into direct contact with the entry point of the bullet. I hear Mulder stir beside me. "Mulder? Are you awake?" "Yeah," he whispers. "I'm hit in the side." "Which one?" I ask as I roll over to tend to him; he seems to be hurt worse than me. "Left. Where did you take it?" "Right shoulder. This isn't working. Where's your flashlight?" "I was holding it. I think I dropped it. Hang on," he fumbles around beside him, eventually closing around the cylindrical object. "Here." I take it from him and switch it on, one beam illuminating the deep-sea black which we are suspended in. I set it on its side near my partner's wound and begin my examination. Shallow entry, non-lethal trajectory, I thank God in a moment of forgiveness that we're both going to be alright. Still, this must hurt like a bitch. I tell him so, and add that it will continue to until we get proper medical care. "It hurts to take deep breaths," he adds, as if I don't know. "Then don't breathe deeply," I'm distracted now, looking carefully at my own injury. Such a bizarre morbid fascination I have, poking lightly at the bullet hole in my right, feeling the burn and the sting as my muscle tenses and relaxes, in extreme pain, but too curious to stop. "Scully?" he's practically screaming my name, and I can tell by the sharp intake of breath that it hurts him. "Sorry, what?" "We have to get out of here." "Yeah," I reach for the cell phone in my jacket, then stop, remembering a painful fact. "Do you have your phone on you?" "No, it's in the car." "Shit," I curse openly. "Mine's in my trenchcoat. Great. Well, we'll have to make our own way home, then." "As in driving?" he asks a stupid question, which I point out shamelessly. "Unless there's some alien technology in one of these rooms, and we can get Scotty to beam us up, it looks like the car's our only option." "I can't sit up." "Oh," this is a problem. "Well, as much as I'd like to be able to carry you out of here, I think that means we're stranded, at least overnight. You shouldn't be moving too much anyway." "What about you? You got hit, too," he tries to sit. He gives a short gasp and leans back again. "Stay still. I'm alright," I check my watch. "Almost 3:00." "What do we do?" "Sleep, would be my suggestion." "Ooh, Scully, I... - never mind." "Hurts to talk?" "No, I just lost my train of thought. It's kind of distracting having a big chunk of lead in your side." I lay down back in my original position, trying to wipe some of the blood off me with my good arm. After a moment, I reach over and flick the light off, leaving us in the same desert darkness as before. "Eye spy with my little eye...." he begins. I smile, but don't respond. "So this is your second time being shot in what, 2 months?" Yeah, yeah. I feel his hand across my thigh. "Oh, excuse me," he dramatically fakes an apology. "I didn't mean to..." "Mulder, go to sleep." Silence. And that is that. ***** 5:19 am We both jerk awake as the door to the hangar creaks open, and a lone figure steps in. I groan as Fowley rushes over to us, equipped with a roll of bandage and a canteen of water. Under normal circumstances she would be the absolute last person I would want to see at this point, but any company was welcome, as the throbbing in my shoulder was now an excruciating ache, and I could be sure Mulder's was even worse. "Diana?" he asks quietly, and I can tell that it's labouring to speak. "Yeah. Scully, if you can tell me what to do, I can get both of you fixed up," she looks hopefully, and a little apologetically, at me. Is she sorry? I nod. "Although, for the record, this wouldn't have happened if my plans hadn't been reported." "Dana, please," she pleads. Have mercy? No, my dear, I'm going to make you hate yourself. You've betrayed us both. "It's Scully," I correct her coldly. "Rip a piece off the end of the bandage roll, and soak it with water." "They only let me live so I could be blamed," she begins to explain as she follows my orders. "If you had died, like they thought you were going to, it was going to be on my head. I had no idea they would be here; I can't believe this is happening," I can hear the falsity in her tone, and slowly have less and less patience with this girl as she bumbles through my detailed directions. But soon, we both have clean bandages over our wounds and are sitting in an uncomfortable silence. "I know you don't believe me, but I'm not sure why," she tells me, as if in that moment I am to pour out everything I'm thinking, my pure hatred towards her, my disgusting jealousy of the way she's managed to wedge herself between Mulder and I, and my absolute certainty that she is to blame for this, that she is, or was, working with them, and that she was going to kill us. What I ended up saying was closer to that than I would have expected. It's a funny thing, the way words just sort of flow out of your mouth, unrehearsed, unplanned, usually unexpected, whenever you reach a point where it's just too much. I think there's only so much frustration one person can handle, and I think I broke that morning. She broke me. "I don't believe you," I began quietly, almost a whisper. "Because I know for absolute fact that you are not an innocent woman. I was blacking out off and on, last night, and I heard you talking to CGB. You were working on his side all along. After talking to me, you went back and told him everything, every single word, as verbatim as you possibly could. You knew they would be here tonight, you knew what they were planning for us, and you supported it. You were going to have us killed," I'm spitting alarmingly fast, accusations flying left and right and hanging in the air all around us. "And walk away from it without a speck of guilt, all to preserve yourself from whatever you're too chicken shit to stand up to..." "Scully!" Mulder stops me. I pause to look at him; he's desperate, frustrated, hurt, and trying to tell me that this was where this rivalry should end. It should end here, shouldn't it? "It's true. I was in and out all night, and I heard them talking," I'm staring him right in the eyes, and he's staring right back, exasperated and disbelieving. "That's enough, from both of you. I'm sick of this whole argument; Diana didn't ally with the consortium, and Scully didn't necessarily make it up, either. A vivid dream, or hallucination, or nearly anything could have happened that....." he slows to a hault as he recognizes the cold amazement registering on both of our faces. She closes her eyes and turns away from him to face me. "You plot, you lie, you accuse me of unimagineable acts right to my face," she controls herself. She's being worn thin, and I am just beginning. "You even try to step in between me and an amazing friend who I have known much longer than you. And I'm patient, I try to prove my innocence, I honestly try to find out of anything did happen to me - us, that night. And I come back here, at much risk to myself," she pauses to make sure I'm catching all this, and to gauge the anger in my eyes, which I can feel building, though I remain cold and blank. "Bringing the items that may have saved both of your lives. And once again, in the face of everything I've given for you, you can stand and blame this whole God-damned thing on me. Well, who the hell are you?" My eyes are on the ground. Not of shame, but a last desperate attempt at mastery over my own actions. She interprets this as cowardice. "Who the hell are you to point the finger at me?" she repeats, for effect. Slowly, without blinking, I lift my gaze off of the floor, and steadily trail up the raftors and steel beams running heightwise up the walls of the hangar like taught vines in a metal jungle, and rest a full stare in her eyes, beyond, down into her soul, the very center of everything she is, and I can tell it scares her. "I am the FBI's Special Agent Dr. Dana Scully," I say quietly, the pure hatred ringing through my voice and echoing along the passages of her mind. "I've been beaten around a lot during the past five years. I've been abducted by the government, many men whom I now am indubidably familiar with and call by name. I have been implanted with a micro chip which, when removed, caused me to develop a cancer which abused and crippled my body and destroyed my spirit. I was injected with an alien virus which landed me in a hidden extraterrestrial storage bin, which I escaped only due to Mulder, here, and almost died from the cold. I have been hunted, I have been threatened, and I have been physically and emotionally destroyed time and time and time again. But no one, ever, has screwed me over worse than you," here my voice breaks. It becomes louder, high-pitched. I am watching myself from the third person perspective again, without influence on my actions, just viewing the profile of a raving maniac relieving her anger on a much-deserving target. "Although it seems everybody out there is after me somehow. Wait, let's see," my eyes grow wide and I strut quickly over to the hangar's wide plane entry door. The push of a button and the thing is lifting roughly off the ground, creaking and stalling its way up the rails. "Let's see who's out there this time, waiting to jump me. Or maybe just have me shot from a distance; that would be easier, wouldn't it? Better yet, I haven't lost a family member in a while, maybe we're due!" The rising door is almost fully retracted. I swing wildly around to pace out of the bitter room, blinded by the sunlight, bearing down upon me with the force of a hundred thousand men out for blood, a hundred thousand killers who will strip me of pride and body and mind, all because I want to understand. Yeah, I want to understand it all. "Scully," Mulder tries to sound comforting, but ends up pleading. He can see that I'm beyond consolation now. I know that I'm silhouetted against the morning sun, and the tears begin to flow freely as I scream out to the world, anyone who cares anymore, anyone who will listen, not expecting an answer, but just needing to ask. "Is there anyone out there who is not, I repeat, NOT trying to screw me over?" I bellow, my words swept away and silenced by a brisk wind across the flat desert grassland. There is perfect still; no response from man nor bird, nor beast. "Well, that was unexpected," I yell sarcastically, almost sobbing as the realization hits me; I really am alone. I've lost Mulder's trust, and I am alone. Mulder. And where do you fit in, my dear, to cause all this? Where does your fault lie? "I am not going through any more of this bullshit," I spit out. "I'm not giving you any more of my time, any more of my life, or any more thought. I'm not standing around here with my hands tied while you try to keep this whole God-damned world from getting fucked to hell by who the fuck knows anymore," I use language I've never heard spill form my own mouth, sounding foreign and awkward and perfectly fit at this moment. "I've given too much," I turn dramatically to Mulder, my eyes pleading almost desperately for a reason not to say what I'm about to say. I can see his regret, his panic, and his apology, but I cannot find his trust in me, or his argument. "I've given everything I have for you, your sacred quest, who knows, maybe at one time it was even ours, not just yours. But one pouty smile and an easy fuck and it's all bullshit, you have no fucking problem with turning right away," I blurt without thinking. He shows off his shock, but mostly it's disappointment that I know about the two of them. "Put that look away; I don't give a fuck. See? I know more than you think. And you know what? I always have. And you," back to the original target. "What, or who the hell do you think you're doing? Don't just stroll casually into my life and disconnect me from any one of the people I trust. Don't you even fucking think about doing that, because if you do, I swear to God and everything holy I will come up all over your sorry ass, and no weak-assed dirty water roll of bandages will be able to put your pieces back together after I do. So don't you play savior with me, either," she is scared, now; I can see it. She has it plastered all over her face, perhaps the first honest emotion I've seen from her in a while. "Don't come in, hand me all this 'I saved your ass' bullshit and expect me to chew and swallow, because you've done fucking nothing. Not a single fucking thing, you've done, besides squeeze your bitchy little body between me and the most important thing I have. And most of all, more than anything else in this entire world, more than the lies, the denials, the holier-than-thou attitude, more than playing Goddess with my life and almost getting me killed, more than any of that, don't you try to tell me you've suffered for us. You have no idea what it means to suffer. Have you felt what it's like to have them all after you? No. Have you stared straight into the eyes of a killer, and had him dare you to prove him guilty? No. Have you ever been so cold, so fucking freezing that every limb on your body is useless, every point you can think of numb to burning, and the only thing you can think about is how defenseless you really are? No," my cries are uncontrollable; spear my words in sheer desperation, and pain, reliving every moment I've ever felt hopelessness set in. "Have you ever held your own child in your arms as she died, born at the hands of unnamed men, and dying for the same cause? No," I enunciate slowly and clearly, though losing none of my volume, or my impact. "You've never suffered. You've given nothing to this cause, this cause which you're hiding behind as your only chance of coming out on top. You have no idea what it means to lose. Well, I'm not losing anymore. As far as I'm concerned, when colonization begins, the only people who win, will be those that die. And I fully plan to be one of them. See, Fowley? I win, just like I told you I would. And now," I tred speedily over to the huddled pile of partner and first aid items, and stooped to pick my jacket off the dew-bejeweled floor. "I'm getting the fuck out of here." "Scully," Mulder's risen to his feet, and catches me by the arm. Just like the good old days, I think bitterly, as I feel a hand at the small of my back. "You," I whisper in an utterly original, ice-cold tone. "You've screwed me over worse than any of them." He closes his eyes and I rip myself free of his grasp, exploding his white knuckles apart and off of me. Without looking twice, I give a curt nod to Fowley and am clearly out of the building. ***** 6:34 am The door slams, and the silence becomes almost threatening, unbroken and with absolute power. "Fox...." "Diana," I quiet her. Not now. Not while my life is falling to the ground, being rinsed away with the rain that glides in through the open runway entrance, pooling in small circles all around us. I feel the pain in my side for the first time in at least a half-hour, and I groan softly as I close my eyes and take control of my feet. I slowly begin to pace my way out into the flow of water, dripping in with the winds and off the high roof. The coolness hits my body in a much-welcomed, icy blast, chilling me to the point of a fluttering shiver which is as much of dread for the future as the wintry touch of February rain. I reach my neck back, extending my face as high as I can, as close as possible to the source of this angelic purity, something unfamiliar and distant, yet pleasant, feeling much the way it feels to greet a long-lost friend from some old, better time, when life made sense and I understood my place. I wonder, where could she be, with the car we came in squatted resentfully nearby, not enjoying the shower I needed so dearly? Wandering the deserted plains surrounding El Rico, the site of such historic events, and undoubtably many more to come? I would follow her, of course, to aid, or console, or be told politely to fuck off, but I would follow her all the same. Through the rain, through the rough grasses, through internal war with external reprocussions, through hell and back. I would follow her all the same, wherever she needs to go. Yes, I will pursue her, I will help her all that I can, but for the life of me, I cannot believe her this time. I can't willingly say yes, I do understand that the only woman I've ever really loved has betrayed me to save herself, betrayed me to everyone I've been passionately against, willingly sacrificing my life and my partner's in exchange for her own. I'm sorry, but I just can't do that. I can hear her thoughts through the elastic rain, as ludicrous as that sounds. Or at least I think I can. She's asking herself, asking me, how many times have you asked me to believe? To go against rationalism and probable theory and just trust you? How many times? I can't count them. I'm coming, Scully, just wait where you are, and I'll find you. I may not accept, but I'll come. ***** 7:01 am The rain is slick across my forehead, and I don't bother to wipe away the auburn hair that is being draped and pressed along my face, sagging into me eyes and mouth at points. My hiking boots are sinking, slushing into the mud and leached grass, the ground having morphed from half deserted wasteland to moist swamp by an hour's steady downpour of water. I'm enjoying the feeling, in a pure, if somewhat childish way. I love the pure indulgence I pursue as I stand here listening to the droplets pelting and ricocheting off the ground and brief puddles, listening to the sound of my own feet, drooping regretlessly into the mucky soil. I'm trying to push everything out of my mind except the noises, the wet, the taste of the ice rain that late winter brings. But ironically, the harder I try, the harder it becomes to turn my back on enemy and traitor and partner, in work and in life. The tears have flowed for a long time, as I stood lost in the middle of a soggy field, feeling utterly lost and hopeless and susceptible in a way I never have before. And then, all of a sudden. it just stopped. Like a grotesque faucet inside me was just switched off. The pain left, the burning sensation in my shoulder and the resent in my heart, they all just jerked to an abrupt halt. There was only the rain, cleansing my body and my soul in sweeping motion. The early morning light smiles on a new day, and as I look out into the horizon, so do I. A new day it is, and perhaps the beginning of a new chapter of my life. I am free; free to laugh, to enjoy myself with reckless abandon once again, free to be in control of myself. I have won; defeated them all, and cackled wildly in their faces, using the one weapon I have left; surrender. Surrender. I furrow my brow in consideration of the concept, which at this point seems new and exotic and quite enticing. Such a beautiful thing; it's so easy to surrender. To shrug it all off, and go on my way with the clear understanding that it's out of my hands, and out of my life. But to give in.... Sloshing. Stops a few paces behind me. Just stops and stares. I can feel him staring right into me, through me, trying his best to fill me with the sense of how much I am needed, how much I belong. Nope; I'm on the winning side now, and I'm not changing that for anything. "Scully," so quietly, compounded by the stinging rain which by now has made my fingers numb and my limbs feeble and chilled. Yes, I remember. I remember that tone, exclusively saved for times of extreme desperation or extreme affection. I wonder absently, which is it now? Have you come to tell me that it's all right, you believe me, I can come back without worry of future separation? Or have you come to plead forgiveness for your sins? I've heard you speak my name like that before. When you're lying in a hospital bed, when crying for your dying mother, when I grew more distant in the final stages of my cancer, or when my daughter lay asleep in the resting place she would soon perish in, all those great times when my head has pounded louder than the pulsing machines we're surrounded by, keeping somebody alive. Yeah, I remember. "I didn't mean for this to happen," you say, as if I don't already know that. "Neither did I, but it has," I turn in response, allowing him to see that my eyes aren't red and I've stopped sobbing for him quite a while ago. "I didn't expect to find you in this condition," he stumbles after a moment, surprised by my clean appearance. His hair is smoothed across his gleaming forehead, little streams of liquid ice stumbling down the crevices of his face in tiny rivers, making him appear tired, forlorn, weathered, and altogether like a drowned rat without a hope in the world. Quite a stark contrast to my own countenance, cool and vacant and devoid of emotion on the whole. "I didn't expect to be in this condition when you found me, but it's been a pleasant surprise," I am finished, but at his questioning glance I explain. "I was crying like a madwoman for a while, thinking about everything that has happened, and everything that may or may not happen in the future. Then, out of nowhere, I just stopped." "A resolution?" he asks through the whipping wind, and I can tell what he's really asking; will I be remaining in his company? "No; I'm not really sure. I think, maybe, there's only so much pain one person can handle." He doesn't know what to say to that, which frankly doesn't amaze me. "There's a barrier," I expand. "And once you pass that, there's no capacity, no way to register what's happening. That would explain why suicidals often die tearless." I can see that I've scared him now. "Don't worry, I'm not considering taking my own life. Just taking it back." "I still trust you," he's found his voice now. "I know you do," I respond honestly. "Just not the way you used to. And I still love this line of work; just not the way that I used to. It's time for me to split, go back to mainstream." "You can't," he starts on a speech I'm familiar with, having heard and crumbled over before. "I need you..." "And I need my freedom back," I pause. I can see the emotion welling up in his eyes, settling into the corners of his mouth; he's about to say something I'm going to love him for. I can't let that happen. "You know what? One kind word from you; that's all it would take, and I'd be sobbing like a child, right here, right now. There's your power, and savour it, because it's just about all you have left; take my word on this one," I hesitate and grin darkly, the falling rain pounding out my terms one by one. " 'Take my word on this one,' that's what got us into this whole mess." "Are you done with this lifestyle, or are you done with me?" he wonders aloud, and I can hear the blunt, genuine curiosity in his tone. "It doesn't matter; I'm done." "You'll be back." I'm startled by this retort and stumble for an appropriate reply. "What?" "You'll be back. It's only a matter of time." Reverse psychology, Mulder? "On what do you base that conclusion?" "On the fact that you're as dedicated to this as I am." I struggle to retain the blank obtusity in my expression, but I can feel myself beginning to cave. No, no, no. Not again. Never again. "And," he resumes. "That you can see that I've turned down a 'pouty smile and an easy fuck' to make sure one of my only true friends is going to be alright, even if that means leaving me behind." I roll my eyes into the sky and back, not believing as the tears flow freely down my face that I've once again managed to find my way back into this fifth realm of hell we've dug ourselves into. As I collapse into him, both of us falling softly down into the muddy ground, I give up trying to restrain, and succumb to a childish ilk of sobbing and choking in turn, feeling all at once small and insignificant, like the salty solution running from my eyes as it mixes with the massive attack of rainwater; that I solely am responsible for minding that the world be saved from all that threatened it, not hunger and disease and war, but extinction, colonization; that I am completely alone in the world, but at least have a friend; and that, somehow, everything is going to come together in the end, and it will all be alright. ***** 7:49 am I'm not sure how long we've been sitting here, lowering unnoticed into the mud, me crying wildly, and my companion, my competitor, and my partner once more, posed wrapped around me, whispering into my hair and comforting me, until I had reached the opposite end of the angst spectrum; sober due to resolution, rather than over-intensity. Only as we huddle from the cold, ignoring the option of a sheltering building in favour of just being together, do I realize that through all of this, he's been hurt as well. I look up at him for the first time, to find his eyes red and pleading; he's still afraid. I mumble my apology as everything I said in the hangar comes back to me with a vengeance. We've switched roles, now, and I'm repeating over and over that it's all okay, that once again we're walking away from possible tragedy, alive and together. It's cold, but we don't feel it. Eventually the time comes when we are both subdued enough to just sit, without apologies or regrets or words, just sit. And sit we do, enjoying the comfortable familiarity and the cold massage of the rain pelts on our faces, backs, and limbs, soothing our wounds which still throb and ache, and stirring a reflective spirit which we share and absorb with pleasure. The sky begins to clear up slightly. The rain stops entirely, within minutes, and we're left with a monotonous, hypothetical gray stretching as far as March, leading us out of this affair and away from this memory to a better time, which can only be described as 'someday'. "I have a question," his expression has turned from indulgeant happiness to a thoughtful meaning. "What?" He takes care to look me straight in the eyes as he begins to speak, and I know what the issue is before he even starts. "Is it all true? Every bit? Everything about Diana, CGB, the meeting, hearing them talking, her knowing that we were going to be killed? Every word?" There's no way I could possibly lie now; he knows it, I know it, and I've never been more relieved. "To the best of my knowledge, every piece of information I've told you is the blunt, honest, swear-to-God truth," I promise without blinking or detaching his gaze. I can see the realization grow, and he believes me, without question, with absolute certainty. He nods. "Okay. Then I guess we have to do something about Fowley." And then she returns. I am the first to spot her, slipping down towards us out of the sopping building, her faulty punctuality making me grin subtly. "Talk of the devil," I whisper. "And you get Diana," he concludes. "Anyone else make the connection?" I know I shouldn't push it, but I can't resist. He smiles smugly and greets our visitor. "I learned something about you today." She suspects I've convinced him; I notice it and turn my head to beam mercilessly at the fact. It's graceless, but I can't help it. "Which would be...." "That you're a two timing, back stabbing, smoker-sucking bitch," I answer for him, back still turned to the beastly woman. "No," he corrects me harshly. "You're an intelligent, independant woman," he pauses. "Who unfortunately is also a two timing, back stabbing, smoker-sucking bitch." I turn to see her face twist in shock, and his light up with amusement. "I don't believe this," she cries. "There's no reason for you to possibly believe that I went, partially because I didn't...." "But mostly because you all covered your tracks quite nicely, myself aside," I sneer cruelly. I'll never forgive myself for how I'm acting, but she honestly deserves it. "Actually, I'm surprised at your outright lack of subtlety, if anything. I would hardly expect you to base such an important issue on my loyalty alone." "Your loyalty," she is infuriated. "Is something I definitely question," she turns to me. "A word of advice; don't put too much trust in him." We both erupt laughing. "I'm sorry, it just sounds so funny to hear you talk about loyalty," I confide. "You should probably go, preferably without slashing my tires or stealing my car, if you don't mind," he suggests. "It's to your own detriment to dismiss me so fast; I'm the only one of us left with connections to the inside of the syndicate....." she begins. "Fowley," I but her off with a blunt stare and a roughly spoken word. "Go!" She stammers for a response, but instead turns on her heel and stumbles back up towards the hangar, slipping all over the long, wet grass. "Hey," I call as a thought hits me. She turns with a resentful look. "You've been removed from the consortium, remember? You were going to be blamed for our deaths. You can't possibly be going back." "It's my one chance at survival," she replies sadly. "You don't get it, do you?" I retort, glad to be able to use her own line against her. "You're not on their side any more. You're not with the colonizationalists, or the rebels, and you're definitely not with us. Where does that leave you?" I pause. "You don't have a side. There's a chance that I may be in the society who has to lose, but you don't even stand a chance." She whips away and up the grass as she begins to understand that I am right. "Hey, Fowley! I win!" *** END PART 3 *** *** EPILOGUE *** Route 64, heading away from El Rico air base 9:52 am I suppose, in the end, that it's true; whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. And I think that goes double for relationships. If this story had gone slightly differently, if the whole issue had been a lie from the start, a brute dishonesty born only of feelings of distaste and bitterness for another, I know for absolute certainty that it would have been the end of us, both of us, in our lives together as an elite and exclusive society, a sacrifice which would have come painfully and been dealt with gracelessly, most likely resulting in a sort of long-term rivalry with a severeness both unappreciated and unwanted. But as it is, we've taken a different turn, intentions clarified, motivation re-ignited, issues dealt with and closure achieved. On the whole, I can honestly say that I needed this, to maintain productivity, stay on course, and most of all, to uphold my part of the bargain; to contribute everything I can to what is now undoubtably our cause, not a passion owned by one individual as it once was, but heightened by its now multiple participants. I'd fail to say that all's right between us; things were said, on both sides, that are regretted, and apologized for, rest assured, but nonetheless have left an immovable stain which, at times, hangs about us in a rancid mist, haunting each of us with the fact that maybe there was some deeper meaning behind the comments flung so aggressively about the air base hangar that night, and the curious thought that maybe we really are to blame for all that's happened. But fault has become a thing to be ignored, for the time being; we're together, paths righted, now parallel to each other's, as they should be. And while I'm sure we both have suffered through countless nightmares as a result of those times, we live in the hopes that one day, that someday showed however briefly to us by an endless gray horizon, all things might come full circle, and we will emerge victorious. We will win. Until then, the best we can do is to begin picking up the pieces, and hope that they fit together somewhat better than before. THE END_